View source for Mercantile Obligation (Porocora DM)

Title: Mercantile Obligation
Players:Katja, Ashlynn, Albain, Fiona
Summary:A pair of merchants vie for the services of mercenaries to resolve their dispute. What caused it?

-- Log --

He's way out of his depth. A young man, a minor official among the guards has made contact with the guild, which sent you all along to a place on the far side of the docks. He's wringing his hands already as he meets his 'adventurers made to order',"Okay. So... listen... We're looking at possible war here if you guys don't act fast. Nobody's whipped out their weapons or anything, but they HAVE holed up in their compound. An Elvish merchanter Clan, Aerimae, has drawn lines in the sand and their crying for the blood of the Orcish Roaming Death Clan... Needless to say, if this spills over into the streets, it could be bad... I need you to bring Aerimae's matriarch, Saerina to us for negotiations to end this before it starts!" He makes a flipping motion with his hands, and holds out some papers,"Directions to their compound. Um... we don't usually hire adventurers for this sort of thing, but we're not really equipped or trained for it... So... Go do what you people do. And for the Gods' sakes, no blood, if at all possible! This is a tense situation! Now 'shoo-shoo-shoo!"

Ashlynn - who has been, as is her way, frowning the entire time - lifts a hand as if to protest the spill of words from the Watch official. Her mouth opens, and for a moment, she looks much like an oversized, beached fish... and then, as she completely and utterly fails to find the proper words, it closes, the hand lowers, and the frown deepens.

"What is this... Orcish Roaming Death Clan?" she manages after a long moment. If they're a rival merchant house, well - they chose a -killer- name for themselves. Get it? ... Never mind.

Fiona is taken back with how fast the man addresses the situation after the group's arrival. No introductions, no pleasantries. No pastries. Just, here is your mission and go! “Oh...kay..” She offers and looks at the others.Taking the papers from the man before she starts to read the directions. The lack of blood brings a few more blinks to the woman’s eyes as she looks up from the papers and then back down. “Who names themselves death clan?”

Katja's head just kind of... slowly... tilted more and more as the deluge of -words- came out of the merchant. But then, she shrugged, and looked at the map for a few moments. "Orcs, I guess. They seem prone to names like that or worse."

"The Roaming Death Clan! A merchant house. Purveyors of the finest weapons and armor, factors and agents for deadly mercenaries, and proprietors of the finest elegant china and decorative teaspoons bar none!" A pause. "I own their entire Princess Alexandria tea service." He sniffs and makes a shooing motion. As if that could move mighty adventurers,"Quickly now! Er... Huh. Yes. I suppose it is rather intimidating. I assumed that was the point. Onwards now, to Clan Aerimae's compound!"

"Selecting Alexandria's mercenaries for a tense diplomatic situation?" Albain begins after listening to that rambling explanation. There's a pause there as he sizes up the guardsman for a moment. "You are a braver man than I. Well then, shall we convince an elven lady to come sup tea with the roaming bringers of deadly teaspoons?" he asks with an amused grin of the others.

The man taps her chin in thought,"Well... mostly we chose you because... you know... we don't have to pay death benefits if something goes wrong. ALSO, if you piss them off, then it's not our faul- I mean plausible deniability." He tries to look very stern. "Er... what was I on about?"

"Being cowardly, I guess," Katja says with enough good cheer, grinning at the little fellow. She shakes her head, and looks to the others. "Maybe we should just go and leave this one to quiver for a while yet."

“Teaspoons..” Fiona looks at the others and motions, “you have their entire collection of teaspoons.” She looks at the guard as if one would look like they just mentioned that they owned five hundred pairs of high heels, and they were not female. “Okay.” She says and looks at the others. Apparently poker is not a game that Fiona is able to play, as her face says it all, -He has teaspoons...the princess collection...- “I am going to start having contracts.” She says as she walks away, “If I die in the line of duty to the city guard, they pay the death benefits.” Of course who would get those benefits she hasn’t found yet. “If I die from teaspoons..” Fiona looks back at the guard and then huffs lightly before going onwards towards the elvish house.

The man stamps his foot and claims,"There's nothing wrong with having an appreciation for fine tea services!" Now he's just fuming, having apparently forgotten the job entirely.

Ashlynn continues frowning at absolutely nothing - mayhaps the air particles offend her. Still, it's obvious she's still working on parsing the many, MANY words offered.

"We shall do our best to restore order." she promises the official eventually.

There is absolutely no indication she finds any of this strange at all, from the teaspoons to the bloodthirsty elves. The archer has either a rare blessing, or a terrible curse, when it comes to her knowledge of the world - or, rather, lack thereof.

The 'compound' is a clean, well-kept warehouse that looks more like a manor than a place to store goods. A high stone wall, wrought iron gate, with guards on the parapets, and decorative (one can assume) gargoyles lining the roof, and a clean lawn with a hedge maze of all things... It belongs more in the noble quarter by the looks of it, rather than dockside. Unslumbering elves, unsurprisingly, also guard the gate in with their ornate weapons. If elves are ever bored, these guys look like prime candidates.

"I don't suppose any of you fine ladies are fluent in Elvish?" Albain asks with a lopsided smile as he spies the manor before them. "Establishing a good impression might be best for this line of work. Oh, and while we're on that topic; do any of you fine ladies knowing anything about trade negotiations and diplomacy?" he adds.

The guards are too busy glaring across the street at another warehouse, this one guarded by orcs who are glaring back, to really pay the people arriving much attention just this moment.

        'Just this,' Katja signs out in Handspeech briefly, before adding; "No elvish. Or... manners, let alone diplomacy," she admits, shaking her head and chuckling. "Why they picked me for this bit, have no idea. Unless I'm just here to be big and look scary."

"I do not speak the language, nor was I trained in negotiation. I am a warrior. Servant to the Hunter." Ashlynn replies to Albain quite earnestly - even though it takes her a good few moments to realize he is, in fact, speaking to her as well. 'Fine lady' she is not, clearly - or at least doesn't consider herself one.

Fiona shakes her head slowly, “Nope.” she says quietly, “If they were dragons...” she shrugs and looks up at the manor, “This is a very nice warehouse...” Swallowing lightly and then pursing her lips together. “I am not very diplomatic to begin with..”

One of the elves hurls an insult in elvish at the Orc, whom, by his appearance, does not 'get it'.

Umien nibbles uneasily on some minty candy, wrapped up in slippery wax paper, as she walks down the street. Defuse hostilities. Right. She came to this city to escape disgrace back home, and now she might end up in a swordfight with Clan Aerimae. That is, if she can find the place. She's cheering up as she rehearses her "I got lost" explanation in her head, until she hears shouting in Elven and realizes she's become unlost. She steadies herself and approaches the commotion, crunching on the last of her candy.

Albain idly twiddles his fingers as he listens to the replies and glances back to the Elvish manor. "So our prospects in this endeavour are not looking too good. No speakers of the Elven tongue, no diplomats... I'll settle for a crook with a charming smile? No?" he asks.

Fiona frowns at the sound of candy crunching. Turning and spotting an elf, the Tsurian looks back to Albain, “Well, we can kick in the door, Grab the woman, Toss a bag over her head and pray we make it past three steps out...” she offers, “I like this idea. Someone tell me its bad.”

Umien puts on her most disarming, cheeriest, unassuming smile. ~Hiiiiiii!~ she calls out with a singsong trill, in city-accented Elven. She even waves. ~I'm so terribly sorry I wasn't here earlier.~

Ashlynn turns towards Fiona and proceeds to glare with an intensity that, if it produced heat or energy, would probably melt a rock.

"It is a bad idea." she confirms. Or, at least, Ashlynn thinks so.

"The matriarch will surely see reason." she says, looking over at the gate. Sure she will. Ashlynn has some skewed perceptions of how negotiations may work.

One of the elves takes notice of Fiona at this point,"I'm going to assume you're joking since you can't possibly be so stupid as to say that in front of us-" Then there's an elf talking, and their attitude instantly improves, ~Oh! Hello there! Sorry that this fine day is being soiled by the dung-scent of the orcs who took up residence there recently.~

A pause from Katja as she looks around at these sudden changes in situation. "We have an elf with us?" she questions rather lamely, looking from Umien to the guard ones. "Guess that helps... seem better at this than us anyways."

Fiona nods at this, “See.” She states and motions to Ashlynn, “always one that keeps my odd idea’s in check.” She looks back to Umien and then raises an eyebrow, “Of course I am joking.” Her brow knots. “What fool would say their entire plan, including death, in front of those that might be dealing out said death.” Looking to the way of the dung scented orcs she nods slowly to something.Apparently she has decided just to chew on the foot she has inserted into her mouth for a while.

The elf responds to Fiona dryly,"Adventurers."

~Well, it's a hazard of the city, you know? Haha. Looks like it'll be a lovely, cool night, though.~ Umien laughs and sets a hand gently on Ashlynn's shoulder by way of greeting. She switches to Tradespeak. "Nice to see you again, Ashlynn." She turns to the elves and bows a brief little merchant bow plus about fifteen degrees of politeness and refinement. ~I am Umien Sukinari of House Arcanum and the Silver Guard. I was asked to come here and look into this trouble. I hope I can be of service.~

Albain blinks at Katja and then back at the Umien who just arrived. "We do? She hasn't said a word of Common I understand. For all we know she's a customer." he replies back, until Umien greets Ashlynn with words he can understand. "Uh, nevermind." he mumbles, then raises his voice to the guards. "We're all with her!" he declares.

"Silver Guard." Ashlynn greets Umien, dipping her head respectfully to go with the words. Clearly, she is familiar with the other woman. "Are you here to aid our endeavors?" she asks of her next. Clearly, she's in the same boat as Albain, and does not understand a single word the pointy-ears are exchanging.

The guard frowns a little bit at something Umien says, as if it should be interesting to them for... some reason,"So... Ah... Miss Sukinari... I feel like I've heard that name somewhere... Anyway, Miss Sukinari, if you're looking for a guardsman job, we could certainly use more hands. You and your friends look pretty capable. We've got a stringent interview process. Trials of wit and mental fortitude and the like. If you want to interview with Aerimae's Grand Dame, Saerina, you're going to have to get through the trials, make it to the inner chambers."

Umien purses her lips and pauses there a moment. ~I've heard that the Roaming Death Clan has been giving you trouble.~ She glances at Ashlynn and nods. "Just a moment." Her attention returns to the guard. ~Has the Watch contacted you yet?~

Albain glances at Ashlynn with this expression of 'You know her right?', punctuated by a few subtle nods and glances in the direction of Umien to get the point across.

The guard frowns and thumbs his nose,"This is private merchant business, Ma'am. None of the watch's business. Oh, I know they want us to put our differences aside, but they don't UNDERSTAND."

Fiona is busy chewing on some of the leather sole of her shoe. Mmm Leather flavored dumb!  When the words start in tradespeak she perks up and then holds up a finger. “Ah, but..” she offers, “Wouldn’t it be good for business for the ah..” she looks around and then starts to motion to the entire area. “Feel of the area of comfort for your customers.” Fiona stops and looks at the guard, “I mean if people think that a fight is going to break out, they are going to close up, Move away quickly, then both business suffers...” She nods, “Peace..its good for business wouldn’t you say?”

Ashlynn takes a few moments, looking at Albain with mild puzzlement - as if worried whether he might have developed a sudden tic indicative of some sort of seizure. When the point finally sinks in, she dips her head forward again in a confirmative nod.

"Does your company make teaspoons too?" Katja questions innocently enough. "Are they competition, is problem?" She blinks a few times. Business- not her strong suit. Or why people would just -dislike- someone for what seems to be no reason! Gosh.

The guard lifts an eyebrow at Fiona and the others, then asks,"I'm beginning to wonder whether you want the job or not... Look, the Roaming Death Clan took payment for a vastly expensive artifact and never delivered it! Smashed it in fact! Bad blood ever since! Even though those lying orcs claim WE'RE the aggressors. Then they shoved the Grand Dame's son's head under water after dumping him in the well! Drowned him to death! This is beyond mere competition!"

Albain raises his hand from behind Umien. "Truly villainous, I agree. So would it not be wise for the Grand Dame to present her accusations to the watch? Then she would not be seen in a bad light should this come to blows, correct? As far as we were told, the watch are unaware of this murder." he explains.

Umien widens her eyes in horror. She shakes her head. "Perhaps we can help bring some justice for this. The Watch surely doesn't *truly* understand, as you said. But it's like Lithaniel's parable of the two gardeners and the wyvern, you know? If the Roaming Death Clan keeps this up, soon enough there'll be open fighting, and the Watch will be left trying to put out the fires at great expense. And the city's governors will put that blame on their heads for allowing the situation to get out of control. I suspect the Watch could be made to help you."

The guard frowns for a long moment, and then just asks, point blank,"Why are you you talking to ME. I'm just a guard. My Grand Dame says jump, I jump."

Fiona blinks at this and gasps. No bluffing on this one, she is actually shocked and infact takes a small step closer to the elven gate, you know farther from the Orcs. “Does the watch know. I..mean murder is against the law right?” she asks the others in the group, “SO you agree we should speak with the Dame then?”

"Then we would speak with her. Take us to her." Ashlynn says, finally speaking more than a handful of words. There's a long pause in which she recalls that, in this situation, a basic show of manners may be appropriate.

"Please." she adds, thus.

The guard raises an eyebrow at this, now. "Oh. Well. You wanna speak with the Grand Dame? Okay. Fine. Hand over your weapons. You'll get 'em back when you leave. Why didn't you say so in the first place? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, you were THE chattiest hiring prospects I'd ever met. I wasn't planning on recommending you."

Katja looks at her hammer for a moment... and then looks back at the guard. She almost looks like a puppy who's had her favourite bone taken away and it isn't just being thrown to go fetch.

Albain hands over his dagger without a second thought and casually looks away from the guards. Of course there's that holstered dragonspitter he's ignored, as he looks innocently towards the manor.

Fiona doesn’t blink at the handing the weapons over, Of course, they were told no blood, so that would ensure the lack of blood started on their part. Her hands to her rapier, and then dagger and then even the whip and she starts to bind them together. “of course.” She hands the items over.

The elf guard and his companion shoot each other looks as they begin to accept weapons... And the more talkative one points at Albain's dragonspitter and makes a 'gimme' motion with his hand,"Weapons. All of them."

Albain sighs as he's found out. The dragonspitter is handed over with great reluctance. "I swear the entire world wishes to rob me of my arcane gifts." he grumbles.

Umien holds her rapier and her bow together in formal Temple weapon presentation style, with the grip of the rapier offered outward. "Certainly, but I would like to know your name first."

Ashlynn tosses down her sword, her hammer, her pointy-thing-on-a-stick, her knives and darts and... well, she's quite heavily armed, and it's all set down in a neat pile of sharp and blunt implements of battle without much of a fuss.

Yet, when it comes to the bow, she hesitates.

"I am a hunter. I live or die by my bow." she voices, frowning deeper than usual as she looks at the finely-crafted weapon in her hands - clearly quite reluctant to leave that one behind. She may not have even considered it a weapon at first, much as simply a part of who she is.

The guard nods to Umien at this point, accepting the weapons gently,"Talen Ustmyr, Silver Guard. Don't worry. These will be well-cared for." As for Ashlynn,"You're speaking to elves of arrows... We understand your reluctance. Which does not change the fact that without turning them over... You're not getting in."

It takes Ashlynn a long, LONG few moments to steel her resolve enough to very carefully set the bow down. The look in her eyes suggests there will be hell to pay if anything should happen to the weapon while she's gone. Jaw squared, she straightens and exhales sharply, her breath misting - it is done, regardless.

Constantin blows out his cheeks, unbelts his sword reverentially. "Honour demands that I threaten your life for the safety of this sword -- nevertheless, I understand the request." He also produces one, two, three, four, five dagger and a longbow.

Katja exhales slowly, ending in a sighing-ish noise. She pats her hammer affectionately before stepping back into line for the sake of getting into the place. If one looks closely they can almost see her mouthing 'I'll miss you' to it. Yeesh.

The guard dryly replies to Constantin,"Guarding demands that I disarm you or bar your entrance.... So... There." Still, the weapons are all carefully packed in the gate and settled in a very ornate box just inside. "Mind the hedge maze inside okay? Follow these directions..." He fishes out a piece of paper and hands it over,"Or we'll have to come and get you and that could get irritating."

Albain waits in line, still looking just as sour as before, and tapping his shoe impatiently as the others work through their own reluctance. He takes the paper, eager to get this over with, and begins to lead the way inwards.

Albain quizzically looks at the directions a few times during the journey, but still manages to bring everyone to the exit without any backtracking or dead-ends. "Defeated: one hedge maze." he declares to himself as he pockets the directions.

Constantin nods towards Albain. "Excellent work, my good man." A broad, secret smile to himself.

The doors to the mansion open automatically before Albain and his companions. Magic or artifice? An elven butler of some sort appears before them, looks the adventurers over, and sniffs. He disappears into the house a moment later, and reappears with five pairs of slippers, and a towel, which he lays on the ground,"Please change out of those awful shoes and then follow me. The Grand Dame awaits." He looks at Umien, and says,"You may retain your shoes."

Umien glances down at the five pairs and then looks back over her shoulder. She starts silently counting. Hmmm.

Constantin doesn't look offended. He doesn't. He doesn't. He takes off his boots, good mood spoiled, and puts on the slippers, looking like he's sucked on a lemon.

This... elicits a frown from Katja. Seriously? She just washed these boots -two weeks ago-. You'd think she was made of thing-washing or something. Grudgingly, though, she does switch- even if she glares at the butler-man pretty openly. First the hammer and now this!

Well. At least the slippers are comfy, even if they look ridiculous matched with armor.
Nodding in approval and thanks towards Albain for his navigation skills, Ashlynn gives a fresh frown - she has an inexhaustible supply - towards the butler, sliding it towards the slippers. If slippers could cringe, they probably would right about now. All these complications are very much souring her mood.

Still, no sense wasting time on trifles. The boots are discarded and she replaces them with the slippers.

Looking like a proper soldier has never been harder. The fancy things clash with her wardrobe something fierce.

Fiona looks at the slippers and counts then at the group. “I think you are allowed to keep your shoes.” she offers and moves to slip  her boots off. It takes a moment, some hopping, and then PLOP! off comes her boot to reveal a bright pink sock with green polka dots on it. Soon the other one comes off, and the sock of the other foot, Bright yellow with blue clouds. What! socks were NOT made to match ever... that is why the dryer eats them. She moves to slip into the slippers and places her shoes just inside the door on the towel. “Ooh soft...” Fiona comments.

Umien kneels down and slips off her boots, deciding she'll go with her socks. "Oh, that's alright. They're a little noisy indoors." She sets her boots aside and stands back up.

Albain shrugs off the offense and changes out of his boots. They weren't bad boots by any stretch of the imagination, but this pales in comparison to losing his dragonspitter. "Do you plan on burning them after we return them?" he asks with an amused grin.

"As Miss wishes." This is the butler's response to Albain. Still, upon looking at Fiona's boots, he drawls to Albain,"That remains to be decided." He turns politely to gesture to the a walkway between neatly stacked shelves of the mansion/warehouse,"The Grand Dame is in her office, going over accounts. If you'll walk this way... Tea and scones will be provided at your leisure."

Katja looks left. Looks right. Looks at Umien. "... What's a scone?"

Constantin aside to Katja helpfully: "Food."

Fiona gives a glance down to her socks and then at the butler, “I didn’t know I was going to be taking my boots off.” she whispers defensively.

Umien looks aside at Katja and beams. "Oh, they're delicious." She spreads her hands to indicate the grand extent of their deliciousness.

The butler sniffs again,"I'm sure, Miss." He turns and begins to wend his way through the warehouse/mansion's shelves until he comes to a an office set in one wall. When it is opened, an elf who looks elderly even by elven standards sits upon a heavily cushioned chair before a massive, beautifully made desk that looks to have been grown from a living tree rather than carved. Wreathed in rich robes, it looks more like a study in a wealthy home rather than a warehouse office. So... Par the course,"Ah. You've come for some of Aerinae's excellent tea I suppose. I could tell the moment I saw the Silver Guard among you. Well, how many tons do you require then?"

Ashlynn had been ready to ask the same question Katja has voiced. With the answer provided, she contends to be silent and follow the butler to the office - walking just a little bit awkwardly with the unaccustomed-to footwear on her.

And, once they have come before the matron, she... remains momentarily silent, then, too. The Silver Guard is being spoken to, after all - she will not cut into the word of a paladin of Light.

Constantin's arms fold on his chest. "Well," he says snippily, "I guess that answers one question."

Albain glances over to Umien, awaiting the response of their Silver Guard companion. And then his eyes go wandering about the room, taking in all the details of grandeur and wealth that she has on display in her 'office', particularly anything that looks like it came from a far off land.

Umien glances aside at Constantin with a bit of uneasy acknowledgement. She has a bad feeling about this. She steps forward and bows deeply. It's a good thing she was brought up fancy. "I am sorry; we are on different business at the moment. My name is Umien Sukinari, of House Arcanum. I would like to help convince the Watch to intervene and assist your clan with the ... however they are able."

The woman actually seems PLEASED by this announcement,"Ooooh! Adventurers are you? Just what we need to turn the tide." Already the butler has disappeared and returned with little plates and cubs bearing scones and tea for each person. Though the tea service looks to have been designed by brain-damaged gnomes,"No Roaming Dead tea services in thise place! Okay, so, finish your tea, and then with your help, we can go thrash the Roaming Death Clan and restore honor and avenge my son! How exciting! Finally, some progress. This argument was beginning to drag on SOOO badly."

"That's... not why we're here," Katja admits, quietly putting the tea down and decidedly not eating/drinking any of it. "We actually wanted -you- to come with -us- for some talking."

Fiona swallows and hangs out near the back. She doesn’t really want to mess this up, but nods in agreement all the same. Of course at the mention of tea it dawns on her why they might be rivals. She gives a glance around the office attempting to take in the site of it all fully. She blinks at this and then looks around. “Actually Ma’am...” she says quietly. “We can’t help you fight them.” Fiona winces. “Partly because, your guards took our weapons, but other part is, we were ordered not to shed any blood, we have come to assist in peaceful negotiations. You know sit down with a third party, air your grievances, in this case possibly formally file charges against the offending parties..” she bites her lower lip. “I mean why kill your rivals when you can bring their criminal actions to light, and drive them out of business.” Oh boy does she hope that sounds reasonable to the woman.

Ashlynn completely neglects the tea and scones, focused quite intently on the task at hand. This is no time for snacks!

"You must accompany us to the Watch headquarters. If there has been a murder, it will be looked into, and the perpetrators will be brought to justice." Ashlynn (perhaps unfortunately) adds her no-beating-around-the-bush voice to the choir.

Albain can't speak, he has tea to sip and a scone to munch upon. After all, everyone else seems to have this well in hand at the moment. Though these tea sets are quite dreadful, aren't they? He lifts the cup and glances at it sidelong for a moment.

Constantin overcomes his snippiness with scones and tea. It also helps to shut him up and get over his snit.

The woman waves a hand dismissively,"Make peace with the filthy leathery skinned curs who stole our money and killed my son? The watch? No, no. It is far too late for that. And why should I listen to you? Still, it has ever been the way of my House to be civilized. Certainly, we as elves are more civilized than mere leather-backed curs. Fine. To show you our civlity, I shall offer you a battle... But not of arms... DEBATE and DRINK. The two occupations of civilized society. Should you best my Guard-Captain in a game of 'Words and Cups', I shall accompany you to 'negotiate'. Hah. As if those filthy curs would ever do something so civilized. Do you accept."

"Challenge accepted." Albain declares from behind the lot of you, having just finished his tea and scone. The gnomish cup of dubious design is discarded somewhere on a nearby table as he looks up again. "Civility it is."

Fiona said what she needed to say. Now, there is tea and scones to have. She takes them and samples. She sips lightly then looks at the cup. After a moment she blinks a few times after coming out of her scrutiny. “If that is the way this needs to be done.” She says quietly and then shrugs, “I can not help but really have the utmost respect for a business that supports the Gnome away from home Orphanage.” She holds up the tea cup to illustrate her point. "No blood will be shed correct? I really hate to be a stickler about our order but, you see, I really really kinda like that rule."

Ashlynn gives Umien the sort of look a soldier would give their superior. Should you lead into battle, that look says, I will follow.

Even if the battle is... unconventional.

It seems that the weighty decision rests on Umien's shoulders, far as Ashlynn is concerned.

Umien laughs. "Sure! That sounds like fun." She sips some tea. "It's not so much a matter of negotiation. The Watch has a stake in this. They can, I think, be made to do the right thing."

The Guard Captain, a tall and (for an elf) burly man, he draws up a chair, even as the butler shows up with chairs for each of the heroes. The Grand Dame claps her head excitedly,"Druzyly! My champion! Oh, I shall join in as well!" She has the butler move her chair without getting up, and she joins Druzyly's side,"Druzyly will demonstrate!" The butler, pulling out a table, sets a wine glass before each 'contestant' and then tips wine from a bottle into each glass. Then the guard captain, Druzyly lifts his glass,"Oruchs... are foul uncivilized beasts who settle their differences with muscles and do not understand the value of the truely honorable. Discourse. Therefore, arrows and elvish steel are the only language these brutes will respond to." And then he drains the cup and sets it down, even as the butler moves to reveal it. "Now you."

Albain lifts up the offered glass, gazing into its ruby depths before speaking his own argument. "Judging the character of another culture through only the merits of one's own blinds the observer to the nuances and intricacies of that culture. All too often we casually dismiss because it is easy and convenient, when truly understanding another is difficult and taxing. Understanding more than one point of view is the product of an elightened and civilized mind." he declares before taking his drink.

Fiona blinks at this, “okay make your case, drink and so forth.” She nods slowly. Picking up the cup she frowns, “What if you hit one of your customers in such battle.” Fiona studies the cup slowly, “What good would business be if your customers are afraid that you will accidently kill them as they try to come to your door? Bloodshed will only lead to the loss of profit, Loss of profit only leads to bankruptcy, bankruptcy leads to the poor house, the poor house leads to dealing with miss matched socks” She nods slowly. “Don’t fight with Oruchs, you will just have to deal with have miss matched socks.”

Umien laughs. "But, I mean, aren't these sorts of 'negotiations' really all ABOUT arrows and steel? It's not a summer poetry contest."

    Katja looks down at the wine for a moment. Not her favourite but... she takes it up. "So, you are supposed to be much more civilized and such. But you seem pretty eager to go fight them even though you say -they're- the fightmongers. Why not 'prove' your civility by, you know. Talking civilly." And down goes the wine.

Ashlynn stares at the glass set before her, eyes narrowing as if she were gazing upon some sort of demon.

And in her eyes, it very well might be. Ashlynn has never found a friend in alcohol, and isn't about to start... but one must make difficult sacrifices when one strives to bring peace and order.

"It is not your place to exact this justice. You may yet find common ground. Let the Watch mediate." she offers her own simple words, and grasps the glass in the entirely uncouth manner of someone who has -no idea whatsoever- how to hold a wineglass. Said wineglass is then tipped back - down the hatch with the contents, and up with the expression of disgust at the taste.

"You know," he opines, as he sips the wine, gesturing with the goblet, "I think that we're shining beacons of civility, they are vile pieces of savage shit routine is just a cover for intellectual laziness." He downs his drink.


The guard captain lifts his glass,"Aaaah, but while some might call it laziness or 'street justice'... These are matters of honor and family... And where such brutish thugs and curs are concerned, they reason is a tool for dreamers and hopefuls. Aye, perhaps some of you grasp the full measure of civility, but not the full measure of the situation itself. For these are orcs, truly one of the most warlike peoples on the planet." And he drains his cup, stifling a burp. The Grand Dame meanwhile expounds,"Frankly, it is nothing short of civility on our part that allows us to coexist with such a dangerous and barbarous people." Nothing like good ol'-fashioned racism. She drains her cup like a pro and slams it down, though, leaving the butler to refill it.

Albain appears to be feeling the effects of the wine, but takes a shot at the next glass regardless. "In all my time spent sailing to distant shores, one thing remained constant; everyone else sees everyone else as being inferior somehow... in some way. We're all the same, that way." he concludes, with a little less forcefulness and clarity than his first statement. He also needs to take a seat, as his feet don't quite comply with his request to stay standing. And down goes the wine.

Fiona listens to the others as her glass is refilled. “If you are truly civil, then you know that the best way to defeat your enemies is by using the law, and from what has been said you have all of the law on your side.” Fiona thinks for a moment, “Well, perhaps, but look at it this way. If you fight them, you will be seen as thugs as much as they are seen as Thugs, but if you talk with them, You will be seen as the great, wonderful elves that overcame the barbaric savagery of the orcs, and trained them to be civil.”She downs her drink and offers out the glass for another go.

Umien is starting to get a little tipsy. She gets even chattier than usual. The alcohol also makes her a bit more direct. She doesn't resist this change too much. "If the Watch for some reason decides not to help, then fine, you can decide if you want to risk just going in there yourselves and killing everybody, but, and, hey, this is strong stuff, where's it from? And yeah sure I'll have another." She knocks it back quite merrily, while munching on a scone.

Katja nods a little as she looks at her companions- then back to the captain and the lady. "Little else for me to say- save that you're apparently clinging so hard to this you're willing to allow this... thing," she picks up one of the godawful teacups. "Into your otherwise beautiful office just to prove a silly point that -nobody cares about-." And drink!

"All creatures under the Hunter's watchful gaze that do not defy His laws deserve some respect. It is understandable that you are wary - but you are called to have the courage to offer peace. That courage can be greater than the courage it takes to fight." Whether it's the drink that's loosened Ashlynn's tongue, the woman's taken to actually speaking full sentences, in a strong voice filled with conviction (if perhaps rusty for lack of use).

Once again, the refilled glass is taken in an awkward, if steely grip, and sloshed down with a look on her face that would have one think she's drinking vinegar, not fine wine.

Constantin waits for the refill. "Honor and family? I've seen the high table and the gutter both -- there is very little difference in people's behaviour. No matter the costume others force them to wear. It's easy to play up the differences so there's something to fight about -- and I should know, I make good money doing that dirty work -- but it takes work to talk it through like civilized folk." Work, real work, that involves drinking.

"You two remind me of a noble who once sailed with my uncle. He wanted to see the world, but only when it wasn't dirty, or dusty, or might get him sweaty from a vigorous walk. He balked at touching an old copper bracelet from an ancient long dead people because a spider had walked over it. It was really quite sad." Albain rambles on, obviously not holding his own against the wine. "You're quite sad." he declares, levelling an accusatory finger before draining his new glass.

"Look, I may cede that tempers are running high, but we are ELVES. We do not make hasty decisions. The Silver Guard over there is witness to this! Honor and Family is a matter especially dear to elves! How could such short-lived orcs say such things! And after selling off our priceless artifact and stealing our money! They are plagues on this land, and deserve such as they have gotten and will get from us!" The guard Captain is swaying a bit now on his seat, his arguments a bit less... coherent. And the Grand dame,"You've convinced me! This IS good wine! I will have some more." She pounds a glass. Then pounds another glass. And then another.

Fiona watches everyone go another round and then just says it, “You..” she points to the woman, “Are afraid. You are afraid you will be seen as weak.” She frowns and nods, “Because your son was killed, and you want to taste the blood of the...” she uses a word that is NOT lady like at all to describe someone, “who killed him.” She nods simply at the woman. “I don’t blame you, But what better way to stick it to them, then watch him hang, publically, because of the hurt they did to your son. And bringing out that they stole your money, labels them as thieves, who wants to do business with thieves.” She points out and then downs her wine.

Umien laughs. "Look, are we even really debating this anymore, or are we just all getting drunk? Because I'm certainly getting drunk. Ha! But really, I haven't heard a cogent argument against talking to the Watch other than that you don't have to. So fine, you don't have to. But you should." She knocks back another.

"... Drunk? Can none of you hold your drink?" Katja questions almost incredulously. She shakes her head a little. "Look, just come back and talk to the Watch, and we can put this all behind. Well. Sober up, and -then- come talk to the watch. But no fighting, or I suspect the Watch might side with the orcs because of -you- being the aggressors."

Katja also glugs

Ashlynn tips her head sideways at the elf, giving him a questioning - and frightfully clear - look. "A decision to go to war without seeking a peaceful resolution first seems quite hasty to me. The losses this action would bring far outweight any possible gains. You may yet find gains in negotiation, for yourself and for others."

What, another glass? She was hoping she was DONE with that torment! Ashlynn's jaw juts, and with the determination befitting a soldier, she faces yet another demon-in-a-glass, downing it and giving a dry, pained cough following.

"Sweet Blue Rose's tears of compassion! Who's the long-lived race around here and who's the petulant toddler-species?!" He slams his wine. "More wine!"

The guard captain, meanwhile manages to stand, a frothy rage upon his lips, only to fall over unconscious the next moment. One drink too many. He curls up in the corner, sucking on his thumb. The old elven dowager, meanwhile stands up, after a long drink, cup being filled by her butler yet again even as she stands,"I'll get that little orcish slut for running off with my son! I'll go to her father and tell him what a little trollop she's been! And a murder too! Take me to the watch! IIIII... am filing a complaint." She drains her cup, then gestures for the butler to refill it before marching for the door. Without her shoes on.

Fiona is drunk. Its not that she is a bad drunk. Just a warm drunk, she moves to undo the top few buttons and starts to fan herself. “Oh this is some good wines.” she offers speaking in cursive. A  small hiccup gives her a pause. “Alright.” Fiona holds up a finger, “Lets go...” she offers and moves to stand up but then almost falls over, “Or At least go to get my shoes.” She says and downs her drink. “I like these slippers by the way.”

Umien giggles over her wine glass. "Ooookay, that's enough for now. C'mon, human friends, you heard her."

Katja, on the other hand, looks around the group... looks to the other mostly-not-drunk person, Ashlynn. "Should we just... toss them over our shoulders?"

Constantin glances towards the butler. "We're going to need our boots, good sir!" He straightens up, shoots his sleeves. "So. Who needs a horsey ride?"

Ashlynn stands up slowly. She's quite unused to the feeling of insects fluttering inside her skull. She may not be really all that drunk, but her body just couldn't fully purge that last glass. Shaking her head to clear the muddy sensation (it does nothing), she answers Katja's question practically and wordlessly - by walking over to Albain and lifting him as if he were a wounded soldier in need of assistance and beginning the slow trek back out of the accursed manor-warehouse.

The Grand Dame is trying to put her fancy fur coat on. Which seems to involve trying to slip into an owlbear skin being used as a rug. It's not going well.

Katja nods as Ashlynn does her thing, and looks at the others... she proceeds to go to pick up Fiona over one shoulder. And then Umien over the other assuming all works out as she means it to. They're only little, after all. "Someone get her coat on her?" she asks about the Dame.

"Darling!" Constantin sweeps up the rug, and offers it to the Grand Dame. "This year's fashion drapes it differently -- here, let me show you!"

Fiona standsup and starts to head towards the door. “Alright..” she stops and looks at the coat of the woman, “Oh that is...Not a coat.” she states and starts to head out of the room. “ And then she is picked up and lets out a big giggle. “I am being carried!” Fiona announces!

Umien squirms and resists the lift-up. "Oh, that's okay, I'm okay, haha, just a little too much to drink." She steps back and glances around the room.

Katja is perfectly fine to let Umien go free, 'tis true.

"We will... need help with the maze." Ashlynn tells the butler as the group prepares haphazardly for their departure. Her eyes do not QUITE go crosseyed looking at the pointy-eared man, but it's a close thing. At the very least, she is not drunk enough to not be able to put her boots back on. There's a BIT of hopping.

Oddly, getting out of the maze is easier when drunk. Fancy that. The processional is loud, drunken, and generally announced by bad behavior on the Grand Dame's part. Such as loud singing and swearing in elvish. Indeed, all the way, the poor beleagured butler is busy refilling her cup dutifully. And The darned woman won't stop flirting with Constantin after he gets the rug wrapped on her properly. Somewhere along the way, the procession draws a few dockworkers and sailors who are also drunk.... which devolves into bawdy drinking songs sung in yrch. The Grand Dame, not surprisingly, seems to be leading the most bawdy of the songs. When they reach the Watch office, she holds her hand out to the side, as if expecting someone to take her glass from her (it just drops and shatters on the floor), then gathers her poise, and wanders into the Watch Commanders office. Apparently the other group sent to the orcish delegation met with some success, because behind the door one can hear the loud swears of both elven and orcish voices raised in anger at each other![[Category:Logs]]