Panem et Circenses

[Csephion Draxus]

The Necian City-State of Demos


"The Satrap of Phressia, Cano Draxus of the Csephii! Stand aside and make way!"

A formal-dressed honorarium of sixteen guards, wearing gold-trimmed tunics and ceremonial daggers formed a palisade around the Satrap and his guests as they made their journey from the long piers in the Amethyst Harbor. At the vertexes of the box formation, a soldier held aloft a staff, with a golden aquilae visage fixed to the top, and dressed heavily with garlands. The venerable serpent birds were fixated in a regal sprawl of wings, their savage heads turned down into a sharp glare at whatever company they might be leveled down at.

Draxus wore an austere toga to the proceedings in the Capitol, the trim of which was cut with expensive dyes and material; an ostentatious splash on an otherwise plain and formal garb. Pascias, with no civic restraint put upon him, was free to be doted upon and wore purple and gold silks like an aristocrat. It was a scandalous enterprise that pleased Draxus, that he could be so fabulously wealthy to adorn even his scholar slave in ways that would make a member of one of the Old Families consider envy. To the side of Pascias was the ever-present Mako, dressed as another of the honorarium and looking a bit out of place in this splendid city. But the coveted place at the Satrap's side was occupied by his guest.

A slave approached the honorarium as Draxus stooped down to grab a handful of earth. He squeezed the dark sand in his fingers until it poured from the crevaces, holding his fists high in the air, and then depositing the sand that still clung to his hands into a bowl of insence the slave carried. It was a traditional sign of faith to Grappa, the God of the bountiful land and a thanks for bringing seafarers safely home. That task done, the entourage set forth on the paved roadway that led through the Scribes district, on their way up the stately Hill of the Beacon, and the heart of the Necian nation.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

In the week since first meeting the Satrap, Fyrian had found herself initially unsettled at his presence, and her thoughts often drifted to how she would escape his grasp. And as each day wore on, stealing away from him became a notion pushed further beyond her grasp. Like being toyed with, she discovered that Draxus had the ability to - as unknowing as he might've been of her true situation - pull her close and keep her from straying too far.

During the voyage from Tirgatia to Demos, the Glaucan woman was strangely demure, and often times quiet in the presence of so many Necians. In many ways she felt intimidated, and once alone to herself she would more often than not chastize herself for such thoughts. She was Fyrian! She had no room for fears of that nature. But Draxus had shown a kind hand. Pascias though she was mindful of. The Satrap's slave seemed to watch her with far more scrutiny than she would have liked, and Fyrian found herself agitated somewhat while in his presence.

Even now, at the Satrap's side as they walked, she kept herself tightly in check.

Fyrian wore fine silks, draped over her lithe frame with accents of silver and gold. Her fiery red hair she left down to cascade past her shoulders, and silverleaf earbobs dangled from her ears. A simple necklace of both gold and silver encircled her neck, and an equally simple bracelet to match was on her left wrist. Draxus had presented the clothing and jewelry to her before their arrival, and Fyrian had graciously accepted the gifts.

They were certainly the most elegant garments that she'd ever worn, without any doubt.

But ever-present in the back of her mind was the notion that she should have instead been in chains with the rest of her crew, not dressed up and paraded on the Satrap's arm for all to see.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she stole glances at those who stared at the procession. Many it seemed were looking at her, and it made her overly self-conscious.

"I'm not used to being looked at in such a way," she finally whispered out the side of her mouth.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Envy is an intoxicating fragrance, is it not?"

The group continued onward, as Demosians cleared the main thoroughfare and stared openly. The charade worked to garner a viral pandemic of attention onto the arriving group, and Draxus turned to Pascias in casual conversation.

"How much of the captured booty can we write off as a political investment, Pascias?"

The slave crunched numbers as he walked, staring at his feet for a few seconds as he thought it over.

"One quarter talent of small denomination would be acceptible. I would caution, Domus, less will garner you more here. You are not returning from war. You were visiting a guest and had an unexpected gift fall into your hands."

Draxus waved to onlookers and smiled as he spoke to his slave.

"One quarter then. Arrange it."

Pascias bowed deeply, and fell back into the procession.

"It will be done, Domus."

The Satrap took a feather-laden fan, allowing a few brief swats at the air to dissuade perspiration from forming in the warm air. That task done, he passed it off to a slave to continue fanning duty if he should need it. He gestured to Ariadne at a fork in the road.

"This way leads to the north slope, and the Temple district. Beyond that is the Crucible. Games, executions, erotic pantomime."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

He dared to give away her treasures?!

Fyrian once more found it a task to not snap at him, and instead cast her eyes in the direction that he gestured. And, even through her initial anger, the Glaucan felt it soften as he spoke. During their week together, and aboard his ship as they sailed, she had come to a bit more of an understanding of the man. He was fiercely loyal and proud of his nation and people. An admirable quality and one that had begun to chip away at her own feelings of resentment toward him.

"For all of the different places that my trade takes me, I have never managed to find myself here."

She stared a bit longer, then turned her gaze up toward him.

The light in his eyes was unmistakable, and Fyrian could tell easily that the Satrap was completely in his element. He looked to be at home amid this pomp, and she suspected that the man could appear just as easily comfortable in armor and on the battlefield. It was a thought that suddenly made her wonder just how much Draxus had accomplished in his life.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus allowed a smile.

"A shame you have not traveled here before. With a profession of finding unusual items worthy of collection, I think you would tax brain and brawn to fill demand."

He gestured to rows and rows of insulae and to throngs of shop-keepers, hocking the widest assortment of goods from across Asga, the eastern islands, and beyond.

"Silks from Ankraarizad, Fiannic Catamites from the Far South, Spices from the Nusakaar Fringe, alchemy powders from across the Great Sea, great bronze statues from Kraton. The fruit of labor from nearly every nation comes to Demos to be sold."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Watching as those he motioned to went about their daily activities, Fyrian licked her lips.

She'd not paid much attention to the planning of their arrival, and had nearly forgotten where the Satrap would be taking her. An inconvenience, but one that she could overlook.

She shifted her grip on his arm then, moving the small finger of her hand so that it barely rested on the exposed skin of his wrist.

"Your pride in Necia is tangible."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I've seen so much of the rest of the world by comparison. My pride is well founded."

He gestured to the west.

"The myriad rabble squabble for their share in the dark, fending for their small clans. Yet they rise up to dash themselves to death in war, and for what? Against what?"

He gestured to the ever-rising marble buildings before them.

"The transcendence of civilization head and shoulders above shabbiness and base barbarism."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Following with her eyes in the direction he last indicated, Fyrian suddenly felt her stomach drop from under her. If she'd not been more aware of herself, she would have stopped. The sight of Necian government on high was more than enough to very nearly chill her blood, and suddenly she wished to be back in the sea, back beneath the waves of the oceans and in the clutches of Denetion's gently rolling waves.

But she was not so fortunate, having found herself partially attached now to the one man who would be bringing her crew to the final judgement.

While beautiful, the buildings rising before her were intimidating all the same. And as she had been so in control of her instinctive reactions during the week, Fyrian still maintained her hold. She managed a thin-lipped smile, but couldn't help verbally poking at him. Oh, there was no derision in her tone, but rather a playfulness that had begun to come out naturally while around him.

"Civilization being what it is, 'barbarism' - as you call it - and wild abandon can be just as enticing, noble Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Excursions make for a curiosity, and a moment of intrigue."

The Satrap begged to disagree with the assessment. As the group moved onward, a broad dome ahead dominated the landscape. Atop the structure stood a golden, winged Goddess - Hryathi, bare-bosomed and clutching a snake and a spear. This was the sacred place of State, the Oratorium. All major matters of Necian jurisprudence were brought to this place to be heard. Cast down from the main structure were dozens of smaller adjunctant offices and courts, for lesser degrees of bureaucracy. It was as religious a place as it was political, as both religion and politics were completely intertwined.

"Ah, it still stands."

Draxus remarked glibly at the Capitol.

"Never can be too sure. Some demagogue is bound to say the wrong thing and bring a thunderbolt upon it one day."

He looked to his guest, and a furtive smile met her.

"I should be much interested to introduce you to the other Satraps. I think you would find their company endlessly amusing."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Staring as if hypnotized, Fyrian almost didn't register the words he spoke. It was true what she'd said earlier, and had indeed never been to Demos. She could appreciate the craftsmanship, labor, and skill used to construct the buildings she now saw, and she was nearly transfixed by the statue atop the Oratorium.

It was his smile that returned her to her own mind, and she looked away from him in mild embarrassment.

"You only wish to display to them your good fortunes taken from Tirgatia," she mumbled almost teasingly.

[Csephion Draxus]

Skewered so skillfully. Though wounded, the Satrap smiled for it. How sharp she was!

"I do expect it to confound and vex some terribly."

He lingered a knowing smile on her before raising a hand in salutation as just such a friend approached.

"Cannas Trivo, my good friend!"

A heavy-bearded Glaucan gestured for his attendants to lower the litter he was riding in, and he stepped out, gazing at the pomp that Draxus had surrounded himself in.

"Csephion Draxus."

His eyes briefly moved to Ariadne, then back to Draxus.

"I must be remiss, is there a festival to be had? You seem to be in the midst of celebrating something I am unaware of."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She watched the arrival of this Cannas Trivo, as Draxus had called him. The bearded Glaucan was a sight to see in his own right, carried upon a litter. She had heard the name before, aboard the Chiron. The crew often talked of the Necian Satraps in rather vulgar ways; even Draxus had not been spared her men's jokes and crude words.

Fyrian stood a little straighter though, her previous embarrassment wiped away in the wash of Draxus' smile.

She watched Trivo, entwining the fingers of her hands together in front of her while casting another quick glance to the Oratorium.

[Csephion Draxus]

"I had the good fortune of meeting an ally, and brought home our enemies in chains. Hryathi smiles on good favor, and I honor her."

Draxus gestured behind at the mule carts which contained shackled dozens of men and glaucans.

"The Fyrian pirates?"

Trivo looked surprised, not expecting such a decisive ending to the chase, and from such a source.

"These were captured by a barbarian king and not by our Imperator? Then what of him?"

It was an interesting question.

"No doubt searching the far reaches of Asga for Fyrian himself, and the Lantern."

Trivo fell in with the entourage, speaking with all as they traveled to the Oratorium. He looked at Ariadne with more curiosity.

"I do not believe we have met. I am Cannas Trivo, Satrap of Kraton."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Ah, and there it was! He'd not disclosed the true reason for his passionate fervor in finding who he last remembered Fyrian to be, but now that Draxus had let slip mention of the Lantern, Fyrian felt herself more easily able to approach him when the time would undoubtedly come for the two to settle accounts. Draxus himself of course knew nothing of this, and while Fyrian suspected such a clash to be inevitable, there was a budding feeling of sympathy for Phressia's Satrap.

As much as it seemed that she'd charmed him, he was ever so slowly having that very same effect upon her.

Trivo's introduction jolted her from her thoughts, and Fyrian nodded to him graciously.

"I am Ariadne, noble Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I am not familiar with your family, then. What city are you from?"

Draxus cut all such questions off at the pass.

"Trivo, she is a friend and fellow intellectual from Tirgatia. She has some mind on the betterment of our trade situation with the Asga kingdoms, and how to deal with this pirate menace."

The Glaucan Satrap meant to continue the conversation, but Draxus smiled impassively and continued walking. He finally regained his train of thought, once his eyes had deviated from Ariadne's bewitching form.

"What, may I ask, do you propose of the pirate scourge? I had imagined that no less than crucifixion would suffice."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"No family name to speak of; I hail originally from the Kestrels."

And again, talk of death.

Fyrian found it so amazing that men who declared themselves civilized would deviate to thoughts of pain and death ever so quickly. It was not so removed from the barbarism that Draxus himself had claimed Necia to be, in her mind.

How to answer the Glaucan Satrap though.

Fyrian bowed her head as she stayed close to Draxus' side. She found it strange, that even though Trivo was a Glaucan, she felt more at ease in the Phressian's close proximity.

"It is nothing, Satrap, but the simple ponderings of a simple merchant."

[Csephion Draxus]

Simple merchant? Trivo's mind began to race at the thought. Draxus consorted with a common shipwright? Was this to confound the entire assembly? What was he planning?

"I would be interested in these ponderings, Ariadne."

He eyed Draxus warily. This had to be a stratagem. There was not a moment of Draxus's life that he wasn't scheming or bending himself over upon the anvil of ambition.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Many would be, Satrap."

Emboldened somewhat, Fyrian angled her head downwards while tracking her eyes to the side. She was still very conscious of the fact that many eyes were stuck upon the procession, and while it unnerved her to something of a large degree, she held herself in tight control.

That her crew was being led in chains behind them was no small matter, and she ground her teeth.

"Patience is a virtue that the Gods look well upon."

She squared back her shoulders and gave a brief sidelong look to Draxus for help in diverting any more questions that Trivo might rain down on her shoulders.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Ariadne believes that Fyrian's pirates can be wooed by mercy and an appeal to their avarice. It is a notion that I am willing to give serious consideration to."

Trivo seemed less than convinced.

"Why must we be in a position to mete out mercies? We have at our disposal the means to make a powerful statement to those that would defy the will of Necia?"

Draxus grimaced at this notion. It was one that he'd considered, but he had long moved on from it.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian scowled at that.

"Whatever position you feel yourself to be in at this moment in time, what sort of position do you think those men are in?"

If she could have, the Glaucan woman would have bared her teeth.

"Put yourself in their chains, and tell me what it is that you would be more inclined toward."

Perhaps she was more trite with Trivo, but Fyrian found herself with less patience for him than she had with Draxus. And again, she had to stop her thoughts from reaching any sort of inevitable conclusion from that fact.

[Csephion Draxus]

Trivo was perplexed at her indignation.

"Their considerations are forfeit. They are condemned criminals and are due the fate that their deeds have provided them. For all of the offenses they have committed unto Necia, they have little to spare them."

Draxus knew this would be the conventional resistance to his plan, and he pondered how he would overcome it.

"Necia could destroy every one of these prisoners, that is true. It is our right as victors to do so. That being said, our goal is the restoration of the sanctity of State, and our ultimate goal is the return of the Lantern. I think that we should not divert from this end goal."

Trivo was less than convinced. As the Oratorium's steps came within reach, Draxus pondered what the other Satraps would think of his plan.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

And as suddenly as her harsh demeanor had come, it passed just as quickly, and Fyrian paused at the front step leading up to the Oratorium.

She spoke so that only Draxus would hear.

"I fear that I am unworthy to go any farther, Satrap."

She watched Trivo continue on as if unnoticing the Glaucan woman's hesitance. He was unable to see further than his own nose in her estimations, and she found herself despising him for that.

That Draxus had taken her subtle misguidings as some sort of merchantile tndancies and advice was all the better, but it still did little to quiet the nervousness that Trivo himself had planted within her. If he remained unconvinced of her suggestions, how on the great continent of Asga was she to persuade the rest of Draxus' fellow Satraps? It was a sobering thought to say the least.

"I fear I do not belong here," she whispered.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus bade her on, and whispered to her.

"If you value your convictions, stay with me. I believe your suggestions are sound. Our task is simply to convince others to this end. All of Necia's great questions are answered in such a way."

The steps ascended toward a vaulted entrance flanked by austere columns. All around it were smartly-dressed people eager to hand petitions to whatever Satrap might catch them. It was both solemn and anarchic at once in a way.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Into the heart of the monster. The belly of the beast, as it were once again. Fyrian cast one more look above her at the architecture threatening to swallow her whole, and with a minute nod of her head, she bowed to Draxus' wishes. With every passing moment and every word that he uttered, Fyrian was drawn ever closer.

She was to parlay for the lives of her crew in a manner that she never thought possible.

Denetion give me strength.

And through the crowds of those hoping for any attention they could garner from whatever Satraps would give to them, she reached a hand out to grasp his own.

Her grip was swift, and she sought as much comfort in the touch of his flesh as she could before releasing him at the entrance to the Oratorium.

Her answer was soft, and an acquiescence to him.

"Stay with you."

[Csephion Draxus]

The shadow cast by the superstructure of the Oratorium was vast, and soon they were under the sway of lamps, and a faint influx of light allowed through portholes in the dome, so that the entire interior of the building took on a strange pantomime between light and shadow. All around, the sixty Satraps milled about, eager to call their assembly to order and to divine some sene of grand purpose from the din and legislated anarchy of their modus of governance. The petitions here continued ever in a shrill tone, and Draxus had the good grace of his honorarium to beat the tide back. But at least at the Oratorium, he had to go it alone. Captain Mako and his men were not allowed into the hallowed ground, and they stood behind while Draxus, Trivo, and Ariadne entered. The shouting rose as a din as the Satrap assigned by lot to be the counsilary chair rapped his staff on the ground.

"Order! This meeting will come to order! Do not make me threaten contempt!"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Surrounded on all sides now completely, Fyrian was unable to help that ever growing feeling of being so entirely overwhelmed. A look of calmed nervousness masked the barely controlled panic she held in check.

Sure to stay as close to Draxus as possible without making herself look like a scared child, the Glaucan kept her hands folded into each other, fingers wrapped through one another.

Another stolen glance toward the doors that they had entered through, and Fyrian knew in the pit of her stomach that there was no running from this.

And yet, from the moment that she'd stopped in front of the Phressian Satrap on the road from Tirgatia, was there ever?

[Regulus Varo]

Standing to indicate his intention of having the floor to speak was a plainly-dressed man with a hard expression on his face. Regulus Varo was the Satrap of Gnaedos, and a fierce nemesis of Csephion Draxus. He had aligned a faction of Satraps against the Phressian, who had in turn aligned a league of Satraps loyal to himself. Each of these two men held a heavy amount of sway within the Oratorium, and therefore, throughout the Necian League.

"I would like to welcome our esteemed colleague, the Satrap of Phressia back to Demos, so that he can resume his sacred charge of legislation."

Nobody applauded as it was fairly obvious that the greeting was of a dry and mocking nature. Not that it mattered one bit to Varo.

"But I must ask, why has the Satrap's chair been empty for these past weeks? Where has Csephion Draxus been? We hear of haughty excursions into Tirgatia and greater Asga beyond, no doubt financed by a petty tyrant king, who perhaps has lubricated the Phressian Satrap's mind with spices and wine..."

He looked to the well-dressed woman at Draxus's side, in attendance as well. It was not unusual for guests to attend the Oratorium, as civic governance was open to all to see, but it was politically expedient for Varo to skewer Draxus on this coincidence.

"...or women?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stared wide-eyed at the speaker, taken aback at his tone of voice and the inference that he made in his last words.

Varo, the Satrap of Gnaedos, was a rather well known figure to her, and she had heard enough stories of the man's nature. He was not one to anger, she was well enough aware of. But that knowledge still did not stop the Glaucan woman from ticking her ears back and digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

Just the sound of his voice was enough to make her wish for this exercise to be at an end.

She spoke not a word. This was Draxus' arena, and she would gladly fall to the wayside during these dealings.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus could sense the discomfort in Ariadne, and frowned momentarily. He knew that Varo would strike without mercy, and was quick to end this rhetorical assault.

"My apologies, I appear to have been remiss in avoiding your bluster!"

The counsilary chair rapped his staff at that retort, and commanded Draxus to dull the rhetoric and keep it to the point.

"While you men of quality have been debating endless matters of importance, I too have attended to matters of importance. Yes, I traveled west to Tirgatia, and the lands of greater Asga at the behest of the Tirgat king, who many know to be a keen ally and friend of our state. While under the gracious host of the Tirgat king, our mutual trade agreements of quarried stone were discussed, and I can safely assure a lucrative understanding was reached. Further, it should be known that pirates of no less than Fyrian's band were captured by the Tirgat militias. Though our main villain and his prize remains at large, we have struck a crippling blow to this menace."

He looked toward Ariadne.

"My colleague is a merchant of these familiar routes to the west, and has a keen understanding of the criminals we face. She has a plan to exploit their avarice, and to compel their betrayal."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian bent her head so that her gaze rested on the floor beneath them. She felt self-conscious at so many eyes upon her, and at the attention that Draxus had rested on her shoulders. A small part of her had wished that he would be the one to propose the idea that she had planted in him, but instead, the way that he was now speaking led her to believe that it was his intention for her to raise her own voice.

Casting quick glances about her, Fyrian gave one last look to Draxus before her eyes fell to Varo. There was something in his very demeanor that put her on edge, and it was not long before she broke her stare away.

These men in the Oratorium were wolves of a different sort. Their teeth and claws were their words, and Fyrian only hoped that, at this session's conclusion, she'd at the very best be able to limp away from them.

[Regulus Varo]

"Plan, what plan?"

Varo's eyes narrowed.

"There can only be one solution. These vagabonds have defied Necia in the ultimate fashion. The State is sacrosanct from the Gods. Defiance of the highest edicts of the State is sacrilege. Does your Glaucan woman have a voice of her own? Can she explain this case of leniency she supposes?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian steeled herself, knowing that she had been called upon by the Satrap of Gnaedos to explain herself and her reasoning. All it seemed in the Oratorium waited as well, and she smoothed a portion of her clothing to mask a slightly shaking hand.

"Necia has been wronged, it is true," she started slowly.

"And in a way that no nation should be. I call no country my own save Denetion's waters, but it is not outside of my grasp to be sympathetic to your anger and the injustice wrought upon your people."

As she spoke, her voice changed from its' timid beginnings to something much stronger, and with iron behind it.

"But you find yourselves now in a position to show that you are beyond the cruel wounds inflicted by the pirate, Fyrian.

"You have in chains his crew, and the chance to show them that you do not stoop to their level of baseless actions."

[Regulus Varo]

"It is true, we have the option to be merciful, but do not mistake the existance of an option for the presence of credible possibility. If posterity is looking upon us for an example to make, the example that should be made is that defiance of the State merits death. Less than this, and our enemies are emboldened, and will expect lenience. What then, do we gain from this folly, I ask you again?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Emboldened, Fyrian locked eyes with Varo, this time unyielding.

"What do you gain? Good and noble Satrap, you gain the Golden Lantern."

There was a hard, mocking tone to her voice then.

"Being that you are a man of philosophy and thought, I would recommend that you exercise your high-bred intellect and think about it."

[Regulus Varo]

"Do we? Does it manifest itself into our possession upon our act of bribery? Not a kernel of trust exists between ourselves and scurillious pirates in the best of times. When offered an olive branch of mercy, I expect the condemned to do nothing short of lie about the color of the sky to avoid their fate."

Varo shook his head.

"I will afford not one drop of mercy until the Lantern is returned to our Beacon, and Fyrian's body is thrown from the Palisade Rock. Perhaps they lie, perhaps they speak true. They have no names, and no reputations. Their words are just disturbances of air without integrity to back them up."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian felt herself to be in full swing now, and held herself with a sort of reckless abandon.

"These men are who they are because of greed. They steal because they covet that which they do not have. Not once has the option presented itself to them out of good graces. They expect to be crucified and put to the sword.

"The Golden Lantern means nothing to them. It was most undoubtedly a whim of Fyrian himself to take it for his own. They cannot attach any physical wealth to it, so why should they lie about its' whereabouts? It has brought them nothing but the rage of a whole nation upon them, and with their captain fleeing to the southlands and leaving them to your discretion, they have seen now that their leader abandons them. What do they have that is so precious to their hearts to protect?"

Fyrian raised a hand and pointed it to the Gnaedos Satrap.

"Nothing, save their own lives. And to them, that is far more precious to them than your Lantern."

[Regulus Varo]

"The southlands?"

Varo had disregarded his previous bombardment, and looked sharply to Draxus.

"Is this true?"

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus was as surprised as his nemesis, and he looked to Ariadne for some affirmation.

"I was not aware of this."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Stupid!

In the heat of her words, Fyrian had let slip something that she most certainly shouldn't have. She glared long at Varo.

"It is."

She could salvage this. It was not a difficult task; simply an obstruction.

"I was in Tirgatia, in the marketplace when Satrap Csephion Draxus descended upon Fyrian's men. I saw Fyrian gathering provisions with his ship's navigator. They left through the southern gates.

"If I say that he travels south, it is only because that is the direction that I watched him leave. If he's deviated from that course than I will retract, but my eyes saw him ride for the directions of Ha'lainn Inniu and the Ruins of Nusakar."

This much Fyrian knew she'd not disclosed to Draxus, and so if nothing else would come of their time here, at least his surprise was genuine.

[Regulus Varo]

"Well, then what confessions do we need of the condemned?"

Varo, looking mildly pleased, addressed the larger body of the Satrapy.

"To this end, I suggest we raise an Expeditia to pursue to the farthest southern reaches of the continent, and bring Fyrian into account."

He looked at Ariadne as an afterthought.

"Crucify the balance of the prisoners."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"No!"

Fyrian's yell held a growled undertone all the same. It was a feral sound, raw and primal.

"Noble Satrap, you will not listen to my reason, but you listen to my speculations?

"Fyrian's men know more than I. If you crucify them, you crucify your very chances of ever seeing your Lantern again."

She wanted to close her hands around his neck.

"Offer them pardons and whatever else strikes your fancy. In return they will give to you what you desire. You want Fyrian, and they will give him to you."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I agree with Ariadne."

Draxus stood close at her side, addressing the Oratorium with that familiar granite lilt in his voice.

"We have all the time we need for blood, if blood is what we seek. The most pressing matter is and has always been the Lantern, and the prime perpetrator, Fyrian. Do what can be done here and now to return both to Necia. If that includes buying the loyalty of a few pawns in this crisis, that is a thrifty purchase."

All around, the Oratorium was alive with mutterings and whisperings as the Satraps considered both diamatrically opposed camps, and who to back in this discussion. The consensus of the Satrapy, not the wills of Draxus or Varo, would be the word that carried the day.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She was grateful for his support. While she graced him not with her green eyes, Fyrian would not forget to thank him after this charade was concluded.

She kept her gaze to Varo, and the light in her eyes hardened into something impermeable.

"This farcical banter is nothing more than verbal masturbations. I am a merchant, and taken to avarice myself. What is piracy, but a lawless extension of my own trade?"

She fairly snarled then.

"What do you know of men and their seas."

[Regulus Varo]

Varo moved to retort to Ariadne, but the din of discussion in the Oratorium was reaching a crescendo. The counsiliary rapped his staff on the floor louder and louder, nearly screaming for order to resume, but even this was temporarily held back by two separate and distinct chants.

"Execute them!"

and

"Leniency!"

Eventually, with great effort, the counsiliary chair had drawn them down to a low simmer, and motioned for Varo, Draxus, and Ariadne to each approach him.

[Csephion Draxus]

The counsiliary chairman stood with the three he had beckoned, in relatively private seclusion from the masses around them.

"End this spectacle immediately. I want a vote brought to the floor."

He looked to Draxus.

"Name your terms."

Draxus thought it over a moment, looking at Ariadne. He had to consider an offer that seemed conciliatory towards Varo, but still held the spirit of his intention. The original proposal he made to Ariadne came to mind.

"One man, chosen by lot, to be executed as an example to the rest."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian said nothing, the muscles of her jaw clenching tightly. What Draxus put forth was still more than she could, in her own good conscious, accept. Yet, that was what she had to do. It would not matter to these men that the ones they'd clapped in irons were Glaucan and Freemen that she'd grown up around. Each one had had a hand in her life.

It would've been one thing if death came in battle. She'd lost many of her friends in such a manner.

But this! This was a circumstance of the worst kind.

She would have no say in the matter, and stood close enough at Draxus' side to make the appearance of backing his decision. Fyrian gave a rather icy glare to Varo, hoping that the Phressian Satrap's proposal would be sufficient.

[Regulus Varo]

Varo likewise considered the negotiation, and shook his head at the offer. That was too lenient. What was one man put to death? A drop in a river?

"Execute half of them. One man is a message that will be heard by few."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"And do your surgeons also perform their delicate tasks with mallets and clubs?"

Her retort was hissed, and Fyrian felt herself driven ever closer to the edge of her sanity by this man.

"The only ones who must hear this 'message', as you call it, are the ones you have in chains.

"One of their own put to your great and mighty sword of righteousness will be sufficient."

There was no mistaking the disgust in her voice.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus frowned. This was becoming loathsome. He put a hand on Ariadne's shoulder to calm her.

"An execution of four men would be enough spectacle to send a message, even for you. Don't be greedy, we can send a clear enough message with spectacular deaths. Anything more does us a disservice and denies us the very people we are trying to turn against Fyrian."

He let Varo consider the argument, and wondered if he would take the bait.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

His touch was enough to reign her in, and Fyrian grew still. She had spoken her piece as well as she possibly could.

The matter now rested between the two men who she knew to be far greater gifted with the art of the spoken word. There was nothing else she could do now, and once more she settled her mind to watch and listen.

[Regulus Varo]

Varo's mouth contorted, and he glared at Draxus as he considered the offer.

"Four men, chosen by lot."

He glanced to the counsiliary chair, who nodded.

"Then we will put the measure to a vote."

The three were bade to return to their places, as the chair began to discuss the framing of the vote to take place. Varo stormed over to his faction, and began discussing the topic with key Satraps.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I cannot stomach much more of this," Fyrian whispered to her host as they returned to their own areas.

"Regulus Varo is as mad as Dravian. He is obsessed with spilling unnecessary blood."

She cast a furtive glance to the Gnaedos Satrap while still speaking to Draxus in a hushed tone. There was a resigned lilt to her voice.

"You speak of Necia having such civilized attitudes, but I see only barbarism in here today."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Punishment must be meted out for defiance of our laws."

Draxus tried to explain but he wasn't surprised to find resistance.

"There are disagreements in how to do this, as with anything else. This is how all manner of disagreements are settled."

He briefly excused himself from Ariadne's side to speak with Satraps favorable to his faction, explaining the vote that was to be brought to the floor. After a few moments, the counsiliary chair rapped his staff again.

"The vote, brought before the Assembly of the Satrapy, is to pass sentence upon the enemies of Necia. The suggested sentence is that four of the condemned shall be drawn by lot, and submitted to either crucifiction, immolation, death by beasts, or death in the arena. This is an aye or nay vote."

The chairman looked around, as the Oratorium grew quiet.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

And now it came to this. Before her, in all of its' entirety, Fyrian was witness to the proceedings of Necian government and the will of the Satrapy. Oh, she had felt the effects of their decision making before from afar, but to be present and within its' heart was both terrifying and exhilerating.

She watched Draxus from afar as he spoke with those who were loyal to him, noting every small tick, the gestures he made as he talked. It was fascinating in its' own right, to see the ways in which all of these men held themselves.

And when the chairman put forth the proposal, she couldn't help the pained expression that marred her features as the list of punishments were spoken aloud.

Those four, whoever they might be, were still members of her crew and more than that - they were her family.

[Regulus Varo]

The chairman at last put the vote forward.

"Votes for yay?"

Each Satrap who supported the proposal stood from his seat, while those who did not support or abstained remained seated. From the shift of bodies, it was immediately clear that the motion would carry.

"Votes for nay?"

A dozen Satraps, mostly moderates who either vaccilated between the camps of Draxus and Varo, or who opposed both, stood up.

"Abstentions?"

Two Satraps, again among the moderates, stood up.

The chair concluded the vote with a swift rap of his cane.

"It is done."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

And indeed it was. Fyrian felt a traitor to her own men in a way, at even just being present at such an event. She felt unclean, and with her head bowed, the Glaucan lifted a hand up to rub at her temple.

Green eyes closed, she now more than ever wanted to simply leave.

What happened next she did not care for, no amount of ceremonial pomp would wash clean the inner corrosion of her core that Draxus had unwittingly begun in her by bringing her to this place. She resented him for that much, at least. His ignorance washed the feeling away however.

How could he have known?

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus felt little ease with the outcome of the vote. He felt, as Ariadne did, that the outcome was too heavy, though he did feel that at least one example could be afforded. There was a time for punishment, and all enemies of Necia were susceptible to death, but Varo's adherence to stodgy nationalism was going to put his plan of bringing Fyrian into account in jeopardy.

"Well, that boorish spectacle is now ended, isn't it?"

Annoyed at it all, Draxus rose from his seat.

"I find bathing works well to clean the smell of this place."

A murmur of agreement from his closest sycophants was heard behind him.

"Varo would lop off his own hand to feed his belly for a day, when that very hand could forage for a lifetime. And he has the gall to consider me a demagogue?"

The Satrap produced a fan, and extended a hand to Ariadne.

"It was not my intention to disappoint your sensibilities. Of that I am sorry."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian accepted his offered hand, unconsciously feeling as the eyes of many in the Oratorium fell to that simple act.

"Do not apologise."

Denetion had a plan, even through all of this. She was certain of it. Lost in those thoughts, she allowed Draxus to pull her through the press of bodies also making their ways to the arched doorway.

"It is how your government works," she finished quietly.

The notion of immersing herself in a bath was a welcome one, and would do well to help wash away her sombre thoughts. To be in water, to feel its' carress. And suddenly Fyrian could not leave this place soon enough. Draxus' words had done well to inspire in her the need to wash away the stink of Necian politics.

[Csephion Draxus]

The retinue left the Oratorium, and Draxus was flagged down by Pascias, who had managed to fetch his litter.

"I hope the proceedings were not as painful as usual?"

Draxus gave his muse a scolding and knowing eye as he climbed into the pillow-furnished litter, gesturing for Ariadne to follow.

"I have a private bath at a villa within city limits, if you would prefer to avoid sharing sponges with fullers and circus performers?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian nodded absently, and with a briefly cautious look to Pascias, she joined the Phressian Satrap. Mindful of herself, she was careful to not intrude into Draxus' own personal space.

"Your kindness and generosity know no bounds, Satrap."

He was correct in his summations, that she had no wish to surround herself with more bodies than absolutely necessary, and the public baths - though she had been to many in the past - were not always soothing to the soul. Of course, an open beach would have been far more inviting, but Fyrian would not refuse the Satrap's request.

[Csephion Draxus]

The litter was off, lifting gently and evenly as the team of slave litter-bearers moved down the path with ease as they began the trek back to the Satrap's villa.

"Eventually a day will come when short-sighted fools like Regulus Varo are hoisted upon their own petard, and I pray I'm alive to see it happen. The difference between us is that one of us wishes Necia to be a great nation, and one would be content for Necia to simply think it."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She gave to him a sidelong look, green eyes lingering on his face before turning once more to the wayside."

Such talk of patriotism and nationalism fell on deaf ears. She had nothing of the sort to rally behind, save her own self and desires. But, she would not disagree or be contrary to his musings in the least.

Instead, Fyrian changed the subject with a quiet question.

"When you said that Fyrian had stolen from you; why did you not tell me that it was the Lantern that he'd taken?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Perhaps a point of sore pride, I suppose."

The Satrap conceded, with a softer tone in his voice.

"The loss is a grievous wound not only to our pride, but to the affinity magic that so much of our trade draws its inspiration from. The lantern guaranteed a beacon the eastern lands could see and follow, and guaranteed a way of life. Without it, what makes Necia herself is perhaps in true jeopardy. It is a complicated wound."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"No doubt."

After this day, Fyrian herself was becoming very well acquainted with complicated wounds. Her first trial to wade through as the captain of the Fold was not one that she suspected even her own father to endure.

"Then, if he travels south as I last saw, what good can that do for him?"

Curiosity now fueled her queries, as she wondered just how much the Satrap would reveal; as well as put forth his own speculations. He had been genuinely surprised at what she'd said today, and she suspected that he'd not been prepared for such news.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Perhaps to a buyer with whom the Lantern holds value. I cannot begin to think of who that could be. It is a contraption of incalculable complexity, and an entire college of fire mages were required to keep it in working fashion."

Draxus shook his head.

"The troublesome fact of the matter is that we have no shortage of enemies. The only shortage is their means."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She would get nothing from him at this point in time, and Fyrian knew that it would be best to simply drop the matter. She did not want to pry, and instead would allow him to speak freely of it himself when he deemed appropriate. His words gave her pause though, as it seemed she'd underestimated the value of the Lantern to the people of Necia.

There was a doubt beginning to grow in her then, that her father had no ability to realize the impact that his actions had and would cause.

She turned her head to look at the slowly drifting scenery.

"Then let us not dwell on that thought for now. Having born witness to what happened today, I feel dirty, and must wash away the filth."

It was the first complete truth uttered on her part since first meeting Draxus."

[Csephion Draxus]

The villa ride was uneventful from that point. They arrived to a high vantage over the eastern sea, and the litter bearers knelt down at marble steps leading up to a small grotto of fragrant plants that hung to each side of a vaulted entrance. Painted alabaster and granite gave the home a richly-designed look, and a slave of faintly Ankaaric look nodded deeply at their approach, sprinkling rose-scented water on their feet as they entered the Satrap's villa.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

There was no denying the beauty of the Satrap's villa.

Fyrian stepped from the litter at Draxus' beckon, and let her gaze travel upwards so that she could take in the architecture of the place. She said not a word as they ascended the steps, and gave the slave a mildly surprised look as she felt water lightly touch her feet. It was a fragrant smell that met her nose, and she quirked one corner of her mouth upwards in amusement at herself.

Passing beneath the vaulted doorway, Fyrian slowed her pace ever so slightly while turning a questioning eye to Draxus.

This was his home, and despite her own upbringing, she respected the sanctity of it and the generosity that he extended toward her. The Glaucan did find herself wondering however, why exactly he had been drawing her ever closer to him; inviting her back to Tirgatia, and then from there to Demos. And finally, to his home.

She had a notion, but at the same time refused to entertain it. She was Fyrian; she was the captain of the Fold, the daughter of Kariun Fyrian - the man responsible for the theft of Necia's greatest national treasure.

But by Denetion it was tempting, and in that instant she knew what had to be done.

Draxus would be impaled upon his own ego, and she would hold the spear herself.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Do you like music? My man Trassas plays the flying harp, and knows many songs."

Draxus gestured to an olive-skinned man with large black curls who sat on a bench adjacent to a brass-colored instrument vaguely shaped like a cyllinder, suspended in air by a thin rope tethered to the ceiling. The room they had entered was a caldarium, and the bath was central in the vaulted chamber, with frescoes adorning every inch of wall space around them. Steam lazily rose from the water's edge, and Draxus disturbed the water's edge with the blade of his hand.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian gave no immediate answer, instead moving to kneel at the edge of the bath and run the flat of her palm just over the surface of the water. In the next moment, she swept her hand down gently, feeling the bath's warmth. It was most certainly inviting.

"I've no preference, Satrap. If you wish for music, than let your man play. If not, I will not be hurt."

Already she had moved to the side, carefully removing the jewelry she wore and setting the gold and silver pieces on an empty stone bench along one of the richly decorated walls.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus nodded to Trassas, who began an austere, inspirational piece that was written as a poetic accompaniment. The musician plucked strings along the cyllinder, pivoting and spinning the instrument about to transition between certain ranges of keys. The Satrap likewise set aside a gold bracelet and ring, and discarded his robe, easing his nude form into the bracingly hot water, which came up to his shoulders. He gave a quick duck, and dipped beneath the surface, coming up a moment later to pat his hair dry as he rested against the edge of the bath.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Shedding her clothing was a simple task. Her body had seen it's share of hardships, and without any sort of covering it was easy to tell that Fyrian had not lived a life of luxury. But she took pride in the lines her muscles gave her body, and the scars that traced across areas of her skin's landscape. They were merits and badges of honor from a way of life that demanded no less from her.

Likewise, the ornate raven tattoo patterned across her back also had become a symbol of her ways. It had been a labor of love by the artist, and the skill in each line displayed that love. It had no distinct style, except for maybe that which belonged solely to the artist who'd done the deed. It was large, as well, as from beak to tail extended from her neck to the small of her back, with upward stretched wings curved over her shoulders to end at her collarbone.

She slipped easily into the bath, taking to the water as if stepping onto the Chiron. It felt like home.

Another few seconds later, and she submerged herself completely. In any other situation she would have stayed beneath the water for as long as she wished, but that there was another in the bath with her meant that she would have to offer some sort of verbal company.

And so she surfaced, sweeping drenched hair from her face before moving to the far wall of the bath, opposite Draxus.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus watched her with some interest, and took a keen eye to her barbiarian skin markings, a thing which was rather exotic in more austere places in the League. She moved in such a way that he didn't get a full view, and to request one would seem lewd of him.

He gestured for another slave to come and bring wine and bread.

"Were I to guess what you would be thinking now, I would be a poor marksman."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"It is an idle musing, Satrap, nothing more."

He said nothing, and Fyrian took that as an indication for her to go on.

"I find myself wondering what I have done for Denetion to find myself in such wonderful surroundings.

As well, I am curious... you do not really need me here; you could have just as easily given your proposal to those in the Oratorium without my presence. You could have let me continue on from Tirgatia to go on about my own business."

She fixed him with a level gaze, not unkind in the least.

"I am compelled then, to ask why."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Because from the moment I have met you, you have treated me as your peer, and I am enthralled by the notion of such an egalitarian relationship."

Draxus took of wine offered to him by a slave, and studied his guest.

"Did you expect something else?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I did not know what to expect."

Bringing her arm up, she once more toyed with the water, tracing vanishing pattern's along the ever-changing surface with her fingertips.

"I do not think that your colleagues share such a view however. It is fortunate for me then, that yourself - and not one of them - made the journey to Tirgatia."

[Csephion Draxus]

"They would hardly be bothered to afford the hardship. It's a disease typical of those who inheirit both names and money with commonality."

Draxus didn't bother mentioning that he came from a family both fabulously wealthy and with a historical name. The difference was in the here and now, and his actions. He had never learned how to be satisfied.

"Even these men of quality follow strength. I have held dominion over cities, commanded armies, laid siege to nations, and slaughtered entire tribes of peoples. When I say that I find a peer, I do not mention this lightly. Even Regulus Varo fears my name in the dark of night. It is power. Unspeakable, and lonely power."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian was quiet, staring at the patterns she wove into the water. They were fleeting, and after another moment the Glaucan stilled her hand.

"I could not even dream of being in such a position to feel as you do. My family is nothing, and what living I myself make is negligable at best when compared to one like yourself. I've had to survive by a blade's edge from the time that I could walk."

She pushed away from the wall, moving smoothly through the water towards him. Wine had been left for her as well, and upon reaching the opposite edge, Fyrian reached a dripping hand from the bath to take up the glass.

"You are lonely," she repeated idly while taking a sip.

"You speak of wanting a relationship weighed in equality. Am I to understand then, that I will be in Necia for an extended amount of time?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"That is your choice."

The Satrap pinched a bit of bread from the plate at the side of the bath, and dunked it into his wine to nibble at.

"You have my invitation, naturally. That said, I won't compel you to remain if it displeases you."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Another sip, and she gave Draxus a look from over the rim of her glass.

"You give me a choice, how very kind of you."

Setting her wine back down then, Fyrian pushed herself back away from him. Swirls of water were left in the wake of her gentle departure, and she let herself lean back into the warm depths.

"When I left Tirgatia, I was intending to travel to my own home for a rest from trading. I'v no pressing business at this time."

Thoughts of Glasswater and the Lantern flashed briefly in her mind, but she brushed them away. She lifted a hand, gesturing at him noncommitally.

"I leave the matter to you."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus seemed pleased to hear this, and drank of his wine.

"Very good then. I will appreciate the pleasant company. I hope it isn't unbecoming of me if I afford my guest lavish treatment? Perhaps you'll find gentle society somewhat bracing for a time."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian too smiled; that same predatory grin that she'd given to him while still in Tirgatia.

"If you wish to afford me the niceties of life, I will certainly not turn them away.

"It is not often that I find myself on the arm of a Necian Satrap."

The bath did well to soothe her nerves from the experience of what had happened in the Oratorium, and Fyrian once again moved back toward Draxus and her wine. She plucked the glass up from where she'd set it.

A smirk was sent his way as she lifted her wine to her lips.

"You seem to enjoy parading about that which you find abroad, and I find myself unable to deny you such experiences."

[Csephion Draxus]

"It's a habit that's somewhat inheirited, I suppose. We're hopelessly drawn to the exotic, even if we stodgily cling to tradition with the other hand."

The song changed to a more upbeat tune, and Draxus nodded his approval.

"I suppose that sort of dichotomy has to exist in a nation so dependent on trade and conquest."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Leaning against the edge of the bath at his side, Fyrian turned a mildy scolding look to him.

"Conquest? What is there in conquest? Once you hold dominion over all, there is nothing left save a boring death.

"It is better to experience what Asga has to give than to try and take it with sword and spear."

[Csephion Draxus]

He savored his wine and her words at once. Looking up from the rim of his glass, he at last smiled, and waggled a finger.

"So many reasons to be explored, but perhaps the greatest and least of which all at once."

He spread his arms wide.

"It has never been done."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"And perhaps it has never been done because others know better?"

Despite the words themselves, it was easy to see that she was enjoying this trading of opposed reasoning.

"What does complete mastery truly bring a nation? Even if they hold the world by a leash, what satisfaction is there?"

Glass in hand, she extended a finger close to his bare chest.

"Are you not satisfied to live your life of luxury in a kingdom that - as you said before - is a nexus of diversity?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"There is always more to be gained. Think of being able to walk the whole of Asga, without forces under arms detaining you or attacking you because of your tribe or allegiance? Imagine roads that connect the farthest of cities, and a common understanding that comes only when barriers are knocked down.

I won't deny that there is not some degree of egotism involved. Anyone who has climbed to a high and unassailable place, bested an adversary in combat, or completed their life's work shares in this. It does not make the pursuit suspect on itself."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"We have roads already that connect the great nations together. What reason do we have for more?"

Fyrian placed her glass back upon the bath's edge.

"What is there in safety, then? If one lives in such conditions for too long, he begins to wither and atrophy."

She placed an open palm on his breast over his heart and applied a small amount of pressure with slender fingers.

"You will lose that which makes you live, makes you breath, and makes you hunger in desire. If everything is yours to command...

"... where is the challenge in trying to gain anything?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"What roads? I have seen what passes for roads in Tirgatia and far, far beyond. They are hen scratches in the soil. Necia builds roads of stone.."

She approached him, and caressed his chest. Such forwardness was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He viewed it again as an interesting wrinkle in the woman's complexity.

"Perhaps then, the challenge lies in maintaining it. Nevertheless, I see virtue in the pursuit."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She pulled her hand away then, and once more took of her wine.

"You cannot tame Asga, no matter how hard you try."

Was that a challenge? She supposed that in some way it was, but her tone of voice was more relaxed than otherwise. And when she cast her green eyes to him once again, their was was a playfulness in them.

"But I would certainly like to see you make the attempt."

[Csephion Draxus]

The topic waxed and waned, and eventually the Satrap and his guest punctuated the event by a quick dip into the frigidarium, affording them a bracing chill before they were attended to by slaves, who annointed each of them with perfumed oil, then massaged their nude forms as they lay across from each other on pillowed couches.

"This southern movement vexes me. If only I could know if my appointed man was still alive. By all portents, I doubt it, but he is capable and I've worked with him for years. Troubling indeed."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stared long at him, internally weighing her next words. What she had an inkling of was a delicate thing, and it had to be presented from the proper angle.

"There are rumors," she began carefully, "... of a girl. I hear word of her from fellow traders quite often. They say that she is with Fyrian and his men, and sails with them; that they took her from the sea when she was just a babe."

Pausing, the Glaucan bit her lip as she did her best to gauge the Satrap's facial expression. She went on.

"They say that she is a daughter of Denetion, his youngest. I do not know how true that is, but I've heard tale of the girl's magic. According to those that have seen her, it is considerable."

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap winced a bit as his masseuse gave a bit too much torque, but quickly returned to serene contemplation. Where was she going with this?

"Go on."

Did she mean one of the prisoners? What did it matter to his troubles in the south?

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Spare her life, and send her to search for your man. She would take with her Denetion's blessing and favor, if what I hear is true."

It was the gentle beginning of a sort of parlay that only she was aware.

"Send some of your soldiers with her, even.

"But if anyone can find your man, than it is her I believe. As well, you would no doubt garner favor from Denetion for showing mercy to his prodigal child."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus reached forward to pluck a grape from a bunch. He popped it into his mouth, gently squeezing with his teeth until the skin split. He let the sour subside on his tongue and chewed, thinking about her proposal.

"The prisoners are to be executed by lot. I don't think it too large a task to influence the lot. That much is possible."

He thought it over.

"Politically, it will be harder to excuse myself to the south, especially after doing so once already under thin pretense. I would need to somehow compel Varo to support this."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian blinked at him, shifting herself a bit so that she was supported by an elbow.

"You would go after the Lantern yourself?"

It was unsurprising by some small degree, but she still found herself curious at the man. By his own admission he was both a conquerer and a statesman; him making the journey to the southlands was certainly not out of the ordinary she supposed.

"Your wounded pride has unexpected depths, Satrap.

"I would not like to be Fyrian with one such as yourself on the march after him."

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled thinly.

"Perhaps it is too far, even still. I have a man that I could raise to the mantle of Imperator, but this title, and the task would still need Varo to support it."

The masseuse kneaded at his shoulders, and he tilted his head forward so that his chin rested in the divit of a pillow.

"I think I am too politically ensconced to become Imperator myself. It would have the conspiracy theorists talking relentlessly."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

A sly grin, and Fyrian glanced at her fingernails absently.

"Oh, I think you've given your watchers enough to talk about for the time being.

"Perhaps for now your place is here, to keep Regulus Varo on a leash, and guide him in the directions you wish for him to go."

Pulling a grape from the bunch, she stared at it before going on.

"If he is as heavy-handed as he so very well demonstrated today, I wouldn't think it a difficult task to encourage within him the need to send a significant amount of Necian soldiers after Fyrian."

Fyrian rolled the grape between two fingertips.

"He is a pompous fool, but if unchecked he can be more than just a nuisance.

"But... if you are here to influence him, you would hold the strings of those you need."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Yes, naturally."

Draxus enjoyed another grape as the masseuse paused for more oil.

"Framing this in an issue of nationalism will compel Varo to enjoin his party. The sentiment is a popular one."

He gestured to one of his slaves.

"Go fetch Mako for me, if you will."

The slave nodded, and silently left the room.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

His request for Captain Mako made her sit up, and Fyrian set her feet to the ground while drawing a thin, almost sheer length of linen around her waist. She gave Draxus a sideways glance while shooing her own attendant away.

She'd grown tired of this exercise. Her skin was warm to the touch, and rehydrated; not just from the oil, but from the bath itself. Her hair she still chose to keep down, and the Glaucan brushed a lock over her shoulder.

She fussed at something unseen on her collarbone for a short moment, examining the artful lines etched into her body. She would need to get more sometime soon, perhaps a pair of Mer nautilus patterns on her shoulders?

[Csephion Draxus]

"You seem to know quite a bit of Fyrian's band that I'm not aware of."

The masseuse began to scrub a piece of pumice lightly along the Satrap's skin to rid the excess oil and to scrape whatever dirt or dead skin might be about.

"That is invaluable insight into a great enemy."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Satisfied at her silent appraisal, Fyrian looked to Draxus.

"Not all of the things that I collect are able to be touched and held. Information is a valuable commodity no matter where a person is."

Leaning over, she plucked another grape and stuck it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"If I know more than you do, it is simply because I was in the right places at the right times."

An odd look descended upon her features, and ever so slowly she let a lopsided smile creep across her lips.

"Not so unlike the situation I find myself in now."

[Csephion Draxus]

"If I send Mako into the southlands, would you consider traveling with him?"

It was a strange request after knowing her for a scant amount of time, and having no real working relationship yet. Still, the Satrap acted with his instincts.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stilled herself, digesting his words with a deep interest. It seemed that true fortune for her had finally reared its' head. She would need to be careful so as to not appear too eager, as it was her chance to catch up with Glasswater. That the Satrap had practically asked her to do so came as something of a surprise, and the Glaucan couldn't help but wonder if there was something far more dreadful in wait for her; some pitfall to offset this wonderful opportunity.

She had faith in her own abilities to be able to steal away from whoever Draxus sent her with, that much was not in doubt. But there was still the matter of her crew, and the four who'd be executed.

"You wish to send me after your Lantern?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Your knowledge of Fyrian's ways and of the countless ports of call will be very useful. I'm sure that Captain Mako would need your guidance. That is, of course, if you wish it. Consider it as a friend."

At last, the Satrap was clothed, this time without reserve, in fine purple. At least here, it could be done without reproach.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Still wearing the sheer linen around her waist, Fyrian stood as a slave approached with something more covering, and she accepted the clothing with a nod. Simple white; nothing to complain at and she certainly would do no such thing.

"... as a friend," she repeated quietly to herself.

Another necklace, this one different than the one she'd worn earlier in the day, was also presented to her. Fyrian gave a look to Draxus as she let her attendant place it around her neck.

"Might I ask when your captain is to leave?"

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus appeared a bit amused.

"I suppose that depends on whether the Satrapy approves this hypothetical adventure we are concocting!"

He allowed a little laugh, but returned to seriousness.

"I think that if they agree, it will be within days. If they raise Mako to Imperator, he may command a few Talons at most. It will be a small and nimble group."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Days. Not long then.

Fyrian ran an absent finger over the jewelry around her neck, and she afforded the Satrap a gentle smile.

"Then I suppose that I have some time to rest before putting to sea once more."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I hope to thoroughly lavish you in the meantime. Perhaps when this adventure is concluded, you'll find a taste for civilized living to a degree."

The musician changed his song yet again, and a slave brought a beaten-silver mirror forward for the Satrap and his guest to fuss and fret over their appearance before they left the baths.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Not quite so concerned with her appearance as it seemed Draxus was, Fyrian found herself staring at him in amusement, watching every little bit of nitpicking that he performed upon himself. She also had not completely ignored the last words he'd spoken, and wondered if that was a subtle hint on his part.

But, she would ponder on that later. In the here and now, the Glaucan arched a single eyebrow at him and grinned.

"You fuss with yourself too much."

[Csephion Draxus]

He glanced back at her, smiling knowingly.

"It is perhaps more complicated than my personal tastes. You see, what is good enough for one man, or another man, this is not acceptible to a man who truly wishes to lead people."

He took a seat in a plush chair, waving away the mirror slave as he pondered the notion with his guest.

"The people see a leader and they expect to see something beyond their expectation. To attain office is to have religious auspices, and the logical extension of this is to infer the demi-divine."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She did not sit right away, instead remained standing so that she could look down at him.

That same crooked grin tugged at her lips.

"But you are in your home. You've no need to put forth the effort of what you wish others to see in you.

"Or are you needing to convince even yourself that you are fit for this so-called leadership of the peoples?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"It is best to exist in this state in perpetua than to slip it on and off like a garment that one might forget to don."

Another slave retrieved a goblet of wine, which the Satrap eagerly partook of.

"That's the price of power, these pretenses. Among many other prices I suppose."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian nodded while lowering herself into an adjacent chair. It seemed to swallow her in the confines of comfort, and she had to wonder if it'd ever be possible to smuggle one of such craftsmanship aboard the Chiron. Whenever she'd be able to once more have her ship back, that was.

"You said that loneliness was one of those prices to pay," she murmured, accepting the wine extended to her as well.

[Csephion Draxus]

"It is as well. Everyone must see me, but by virtue of the facade, so few can truly know me."

The Satrap looked faintly tired at speaking of this revelation.

"Perhaps earnest discourse is the most elusive goal of them all, beyond even that of the conquest of the known world."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Sipping at her wine, she eyed him. He was a challenge in some ways to peel apart.

"Then I will be earnest in asking, if the leadership that you seek is more complicated than your personal tastes, what are your personal tastes?"

[Csephion Draxus]

He marveled at the question.

"To be honest, I have a difficult time finding where the farce begins and the reality ends. Perhaps I have been at this endeavor for too long."

With a smile, he finished the syrupy dregs of his wine.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Despite his own smile, Fyrian found herself giving him the slightest of frowns.

"You have everything any other man could ever want for in this and a lifetime beyond; you are a military man by your own word who has crushed others beneath your heel, a Satrap who carries much weight in his country...

"... and in all of that you mean to tell me that you don't know what truly pleases the core being of the man who is Cano Draxus?"

[Csephion Draxus]

He gave her a conspiratorial waggle of his eyebrows.

"Enthralling isn't it? Perhaps I even enjoy the facade? Perhaps there is a real Draxus, and one that is supposed, and they have become such good bedfellows that his passions are my own and in reciprocation?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"To you perhaps it is so."

Fyrian allowed herself a longer than appropriate drink of her wine.

"To me it is an annoyance."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Annoyance?"

He walked to a window, admiring some plants in a hanging basket outside.

"I will warrant you that. I too was once annoyed. Then I became cynical. Now, I am like a wine that is past all reasonable age, and the flavor has become fit for only vinegar. I ask myself if there was ever really wine to begin with."

He looked back at her, plucking a bright flower from the basket.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stood from her chair as well, but satisfied herself with simply standing, wine in hand and staring at him.

"The difference between a man and wine though, is that a man has the chance to rediscover himself.

"Your passions and pursuits lie dormant. You asked me to come to Necia with you, and I have done that. You asked for an honest friendship, and I am certainly willing to oblige you. But if you had any wishes for me to find that which you've lost, I'm afraid that I can't. I will help if I can, but the task ultimately falls on your shoulders."

[Csephion Draxus]

"My passions exist, abstract as they may be to you."

He looked at the flower, gave it a sniff, and extended it to his guest.

"They perhaps require coaxing to reveal their identities."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Now it was her turn to smile, and she stepped around the chair to move toward the Satrap, taking the flower he offered with a free hand. She set her wine on the edge of the window, staring out.

For all of the scenery that she'd grown accustomed to in her years plying the sea, Fyrian had to admit that Necia was a beautiful place. Temporary as this sojourn would be, the Glaucan would not fail to appreciate what she was seeing.

"If you have a hammer, I'm sure that I could beat them out of you," she teased with feigned exasperation.

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled at her tease, approaching her to fill her glass again.

"Then I would hope that you would be considerate to mend me after the fact."

Their brief flirtations were interrupted by a slave entering the room.

"Begging your pardon Domus, but Captain Mako awaits you in the Atrium."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian was curious to see where the Satrap's mood might take them, but she also recognized the need to tend to the business at hand. In the grand scheme of things, she knew precisely what Draxus hoped to gain from all of this maneuvering, and she still held doggedly to the last wishes of her father. Kariun Fyrian and Csephion Draxus were the orchestrators of the coming turmoil, and she was but the messenger.

In some ways she wished that it was not so; that she could be as detached from it all as much as possible, but with her father's death and the Satrap giving her so much attention, the Glaucan found it increasingly difficult to keep from becoming so entangled.

And with the news that the Captain was waiting, Fyrian suddenly felt herself tethered to Draxus. This Necian solder was the collar and leash that would keep her connected to the Satrap.

She nodded as he refilled her wine, and let a few parting words escape before taking a sip.

"The temptation is overwhelming."

[Cneidon Mako]

Captain Mako was gestured into the sun room by a greeter slave, and padded in without a word. He wore a rather plain military tunic, with a leather belt and sandals. Aside from a personal knife at his belt, he was unarmed, as per the law demanded. Soldiers were not permitted to be under full arms or armor within Demos.

He met the Satrap with a curt salute, and stared ahead, awaiting his political master's intentions.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Stand at ease, Captain."

Draxus casually waved down the salutation.

"I have brought you here for a proposal of a sort."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian watched from her peripheral vision as the captain made his unassuming entrance. He looked to be of the sort that she'd need to be mindful of herself while in his presence, much like she was with Pascias.

Turning then, she faced Mako fully while resting herself against the window's edge.

Necian formalities were always an interesting thing to be witness to, and with the subject matter being more or less firmly rooted in political aspirations, what would come of this would be - while predictable - still entertaining.

[Cneidon Mako]

Mako gave Ariadne a genteel nod, intrigued by the lady who had captured the Satrap's interest. Traveling with her from Tirgatia and back, he had spoken little to her but had not been entirely aloof.

Returning to Draxus's summon, the Captain took the liberty of assumption, knowing the Satrap's mind to a fair extent.

"You wish to send forces to the south?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

For as quiet as he had been during the voyage from Tirgatia, Fyrian suspected Mako to be a shrewd man, and rather in tune with Draxus' own thinking. What he said confirmed that thought, and she lightly clasped her hands in front of her.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Pending approval of the Satrapy, yes."

He glanced to Ariadne as a servant brought the Captain wine.

"I mean to propose that you are raised to the title of Imperator, with the task of pursuing the Lantern and the fugitive pirate Fyrian.

In addition, I want Ariadne to travel with you. She has knowledge of far-flung foreign reaches and of the ways of Fyrian pirates that would make her a useful guide to you."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fugitive pirate. Fyrian was more than enjoying his choice of words, and pivoted slightly so that she could take up her own glass and lift it to her lips.

What would Draxus truly think if he knew that far from being a fugitive entirely, his quarry was indeed sharing pleasant discourse and banter with him?

[Cneidon Mako]

"Can you fight?"

Mako dealt with her directly, as was his style. He had a notion that whatever charge he was given, it would be a small force, and he had expectations of everyone being able to pull their weight.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

His question pulled her from her own thoughts, and Fyrian looked at him.

"As well as you."

It was a succinct answer that carried enough weight to dispel any thoughts otherwise. Indeed, she could fight.

[Cneidon Mako]

His eyes narrowed a little, and he drew a smile.

"I doubt it, but you look like you've at least seen a sword before. Good."

He looked back to the Satrap, with a question obviously at his tongue tip.

"You wish to raise me to Imperator? What of Denix?"

The current Imperator's whereabouts were unknown at present. Though it was technically possible to raise more than one Imperator at once, it was far from proper. The Imperator was the will of the state, focused into the charge of a single military commander for a specific task.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stared at Mako, suddenly very much taken aback at his retort, but she kept a hold of her tongue. It would be better to simply let him think what he wished.

He spoke of another, Denix. She'd heard that name before - far too many times, and silently prayed that he'd been taken to the depths through Denetion's good graces. In a round about way, she supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised to discover that Denix was the one that the Satrap had spoken of earlier.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus delighted in the small amount of martial banter between his military subordinate and his guest. It was the sort of thing that built comraderie, which was useful on long voyages.

"What of Denix, indeed?"

Draxus shook his head.

"It has been far too long and no word has reached us for good or for ill tidings. I would equally expect for his body to be at the bottom of the sea, or for him to return home tomorrow with the Lantern and Fyrian's head. We simply do not know. We must proceed forward nonetheless."

The Satrap walked out to a sun-drenched balcony with the other two and the ever-present slave retinue.

"If he lives, it will be a blessing. The both of you are my most favored veterans."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian felt, in a strange way, as if she was pulled with Draxus, and she dutifully followed him out onto the balcony. Was it her mind playing cruel tricks on her? The Glaucan blinked the musings away and sipped her wine.

She would need to soak up as much possible enjoyment from this experience as she could before leaving with Mako.

She suspected that such good luck and her own life unknowingly spared would not happen twice, and soon enough she would be on the run once more.

[Cneidon Mako]

Finding the task at hand concluded, Mako nodded to his superior.

"If I have your permission, I will make preparations to travel."

The Satrap granted it with a nod, and Mako saluted again. He looked to Ariadne.

"Lady Ariadne, I will be seeing you later."

That concluded, the Captain turned about and made his exit.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She waited for the captain to be gone before focussing her attentions once more to Draxus. Mako held a gruffness to him that she could respect, though only from afar.

Fyrian was determined though, to pull what she could from this trip to Necia before having to leave, and she leaned on the marble railing, green eyes on the Satrap.

"You intend to keep me from my own duties and business for longer than I had originally thought. I do hope that you are ready to make it worth my while."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus smiled at that. He wasn't a fool.

"I had expected a mercenary bent to my request. Will you be wanting payment sooner rather than later?"

He tilted back his wine and admired the sunlight in her green eyes.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"That depends on entirely what sort of payment you are willing to offer."

Fyrian shifted her stance so that she was resting more comfortably against the railing.

"And whether or not it is sufficient enough for my taste."

[Csephion Draxus]

He gestured for her to follow him back inside the villa.

"Fortunately I have exactly the place to discuss such arrangements. It is both comfortable and away from the prying attentions of others. Discuss with me as vigorously as you please. I expect a stimulating dialogue until we reach a mutual agreement."