Date: September 20, 2000 (Aether: February 15, 3907)
Place: Chamber of Stars - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Axel, Bjorn, Izak, Liolya, Niamh, Niherlas, Thorvald
Scene: Two of Delphi's Estrels negotiate with the Aesir and the Najada about allowing them free rein in Haven, though naturally they need to describe some of Haven's laws by which the newcomers will be bound.

Chamber of Stars - Delphic Citadel - Haven:
      Located at the pinnacle of the tower, the ceiling of this chamber slopes inward like a pyramid. Furnishings are almost nonexistent, consisting of a few woven mats decorating the floor, covering parts of the mosaic extending wall-to-wall. Thousands of small, colored tiles illustrate a compass rose showing the four cardinal directions. The northern section is dark--like the mountains that stab at the horizon far beyond the walls of Haven. South is blue--like the vast ocean stretching away from Haven's harbor. Green represents the west, where a thick forest hems in the farmlands that produce food for the city; and finally, east is gold, where the wind blows fresh and warm in the summer months. It is not too far a stretch to say that the compass represents more than mere direction; for Delphi has always been a place where the four races could mingle freely, as equals.
      The walls are shaped from a stone that is almost as clear as quartz, so that one may glimpse the entire city. Starlight or sunlight shines above, depending upon the time of day, and students often make the long trek up here to study astronomy, or merely feast upon the view offered by a small balcony that overlooks the city.

Led by a pair of Hounds and an Atlantean woman garbed in a kaftan of aquamarine, Izak is one of the first to arrive up the stairs and into the spacious chamber. Impassive blue eyes alight upon the sights presented to him, devoured without tasted. The Najskor does not seem impressed by the amount of effort made on behalf of himself and the Aesir. Calmly, he folds his arms across his chest and casts a glance towards the Mystic Adept, who shall be named Amasa.

Thorvald enters with his Jarls, Axel and Bjorn, a weighty cask under his arm. The Hoevding's tread is heavy and slow, and there's a grim sobriety on his face. The son of Dreng is usually reserved by Aesir standards, but even so this somber, even for him. "Hei, Estrel Niherlas. Hei, Najskor. We have come." Thorvald walks to the table, and sets the cask of down on it. "Mead," he says.

Axel walks in just behind Thorvald. Like the Hoevding, his mood is changed; more markedly so. No slamming the door open as he did the last time. "Hei, Niherlas. Hei, Izak." A glare given toward the Estrel. What's eating him?

Bjorn strides in on the other side of Thorvald. His usually jovial face a mask of dark, broiling storm clouds. The bear seems to have his hackles raised, ebon wings held at his back in a battle-ready manner. His scowl goes to the Estrels. "Hei," is the only greeting given.

Trailing behind the more robust Aesir, Liolya makes her way to the top of the Citadel. It's the Rusalka's first time this high into the building and the climb up the stairs looks to have taken its toll on her. Pausing at the entrance, she impassively looks about the room while catching her breath and resteadying herself. On the surface, she tries to stay as unaffected as always, and makes her way forward to take a seat.

"Ave." Niherlas' greeting is in the Empyrean fashion, and he inclines his head as each of the Northmen enter. One of the Hounds, a Soldat obviously assigned the duty of 'miscellaneous tasks,' sees to the placement of Thorvald's mead-cask at the food table. "Ave, all," the Estrel repeats once the Najada and Aesir have entered. "Najskor Izak of the the Najada. Thorvald, son of Dreng. Jarl Axel, Jarl Bjorn. And Liolya of the Rusalka, I bid you welcome in Delphi's name."

Before all but the most determined can sit, he motions towards the table at the west wall. "We've had food and drink set out, and I invite you to partake of what you wish. I invite you all to dine before we set ourselves to business -- negotiations progress much better on a full stomach. I will dine with you, as well the other Estrel as they arrive."

Opting to say nothing -- which should not come as a surprise in the least -- the Najskor simply nods his head to the entering Aesir. Izak does take note of the scowls and dark moods, but if it causes any concern within him, he does not let it show. His own expression is cold and stony, and the Mystic Adept at his side, Amasa, is likewise emotionless. But that's probably because she's forced to share a mental link with the Najada, and is busily trying to keep as much hidden from him as possible. At Niherlas' words, he turns and regards the table, and without a word, he walks over and sits himself down.

Thorvald strides over to Niherlas, and stops, looking at him hard. He's not close enough to cause the Hounds to reach itchily for their weapons, though some of the more nervous may worry. "Estrel Niherlas," he says, in a relatively quiet voice deep enough to reverberate throughout the chamber, "I have something to ask you before the Aesir will eat. I know you are here as an Estrel of Delphi, not as representative of the Empyre, but still you are Empyrean, and we have more reason to trust you, than we have most others."

Thorvald's agitated, and very much so. Those who know the Hoevding know that the quieter he gets, the angrier he is. And the more likely to explode into a berserker rage. "We had heard," he continues, "that the Vanir -- your people -- treat those dark-of-wing as thralls. But now, we hear that they are killed at birth! I ask you to tell me more of this ... practice." Very, very calm. And just below the surface, seething.

Abnormally for the gregarious Aesir, there is no smile on Axel's face. He paces up just beside Thorvald, arms folded over his chest and wings pulled in tight against his back. He, too, speaks, his words slurred by his anger and his accent. "Yes, tell us of this, Niherlas. Are your people truly this insane? To kill babies because they are blessed of Othin?" It's almost as if he's calling them cowards, the only real insult an Aesir can give. He does keep one eye on Thorvald. Watching the rising anger carefuly. He does not wish to be caught unprepared if violence erupts.

Though she doesn't completely understand the words that Niherlas speaks, Liolya understands that he has indicated the food spread out. The somewhat frail Rusalka glances towards the table and moves towards. Rather than take food, she only takes a goblet of water. With that in her delicate, web-fingered hand, she makes her way to the table. Even though she listens carefully to Thorvald's hidden anger, she doesn't focus on that until she has the solidness of a seat beneath her.

Bjorn moves with the Hoevding, standing just behind him on the left, trying very hard not to rest his hand upon the axe at his belt. His own anger echoes that of Thorvald and Axel, and may be a bit more obvious as his large hands curl and uncurl into fists. His daughter is a dark-winged child, lost to him for the moment. If she was brought here and killed for her beautiful little wings, there will be trouble to say the very least. He does not speak, lest he roar out his opinions on this matter and start the battle now.

Niherlas had heard that the Aesir had discovered the racial status of darklings in Empyreal culture, and certes the Empyrean Estrel had been dreading the day that Thorvald might choose to discuss that fact. But to have the even less savory aspects of this present themselves at the inception of this meeting, that was beyond Niherlas' gravest worries. Still, the Estrel does not shrink before the Aesir who array themselves before him -- although all tower above him.

"Yes," he admits, "It has happened. Never openly. No Empyrean would boast of killing an infant, no matter how it was born. But there are always rumors." Niherlas meets the Hoevding's smoldering gaze -- anything else would risk being seen as weak. "A mother might claim her child was a stillbirth, and a foundling is discovered a day's ride distant." He pauses for thought, "You know of the social status of darklings -- have any explained it to you, though? Why it is?"

Izak seems generally unconcerned about violence erupting in the chamber. So what if it does? He does not seem intent upon joining it. The Najskor's eyes remain calmly settled upon the central figures, namely Niherlas and Thorvald. At his side, the Mystic Adept Amasa fidgets in her own seat, trying to hold her own concerns at bay.

The Hounds, for their own, come to greater alertness -- two step away from the door until Niherlas' eyes flick at the movement, and his hand motions them back to their position. The Estrel shall deal with this -- there's really no other way.

Thorvald nods to Niherlas, and crosses his arms over his chest. "That," he grinds out, "is disgusting, and cowardly." He seems slightly less on edge at Niherlas' words, however. "It is good that you were honest." Thorvald can respect honesty. "Had we known of this before ... negotiations with the Empyre might not have gone so well. But our word is given, as it is to Delphi."

Thorvald's still angry, very angry, but he's back down from the edge of berserk fury he was riding a few moments ago. "One of the Vanir warriors," and he sneers as he uses that word, "Optio Zorelle, said it was the command of your god, Kronian."

Sitting quietly, Liolya seems unaffected by the interaction between Thorvald and Niherlas. Or, at least that's the way she seems. Those that look closer would see a trembling on the surface of the water in the goblet she holds in her hands. It's as if the woman refuses to let her emotions show on her face, but the magic within her insists upon unleashing them around her.

Axel stabs a blunt finger forward to Niherlas. The calm tone does not assuage him in the least. His passion has been stirred up and he is not one to quickly cool. "Aye, I know of it. And it has made you all stupid, marrying your cousins to keep your wings white." He rolls his eyes and nearly spits. "As if the color of wings matters on the field of battle, or on the farm, or when the torch is out and you are in the furs with a woman." Apparently, his source was less kind in her explanation of the why and wherefore.

Bjorn's voice is naturally loud, and deep as he growls, "And what do you do with children you find with dark wings? Those not born to you? Do you kill them as well?" He is not calm, but he will take his cues from Thorvald. After all, it is the Vanir he has a problem with, not Delphi, and they are here to discuss agreements with Delphi.

Niherlas glares briefly at Axel. "Be wary of your tongue, Jarl," is all he will say to the one whose apology he once accepted. Bjorn for the nonce, is ignored. "Allow me to explain something to all of you," Niherlas offers to the Aesir arrayed before him. "Among all the races that we have dealt with, one thing is universally disdained -- mixing the blood of races. The children of such a union bear powerful, powerful magic -- such that is beyobd their control. Before Delphi rose, these children were often consumed by their power, and that power wrought destruction as it ate away the heart of its holder."

"Of halfbreeds, those who bear Empyrean blood and wings -- their wings are never white. Browns and blacks, and rarely red. A darkling child is considered proof that one's forebears have mixed their blood with other races -- and the proud Empyrean cannot bear that, thus the child is made to bear the sin of that ancestor." The Estrel shakes his head, "It has root in causes that protect us all -- but it has become warped over the centuries into something much different. It does not forgive it, but I show you the root of what has outraged you -- that those who might unintentionally destroy us all are not birthed."

And speaking of halfbreeds... Liolya sits with a faintly furrowed brow as she listens and tries to decipher the words. The expressions on their faces are much easier to read, but if she did understand the words being spoken more clearly than she does, she might comment on the dangers of magic and power in the intermingled races. As it is, the water rises over the edge of her goblet to dance on the rim before repooling itself within.

Still, silent, and ever watchful, Izak's gaze widens to encompass all of the winged ones. Briefly, he glances over towards the food, but he does not rise from his seat to take a portion for himself. Only in his eyes does the spark of beginning impatience begin to grow.

Thorvald listens to Niherlas, silent for a while. Then, he spreads his ember-red wings wide, for all to see. After a few moments, he settles them against his back again, his point made. Then, a shrug. "This is not what we came here to discuss. Tonight is about the Aesir and Delphi, not about the fears of Empyreans."

Axel grunts at that explanation. The warning from the Estrel washes over him without much effect. He turns his back on Niherlas and walks toward the food. It doesn't exactly satisfy him, but... "Let us get to other matters then." He picks up a shank of meat and a cup of mead. Which he downs quickly. He mutters, "By Logi's mouldy teat."

Bjorn stares at Niherlas for a moment or two longer, flaring his own sleek wings a bit himself, proud and strong. Snapping them back against his back, he follows them over to the food, but surprisingly doesn't take any of it.

"I will gladly speak with you at length about this, Thorvald, son of Dreng," Niherlas says quietly, "At a time of your choosing. But this is something that has deep roots, yet does not hold concern for the othe races. As your Jarl has said, let us go to other matters." With that, he too moves towards the banquet table. Taking a plate, he seems to sample almost every platter in small, if not tiny, quantity. Reassurance that all the food is well? And yet, the Estrel is a Healer -- what is poison to him? He takes a glass of ambrosia, the color of pale honey, and then moves to the meeting table.

Well, now that the little matter of the darkling infants is settled, Izak rises from his seat. Not that he ever gave a bloody flip about what the foolish Vanir did with their whelps... The less of them the better. Amasa cannot help but shiver a little as she detects that less-than-cheery thought through the link, but she remains seated while the Najskor approaches the banquet table. His hands come to rest at either hip, webbed fingers idly toying with the hilt of his bone dagger at one side. Eventually a goblet of the lluora is taken, and then he scoops up a handful of raw fish. Plates? Feh.

Niamh steps in from the landing.

Thorvald nods to Niherlas. Then, the Hoevding goes to the table, takes a fair amount of meat, and draws himself some mead in the drinking horn he carries with him. He eats savagely, working off some of his anger by tearing into his meat. He's eager to conclude the business tonight.

Bjorn folds his arms and just waits.

Axel settles into a seat, digging into the shank of meat he selected with his usual gusto. He devours it quickly, viciously. Letting the act of eating calm him some, and the act of drinking restore some of his good cheer. He doesn't hold the practice against Niherlas, the man hasn't done it himself. "What is it Delphi wants of us?" he asks, swallowing a morsel.

He may be late in getting to the meeting, but Evening Prayers are Evening Prayers and they wait on no one except for the Amir-al. Footsteps are barely heard on the stairs before the Varati Estrel appears, glancing about to see who is in the chamber for this negotiation. Talk about feeling out of place... all these wings about. A deep breath is taken as Niamh reminds himself why he is here at Delphi and what he was chosen to do. This is, however, one duty that does not sit well on him. A nod is given to whomever meets his eye... no apologies are made as he moves into the room to get a goblet of the spiced wine and wait to see what will happen.

Dropping back down into his seat, Izak takes a long drink from his goblet, then a bite with sharp, jagged teeth at the clusters of raw fish in his hand. They were very pretty once, so nicely rolled in seaweed and decorated with colorful bits of vegetables, but in the end it all goes into the same place. Almost idly does the Najskor note Niamh's late arrival, and choosing to meet the Varati's eyes, he extends a simple nod in return.

Bjorn nods once to Niamh. At least the Varati seem to hold the dark-winged ones in respect.

Niherlas is already eating -- trying some of the fish, actually -- when Niamh enters. Many of the others are also seated at the table, eating as well. "Estrel Niamh," Niherlas offers as soon as his throat is cleared, "Evening prayer is finished? We had just completed... a previous discussion, and were settling into food and then to business of substance. Take food, and then join us as you will, yes?" Another Estrel. For a brief moment, it doesn't require telepathy to read the Empyrean's relief -- even if Niamh is Varati.

Thorvald nods to Niamh, politely enough. He's mostly torn through his meal so far, devouring it rapidly. He nods to Axel's words. "Yes," he says, "what does Delphi want?" Two Estrel are here now, and Thorvald figures that it is time to get to the heart of the evening's business.

Niamh helps himself to some of the food then... almost a little bit of everything... not the raw fish, though. As he sits, he turns to Niherlas, taking in the others briefly. "No need to wait on me. By all means, we should begin the negotiations when all are ready." He will pick at the food until there is time for him to dine. Some bread is taken and dipped into a curry sauce while the Aesir ask their questions. Chewing thoughtfully, he waits... taking to sort in his mind what should be said at this meeting.

Axel glances over a shoulder at the arriving Estrel. "Hei, Estrel Niamh." These people like titles, so he'll use them. At least the one coming through the door is not a Vanir. The Jotans may have some weird ideas about covering up women, but ... he's had little contact with their kind.

"In some fashion, what Delphi wishes of the Aesir and Najada depends on what they wish of Delphi," Niherlas replies, setting down his utensils and taking up a finely crafted glass of ambrosia. "You've offered blood money -- wer-guild -- to the Empyre and Atlanteans. Eleven Hounds lost their lives in your attack upon Haven, and Delphi would see that their families are cared for." The Empyrean sips once from his glass, "We require agreement that you shall not seek to attack, or raid, Haven or its surrounding areas again. And we require that you agree to hold to the laws of Haven when you are here, and submit to its justice should you break those laws." Niherlas places the glass down, and looks first to Izak and then to Thorvald, "That is what we require for you to freely roam the streets of Haven, and to have our guard upon you lifted. There is more, obviously -- trade, access to Delphi as a place of learning, even full partnership in the far future. But these things are the base upon which the others must build."

Niherlas looks to Niamh for confirmation, then returns to his regard of Thorvald and Izak.

Eating in silence, Izak's eyes briefly pass over the others gathered here. When the fish is finished off, he wipes his hand off on his thigh and takes another long drink from his goblet, draining it completely. When the Empyrean Estrel begins to speak, he looks back to the man, then his eyes flicker towards the Adept Mystic Amasa who sits at his side. The woman shares the look with him, but nothing is said. Yet.

Thorvald nods to Niherlas. "Yes," he rumbles, "we do offer wer-guild for the dead. What we have offered the Empyreans and the Atlanteans, we also offer Delphi, and we will offer the same to any who feels their men were unjustly slain." Thorvald's keeping his voice rather neutral, for this. "We will not seek to attack, raid, or pillage this city, as we have said. We have said this. As for your laws, we would know them before we commit to obeying them." Thorvald doesn't seem opposed to the idea, merely wanting to know more.

"The matter of trade, and Delphi are also important," he says, "and there is one more thing we can do for you. We can spread the word among our people, and make the skalds say that Haven is a place to come in peace. We," he says, looking at Axel and Bjorn, "are one clan. I do not speak for all Aesir. No one does. But we are respected, and will be listened to."

Niamh gives a nod to Niherlas at his terms, taking a bite of the food before adding his own addendum to the terms. "There are many different races here in Haven that -- while it is not completely necessary -- you should learn about so that certain... ah... interactions do not cause incidents." Indeed, the vision of an unknowing Aesir taunting an Agni-Haidar comes to his mind... something he does not want to have to be the mediator for.

Axel finishes his own meal, and crosses his arms over his chest. He listens to the Estrels words, a slight smirk on his face. No pride here, as a warrior should have. The thought of accepting wer-guild for a death in battle. He can imagine Svala's response to such an offer. It would not be pleasant; in word or deed. He leans over toward the Hoevding, whispering to him his opinion, nodding when Thorvald reply's to the Estrel. A glance is given to Niamh and flat smile to accompany it.

Bjorn's smirk on the matter of of the wer-guild is just as disgusted as Svala's would likely be. If they cannot support their own women and children when the men die in battle, they must be a weak society indeed. The acceptance of the wer-guild only proves their weakness.

Niherlas nods to Thorvald's words. "Trade and Delphi come after peace," he says, "And we would do our best to teach you of the laws of Haven, and how the races interact with one another." The Empyrean allows himself a wry grin, "It's already apparent that there are... great diferences. Ones that might cause problems, if not adressed beforehand." He looks down to his plate, a piece of fruit catching his attention. Fingers that are strong, yet uncallused, pick up a piece. "What of you, Najskor?" Still holding the fruit, Niherlas' gaze goes to the Najada, "What say you?" With that, he pops the tidbit into his mouth, and looks expectantly to Izak.

Another stretch of silence meets the Estrel's question, but it is soon to be broken. Izak's eyes briefly rest upon Niherlas, giving him one of those scrutinies best suited for a shark eyeing his lunch. Then he glances to the Adept at his side, and almost immediately, Amasa begins speaking, "The Najskor says, 'I will know what these laws are before I will agree to abiding by them. As well as the punishments that can be expected. And lastly, Tower Master, I ask how far your claims to the surrounding lands of Haven extend.'"

Thorvald nods to Izak's words, in agreement. "We must know these laws," he says. The Hoevding doesn't expect them to be anything but insane, much like Haven and its people.

"The laws are few, and are mostly those required for different peoples to co-exist," Niherlas says, "The taking of life, save in self-defense, is forbidden -- as is violence, unprovoked. The property of another is to be respected, even..." and here he appears uncomfortable, "if that property is a being. And, of more importance to the Najada, the privacy of a mind is to be respected." Turning to regard Izak, Niherlas says, "Our Mystai hold an individual mind to be sacrosanct. Entering or coercing the mind of another without permission is treated as physical violence here." Niherlas nods, mostly to himself, "These are the basis of the laws of Haven."

Bjorn holds no minsconceptions that these laws of theirs will make any sense at all, but he waits, in silence. As his ire about the whole dark-winged thing has begun to dissipate, he makes his way over to the mead and fills his horn, then returns to stand behind Thorvald and continue listening.

Niamh looks to his food after making sure that Niherlas covered the basics. "Perhaps it might be ideal that an escort accompany those who are... uncertain about wandering about the city. They could act as a sort of guide..." And they could also warn if one of the 'unspoken' laws is about to be broken.

Bjorn does not respond to the idea of more guards being placed on them, but asks. "What are the punishements for breaking your laws?"

The Najskor continues to sit in silence, a ripple of a frown marring his otherwise smooth brow. Izak glances at Bjorn briefly, and Amasa is quick to say, "The Najskor says he also awaits the answer to that question."

Thorvald nods to the Estrella. "As do I. If we are to have 'escorts' ... for cultural reasons, it would be best if they accompanied us at our request." He doesn't want to have guards forced on his men, in the name of 'escorts' as if they were children. "And I think your concepts of slavery should be clarified, as well. We have thralls, but they are not property."

Niamh leans back in his chair for a moment, glancing first to Bjorn and then including the Najskor. "It depends on the crime. Petty crimes can lead to one night, or several, spent in the Bastion... the gaol. More serious crimes demand more serious consequences, quite possibly leading to execution in some cases." Dark, bespectacled eyes go to the Aesir chieftain. "The escorts would not be guards... merely guides." As for slavery... Odd that he who owns no slaves answers the question. "There are some servants, mostly of Varati and Empyreans, who are owned. Their freedom can only be granted by their master, should they choose to do so... and consequences for disobeying for them could lead to dire punishments... depending on the master."

Execution for a crime. That doesn't sound so insane. If anything, that's probably one of the first sane things Izak has heard about Haven. So upon hearing this, he simply nods his head. But still... one of his questions has yet been left unanswered.

Niherlas nods in agreement as Niamh speaks, "Haven is not oppressive. The opposite, in fact -- much is allowed here in the name of 'tolerance' so that all the races will bring their people here to trade. The population of Haven is small, the lands ending within a day's ride of the city walls. If Delphi was too harsh a master, then our populace, for the most part, would simply return to the kingdoms of their own people." He pauses, "And speaking of the other kingdoms... three of them, the Atlanteans, Empyreans, and Varati, maintain embassies in Haven. The grounds of those places are considered extensions of those kingdoms. Step into the embassy of the Empyreans, and you step into the Empyre -- their laws hold sway there. So it is with the others."

Thorvald listens for a moment, leaning over to hear something Bjorn says. Then, a nod. "Who judges these crimes?" he asks. "Do you? Or does the populace?" He remembers well hearing that the citizens of Haven have no say over who controls their fates, and often have no love for Delphi whatsoever.

"Again, it depends on the crime, but yes, quite often Delphi does judge the crime if it takes place outside of the Embassies." A sip of the mulled wine is taken, the goblet kept warm quite easily by the slightest effort. "The populace is so mixed, and quite often biased, that to allow them to judge the crimes would make the trial into a farce." Niamh leans forward slightly, setting the goblet down. "It would turn into a popularity contest where the favored opponent would win...and a potentially dangerous person set free when they should be punished."

Izak slowly begins to lean back in his seat, calmly interlacing fingers that are now a mottled bluish-grey and white over his mostly dark stomach. The Najskor's eyes dart back and forth, and though he has had little to contribute to this discussion, there can be no doubt that he is paying close attention. Although no emotion is prevalent upon his face, something seems to have displeased the man, for he sends a thoughtful look towards his interpretor. Amasa, however, remains silent.

"We are not a homogenous community, composed of one people who have endured travails together," Niherlas comments. "The Hounds, who I am told you would rename, Thorvald, are composed of those from many races, as you have seen -- and it is the Hounds who have proven themselves over time that most commonly sit on tribunal."

Thorvald listens quietly to this description of Haven's justice, and ruminates for just a moment on how very different it is. "I see," he says at last. "I do not think that the Aesir will have much problem with holding these laws. We will not steal, nor start any violence. Do not expect us to remain calm if we are attacked, however." He looks from one Estrel to the other.

Niamh returns Thorvald's gaze, "I have spoken to the Queen-Maharani and, while she does not have the final say, she has told me she shall warn the Agni-Haidar and Warlords not to provoke you or yours." He hopes they'll just ignore one another... that would be best.

Bjorn leans in again toward Thorvald to whisper something.

Niherlas quietly watches Izak, his hazel gaze flicking on occasion to Amasa.

Amasa's dulcet voice breaks the silence from the Najada's end of the table, "The Najskor says, 'Tell me, Tower Master, how far you will go to protect the privacy of a mind. This is not a Najada custom. We take what is needed. We do not enter a mind for cruelty or sadistic pleasure.'" Although many will heavily disagree with that comment. Izak's eyes remain riveted upon the Estrel's, cold and unfriendly, but Amasa continues after a breath, "He also says, 'If a man has committed a crime against one of my kin, and I force him to reveal his guilt, would I then be considered a criminal myself?'"

Thorvald listens as the Najskor speaks, and adds some questions of his own. "If we disagree on a judgment for a crime, would we be allowed an appeal?" he asks. "Also, would the Aesir be able to hold land, and build an embassy of our own?"

"Yes, Izak. You would be. Though circumstances would, likely, lessen the punishment. Delphi reserves the right to mete out justice on our lands -- and the other races support this, for it prevents any one race from attempting to claim Delphi as their own." Niherlas considers for a time, "We have put suspected criminals to the question ourselves, by Mystai and by Oracle. But Delphi cannot allow vigilantes."

He turns then to Thorvald. "Yes. If your race wished to partake fully of Delphi, then that could be negotiated. An embassy, even Estrel of your own race, these things could come to be. They would require a deeper intertwining of your people with the business of Haven, and agreements beyond simple peace. But it is something that the future may hold, if you wish it."

Bjorn drinks down most of the mead that is in his horn, and again leans in to speak to Thorvald quietly.

Amasa opens her mouth to speak yet again, a shiver running along her spine at the piercing glare that Izak gives her. Whatever he's saying must not be very friendly. But the Mystic Adept seems to be handling this herself; one might imagine a conversation is swiftly being 'spoken' between them. Eventually, though little changes on the Najskor's face, he seems somewhat appeased.

The Adept sits back in her chair, and she says, "The Najskor asks, 'What of the Hoevding's inquiry about an appeal? How will you answer, Tower Master? If one of my kin were to wrongfully invade a mind, according to your customs, I would wish to know this.'" Provided he or his family is even still here, but still, one must be absolutely certain.

Thorvald nods to whatever Bjorn says, then turns to the Estrel to await their answer to Izak. This is something important, and it should be settled first.

Niamh offers quietly, "I would imagine there would be no trial until you were notified... the perpetrator of the incident would be held in custody until then." A look is given for Niherlas to elaborate or disagree.

"But once a trial has occured, and judgment has been decided upon," Niherlas shakes his head, "I have never known for there to be appeal, save for lasting judgments such as imprisonment, or exile from Haven. How do you appeal ten lashes after the pillory? Three days in a cell after one has been set loose?" He leans back in his chair, "I admit that I find your emphasis on this odd, Thorvald. You berate us for weakness, bait our Hounds for not being warriors, but then ask us how easily we'll allow our justice to be swayed? Where is the appeal for your axe, Hoevding? You've said that challenges among your people often end in death -- where is the appeal of that? We avoid execution save in the gravest offenses, and judge harshly only once we are certain of the crime committed. But once judgment is made, it is rarely undone."

Bjorn speaks up for himself now, "Will one of our kind be on the panel of judges who decides?" Inferring either Aesir or Najada, whatever race is on trial.

Thorvald nods. "I meant, would our people be consulted before the punishment is carried out? Our own punishments are not the kind to be appealed. Execution is lasting, and banishment generally results in death. You ask us to respect your ways; we are trying to understand them. We ask that our ways be considered, as well. I have had people treat me as if I were an Empyrean, and this cannot be."

"We ask you to adhere to the same laws and same judgement that all the races who reside within Haven," Niherlas finally says, his voice growing tight at Bjorn's question. "If you wish peace within Haven, and free movement within Haven, that is the price. Atlantean, Empyrean, Sylvan, Varati -- they all answer to the same laws and same justice. In matters that approach death, governments are informed, but we do note make a diplomatic incident of every petty crime."

Thorvald listens intently, and forms a decision. "I will agree to this," he says. "We will follow your laws while in this city. The Aesir request an embassy, right of legal trade, and the ability for our people to come to Delphi, to learn. That more than anything else will cement this peace."

Amasa again speaks, whilst Izak simply sits and watches in perpetual silence, "The Najskor says, 'I speak for Krvakovyklan when I say that we shall adhere to Haven's laws as dictated. For now, we seek only free movement. Talk of trade we will hold later. We do not seek an embassy here.'" That thought is almost amusing.

Bjorn remains silent now. The decisions and agreements have been made. As long as they are not under guard any more.

"Right of legal trade can be granted easily, provided your traders submit to the same tariffs that all others do. An embassy and the ability for your people to come to Delphi," Niherlas shakes his head. "We will not discuss an embassy as terms of a lasting peace. I have spoken with the other Estrels before this meeting, and I can say this firmly. Delphi is willing to discuss an embassy, but not as a term of peace. The ability of your people to come to Delphi can be granted, but they will submit to the same restrictions as any other race. They will be limited to Delphi until they reach command of their gifts, and will be required to swear an oath to Delphi -- as do all the other races who study here."

Thorvald shrugs to Niherlas. "I cannot negotiate a lasting peace for the Aesir," he says. "No one can. We are not ruled by any single chieftain, nor king, nor god. I can give you peace with my clan, while I am Hoevding, and I have done so. I do not make the embassy a 'term' of something that is not within my power. But it would be a great step towards relations with all the Aesir." Thorvald pauses, and takes a long drink from his horn. "Well," he says. "We have settled peace, and trade, and Delphi, yes? All good things. Will we be allowed to own land, provided we act within your laws?"

It's doubtful that Izak would want to send any of his clan here to Delphi. They cannot properly teach Telepathy. The Najskor briefly glances to Amasa once more, and the woman says, "The Najskor says he will pay the wer-guild if this is also required. And if there is nothing else, he wishes to end this talk."

Niherlas releases a long-held breath. "Yes. Within the small influence of Haven, even Mongrels own land. If you might find one to sell land to you or yours, they may hold it." He nods to Izak, "I believe it has ended, Najskor. Blood-money shall be paid, your people and the Hoevding's shall agree to not take up arms against Haven again, and Delphi shall grant you the same consideration and privileges any resident of Haven enjoys, including trade." All this sound and fury, to reach that. "All else is matter for other meetings."

Now they want land? Niamh thought they were seafaring. "There is little land to be had inside the gates of Haven and outside... well, that will have to be negotiated. As for owning a place of residence, if you can pay for it, you can own it." A glance is given to the Najada, as he wants to end this talk as well. Standing, he looks at those gathered, especially the Aesir, "For such a straight-foward people, you strike me as awfully perfectionistic." At that, and a nod to Niherlas, he sweeps out of the chamber, taking a good deal of the room's heat with him.

Thorvald chuckles to Niamh. "We are a people of laws," he explains, "which are few, but precise. Negotiations must be exact when a mis-step will cause axes to swing, and much blood to flow." He drains his drinking horn. "Which is glorious, but not very productive." There's a certain dark humor on that.

Bjorn smirks in agreement with Thorvald. Besides, among such a strange people, things must be clear. The women don't like men, the men want to be women, who is to say that their interpretations of laws aren't going to differ as much as their interpretations of nature?

Niamh gives a dismissive wave of his hand. After this talk, he has decided he likes the zealous simplicity of his race. Someone does something bad, you kill them. Then you ask questions. Makes more sense than this bantering. A brief glance back over his shoulder, "Perhaps you should have thought of those laws before you openly attacked us." Now he needs to get out of a room with so many fish and wings.

Niherlas watches the departing Estrel, then looks back to Thorvald and Izak. "Then we are agreed. Delphi will have this declared, and by morning's light your people will be free to leave the Citadel." A wry chuckle, "In fact, I encourage it -- we have need of the room you've used. Is there aught else you wish to do that would seal this?"

Bjorn snorts, "That is our law," in retort to Niamh, though quietly.

Thorvald has brief thoughts of seeing how well Niherlas handles the Aesir's liquor, but shakes his head. "No. What we have said, we will do." Yes, he made Cassius down a shot of the liquor -- almost pure grain alcohol -- but that was primarily for amusement's sake. "Though I would speak with you further, about an embassy."

Glancing towards his Adept escort, Izak's hand lowers to the dagger at his hip. He begins to rise to his feet, and Amasa, looking a little nervous, says, "The Najskor says, 'My word was enough for Estrel Spirit-Whisperer. If you require more, however, I will make this a blood oath.'"

Niamh steps through the door and returns to the landing.

"I accept your word, Najskor," Niherlas says to Izak, then turns to Thorvald, "And yours as well, Hoevding. Peace it is. I welcome you both to Haven." He nods, rising from his chair. "We will speak of an embassy, Thorvald, yes. I give you my word that conversation will occur."

Bjorn downs the rest of the mead in his horn and walks over to the table, grabs a large hunk of meat from one of the platters, not caring that the juices run all down his arm. He bites into it and chews while waiting for Thorvald and Axel to take the lead in leaving the room. So that Niherlas can feast his eyes on the large black wings that follow behind them as they all move from the room.

Well, now that the business is concluded, Izak sees little point in remaining up here. Unless one counts the food that is still lying out. Not one to let something go to waste, the man steps up to the table and takes another handful of raw sushi before turning upon his heel and departing. He even manages to spare a nod for the remaining Estrel and Aesir as he does so. The Mystic waits at the door, only to follow the pair of Hounds that trail the Najskor's departure.

Thorvald stands, steps forward, and claps Niherhas firmly on the shoulder. "Good!" he says. "And do not worry about your room. We are not a people to remain inside." With that, he turns, and exits the room.

FIN  

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