Date: September 12, 2000 (Aether: January 27, 3907)
Place: White Tower: First Floor - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Axel, Cyrene, Demetrius, Liolya, Niherlas, Okalani, Raijin, Spirit-Whisperer, Thorvald
Scene: The Hoevding of the Aesir speaks with two Estrels of Delphi in an attempt to come to an arrangement that will placate the other governments residing within Haven.
Note: Picks up from previous log (Between the Known and the Unknown) after Okalani and the two Najada adjourned to the library.

White Tower: First Floor - Delphic Citadel - Haven:
      Before you stretches the vast diameter of the tower interior. Above you, rising for hundreds of spans, is the hollow vastness of the building. The delicate ribbons of a free-standing spiral staircase wrap around the circumference of the tower, until the highest levels fade from the perceptions of your eyesight, appearing only as thin strips of lace. There are very little furnishings here; however, the Spartan setting is offset by the muted mural that covers the walls--walls which have no seams. The mural itself is a flowing spiral of life. The floor of the tower has been painted to represent the sun, with its vast rays snaking up the walls. Figures of animals and people, barely discernible against the grey stone, break free of the sun, stretching up towards the pinnacle of the tower. The higher the tower reaches, the darker the images become, so at the farthest distance, one may see the faint flickering of false stars.

"If you excuse us, we will retire to the library," Okalani tells both the non-Atlantean men and turns around, hands already gesturing towards the door, which is now fully pushed open. A last look around. "Oh, and Spirit-Whisperer, please do inform me when someone comes with news about the whereabouts of my daughter. Sarojin is going to be upset if he learns that I've lost her, and we've got enough problems on our hand." Men tend to be so unreasonable about such minor things. "Let us go inside."

Okalani, Katya, and Izak step through the arched doorway into the chamber beyond.

Thorvald's dark brown eyes gauge Spirit-Whisperer intently. "Spirit-Whisperer," he says, "the ways of your people, are not the ways of mine. Do not expect us to the same. We are here, in your Tower, to negotiate terms of peace and trade. For that, and the respect shown us by Niherlas, we are here in good faith. We will attempt not to give grave insult, as your people see it. And we expect the same from you."

Spirit-Whisperer lets a slight smirk follow after Okalani's retreat before refocusing on Thorvald. "Then you will forgive my ire in reaction to the 'grave insult' leveled upon me by your companion." That wasn't a question. "I appreciate that you are here in good faith, Thorvald. But I do not know you, and I therefore do not trust you." He laughs again. "But perhaps one or both of those difficulties can be overcome."

Thorvald raises an eyebrow. "Insult?" he rumbles, not knowing what happened before he stepped out of the room. Had he been here, he likely still would not know.

He listens to the other's words, then shrugs his shoulders in an expansive gesture. "I do not trust you," he says, "would I believe you if you said that you trusted me, for you should not. But I have sworn no violence from myself and my men while the peace holds. We will not raid or loot this city. But it would be best for all if we could make this peace hold. And for that, we will yet need trust." Thorvald may be a barbarian to those of Haven, and a bloody murderer to several others who lost loved ones in the attack. It would seem, however, that that is not all the Aesir is.

Thorvald stands outside the door of the Practice Room, speaking with Spirit-Whisperer. His wings have recently been ruffled, and though he's settled them, some annoyance still flashes in his eyes.

Spirit-Whisperer is more than accustomed to dealing with people considered barbarians by the citizens of Haven. It's his job as Sylvan Estrel, after all. He dips his head once. "Then we understand one another. The truce is a good thing for all involved, and a lasting treaty will be better, but there are some who might feel that their best interests do not lie in seeking cooperation with you and yours. There are others who may need to be convinced."

He stands calmly at one side of the hallway, facing Thorvald directly, hands clasped in the sleeves of his kaftan.

Niherlas comes down the stairs, and the expression upon his face as he notes Thorvald's ruffled feathers is one of brief dismay. What now? Has one of the women groped by the Aesir's men found a more forceful way of complaining? Did Altair see fit to issue another challenge? Or have we found a new and as-yet-unexperienced problem? Probably the last, and Niherlas composes his face into a more relaxed demeanor as he approaches the pair.

"Ave, Thorvald, son of Dreng," the Empyrean Estrel says in an even voice, "and Estrel Spirit-Whisperer. Good evening to you both. Is all well?"

Thorvald frowns slightly. "Those who wish us killed, likely, in revenge," he rumbles. "They are the same ones who do not wish peace with the Aesir? Then they are fools. They would like even less to see our longboats on their shores every winter, bringing death and in their holds instead of goods for trade." He shrugs: it wasn't a threat, merely a statement of fact. Turning to Niherlas, he nods. "Greetings, Estrel Niherlas," he says. "I have been speaking with your companion here. There is no problem beyond what others will try to make."

Spirit-Whisperer shrugs and reaches back to scratch behind his shoulder. To Thorvald: "There's no need to get ahead of ourselves. I don't know who or how many want revenge. But I do know that a great many will need to be convinced."

He turns to Niherlas with a nod. "I don't know how much my colleague has told you, but this city is ruled by a council of twelve, and each of us answers to one of four nations." He chuckles. "I'm afraid that there will need to be a great deal of convincing."

Niherlas nods. "I've told him of the Council, and of the nations that surround Haven." He steps forward, closer to the two men. "A few short days ago, Thorvald, the Najada and Aesir fell upon our shore. You did not offer trade or goods, but instead you arrived with ice and death. I've yet to hear of any offense given to your peoples before this time that would have justified that attack as revenge."

There's no anger in his voice as the Empyrean continues, "But now, we stand here, speaking of truces and peace. I'd say we should consider ourselves fortunate that all we anticipate is convincing -- how would your people have responded?" Niherlas turns his head slightly, "Would any of us live, had we attacked and been stopped at your gate?"

Thorvald shakes his head to Niherlas. "I meant, those who wanted revenge on us." He shrugs, remorseless. "We attacked this city, because it was here. We are a violent people, and the North is a violent place. Raiding is our way of life. Had we not been met with armed defenders, we would have taken cattle, fur, gold and captives, and left with much less death."

He considers Niherlas' words. "That would depend," the Hoevding says. "Had you surrendered, you would have been taken as our thralls, to serve for a period of years before being able to earn your release. But that happens rarely. Death in battle is glorious to us, for it sends us to eternal feasting and combat with our gods, damn them all for bastards."

He looks at Niherlas levelly. "Make no mistake. We did not cease fighting because we feared death or magic. It was the Tower. That is why I seek peace now -- so my people will know that the Tower is here, and may come here to learn in the future, no matter how far away."

Spirit-Whisperer nods, frowning, as he listens to Thorvald speak. "And what have you to offer us to cement such an agreement? Many will call for justice. Things may be different in your land, but here, justice means reparations. Where one takes, he's made to give. Why should we treat with you at all?"

Thorvald eyes Spirit-Whisperer. Do the Southlanders always ask so many stupid questions? Had the halfbreed wings, he'd assume that Spirit-Whisperer was cousin to Altair. "Because we are here," he says. "The Aesir exist, as do the Najada. Treat with us or not, as you think best, but we will not go away if you ignore us. We sail long and far across the seas. I offer you a way to ensure that the violence of our first meeting does not repeat itself on our second."

"If you wish to ensure that, Thorvald, if you wish for your people to be able to come to the Tower for learning and not war," Niherlas replies, "then remember that you first came to the shores of the Tower bearing a standard of death. That is what the four nations will remember, when it comes time to parley. They will remember the blood you spilt before you thought to speak of peace and learning. Be ready for that, Thorvald, son of Dreng."

Spirit-Whisperer nods as Niherlas speaks. Continuing to frown, he adds. "There is much convincing to be done. How do we know that you can speak for your people? If we execute the lot of you for crimes against this city, you claim that others will come. Since you were the first, wouldn't your northern brothers simply assume you lost at sea?" The halfbreed continues to watch the man carefully. "You should take care when responding with threats. There are some who would not hesitate to call your bluff."

A pale, frail figure exits the confines of the practice room/infirmary, hesitating in the doorway. An uncomfortable glance from a guard spurs the woman into movement, hesitating somewhere behind Thorvald, the only familiar face in the lot outside the door. Membranous wings shimmer dully, moving reflexively against her back until they fold away beneath the lengths of Cyrene's hair. Ebon eyes glance around with more than a little curiosity.

Thorvald eyes Spirit-Whisperer gravely. "We know this city is here, and we know your Southlander captains can travel the routes. Therefore, we know that we can travel the routes." Thorvald's voice is calm, and confident. "I cannot speak for all my people, but I can speak for my clan. And I can tell you, we are a practical people. We would not try to steal what we could trade for, when the city is so well-defended. I do not make threats, they serve no purpose."

His eyes narrow, even more. "And were you to execute us, you would be breaking an oath made by one of your own. Even the gods dare not break such oaths. Will you?"

"No, we would not." Niherlas slow shakes his head, "But neither can this battlefield truce be left to stand alone." The Empyrean takes a long breath, "If you wish peace, if you wish trade, then understand what you'll face. You lead a proud people, who seem quick to seek death in combat. My race went to war with another because one woman was stolen. They are proud.

"Another race, the Varati, claims a god-king that raised volcanoes -- they, too, are proud. There is a tribe of Sylvans, what you call Aelflings, that would kill you for simply walking in their forest. They, too, are proud." Niherlas shakes his head ruefully, "That much pride presents a great wall to peace. We face a great task, and it may require that some pride be abandoned."

Spirit-Whisperer breaks some of the tension with a laugh. Giving Niherlas a wink, he says, "There are some who claim that the greatest leaders are the ones willing to break oaths for the good of their people. Me? I'm not so sure." He lets his amusement fade. "We'll start by determining exactly what is best for our people. All in Haven are not bound by Delphi's oath, however. We rule within the city, but, as Estrel Niherlas has said, there are other powers which must be appeased."

Thorvald nods to that. "I have lost much pride in not dying," he says, "as have you in your deeds on the battlefield, Niherlas. A good start towards eliminating pride, no?"

He frowns, and strokes his beard, thinking. "To my people, death in battle is glorious. It is hard for me to comprehend your thoughts, but if truly you consider those we slew to have died needlessly, I will offer wer-guild for their deaths.

"It is a custom of my people, that a killer may offer money for blood, to the family of the slain. We have many items of value here, in our ship and other places, that I had been thinking to trade. But I will give up my share, the largest share, and swallow still more pride in the name of peace. I cannot speak for the rest of my men -- a Hoevding cannot force another to part with his goods or money."

With quick, brisk strides does the Atlantean Seneschal enter Delphi, a light frown resting on his face. Troublesome reports he's been getting lately, and they haven't ceased. Upon spotting the gathering of Estrels and Northerners, his steps hesitate, and he stands in mute study. Then he begins to approach, keeping his thoughts to himself, and remaining (perhaps wisely) silent.

Axel pushes into the room through the massive stone doors that lead into the practice room. Soundlessly, the doors swing shut again.

Niherlas is unable to fully mask his surprise at Thorvald's offer, and his raised brows quickly narrow as the Empyrean is forced to re-evaluate the Aesir. "That would go far, Thorvald. It would placate many, and force them to see you through new eyes."

Cyrene remains a slim pillar of ice off to one side, mute and uncomprehending of the foreign speech, save for a couple of words she's picked up. Ebon eyes rivet from face to face, all so different, curiosity still alight on her pale face. Webbed hands twist together nervously as she watches.

Tromp! Tromp! Axel's boots land against the stone as he walks out of the room. A hearty clap to the shoulder of several guards. No words exchanged with them beyond that. He hears Thorvald being praised, even catching a few of the words so he walks up to the grouping, conveniently slipping in next to Cyrene, to whom he winks and whispers something in the foreign tongue.

Spirit-Whisperer lifts his eyebrows and then nods his head once. "I concur. Your offer is likely to go far in the eyes of those whose primary concern is that justice be served. We may yet come to an understanding that will be of mutual benefit." He lets his blue-eyed gaze slip to the others present, lingering on the strange features of the Rusalka. He'd heard of them, but this is his first opportunity to see one.

Thorvald nods to the two Estrel. "I will speak to Captain Demetrius soon. I am certain that he will be able to aid me in determining the worth of my goods, in your currency. I can enlist his aid in turning what I have into money, or can turn the goods over to Delphi in trust."

He turns, and nods to Axel. "My Jarl," Thorvald says, and then proceeds in the guttural northern tongue. He holds up a hand, as if expecting protest and says a few more words.

Cyrene shifts her gaze over her shoulder at Axel, to whom she gives a waxing of a smile. She murmurs a few words in the same language before turning her head, pausing as Thorvald speaks.

Wings flutter and rustle in agitation. His jaw opens, closes, works more as if it we're dry. He looks from Cyrene, to Thorvald, to the two Estrella. Wait... that Aelfling has gills? Axel makes some comment to his Hoevding, then stares openly at the southlanders. And with a sigh, he speaks further in his own language, offering some of his own goods for the wer-guild. Not all of it mind you. His authority is lesser, his responsibility is therefore less as well.

Demetrius is a man of his word it would seem, though a leak upon the Amarada took up the better part of the day to be dealt with. Still, as promised, he has returned to Delphi in case his services required rendering.

The Captain stops short upon entering the Tower, a touch surprised to find that there is a large gathering in the front hall. He unwraps the scarf of his cloak from about his face, stepping in and drawing close to the grouping, though he remains quiet for the moment, not wishing to interrupt if there is an important discussion in progress.

Standing in calm, serene silence, the Atlantean Seneschal of Delphi listens to what bits of the conversation he can understand. Raijin is at a polite distance from the Estrels, aqua blue eyes roaming over the forms of the Aesir and the Rusalka. It is Cyrene especially who receives his scrutiny, the man never having seen anything like her before.

A tentative understanding of some sort seems to have been reached, that faint sense of agreement in the air about Aesir leader and the two Estrel. "We should let you speak to your people, then, Thorvald," Niherlas says, "and discuss what you've made mention of. And we likely should discuss it amongst our own." The Empyrean glances at Spirit-Whisperer. "But I think, as I said before, that your offer will carry much weight."

Cyrene furrows her brow at the continued conversation, mulling over what was said by Thorvald. The scrutiny of Spirit-Whisperer and Raijin does not go unnoticed, and airy wings twitch occasionally, expressing her nervousness. Ebon eyes never linger on one face for too long, but continually shift, appraising each of them in their alien way.

Thorvald looks to Axel for a long moment, and nods to him. "My Jarl, Axel son of Arne, offers to contribute to the wer-guild. I cannot say what the others will do, though the larger portion of what we have is in the hands of myself, and my Jarls." If you will excuse the bluntness. "I will return to my ship."

The Hoevding turns and translates what was just said for Axel, and asks him to speak to the others about this while he is gone. "Captain Demetrius, if this offer is accepted, I will ask your aid in determining the value of my goods, in this city."

Looking back up at the Aesir leader, Spirit-Whisperer inclines his head, letting his back tilt in a slight, shallow bow. His hands remain clasped and enveloped by his sleeves. "I'm glad that we were able to speak, Thorvald, and I hope that we will find a speedy resolution. Fare well."

Axel is learning more of the language the more he hears of it. He listens to the Tower-masters, straining to hear and understand any more of what they have to say. He also watches his Hoevding. He did hear correctly. And nods firmly. "Yes. Axel give." Affirming what his leader has said in passable southlander.

His attention is diverted by the nervousness of Cyrene. Turning his head, Axel leans down to her, hair flowing over his shoulders. Perhaps to confide something to her.

Strange ... didn't he just have this conversation the night before with Bjorn? The visitation of Deus Cassius Augustin had both raised Demetrius' hackles along with a few well-taken points ... one of those being reparations.

Bjorn had thought the idea ludicrous, but perhaps he shared the advice Demetrius offered him to Thorvald ... or perhaps the Aesir leader reached those conclusions on his own. Either way, Demetrius inclines his head to Thorvald, answering simply, "My assistance is yours, in whatever way it may serve everyone best."

Slipping out of the practice hall with an almost ghostlike presence, Liolya drifts into the area, moving in the general direction of her sister. The inhuman eyes glance towards the strangers with a dispassionate curiosity.

Axel says something softly to Cyrene.

Niherlas tips his head to one side, then nods at Axel's assertion, "Thank you," he says to the Aesir Jarl, before turning to Spirit-Whisperer, "I'm going to return to my chambers, and put some of this to paper. You know where to find me if I'm needed, Estrel."

The others present get a brief nod, and the twins get a brief, curious glance in addition to that nod, before Niherlas moves to make his way up the stairs.

Cyrene flickers a gaze at Axel before mutely shaking her head. Her breathy soprano confirms the motion as she says something in their language.

Stepping back, Raijin allows Niherlas more room to pass him by if needed. A nod is returned to the Empyrean Estrel, before his gaze once more wanders over these foreigners. Once he glances at Spirit-Whisperer, but briefly, before curiosity wins out again and he goes back to staring at the northerners.

Telepathically: Raijin's thoughts lightly touch Spirit-Whisperer's, but he encounters a hard block on the Estrel's mind, making it clear than any telepathic contact would be unwelcome at this point.

Catching the soft conversation between Cyrene and Axel, Demetrius steps forward slightly, interrupting briefly. "Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies, but is there any reason why the Lady Cyrene cannot have leave to go down to the ocean and visit with her bonded? If not, I would like permission to escort her there this evening. She indicated to me last night that she missed him, and she had just mentioned now that she still has not been able to see him. Is there any reason why they must be apart that I am not aware of?"

As Demetrius comes forward, Liolya's gaze rivets on him with an obvious distrust. One of her delicate-seeming hands reaches out to lay itself on Cyrene's shoulder in a protective manner. The elder sister says nothing, but makes sure that her presence is known.

Spirit-Whisperer shifts his attention to Demetrius, taking in this man who can apparently understand the foreigners. "Until such a time that we receive agreements from the governments and a treaty has been formalized, it would be very dangerous for her to leave the Citadel. Delphi has offered its protection, and that protection is best effected within the walls of our Citadel."

The halfbreed glances at the others, wondering mutely which one is Cyrene. "Who is it that she wishes to meet? Does this other also require Delphi's protection?"

Cyrene cants her head quizzically, looking at Spirit-Whisperer and then Demetrius. She makes some unintelligible comment.

Axel catches Cyrene's name on Demetrius' lips. Or rather in his lips. He chuckles softly, his chest rising with the show of amusement. With his hand on Cyrene's other shoulder, she seems well protected, by both her sister and the massive Aesir. He says something in his language, and another barking laugh that is not unpleasant follows. He's only teasing the Rusalki.

His lips curl in mild amusement as Demetrius shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no, this other cannot come to the Citadel and does not need the protection of Delphi. Indeed, to bring him here would kill him. She is pair-bonded to an Orca whale. From what I understand, it is more than merely a friendship with the sea creature, but a strong emotional bond."

The Captain sighs thoughtfully, his stormy grey-blue gaze shifting over to Cyrene, to whom he offers a reassuring smile. "If necessary, we could bring others to ensure her protection, but she is most eager to at least visit with him awhile."

Giving Axel a quick look before she turns her head to suspiciously regard Demetrius once more, Liolya snorts a soft sound. There might have been the faintest flicker of amusement across her cold features, but it's not clear.

There is a brief flicker of confusion across Raijin's face, but he continues to remain silent and listen. There's little else for him to say or do here, in any case.

Cyrene remains in the dark as to what Demetrius and the other man are saying, so she turns her eyes towards Axel, arching a brow in uncertain amusement. She murmurs a few words of Aesir. The look she gives Axel is equally teasing, although it is hidden by the time she glances at her sister, uncertain once more. She murmurs something else.

Turning to the threesome, Demetrius gives Axel a quick, playful jab to the shoulder and proceeds to reply in the foreign tongue.

Still not knowing exactly who 'Lady Cyrene' is, Spirit-Whisperer eyes the Rusalki and then returns to look at Demetrius. "Is this critically important? I suppose that an escort can be arranged, if needed, but the last thing that we want is more violence before a treaty can be inked." He smirks at the Empyrean. "Is that risk worth visiting a pet?"

Cyrene exhales a sigh and murmurs a few words. At the end of them, she glances at Raijin, certain he at least must be able to.

Again, that bare hint of emotion flickers across Liolya's face as she listens to Demetrius and Axel. Glancing down at her sister, she squeezes the other girl's shoulder gently. When she looks back up, her seal-like eyes move to Spirit-Whisperer and settle there with a intense curiosity.

Another laugh from Axel, and he punches the older, slighter Empyrean on the shoulder in return. It's not a hard punch, for an Aesir. He makes some unintelligible reply.

A slight look over at Cyrene and his best winning smile, the kind that twinkles up in his eyes, before he quips something to her. It's impossible to know how seriously to take Axel.

He must be able to do what? Raijin meets those uncanny eyes of Cyrene's without blinking, and the gaze he returns her is a questioning one. But then he attempts a faint smile, which lasts only so long as she looks at him. Then it's gone.

His brow furrows in a mix of surprise and displeasure at the Sylvan's lack of understanding in this situation. Surely people of his race form powerful attachments to other animals and creatures? At least a few? Hmmmphing with frustration, Demetrius shakes his head, replying, "Her Jhoi is not a pet, Dominus. It is as important to her as a friend. Perhaps as much as a spouse."

He is distracted by the playful punch, the gesture bringing a crooked smile to his lips as Demetrius waves his hand at Axel, holding him at bay until he can get this sorted out. "Can I at least give her an idea of how long it will be and see if there is any personal danger or grievous loss from being separated?"

Spirit-Whisperer isn't a Sylvan. As a ferine, though, he understands that bond as well as anyone can. He shrugs. "There is a sentimental attachment. Can it not bear a temporary separation?" He chuckles a bit, watching the Empyrean. "You do understand that the safety and welfare of these outsiders and of the city's citizens is at stake." That's not a question. "In your judgement, is that a fair risk?"

Cyrene glances from Liolya to Spirit-Whisperer to Demetrius, and finally to Axel. The look she gives him is more considering than before, holding more warmth than one might think a Rusalka capable of -- and even that remains chilly. She makes some comment, then quirks her mouth, almost a grin, and glances back at the others. She asks quietly something quietly, the tremor in her voice apparent.

Liolya speaks up finally, glancing between the men speaking in the incomprehensible language. Voice soft and almost a whisper, she speaks in a faintly authoritative tone, using the words of the Aesir.

Frowning, Demetrius counters, "I know that others have been allowed to travel, escorted, from Delphi to the sea and back again. I can only assume that, because of her fragile appearance or sex, that we cannot afford her the same as we have offered the Aesir? Does not their coming and going also affect the safety and welfare of these people, as well as the city's citizens? Explain to me the difference, Dominus?" Turning to Cyrene, he realizes this must be confusing to her. "I will translate to her now and find out what her needs are, exactly."

Realizing he can do no good here, and knowing that this Tower doesn't run itself, Raijin begins a silent retreat towards the stairs. He's quite certain the Estrel will be fine on his own. After all, there are Hounds about, are there not?

As he walks away, he throws occasional glances back over his shoulder, watching the foreign northerners for as long as he can before he is out of sight.

Thorvald steps back into the Tower, some of the sea-scent from the ship clinging to him yet. He seems a little surprised to see most everyone right where he left them. A nod is given to the room in general, and Thorvald moves over to stand near Axel and Cyrene.

Turning to Cyrene, his smile gentle but a touch regretful, Demetrius explains as best he can in the harsh, guttural tongue of the Northlanders. Once finished, his gaze shifts to Liolya and studying her intently, and Demetrius murmurs something further.

Axel points toward Thorvald and motions him over with a jerk of his muscular arm. He has had the rules explained to him, they are allowed down to the ship. At the least. He speaks in the Aesir language.

He walks away, toward a group of Hounds. He points to three of them, then a fourth, selecting the brawniest he can find. In the city-tongue. 'You, you, you, you.' Tapping each one's chest. 'Escort, ship.' He gestures toward the Rusalki and himself. Expecting them to follow, he walks toward Thorvald and says something else. Then he rolls his eyes. Safe. What a ridiculous concept.

Cyrene glances at her sister. She is, after all, the elder and pod leader. Her word is final. But Cyrene is also Jhoi. She murmurs a volley of words in the Aesir tongue.

Liolya listens to Demetrius as he speaks, her gaze intent and unyielding. Finally, she glances at Cyrene with a thoughtful expression on her alien features. When she looks up, her gaze goes to Spirit-Whisperer. Her gaze remains steady there as she speaks to Demetrius in the foreign tongue. At least between them and the Rusalki, but no one quite needs to know that.

Well, the problem seems to be sorted out then. Good. Turning to the ... Estrel? Yes, that is the correct title, though what exactly it means eludes Demetrius still. Turning to the Estrel, Demetrius notes, "It would seem that it is indeed essential -- there is, in fact, an entire pod that they must assure. The pod does not know if they are alive or dead. The pod is family, and between them, there is a pact ages older than the one yet to be signed.

"The whales must be seen so that they do not start to search for food and disrupt or accidentally harm any of Haven's fishermen. In fact, to deny them passage down to the herd would be a greater risk to the yet-incomplete treaty than to let them go protected by their Aesir kinsmen and a complement of Hounds. I too," Demetrius adds, "will accompany to ensure their safety." There.

Thorvald watches the goings-on, and sizes up the situation. "She must go," he agrees. "This is her Jhoi, not a choice." He walks to the Hounds Axel has tapped, and Axel himself, obviously intending to go with the group. He asks Axel something in his own language.

Spirit-Whisperer begins to simply laugh. He turns his palms upward, shaking his head. "I swear, I'm going to drive myself insane trying to decipher that cryptic speech." He snorts. "I take it that everyone views the risk as an acceptable one." He tsks at Demetreus. "That's all that was required. It these others are willing to take responsibility, then I'm not one to stop them."

He angles his glare toward Axel, though, and narrows his misty blue eyes, taking a couple of steps forward. Not caring if this man understands him, he adds in a measured tone, "The Hounds do not obey you, foreigner. They have their orders. A detachment will accompany you, however." He nods meaningfully toward the guards.

Cyrene has held her breath up to this point, and it's a wonder she doesn't turn blue. Her tone is clear enough as she makes a reply.

Axel gives Thorvald a clap on the shoulder and points toward the furious little half-Aelfling and offers a comment. He just gives the man a dumb look and a nod, then walks toward Cyrene to offer his arm and a few more words.

The guards can stand around with their thumbs up their behinds for all Axel apparently cares. And he was under the impression those guards doubled as escorts.

Sighing softly, Demetrius inclines his head toward Spirit-Whisperer. Perhaps if he had met all these individuals under different circumstances ... but at least he is gracious enough to laugh over the matter. Turning to the others, Demetrius notes something for their ears alone. Then, smiling broadly he adds a longer comment.

Then, turning to leave, Demetrius inclines his head again, noting 'Vale, then, Dominus -- thank you for your patience. If you're inclined to give learning their language a try, let me know and I'll do what I can to teach you the rudiments.'

Thorvald nods to Spirit-Whisperer. "Thank you for the escorts," he says gruffly. Then, to Axel, he makes another comment in the language of his people. There's a shrug of those massive shoulders as Thorvald prepares to move out, adding one last comment.

Spirit-Whisperer is hardly furious. Any telepath in the room will detect a core of pride in the halfbreed, colored by specks of amusement and only a touch of righteous ire. He reclasps his hands at his waist and steps backwards to allow the group their necessary space. Giving Demetrius a nod, he offers, "Good luck."

Cyrene accepts Axel's arm, obviously relieved beyond words. Spirit-Whisperer is given a wispy smile, but nothing pauses her movement to the door, wings flexing.

As her sister rises, Liolya gives a little nod and then steps back. Hands clasped before her, she makes no move to follow the others towards the exit. Her gaze upon her sister is intent, though, and any Atlantean would know they are communicating. It might be noted there's a bit of water dripping from the edges of her wings into tiny puddles.

Cyrene, Demetrius, Thorvald, and Axel step through the grand entrance of the citadel, along with their escort of Hounds.

FIN  

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