Cohesion and Chaos

Effervescent

Effervescent

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Cohesion and Chaos
A 1x1 with @Elle Joyner
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War is whispered in the winds of Edros with Bastillos in its view. Bastillos, the epicenter of trade and commerce throughout the Edrosi Kingdoms and the pinnacle of advancement has only just pulled itself from a civil war not five years prior brought about by a rebellion of the lower caste. This resulted in the death of Bastillos's Queen Levanna as the leader of the rebellion, a slave by the name of Elsee, marched the slaves into the capital of Lumin with nothing more than their tools of labor as weapons. Elsee died in battle, but her efforts paved way to abolish slavery as Levanna's daughter, Zalette, took the throne at the age of 12.

Even after five years, it's a miracle Bastillos was able to pull itself out of the depths of despair into a new age of reformation. Led by the youngest queen Bastillos had ever known, there are many skeptics and wary neighbors. Rules and regulations of commerce within Bastillos continues to become more strict making it more difficult for smaller businesses to trade in the mountains to the other allies. What was once a profitable center for all is now becoming more exclusive causing tensions to rise. These new regulations make trade from the West more difficult as even Bastillosi routes to other kingdoms are heavily controlled.

The orcs, allied with Nabannon and Uthred, have begun their plot. What they lack in an army they make up with ingenuity and clever siege making even the faintest rumor of war a massive threat to Bastillos and peace within Edros. To this, Queen Zalette has called upon her ambassadors to go out to Nabannon and Uthred to dampen the tension and find ways to negotiate peace once again. The fate of Edros depends on it.
 
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Ilai Khvast
Age: 30
Profession: Mercenary
Birthplace: Grey Hinterlands
Height: 5'10"
Race: Human

Appearance:
He is a man that embodies his people carrying the features of thick, dark hair and pale skin. Beneath the layers of furs and leathers is a body toned and scarred from battle and tribulations that etch a story across his skin. His face carries a tone of focus and determination within dark brown eyes and low set brows. Scruff lines his jaw and lips with the makings of a beard, trimmed and in place. A scar strikes through his face in a light line from his brow down his cheek suggesting a blow that nearly took his eye. He is a man that looks to prevail from experiences that have hardened him. At one side is a broadsword, simple in design yet ornamented with a pommel of a star, and on the other is a quiver of arrows for the longbow kept at his back.

Personality:
The Grey Hinterlands leaves its people with too much land with little reward, and to that breeds necessity in criminal professions. Ilai does not take to his work with pride and sees it as a means of survival. What needs to be done is done, and he will take on whatever job is posted. And so he wanders, much like others in the Hinterlands, without a home yet longing to settle down. There's no room for good hearted men, to which has steeled his heart from pity or compassion. Survive. That is all he cares to do. Make it to the next meal. Do what must be done to see another day.

His heart and thoughts are closed, even to people he may have known for years. But he does not consider himself to have any friends, and the term is rarely spoken even in passing. Associates, perhaps, for he isn't opposed to working with others, especially if the job requires it. The law within the Grey Hinterlands fluctuates depending on which Province one is in, yet even then he will skirt laws should it mean a job done.

History:
Born from parents he never knew, Ilai lived his life under Laerd Borus Valdarad, ruler of the northernmost Province of the Grey Hinterlands. He was given the surname Khvast, meaning "of no one," typically given to orphans taken in by Laerds of the Land. He, like any other Khvast, would be primed for battle to defend his Laerd's Province and do as commanded.

At the age of 18, Ilai engaged with a criminal sect stealing goods from his Province which critically injured him. His comrades left him for dead, and he found himself instead with the very criminals he fought against. Presumed dead, Ilai never returned to his Laerd, but did not stay with the sect that saved his life. He repaid his debt and moved on a free man.

Since then he has worked as a mercenary and bounty hunter not just within the Grey Hinterlands, but throughout Edros. He is no one of note, nor garners interest, but he gets the job done and that's all that really matters.
 
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Ysella Ronasin
Basics||

Age || 24
Profession || Diplomat
Birthplace || Bastillos
Height || 5'5"
Race || Human

Appearance ||

While she would argue that looks hardly matter, this is probably because Ysella has never had to worry about being considered unattractive. Rich caramel skin is a near flawless canvas for delicate, refined features in a round, youthful face, her eyes a dusky twilight blue beneath full lashes. When she smiles, which she does on the rare occasion, her teeth are straight opals that complement round, bowed lips. Her hair, chestnut brown, rarely hangs to it's full length by her hips, but is instead generally pulled up and away from her face, ornamented by jeweled headdresses or combs.

She could be considered small, though her attitude hardly reflects her height, with a narrow waist and slightly gangly limbs. Her wardrobe is generally muted colored, heavily ornamented by beads and jewels that reflect both her caste in life and her barely repressed sense of vanity.

Personality ||

Despite having little cause for it, Ysella lives like a woman with a lot to prove. Determined to be a diplomatic as possible, she has a tendency to put her nose where it doesn't belong, and a lack of discretion where her opinion is necessary. She is, to put it bluntly, a proud woman, airing on pompous, with an exceedingly naive view of the way the real world and the people in it works. She believes, genuinely, that she is capable of fixing any problems and cannot fathom what it is to fail, because frankly, she has never been allowed to fail.

Her stubborn resilience and mental toughness however, do often work in her favor. She never gives up and she has a penchant for finding solutions, even if they aren't always conventional. She isn't cold, but her focus can make her appear indifferent. To her credit, though, most of her actions are expressly done with the welfare of others in mind.

History ||

There is little to say for Ysella's history. She was born in Bastillos to those lucky enough to possess status and from a very young age, was taught to pursue, most actively, whatever she wanted in life with both hands grasping. There was no end to what Ysella was given, and this resulted in a spoiled nature, but also in an ambitious one.

She became a diplomat, and from there, an ambassador, though her reasoning middled on the somewhat self-centered level of wanting only to prove her worth and her ability to manipulate the circumstances around her. This led to a resilient, but somewhat lonely life, and both these dispositions only grew more intense the older Ysella became.

Eventually, as relations with the neighboring lands became more tense, Ysella poured herself into her work, forgetting that there was a life outside of her occupation. For this, and for her sheltered upbringing, she carried very little actual knowledge of the world and even less of the people around her.
 
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Diplomacy was of highest importance as word reached Bastillos of a nefarious plot. Nabannon, head of the West and the ally with the most ties with the orcs was rumored to be plotting for war. They and the orcs were unhappy with the overly stringent laws that limited their trade within Bastillos. Were it not the most profitable center to sell goods throughout Edros it would not have garnered such disdain.

And had Bastillos not have just pulled themselves from a bloody civil war, they would be more equipped to combat such an outcry. The kingdom was weakened from the rebellion as it had halted all trade until recently. Even after five years they still needed to recuperate to get back to their fullest potential.

Queen Zalette requested audience with Nabannon and Uthred to begin a discussion peacefully in the matter. They allowed it only if it were on their own ground. Deeply concerned, the Queen conferred with her advisors and generals before deciding to comply with their demands. Two diplomats, Rotheel Degent and Ysella Ronasin, were considered for the task handed a letter from the Queen to be given to the Kings at their meeting and outfitted with a militant escort. Rotheel was sent to Uthred and Ysella to Nabannon.

As much as the Queen wished them to be better protected, they knew too many soldiers could compromise their meeting. And so the diplomats left Bastillos in an armored carriage driven by two soldiers. The carriages were outfitted with bedding, food and wine, and lamps as the windows built in the sturdy structure were slats to allow those within to keep track of the time passing in safety. It was the best method for a long trek, especially with someone of such import embarking on something so dangerous.

It was almost a full day of travel before Ysella's entourage exited the mountains of Bastillos and headed North for Nabannon. They rode constantly, the soldiers switching duties with brief stops to make their heading in better time. The climate grew colder even as Winter neared Spring calling for layers and the threat of snow and frost along the terrain.

Two days into their trek was met with a sudden halt as shouts could be heard outside. It was commands calling for protection and cries of final pain and the sound of clashing steel. From within the confines of the armored carriage one could possibly assume an ambush by a band of cunning highwaymen. Ysella would be safe within, the door to the interior locked from the inside.

And then it all went quiet outside. From the slitted windows a body could be seen strewn on the ground with an arrow lodged in his throat. The other two soldiers were out of sight, and the only thing that came was an unfamiliar voice, harsh and commanding.

"Open the door."
 
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Ysella Ronasin​
Two days prior, Ysella left her family home with an air of over confidence and condescending superiority. This, of course, was very little difference to her usual behavior, but for the fact that for the first time in twenty-four years of life it actually seemed relevant to her circumstances. Some would suggest that there was no ceremony to her appointment, but Ysella believed wholeheartedly that she was chosen for the task on her merit, and no one was going to tell her otherwise.

For the journey, she wore her best - a black dress bedecked with purple and red gemstones, and a cloak with a warm fur collar. Gold crowned her head, with jewels the color of her eyes, that watched through the slotted windows with eager anticipation, as the world of Bastillos gave way to the great open wilderness beyond. All was white, fresh frost against the stony crags, and the carriage bumbled along, rocky and uncomfortable. The winds were held at bay by the thickness of the doors, but an occasional gust found its way in through the slit and drew a shiver from the Ambassador, who wrapped her cloak around her arms and hissed out a gasp of vaporous breath.

Still, her gaze did not leave the window, and as her mind wandered to the diplomatic mission at hand, to what she would say to the men she was to meet, specks of snow began their descent from the heavens in beautiful swirling spirals.

When the carriage came to a shuddering halt, drawing Ysella from her reverie, she was almost certain they had slipped a wheel on the rocks, and she opened her mouth to call out when the first scream erupted. Sinking back in her seat, her heart slamming hard against her throat, she stared in horror at the sounds beyond the door, squeezing her eyes shut as though she could will it away like a dream. When silence filled the space of time, she allowed herself a second or two to think perhaps it had worked - perhaps she had drifted off into some deeply realistic dreamstate...

Then the voice called out and her eyes snapped open. Outside the window, red splashed against white in jarring contrast, she could see the fall guard, and a whimper was her response, her hand grasping the carriage door holding it closed, "I..." She started, her voice crackling, "I am Ysella Ronasin, an Ambassador of Bastillos on a diplomatic mission a great importance! You will leave immediately, or face the consequences!"
 
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"I know who you are."

The voice sounded exasperated, almost inconvenienced. Whoever the man was, he was no longer being contested by her militant escorts and did not appear to sound concerned of anything returning for him. The sound of a sword sheathing in its scabbard sheened mutedly through the thick of the iron plated wooden carriage.

"Don't make this difficult on yourself," the man continued. "Either you come out of your own volition peacibly or I smoke you out. Are you familiar with the tactic? I've got plenty of bodies to burn, and being inside a heated metal box as smoke fills through the slats is a terrible way to die. Either way, I get my money, you see. So it's really up to you if you want to keep on living."
 
Ysella Ronasin​
Bodies

The weight of that word struck like a sledge hammer to the gut, effectively rendering whatever argument Ysella might have had utterly useless. She was alone, and unarmed, and up against someone who had killed her only protection without mercy. She didn't know them well, the guards, but there was no part of her, even from a strategic angle that had wanted them to come to harm... not for her sake, not for anything.

"Fine," She replied after a moment, "Step back, please." Blinking, swallowing hard, she straightened up in her seat and pushing back her shoulders, pried her fingers from the door handle, pushing it open with effect. If she was going to be taken, so be it...

"You're making a horrible mistake." She continued, and though her jaw quivered, there was a practiced strength to her voice, a sense that despite her fear, she would not crumble. Fear coursed through her, rivers of anxiety, but not an ounce of it showed in her steely gaze, "This will be considered an act of war. When the queen hears of this, you'll be sorry."
 
A man of the Hinterlands was revealed outside her carriage. A single man armed with a sword and a bow bested soldiers of Bastillos whose blood spattered his cheek. Framed in furs and dark leathers, he looked at Ysella with a hardened stare as he stood as still as stone, hand resting on the pommel of his sword in a faint warning.

"I don't rightly care," he stated flatly, and then approached Ysella, forcibly taking her by the arm to pull her closer. "The politics of it all are none of my business. There's a bounty on your head and I intent to fetch it."

From his belt chimed the recognizable clink of chain link in iron, but the shackle he produced was larger than a wrist and linked to nothing more than a handle. It was a Slaver's Link; a shackle designed to lock around the neck to prevent clever escape.

Holding it up into view, he watched Ysella carefully. "You pull anything or even sneeze out of turn as I put this on you, you die," he said. "Understand?"
 
Ysella Ronasin​
Staring up at the man, Ysella felt he resolve slowly eking away. She had anticipated a group, and somehow seeing him on his own scared her more than if he had come, backed by an army. One man... One man alone, had caused such unspeakable damage. If he had killed three guards, she would be nothing...

He barked back against her empty threats and Ysella gulped down a gob of nerves, clenching fist and jaw as she stared up at the mountain of a man. She hadn't expected it to work - not really, but there had been some hope that perhaps he had misjudged the carriage as belonging to a noble he might divest of their riches. But he wasn't a common thief, and she wasn't going to get anywhere with a title and weighted pretense.

A bounty. That was it, then.

For a moment she considered negotiations... considered offering him the sum and more for her safety, but no doubt the price was quite impressive if he was willing to come alone. Her family had wealth, but even they were not without their struggles, particularly since the war.

At the jangling, her eyes moved down and widened, and unbidden, she took a step back, shaking her head as her hand rose to her throat. Of all her features, her neck, long and slender, was easily the one most befitting of her vanity. That day, she had dressed it in a fine string of glossy black beads polished from stones.

His threat, however, was anything but hollow and with a sniff, her hand dropped to her side, her eyes narrowed, "...You won't get away with this."
 
Unlatching the shackle, he fixed it around her neck and secured it with the pin and lock. "I will," he stated matter of factly. His gloved hands pushed the heft of the metal up to allow his fingers to unfasten the string of beads that draped her neck. It was a duty done with a gentle nature, yet only through fulfilling a task. He collected the necklace and grabbed her hand to force her to take it.

"I'm sure given your profession you're aware of the laws out here," he said, and then held up the chains that connected to her collar. "The Easterners don't like trouble unless it's worth it. Now, you could very well get me in trouble with the law, and I don't blame you for trying. But with this on you all you're going to do is paint a target on your head. Everyone knows what this means. So you can choose to get rid of me and lose the best protection you've got or you can take a risk with another bloke looking for a pay out. Bear in mind your head is sufficient."

He pointed out to the other three guards further out from the carriage, their bodies still heaps on the frosted earth. "I'm no stranger to combat," he continued. "But I'd like a smooth ride."

Walking over to the horses, he yanked the chain to Ysella's collar, urging her to follow while establishing the status quo. Keeping one hand on the end of the chain, he freed the horses with the other, picking two for their ride. "The chain's long enough for two," he assured as he kneeled and cupped his hands together for her to use to mount.
 
Ysella Ronasin​
She continued to stare at him, her gaze fixed, as the cold mental slid around her neck, her gaze defiant, even through the obvious fear. Tears were held at bay by sheer will, but the flinch as he reached for the necklace could not be avoided, her body giving an involuntary jolt, even as her mind found perplexity in his oddly gentle touch. As he grasped her hand and jammed it into her palm, however, all confusion abated and she let it fall, narrowing her eyes with stubborn gall.

She might be his captive, but he wouldn't control her.

It occurred to her as he spoke just how hopeless things appeared, because she did, in fact know the law, but she knew very little else about the way the world outside of her home worked. It had seemed abundantly important for her to study those things pertaining to her occupation, but so little of her studies focused on those things beyond. Was it possible that no one would help her, out of pure fear of the implications a simple collar gave? She was a diplomat... Surely that had some bearing?

Her eyes traveled as he gestured to the fallen guards and her resolution crumpled a little more as her eyes closed for a moment, her voice breaking on a wave of emotion, "They had families. So do I. Remember that... Because I'm sure it seems like the money is worth it, but time breeds regret quite effectively, no matter how much coin you possess."

Straightening, eyes snapping open again, she turned and moved forward, towards the horses. It wouldn't do... None of it. She needed to do something before the option was removed from her entirely. Once upon the horses, he had the power... a fall, with the collar on her neck would undoubtedly be her end and upon horseback, it wouldn't take them long to get wherever it was he was taking her. If she was going to act, it had to be fast...

The moment opened to her before she even finished her thought, and as he knelt to give her a boost onto the horse, Ysella turned as if to acquiesce, then with as great a deal of force as she could muster, she kicked out, aiming the heel of her boot to the bridge of his nose.

 
It was a clever move, and as her show rammed into his face he purposefully jerked back with the chain to take the woman off balance and hopefully onto the ground. Hitting the nose was a tender area, and as he brought himself to a stand he swiped a finger under his nose to check for bleeding. She at least hadn't managed that, but the pain was enough to test his patience. Yanking the chain closer to him, he peered at the noble Bastillosi woman with a stern expression fixed.

"You walk, then," he growled, and pushed her away from him to allow for another tug as he hoisted himself up onto the horse.

"Treading close to being more trouble than you're worth," he warned as he nudged the horse forward. "Twice I've saved your life, and all you are is ungrateful. I won't save you from dying a third time."
 
Ysella Ronasin​
As the chain was yanked forward, Ysella went down hard, barely catching herself before she hit the ground, the sound she made something between a strangled cry and a cough. Her eyes teared, and her fingers gripped the stony earth, and when he pulled against the chain a second time, another cry escaped as she straightened, a little swiftly, tearing the hem of her dress with her feet.

She wasn't surprised, really... not really, that he was angry, but the notion of making her walk brought a look of shock to her eyes, and she opened her mouth to protest when he spoke again. Saved her life. It was a horrifyingly ironic sentiment, and enough to drive her stomach to her knees. He would kill her, she had no doubt, and that was enough to effectively silence her.

The horse started forward and she gave a small stumblingly jolt, following after it, reaching up to brush her cheeks dry as she tried with all her efforts to keep the tears at bay, tried to maintain an expression of belligerent defiance. She had tried, and she had failed, but she had to pray there would be another opportunity...

Narrowing her eyes up at him, she shook her head, "...Where are you taking me?" She growled, her voice jarred by the rough treatment of the collar, "Who placed the bounty?"

 
The pace of the horse was kept slow and casual as the man began their journey. His ambush had taken place in an open area with few trees among the craggy terrain. It was likely the hills and the rocks he used to keep himself hidden, but based on the surroundings there was no way the soldiers would have missed him in his approach. He had been waiting. He knew she would be taken down this road and he waited.

"You're concerned about a lot of things that don't matter," the man pointed out. "You tell me. Who would want you out of the picture? You're a diplomat."

The horse's mane was gathered in his hands in a tuft of white. "Ever been to the Twisted Woods? Been inside it, I mean. Even the Shadow Casters say it's a scar of their ancestors. Magic that shouldn't happen has repercussions. Giant spiders' venom is more acidic. Wyverns are at the top of the food chain. There are some insane people living in there, too. That's where we're headed. Or rather I'm taking you to the border and getting my pay and then you likely go in."
 
Ysella Ronasin​
Trudging along side a horse, was a difficult endeavor, even at a lackadaisical pace, but when one was chained about the neck it was a complicated thing of its own. She did her best to keep even strides, but found herself tripping quite a bit, stumbling over rocks and ditches in the road. By some small miraculous feat, she hadn't fallen, but she had come close to it and that almost seemed worse for pain it caused about her neck.

Still, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she was regretting her decision to attack him... not when she was sure he would take great pride in knowing the pain it had caused her. That, and she was genuinely convinced he meant it when he said he would kill her if he had to. Though as he continued, she wasn't entirely sure why he didn't, just...

"They matter to me..." She muttered, glaring up at him, "I'm rather a bit more than concerned about who wants me dead. And considering I'm a diplomat, I'd say there's a great deal of people on that list. If you care so little, and I'm likely dead anyhow, why not just say it? What does it benefit you to leave me in the dark?"

As her confidence in her own defiance grew again, it then as swiftly dissolved, courage eaten away by every word he spoke. Her breath escaped in a fog, a sound close to that of defeat, "...And why keep me alive?" She asked, finally, with a note of resentment, "Why bother? Or do you find pleasure in prolonged torment? No doubt you do... Cowardly scoundrels enjoy that sort of thing, don't they?"
 
At first he didn't look down at her. He carried on at the meandering pace as his horse climbed up a small slope away from the main road. "You're worth more alive," he said with a shrug. "A bigger pay out if I can get you to the border still breathing."

Based on their current pace and location, it could be assumed they were embarking on a journey that would have them company for weeks. Especially when they rove into the quagmires and deceptive fields of the Grey Hinterlands they'll find struggle in their trek. The mercenary didn't seem concerned with what was to come. He kept his eyes forward and his grip on the chain tight, yet he didn't come across as cold or entirely apathetic as he openly and casually conversed with his captive as if they were acquaintances.

"You're the one who is tormenting yourself," he said jokingly. "I offered you a horse! And you could have had that luxury. You should thank me for the pace, Diplomat. How nice am I to keep the horse slow so you aren't pulled by the collar?"

He finally looked over at her, eyeing Ysella in what looked to be deep contemplation of her predicament. "I don't know that they want you dead," he continued. "Otherwise they would have just said to kill you. I think they'd rather you be alive. I don't know exactly who wants you, but I can take a guess, just as you can. And I'm not the only one after you either. Your bounty's been posted on several boards along with the one going to Uthred."
 
Ysella Ronasin​
"Ha!" there was little genuine about the laugh, as it expelled with the venom of a curse, her gaze narrowing up at the man, "Yes, a true gentleman! I'm so sorry to have offended your noble sensitivities! Why... I probably should thank you for the collar as well, no? What a lovely fashion statement."

Looking away, she shook her head, "And if you think the pace makes any difference, you're an idiot as well. But then I'd wager you've never been on this end of one of these miserable contraptions, have you?" Biting the inside of her cheek, determined still to keep her emotions from spilling over, she kept her eyes straight ahead, watching the rocky path with indifference, "You're despicable."

He continued, and again, fear seemed to overwhelm any sense or desire to remain unmoved, her eyes snapping up to the man on horseback, "Rotheel? But what would they need the both of us..." Frowning, she turned away, "...It's a war they want. I'm sure of it. But I'm sure you don't care. You can take your money and run for the hills... Ignorant the thousands of lives you've ruined. You really don't care, do you? What happens...? You're perfectly content with whatever happens to me, so long as you get paid. And what makes you so sure you'll get paid? They might just as soon kill you, for knowing too much. I hope they do. And I hope they chain you up and drag you around by the neck, first. Maybe they'll be nice about it."
 
The man didn't dispute her venomous words nor attempt to correct her or flash in anger at her accusations. But he listened. Rocky terrain was masked by tall grass, likely more the reason for the pace of the horse than the benefit of Ysella. It would be an unfortunate thing for a horse to break its leg out in the middle of nowhere which is why most travelers stuck to the roads. With gentle nudges he guided the horse steadily through on an unseen path, one he looked to make up as they went with twists and turns to avoid certain obstacles. There was flatter and more forgiving land ahead.

"It's something I've considered," he said with a thoughtful nod. "This is actually the first time I've done business with people I've not met for a downpayment upfront. I guess we'll get to unravel the mystery together! Hmm, so you surmise I know too much thereby sealing my fate in death upon the exchange."

The thought was pondered for a moment before he laughed. "I don't know that I know too much, but perhaps you're onto something with the execution or capture. I also considered this to be an exchange with a Shadow Caster. I sound pretty doomed, don't I? Do you like imagining my death? Do you think of it in detail or is it just a fleeting feeling due to your anger?"
 
Ysella Ronasin​
"Like it..?" Looking at him, her eyes widened slightly, Ysella frowned. She wanted to say that she relished the thought. That the very idea of him coming upon his own demise, and violently, was something she considered greatly appealing. But the fact was, Ysella was, for all her faults, not one to wish that sort of thing upon anyone. It chilled her, really, the think that anyone could be capable of killing another person... least of all in cold, calculated ruthlessness.

"No, I don't like imagining it. But there's nothing fleeting about it, that much I can assure you. You seem the sort who imagines, with great effect, that he has everything figured out, but I do hope there is some bit of logic in that head of yours. Though I suspect it's foolish to expect you to rely on reason or sound judgment."

Lip trembling as her jaw tightened, she looked away, "...I have done nothing to you. Nothing. Yet you would turn me over to these men without a second thought. To Shadow Casters. For a fistful of coins... You are doomed, whether by this endeavor or another. But that's hardly going to get me out of this. So what do you want? I am a negotiator, after all... Surely there's something I can offer you that will secure to me whatever false loyalty you've promised elsewhere."
 
"There is something you can do," he responded with a slight nod. "You can tone it down a bit. The desperation is noted. Cutting me down with words trying to claw for a bit of compassion somewhere in the belief that all people are inherently good. Not that I condemn that sort of thing. It is alright to be optimistic and fantastical. But as you said I am dispicable. I think I have everything figured out! Reason and sound judgement are not part of my character, and I'm doomed!"

He waved his free hand through the air, fingers wiggling for a mystical effect as he touched on all her points. "Not everyone is inherently good, Diplomat," he said. "How many slaves did you own back in Bastillos? How many of those working in poor conditions did you turn a blind eye to? Or were you not even aware of how inhumane and tyrannical it all is. How does that collar feel again? Piss off. You're just as bad as the rest of us if you get your bedazzled head out of your ass."

A jagged lonely mountain jutted high into the sky out ahead. They weren't headed towards it, but it was a landmark known as The Skyblade as clouds often parted around the peak to make it look as though it were cutting into the sky. It also marked the distance into the Grey Hinterlands. It would be perhaps a day to pass along its foothills.
 
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