Date: October 13, 1998
Place: Chamber of Stars - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Arslan, Cassius, Dralo, Duayr, Eranthe, Kalypso, Lysander
Scene: Another meeting is conducted by the representative heads of Empyreal government and the Pasha of the Varati. Tempers are raised, arguments voiced, and negotiation attempted--to no avail.

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.

Dralo steps in from the landing.

Kalypso and Lysander step into the chamber from the balcony.

Arslan and Duayr step in from the landing.

The Chamber of Stars earned its name for a reason--with walls of cloudy, translucent stone, an uninterrupted view of the city and heavens is provided. Day or night, the effect is spectacular--even the hardest heart must be moved by such a sight. Perhaps the view might afford some peace to those who are about to meet here.

Standing with his hands folded loosely behind his back, Cassius gazes out over the city, and he watches the entourage of Empyreans descend toward the balcony. He was the first one here, having arrived early.

A clatter of metal announces the entrance of the Varati. Five mail-clad warriors, one recognizable as the Pasha of Haven, with a sixth figure, this one robed, accompanying.

At the clang of metal near the stairway entrance, Cassius turns. A frown flits over his wintry countenance as he watches the Varati warriors file into the chamber. "I thought this was to be a peaceful meeting," he remarks aloud, to no one in particular.

The only mark of the Empyreal Princeps' arrival is the wind which blows in from the balcony from the powerful sweeps of feathered wings. Not more than a minute later, Lysander enters with little fanfare; Kalypso, Dea of House Tritonides at his side. His arms are left to hang, eyes alert and gazing about the room to take in those that are present. To Cassius, he inclines his head, "Deus Augustin." Dralo being next, except he arches an eyebrow, "Dralo Jove?" From the look upon his face, he was not expecting the presence of this one. One would notice he has no guards or other advisors with him.

The Pasha arches a dark eyebrow slightly, commenting dryly, "I can see the Deus of Augustus has not recently brushed up on Varati formalities."

Cassius' gaze is still on the group of Varati who had just entered, so he only gives Lysander a brief nod of acknowledgment. The slight stems more from distraction than rudeness. As the Pasha speaks, his mouth curls in a faint smirk. "I didn't know they had any."

The tapping of his cane would have announced Dralo's presence, long before he would have come into view. As the second to arrive, he has had time to nod greeting to Cassius, and now stands near that person's side to witness other arrivals. Lysander's questionable greeting draws a polite, if distant nod from the elderly man as well. Apparently the climb has relieved him of breath, or perhaps he merely waits for the right moment to speak.

As much as Lysander is tall, Kalypso is not. She follows the Princeps in, wings folding serenely at her back as she notices the warriors. Her eyebrow quirks silently, before she looks up towards the Princeps. Her voice lowers as she murmurs something in his direction.

Lysander raises his hand calmly and regards the Pasha with a neutral gaze, "I see no reason why Pasha Messala cannot retain his 'guards' and 'priest.' This is the Delphic Citadel and none of us would dare use force here." Of this fact he is confident. A quick glance to Cassius, as he looks stern, "Deus Augustin. We are not here to banter and insult. We are here to get to the bottom of this issue. Do you have anymore extraneous comments you'd like to get out of the way before we begin?"

Arslan chuckles softly. Apparently, this all is amusing to him. A quick glance confirms something for him, and he remarks, "I see the Deus Jove does not attend. Perhaps, as it suits the natures of the Aegians present, we should dispense with diplomacy and cut to the meat of the matter."

At Arslan's words, Dralo comes into motion, with a slowness likened to the cranking up of a rusty old engine. "Deus Jove sends his apologies, but is bedridden with a stomach ailment which the healers have not yet successfully treated. I stand in his place, if there is no objection?" His attempt at straightening is quelled by the curve of his back, but the man remains quietly dignified.

Cassius' eyes glint with coldness at Lysander's rebuke. He has the good grace to look uncomfortable, and his feathered wings lift with a mild shrug. "Not at this time, Princeps." His gaze shoots back to Arslan, still glittering with dislike.

Lysander clears his throat very softly, nodding to Kalypso with a stoic gesture, "This pleases me more than I can express in words." Turning his eyes once again toward Dralo Jove, he manages a smile, "There was no disrespect meant in my words, Dominus. I share the same concerns as Pasha Messala. If he is ill, then I send him the best wishes for a speedy recovery." Anyone can tell that is probably forced, "However, such are matters to discuss at another time. Let us get right to the crux of this matter. Perhaps someone can inform me what was discussed and agreed upon at the last gathering of our peoples?"

Lysander's eyes take in Kalypso and Cassius for a moment, then flick towards Arslan.

"At the last gathering," Cassius cuts in abruptly, yet low-voiced, "We thought you dead. Our previous meeting did not... end well." His gaze is on Arslan the entire time.

Arslan chuckles again. "War, Princeps, though your vaunted Aegians could not be bothered to declare it. Instead, another foul attack was levied upon Varati lands." The Pasha smiles coldly. "They do your style of diplomacy proud, Princeps."

"Attack?" comes Cassius' razor-edged retort. "It had more the appearance of a rescue, to me. Given that your people would not relinquish their 'prisoners,' and had even denied any knowledge of their whereabouts."

Dralo shifts quietly, the hand not holding the cane remaining hidden within the folds of his robe. His neutral gaze flicks accordingly between those present as cold insults begin to fly.

Duayr flicks some expression near a smile at Arslan's words, but keeps to himself. His hands are folded behind his back, out of the way.

Kalypso's eyebrow quirks towards Cassius quickly. Perhaps it's best she not be the one to . . . describe the meeting, but it appears she may have to. Her voice is soft, directed towards the one person that might listen, the Princeps. "Deus Jove tried to spread wisdom, but as you can see, Princeps..." Her gaze is pointed as she looks between Arslan and Cassius, "It was not well-received."

Lysander shifts his stance and levels his gaze upon Arslan with a neutrality that shows not a flinch, nor a break in his otherwise utterly confident veneer, "There is no need for subtle insult and clever double-speak, Pasha. I asked to be apprised of the situation, not to open this forum to such speech." His tone is enough that it would take anyone arguing by surprise, "Now, anyone can see I am not dead. I am quite alive. Also, being as I was the one who ordered that 'attack' and fought in that battle, I believe I can answer any and all questions the Varati may have on that matter." Motioning towards Arslan, he cracks a smile, "Pasha?"

Cassius relents for the moment, settling back into frosty silence. His wings shift every now and then, hinting at an agitation that is not displayed in his demeanor. With his pale eyes still fixed on Arslan, primarily, and his Varati cohorts, he watches and listens; only looking toward Lysander once the Pasha has finished his statement.

Arslan shakes his head slightly. "There are no questions, Princeps. Whatever the Warlord Kedhav may have done is of less concern than that you led an unwarranted attack upon Varati lands, in which the Warlord was killed." The Pasha folds his arms behind his back, retaining that cold smile. "By foregoing Varati justice, you have left no choice for the Atesh-Gah and Haven then to demand recompense for your foul attacks upon our lands."

"Dead by my hand, Pasha," Lysander explains. "Your Warlord, Adham Kedhav, died beneath the blade of my gladius, his head severed from his shoulders. He died honorably in combat with me and no other." A pause as his hands slide behind his back, wings pressing tighter. "This 'attack,' as you call it, was hardly unwarranted, as it was proven that he had indeed captured one of our noblewomen--Domina Eranthe Augustin. I pulled her from the wreckage of that burning tent. As for the 'attack'..." his voice carries a bit as it echoes, "Those Guards were ordered to distract Kedhav's Bronze Guard. Mine own eyes saw arrows loosed from their ranks far before our own soldiers returned. Many of our own Praetorians died because they refused to return fire until such time as they had no choice."

Dralo remains near Cassius throughout the conversation, his head nodding every so often as if to punctuate his agreement with certain words. As he has had no part in matters up 'til now, his stance is of the teacher, observing his students upon the playground from a distance.

Arslan arches an eyebrow slightly. "Few are the Varati that survived the attack, Princeps. You have no honor to stand upon, for me to accept your words as the truth." The Pasha shrugs slightly. "Nonetheless," he continues quickly, before interruption can be said, "it still remains that you have bypassed Varati justice. Were your words true, and you could have shown them to be, I would have slain Adham Kedhav myself. As it stands, you have already brought war upon yourself with your attack, no matter the cause." The Pasha's eyes narrow as he looks at Cassius briefly. "The actions of a single Warlord cannot be placed on the heads of his men."

Lysander chuckles at Arslan's words, his manner alone seems to place him in that upper class that other's voices seek to convey, "By starting a War over this, and forcing the issue of 'honor' and 'justice,' you are placing the actions of a single Warlord upon the head of his men, and all of your people." His hands slide from behind his back, "You call me honorless, and yes, my words may be a lie. However, I have brought someone with me who would like to say a few words on this." Glancing towards Kalypso, he gestures towards the balcony, "Will you get her, Dea Tritonides?"

Cassius pivots, gazing at the balcony that Lysander had just indicated, some measure of curiosity replacing the icy anger in his eyes.

Kalypso smiles towards Lysander, a brief nod of her head before she whirls, heading for the balcony.

Kalypso steps out onto the balcony overlooking the city.

Duayr's eyes raise toward the archway . . . curious now.

The Pasha as well turns towards the balcony, his face only mildly curious.

Lysander waits calmly, his hands still in place. Turning back towards the others who are gathered, he waits patiently for his 'surprise' to arrive.

Dralo resists the urge to look toward the balcony as all the others do, instead turning his attention to the various faces in the room, studying expressions with the care that years have brought him. He is calm patience itself, even as his eyes turn to the Princeps, giving his countenance especial consideration.

Eranthe and Kalypso step into the chamber from the balcony.

Kalypso enters just behind Eranthe, a warm smile on her face for the slightly older girl.

"Cousin," Cassius murmurs in surprise, taking an unwitting step toward the pair as they enter. He hesitates, then glances at Lysander with vague disapproval. It is superseded by his former anger as he shoots a look toward the Varati--as if he half-expects them to attack the Augustin maiden even here within the Delphic Citadel.

Eranthe steps into the room, much as a deer would enter a meadow. The wolves could be lying in wait anywhere, waiting to pull her down and rip her to shreds. Her wings are spread a bit, shifting with nervousness, and she peers at all present. Especially the big, scary-looking Varati. Gulp. She had it all lined up in her head, everything she wished to say. However, now, her thoughts just go blank. Her attention is pulled off the warlord as her cousin's voice filters into her consciousness, the girl looking to the Augustin patriarch with an unsteady smile.

The Pasha merely raises an eyebrow, while the Messala guards behind him remain as metal-draped stone statues, much as is stereotyped of the Varati as a whole.

From behind Lysander, Kalypso and Eranthe stride in. The look from Cassius does not seem to affect him in the slightest, nor does his gaze waver from Arslan, "Pasha Messala, allow me to present the Domina Eranthe Augustin." Turning to face the pair halfway, he gestures to her (Eranthe) with an extended palm, "I know that it is better to 'show' than it is to 'tell.'" A wry smile comes to his lips. "Domina Augustin. I was hoping you could shed some light on the subject of your capture by the Warlord Adham Kedhav. Relate for us some details. It seems as if Pasha Messala here does not believe you were indeed that Varati's prisoner."

Arslan snaps, before the young Empyrean can speak, "What relationship do you have with the Princeps, Imphada?"

Cassius, in a voice equally as sharp as the Pasha's, cuts in, "What bearing does that possibly have on the matter? She was kidnapped and held prisoner."

Lysander echoes Cassius, "I would agree with Deus Augustin, Pasha. It matters very little what her station is in our society, or her relations. We are all family."

Dralo steps forward along with Cassius, his cane bearing hand going to rest upon that younger man's arm in a firm, yet gentle move. Eranthe's fright is obvious and Arslan's snapped words bring a frown to wrinkle his brow further. "Let the girl speak," is pronounced firmly, the voice echoing Deus Augustin's words.

The tip of Eranthe's tongue makes an appearance as the girl quickly licks her lips and her pale-blue gaze flits over to Lysander as he speaks up. When he extends his hand, she carefully walks over to him, standing close as her attention shifts back to the Varati. If she were wearing boots, she'd be quaking in them. Drawing a slow breath, she makes to speak, and then Arslan cuts in. Then Cassius. Then Lysander. Then Dralo. A faint frown dots her expression and she shakes her head. "Quiet. All of you."

The Pasha will not be silenced. He looks towards Eranthe's demand and scowls. "Say what you will, but begin by explaining why the Princeps would risk war to rescue you."

Cassius subsides at Lysander's and Dralo's insistence, but his look of icy malevolence does not. Where before he'd merely been irritated--perhaps resentful--his dislike has burgeoned into something more palpable. And it is all focused on the Varati Pasha.

Kalypso grins. Broadly. Girl's got moxy, she does. She remains by the doors to the balcony, as her arms cross in front of her, content to merely watch, and listen.

Well, that put him in his place. Lysander arches an eyebrow at Eranthe and quiets--hell hath no fury like a woman . . . period.

Watery, pale-blue eyes fixate upon Arslan for a moment before Dralo inexplicably releases a short, coughing laugh. Quiet words are murmured for Cassius' ears alone, and then the old man stills once more, giving the Domina his respectful attention and a look of compassionate sympathy.

Dralo whispers "That young one reminds me of you. Before age mellowed you . . . "

Eranthe doesn't feel like she has moxy. No, she feels as if she wants to crawl under a heavy blanket and pretend none of this horrid mess ever happened. Her voice is quiet, almost meek, although it is tinged with something resembling . . . strength? Conviction? She breaks from Lysander's side and curtsies slightly to Arslan. "I have come here to speak nothing but the truth. I wish for these hostilities to be quelled and war to be averted. I will do whatever is within my power to facilitate this." She pauses to gather her courage a bit before continuing. "Deus..." She has no idea how the heck to address Arslan, so the highest title of Empyrean nobility is applied. "...the answer to your first question is that I am just recently engaged to the Princeps." Polite as can be.

Cassius' wintry gaze shifts to Dralo, but no answering amusement spring to his features. He remains impassive and cold, though he does give Eranthe a speculative glance, which grows more pronounced as he listens to his cousin's words.

Lysander remains in his position, letting Eranthe speak as she will, his body utterly rigid. He does not look at her--rather his grey, clouded eyes look at Arslan with that same calm reflection that bears an aura of vast age or experience. It is clear that his trust in Eranthe's ability to speak the truth is great. No hint of worry crosses his brow.

The Pasha answers with a nod. "Whereas most Varati might not understand, I can understand the Princeps' need." Arslan turns to Lysander slightly. "And though I never doubted the validity of your words, and merely humor you to hear them from her mouth, the matter still stands that you took the wrong path to amend the wrongs."

"If he had delayed," Cassius interjects through clenched teeth, "my cousin might not be standing here with us today. The gods only know what your kind might have done to her."

Lysander nods to Arslan, then glances firmly at Cassius. This time he uses the Augustin's first name, "Cassius." That can't be a good thing.

Arslan turns quickly to Cassius, scowling, but bites back a retort. Visibly cooling, the Pasha returns his gaze to Lysander. "The Deus Augustus knows nothing of diplomacy, Princeps, whereas I can understand your slip. Perhaps it was foolish to invite him to this meeting, for the man's tongue knows no check."

Dralo reaches for Cassius' arm once again, all humor gone in favor of calm firmness. He murmurs once again, shooting a glance in Arslan's direction as he speaks.

Cassius' silvery wings are quivering with suppressed anger, and he shoots an Arctic glance toward Lysander; then, just as quickly, Arslan. "I only speak the truth, Pasha. You said so yourself that you cannot account for the actions of one warlord. Thus, you cannot have guaranteed her safety had we delayed."

Eranthe glances back, sweeping her eyes over the collected Empyreans. That slight frown finds her lips again when Cassius speaks up, her expression reflected within her eyes. "There can be no resolution if we are only set upon casting insults and accusations at one another," she says quietly to her cousin. Boy, she's probably going to be in big, huge, heaping trouble from talking to him as such, but this is too important to worry about her insecurities. "Please?"

Dralo whispers "That was not meant as flattery, youngster. Would you have this meeting disintegrate into petty violence?"

"Carry on, cousin," Cassius replies to Eranthe, though his gaze has not yet left Arslan. His tones are pitched low, and threaded with anger, but he manages to maintain some veneer of civility. "I have only your best interests in mind."

It is clear how Lysander got his position as the leader of the Aegis. Clearly, this entire position is something of a concern for him. After all, his beloved betrothed was captured and apparently held as a slave, yet he expresses none of these emotions. So great is his dedication to the ideals of the Empyre and its well-being, "Enough." He speaks to Cassius, most directly. "Let Eranthe finish speaking. We have all agreed on that. If anyone wishes to continue to interrupt and be counter-productive, they can gladly leave this assembly and forego their say in this matter." As the Head of the Aegis, he's used to debating with overgrown children on matters such as these.

Eranthe swallows and nods, slowly turning back to face Arslan. Her hands are buried in the folds of her chimere, fingers clutching the material at her sides. She gazes at the imposing warlord as if, at any moment, he might leap across the distance between them and cut her down. "It serves no purpose to stand here shaking fingers at one another, trying to assign blame. Your people were wrong to shoot me down from the sky. To take me against my will. To hold me for ransom or to sell at market. We were wrong to counter with such force. To attack with many on the behalf of one person. We all share part of the blame." Pulling in her lip, she gives it a chew, her white wings stretching anxiously. "It would be needless for more people to die--for more of our sons and daughters to fall. More blood will not remedy the mistakes which have been made." There. Phew. Can she go home now?

Lysander does not speak right away, rather letting the Pasha and Cassius have their say--as well as anyone else who has words. As readily as he is willing to retort the Deus of House Augustin or anyone else, he is willing to remain silent and allow the debate to continue. After all, the men did have valid points which should be addressed in this forum. Since Eranthe has begun to speak, the Princeps has sensed the uneasiness in her, and gestures to Kalypso to help her back and away from the 'debate' that will follow.

The Pasha frowns slightly. "The Warlord was far from Haven, already within Varati holdings. What were you doing where he could capture you to begin with, Imphada?"

Cassius, for once, doesn't have anything to say. At least not yet. He folds his arms across his chest as his pale gaze darts from Arslan to his cousin.

Duayr wets his lips and glances about the room. Without any word he turns and slips out the door in silence.

Duayr steps through the door and returns to the landing.

Kalypso arches an eyebrow at Lysander, but does not move from her 'post.'

Eranthe's eyebrows knit faintly, color springing up in her cheeks. How does she answer that? The truth is kind of . . . personal. And embarrassing. She clears her throat and shakes her head. "I was fleeing blindly from Haven like a scared child." The rosy hue in her complexion shifts to a deeper red, her eyes shifting to the ground for a moment. Only a moment. "I posed no threat which, if not evident from above, was clear the moment they dragged me from the forest. I was alone and unarmed. I . . . asked for help but none was forthcoming."

The weight of Dralo's hand falls from Cassius' arm, to allow the elderly man to lean heavily on his cane. The journey to the Citadel, the climb up the tower, and now standing while the discussion continues have all taken a toll on him, physically. His eyes remain bright, however, taking note of the departing Varati with a slightly raised eyebrow before returning to focus on Eranthe. That Dea Kalypso hangs back, and is motioned to in a manner more fitting a servant is noted as well, though not obviously.

"Perhaps your people mistook her for a warrior," Cassius remarks caustically as he eyes Arslan. "Or can you think of another reason why they might shoot her chariot from the sky and take her into their custody?"

The Pasha does not even look Cassius' way, though his gaze falls briefly upon Dralo. He then returns his gaze to Lysander. "Can not a seat be found for the elder Imphadi, Princeps? Surely it is passing cruel to make him stand this entire time."

Eranthe frowns and looks back at her cousin, too displeased to be intimidated of him. "Will you stop it?!" she cuts, her soft voice laced with anger. Hands ball up at her sides, knuckles going pure-white as she twists the silks of her chimere within her grasp. "We stand on the edge of a war and all you can think to do is strike low-blows which do nothing aside from aggravate the situation?"

Lysander turns more completely towards Kalypso and completes his request for assistance, "Dea Tritonides, will you please tend to Domina Augustin?" A hand rests on his intended's shoulder and seeks to guide the agitated noblewoman into more 'calm' hands and away from the seat of this discussion. "Please." He asks almost pleadingly, despite his face's rather austere appearance.

Arslan scowls slightly. "You need fear nothing of me and my men, Princeps. I am a man of greater honor than Adham Kedhav, and I seek not slaves from the lesser races." The Varati Pasha takes a few steps back, towards the exit. "Nothing can be accomplished, speaking with Empyreans. You will continue to insist upon your innocence, and yet you have scorned Varati law."

A brief smile is directed towards Lysander as Kalypso straightens her spine, stepping forward. "Of course, Princeps." After all, it is Kalypso's dream to become a nursemaid. Her eyes slant towards Arslan, "And what have you done for Empyreal law, Imphadi?"

Cassius actually looks surprised at Eranthe's exclamation. His lips curl down at the corners. "You were not the one who had to write to your cousins and notify them that their daughter was dead--after you'd promised to see to her safety," he replies stiffly. "Or the one who had to tell your niece that her father was dead." This is said with a sharp glance toward Lysander. "Perhaps I speak hastily, and do not phrase my words as diplomatically as I could..." his lips curl back from his teeth in a grimace, "but under the circumstances, I find it amazing that we stand here 'discussing' this at all. As if there were really a question about where the fault lies."

Lysander takes each thing in stride as he looks to Dralo. "Certainly, Pasha." His eyes begin the search for one who can attend a chair for the Jovian advisor. Despite Arslan's rather loud proclamations, he attends to things in order, getting Eranthe out of this growing debate. The Empyre could be falling apart and he calls for one of the attendants at the Citadel, "Can we have a chair for Dominus Jove?" A gesture towards the elder Empyrean, before he turns his gaze on the rest.

Apparently Dralo had released his tenuous grip on Cassius too soon, not that his earlier admonishments seem to have done much good. With a faintly grumbled sigh, he begins to speak, but is overridden as words flare from all directions. With a shake of his head in negation for the offered chair, he allows a smile to fall in the natural wrinkles of his face. "It would seem that the Varati and the Empyre can at least agree on some things. Perhaps this is a sign for future hope." His look includes Arslan and Lysander, deliberately ignoring the hothead at his side.

"Now." Lysander shifts his eyes back towards Arslan and Cassius--because they are the loudest. "We can sit here and debate this for the rest of our time here. Tempers will rise, and Pasha Messala will most likely stalk off." A pause, "Or, we can proceed in a logical fashion that makes all here feel as if they have had a say, and then allow for a common decision to be reached." He waits for dissenting voices, "I shall speak. Then Pasha Messala. Then the heads of the Houses as respective. Can you all agree to this?"

Kalypso smiles towards Eranthe, her eyes warm once more. "You know, domina.. I know of this great spot to visit . . . s'more . . . peaceful, than this place." Her face is quite sincere. It's been said Kalypso's got quite an extensive grasp of some of Haven's... finer resting spots.

One of the attendants arrives with a chair for Dralo. The Delphic novice sets it down behind him and then moves off at a speed as to not interrupt the meeting.

"And you wish more of the same? You desire to write more letters and pass along more regrets?" Eranthe shoots back at Cassius. Tomorrow, she will be mortified that she spoke such... passionate words to him. Now? She is only desperate to stop the course the recent events has set everyone upon. She shakes her head a bit, stepping back as Kalypso moves closer. She looks as if she has more to say but then, thankfully, Lysander pipes up and her words are subdued.

Dralo disdains the chair, motioning the young boy to place it nearer the distraught Augustin noblewoman before he rushes off.

"I do not want to wait helplessly for it to happen again," Cassius replies sharply to Eranthe, but Lysander's request soon filters in past his anger, and the Augustin patriarch nods curtly to the Princeps. "As you wish," he states tersely.

Lysander nods to Cassius and waits for the others to respond. Kalypso. Arslan. Dralo.

Arslan snaps a hand upwards, palm out towards Cassius. "I will hear nothing more from Deus Augustus, Princeps. Were this my court, he would be many times over strung up by his entrails for his words."

Cassius' comment is low, barely more than a mutter. "That explains something of Varati politics."

Dralo nods mildly to Lysander. "This sounds reasonable, Princeps, though I admittedly stand here mostly to observe and report back to the Deus." The verbal sparring of Arslan and Cassius fall on deaf ears, where he is concerned.

Kalypso shakes her head slowly, a gently patting Eranthe awkwardly on the hand. She's seventeen. She's not supposed to know how to nurture. But her griffins like to be patted. "And they'll not listen... of wisdom... else worthwhile.... they care... each ... each..."

Lysander inclines his head towards Arslan, "I can understand your trepidation. However, I ask that you merely allow him to speak based on the following:" He gestures toward Cassius, "Deus Augustin. Can you give me your assurances that you shall speak for the whole of your House and family? That any words you speak shall be weighed upon not your own personal honor, but that of your ancestors and those you have sworn to protect? That you will speak in the interests of Empyre, and lay aside your other feelings?"

Eranthe ker-plunks down into the chair that suddenly appears near her, the girl unaware that she is robbing the aged Empyrean of his seat. Her mouth is set in a thinly pressed line, frustration--among other things--playing across her features. As Kalypso takes her hand, gives it a reassuring pat, she looks up and listens to the matriarch's words. A slow nod is her response. Nod, nod, nod . . . how very true.

Dralo arches a grizzled brow at Lysander's choice of words to Cassius, and is forced to ask, his tones still mild. "And do you do the same, Princeps? Are your words your own, or those of your House, this eve?"

Arslan chuckles softly to himself. "I see diplomacy runs in the family, Imphadi Jove."

"I assure you, Princeps," Cassius begins acidly, "I have the best interests of the Empyre in mind. An Empyre which cannot allow weakness. An Empyre which still holds the ideals and traditions it has known for centuries. An Empyre that would never stand for the brutal mistreatment of one of its own; especially at the hands of its ancient enemies. That is the Empyre for whom I speak, Princeps." He stares at Lysander, resolute and cold. "Which is the one you represent?"

Kalypso smiles down at Eranthe, still just pat-patting the girl's hand. That's comforting, right? Her ears remain tuned to the conversation, but her eyes remain on Eranthe. She is a touch concerned for the girl, after all.

Dralo does not look to Arslan as he awaits an answer from Lysander. Though he and Cassius may appear on the same side of the fence in this questioning, the elderly Jovian remains placidly calm beside the icy fire of the Augustin. His query bears no malice, but a desire to have the standing of all 'on the record.'

Lysander smiles a bit, "Good question, who do I represent?" He turns to face Dralo and Cassius, and Kalypso, and then Arslan Messala lastly. "I have pondered this for many a day, thinking over who is exactly responsible for these actions." He seems calm and confident as he begins to pace forward and pauses. Clearly, he has more.

One silvery brow cocks upward as Cassius regards the Princeps and waits for him to expand on his statement.

The question is, when doesn't Lysander have more? Kalypso keeps her quiet post at Eranthe's side. She'll not speak unless she's asked too, too well-used to the dreadful habit of being completely overlooked.

Eranthe has just sort of been sitting quietly, her mind only half-aware of Kalypso pat-pat-patting. But when Lysander speaks, when he strides forward, she snaps to attention. Pale-blue eyes go wide and her complexion pales, shifting her hand about to clutch the Dea's.

The Pasha is quiet. Apparently, Varati do not always have to be the loudest in a room.

Dralo leans more heavily upon his cane, but otherwise remains silent and still.

"As an Aegian, and the leader of that body, I am expected to tend to the best interests of the Empyre. As a leader of my House, I am expected to tend to their needs as well," Lysander intones very lowly, his eyes flitting about once again. "Yet, the more I thought, the more I believed that I acted in the best interests of none of those. There was no gain for us attacking the camp of Arslan Messala--except for one thing. Her." He points towards Eranthe. "Call it love? Call it a sense of duty? Call it passion." Then a finger rests upon his chest, "You want to place the blame somewhere, Arslan Messala. I accept the blood of your warriors on my hands. My qualm with Adham Kedhav and his people is ended. I have bled and suffered enough. What lies in your hands is to determine if two men's dispute is worth a world of death and war. That will be on your shoulders, not mine."

And as Lysander leaves the decision up to the Pasha, it is there that Cassius' gaze strays, the thoughts behind his now-composed countenance a mystery to any but himself.

Lysander's words have particular interest to Dralo, giving the recent strife between their houses, and so the man almost visibly stores them away to be examined another time for weaknesses. For now, the issue at hand is the Varati, however, and it is to their representative that his attention goes as well.

Arslan shrugs slightly. "It is not mine to decide. Khalid Atar, in his infinite wisdom, has deemed for me to be harsh with the Empyreans. The death of a Warlord is not something taken lightly." The Pasha glances slightly at Cassius, then focuses upon the Princeps once more. "Compensation will be made for his death. If not by the Empyre, then by your House, Princeps." The Pasha smiles slightly. "Were it my decision, I would allow Fath Kedhav to destroy or forgive you as he pleased. As it is not, I must demand you pay for your rash actions. And next time to remember that it is honor that sits upon Varati thrones, and not evil," another glance at Cassius, "as some might think."

Kalypso glances down at Eranthe, perhaps surprise on her features at the grip the young Augustin appears to have. She glances up, again, her voice soft. "What d'you demand as payment, Imphadi?"

Lysander appeared about to speak, yet as the young Kalypso does so, he holds his words.

Arslan smiles once more. "As stated many times before. Eight thousand in recompense. As I hardly think it is within the power of the Princeps' house to grant the land demanded, that shall have to do."

Dralo shifts in surprise at Arslan's words. For the first time, his non-cane bearing hand comes forth, revealing a mailed gauntlet therein. He looks questioningly at the armor and then toward the Varati. Money? This will salve the much-vaunted Varati honor?

Kalypso blinks slowly, a glance down towards Eranthe again. It appears that honor can be bought, then, and, by the same reasoning, sold.

Eranthe watches quietly, her eyes slowly shifting between Lysander and Arslan. Her attention is for little else, although she keeps a firm hold on Kalypso's hand.

Cassius can't seem to help himself. "They kidnap a defenseless young woman, slaughter scores of Empyreal soldiers, and almost kill the head of our government. And we are expected to pay them for it?" he grinds out, shaking his head. "Madness," he utters quietly; but he doesn't seem to care now whether anyone pays him any heed or not.

Lysander seems to smile a bit, yet his face is more bitter now than before, "And how will the Varati repay the damages that have been done to me? Those I love stolen and placed in a camp? The blood of Adham Kedhav--is that worth eight thousand? Can the honor of your people be purchased for a handful of coins?" He raises a hand to Cassius and seeks the answer to his question, alone.

A bit of a pause is allowed, to let the first statement sink. Then comes the hard part. "In addition," the Pasha adds. "Since it seems no longer has the Princeps died in his foul assault, we must ask for a written apology from him, sent to every governmental head, for his attack." And it gets worse. "Moreover, a life always calls for a life. Princeps, you are asked to lay your life in the hands of Khalid Atar, for Him to do with you as He may see fit."

"That is an outrage!" Cassius exclaims immediately. "Princeps, surely you will not stand here and listen to the demands of a raving madman?"

Dralo has stepped forward, and is on the verge of urging the Pasha's offer be accepted and have done with it. Even he must pause at the completion of Arslan's words, however--a look of faint disappointment crossing his features. "Why not ask for the keys to the gates of Civitas Dei while you voice your pipe dreams," he says in quiet counterpoint to Cassius' shout.

Kalypso's still serene, complacent, pat-patting Eranthe's hand with such vigor that she's threatening to remove a few layers of skin. But she says nothing.

Arslan smiles slightly at Dralo. "'Twas not Civitas Dei that slew a Warlord of the Amir-al, Imphadi."

Eranthe doesn't say anything; doesn't do anything. No distraught cries or fainting spells. The girl simply hangs her head, shoulders slumping forward as her elegant wings droop. Her hand remains in Kalypso but it's questionable whether the other woman's patting offers her any comfort at this point.

For the longest time, Lysander stands there, his face looking calm, but pensive. He lets these thoughts sink in very carefully before he speaks. "Arslan Messala, I will not buy your Empire's honor back with all the money in the world. It has been paid for in a debt of blood, and that is a currency which transcends the most valuable of gems. Like you, I have honor, and I uphold my decision, even if it meant to stand against the whole of your people with only a single gladius in my hand." A pause as he looks to the other Empyreans, "Yet, I cannot help but feel that the others here may not agree with me. They feel my actions unjust or too rash. Here arrayed before me are the representatives of the Great Houses. I stand to be judged by my peers." He looks suddenly back to Arslan, "I am sorry I cannot repay the loss of your Warlord. His death bought the freedom of my beloved. Of a citizen of the Empyre." Reaching inside his toga, he takes out a bag of coins and throws it on the floor, "Here is your honor, Varati." He turns to leave, "I ask those who may judge to join me if they feel justified. If they believe in what has been spoken here."

The Pasha doesn't even flinch when the bag is thrown. "If you answer not for your crimes, Princeps, you declare war upon the Varati." Arslan turns away. "You have the power of your race to do so. So be it, Princeps. This falls now to war. May Khalid have mercy upon your souls."

It appears as if Kalypso can no longer take bearing silence, such is the shout of the girl that fairly rings in the small chamber. "Stop!"

The iciness in Cassius' gaze is kindled by a flame of triumph--as if this is somehow what he wanted all along. Even Kalypso's shout cannot dispel it, though he does at least turn his regard upon the Dea; only to say, "I believe it is too late, Tritonides. War has been declared."

There is a voice in that young frame. Like a teacher observing a fledgling pupil, Dralo looks to Kalypso. "Do you fear the girl's words, Deus Augustin? I still see all before us. Let her speak." It is much the same tone he used earlier, in reference to Eranthe.

Lysander has indeed paused, for Kalypso has drawn his attention. His words have already been spoken, his conditions stated. It is a moral battle--a question for each Empyrean to decide on his own. When do you draw the line? His steps were with clear intent to leave, yet this last-minute ditch for peace can be heard.

"I only fear that it is a waste of breath," Cassius responds evenly. "But if she wishes to speak, so be it." He waves a hand at Kalypso, as if gesturing her to continue.

Arslan turns around slowly, glaring at Cassius. "Give me the Deus Augustus in your stead, Princeps. Surely he would not be missed."

Cassius doesn't deign that with a response, but if looks could kill...

"Deus Augustin has a softer side, Pasha. It is a shame you will never get to see it. He has a fine sense of humor." Even in the most dire of moments, Lysander doesn't take this personally. He is doing his job. He is doing what has been done countless times by his ancestors. This scene is nothing novel.

"I hardly feel that you need defend my honor to this barbarian, Princeps," Cassius says as graciously as he can manage--which isn't very. He glances toward Kalypso again, awaiting her words.

Kalypso shakes her head, golden tendrils flying as she casts an icy gaze of her own right back at the Deus of House Augustus. She turns to the Varati, her voice loud and clear. "You demand payment for your honor, Imphadi? And you ask for coin? How I was raised, honor was not something you paid coin for." She turns, a glance spared towards Lysander, "And perhaps I misunderstand this," She turns back towards Arslan at this, "But is a duel frowned upon by your God? For I've heard oft of them, but never that the conqueror of such a duel must repay the life of the vanquished by sacrificing his own." She shakes her head, "Nay, I've not heard of that, before."

Eranthe sits in quiet observation, lifting her chin enough to that her eyes may find Kalypso. Helplessness has a firm hold on her expression, although there is a glimmer of hope as the Dea speaks. Maybe . . . there is a chance.

A smile begins to trace the wrinkles of Dralo's face once more. "The young Dea (heck, you're all young compared to him) brings up a point. Was that between the Princeps and the Varati warlord such that could be considered a duel? Has the contest of honor already been fought and decided?"

Arslan scowls at the Empyreal woman. "Ah, you know so much, but so little, Imphada." The Pasha holds up a fist, and starts to extend fingers from it. "Firstly, the Princeps' challenge was not formally issued. It is tantamount to assassination, then." Another finger. "Secondly, the 'duel' was not conducted honorably, but under circumstances specifically of the Princeps' choosing." Another finger. "Thirdly, the matter was never brought to the leadership of the Varati, meaning the Amir-al or the Pasha in his stead. A challenge against a Warlord may not be made unapproved without beginning a war." Another finger. "Fourthly, the con buys not honor, but life for the Warlord upon his return." The Pasha's hand shoots down, and he turns away once more... this time for good. "You Empyreans believe you may understand Varati, but none try. And, as we have before, we shall pull you down from your skies and crush you, as you have proven once again to be without honor. Let it be war, and may Khalid protect the innocent."

Kalypso shakes her head, as she steps forward again. "So then he'll be protecting the women and children in the southern mountains?"

"Yes..." Cassius all but hisses at Arslan's retreating back, "we will see if your precious god-king can protect anyone at all, after we are through with you."

Kalypso slants a frown towards Cassius. If she had a gag... Her eyes move back to the Varati Warlord. "For you say we have no honor, Imphadi? Yet you do not even give regards to the innocents that will be killed in this war." She shakes her head, turning away. "I may be young, but even I know that it is not only my friends and family, but yours as well, Pasha."

Lysander's face settles out as he watches Kalypso and Dralo attempt to sway the Varati leader from his appointed task. "One cannot change what is already decided, cousins." He merely shakes his head and walks towards Eranthe at a slow pace. Long ago, he decided something and that was only confirmed here today. "Come, Domina." He uses the Augustin noblewoman's title, "Let us return." A glance is cast at Cassius, and then back to his target. The Princeps, known for his legendary talents at politics has given up. That is something to note. He has tried.

Disappointment cloaks Dralo's frame as the contestants turn away once again. He is a scholar first, the study of politics being his field rather than the actual practice. Debate is the way to all solutions, from his perspective, and for this to end in such a manner... He sighs and shakes his head ruefully. There will be much to report before he can seek his bed.

Eranthe does not look angry any longer, sadness being the only emotion sitting upon the broken altar of her visage. Her quiet eyes move from face to face, searching them each for a solution which she knows she will not find. Her attention falls lastly upon Lysander, the girl watching him for a lingering moment before sweeping up to her feet. So. War it is. She seems defeated. And utterly heart-broken.

"Then it is done," Cassius intones gravely; though some glint of triumph still lingers in his eyes. Of everyone here, he may be the only one satisfied with the outcome. "The declaration has been made. War it is." He turns away with a stiff rustle of his wings. "Nothing more need be said."

Nothing more shall be said by the Varati. The Pasha is left, and his guards make their way through the doorway as Cassius speaks. Arslan steps through the door and returns to the landing.

Kalypso shakes her head, as she moves towards the balcony. "This is not done." Her words are solemn, her departure quick. She steps out onto the balcony overlooking the city.

With Eranthe, Lysander proceeds towards the exit to the balcony. Clearly, Cassius has chosen his side. What yet remains is if the other Houses will fall in line, or not. He has given them this much choice--to join or stand down.

Dralo will not speak for his House this night, that much is clear. His job is to listen, and report back to his ill Patriarch. He looks with longing toward the balcony, and then turns to the stairs, his cane tapping slowly on the stone floor.

Eranthe moves along with Lysander, her arm tucked in his. Silent. Solemn.

Lysander holds Eranthe to him comfortingly as he goes. He does not seem defeated, merely resolved to those words he spoke. His head held high and proud.

Lysander and Eranthe step out onto the balcony overlooking the city.

Cassius had started toward the balcony, but he pauses as the tapping of Dralo's cane reaches his ears. "Do you need assistance, dominus?" he asks of the elderly Empyrean.

Dralo pauses to regard Cassius for a long moment, his pale eyes taking on a touch of hardness which has not shown previously. "Nay, Deus. I manage to get around just fine. Would you mind a bit of advice from an old man?" He stands, stiffly, proud.

"You will probably tell me I am foolish--a warmonger; that I have overlooked the Empyre's best interests in favor of my own," Cassius returns in a quiet tone--at odds with the more strident ones he'd used earlier. "I do not want to see the Empyre fall into decay; to see it grow soft and weak, and ripe for defeat. We must stand strong, dominus. Surely you can see that?"

Dralo shakes his head, face falling easily into the lines of a smile. "Nay Deus," he says once again. "You can be all those things and more, as you choose. I think none of us here tonight wished to be seen as weak. But that's exactly my point, boy." The old man goes so far as to pat Cassius on the shoulder. "Showing your hotheadedness off like a new toga in front of that young Pasha does not make you appear strong. It puts you on his level. You might keep that in mind, next you duel words with someone."

Surprisingly, Cassius smiles--albeit a thin one. "Point taken, dominus. I fear I was quite... overcome. I shall endeavor to keep a better rein on my temper in the future."

Pat-pat-pat. The smile widens on Dralo's face. Perhaps some lesson was learned here tonight after all. "There's a good lad. A good eve to you, now." That said, he resumes his slow pace toward the exit used by the ground-bound.

Cassius watches the elderly Empyrean make his slow, careful way from the chamber. Then, as he did when he first came to the pinnacle of the tower, he turns and gazes out over the city, its lights spreading like spilled jewels into the darkness. His thoughts, as ever, are his own.

FIN  

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