Casus Belli

[Csephion Draxus]

Necia, the City-State of Phressia

In the villa of the Satrap, there was no sleep this evening. Csephion Draxus, elected by lot to oversee the dominion of Phressia, was troubled by the void. It was now one week since any news from the south. Without courier to assuage the fears of the people, the Satrap beseeched another source for news from beyond the horizon.

As the Satrap kneeled at a wooden table and covered himself with a shawl over the head, two attractive young Glaucan men soothed a ram, whose head and neck were adorned with floral garlands. They sang songs of honey and nectar to the animal, whose eyes reflected flickering torch light back to the Satrap.

"My Lord, I stand ready to deliver the profession of your desire to Denetion Medevantis, Ruler of the Limitless Dominion of the Sea. By the offering before you and by the profession of blood, what shall be delivered unto the deep?"

Beneath the waters of Phressia was the adjacent city-state of Ilyx, the ancient Glaucan citadel and one of the most austere sanctuaries built to honor the highest Sea god. As it was throughout the Republic, the cities of Men were the nexus of the two great peoples, for while Glaucans could thrive in the realm of air, Men would surely drown beneath the waves. Therefore, those Men who wished to pay homage to Denetion Medevantis, the Great Sea God must do so through proxy. There were no shortage of Glaucan priests, ready to ferry the desires and vexations of Men into the deep below, and to return with Denetion's austere response.

Csephion Draxus looked to the young man and then back to the ram.

"By profession of blood and the offering before me, I Draxus of the Csephii and Satrap of Phressia ask unto Denetion Medevantis to fly far and fast through his realm, and speed to me the location of Denix of the Parsidei, Captain and Imperator of the Republic."

Each young priest produced a curved knife, trimmed in gold. Still singing sweetly, one young priest slipped a knife across the Satrap's palm, while another across the Ram's throat. The blood from each was allowed to flow into the same vessel, which was shaped like a gilded fish, with a polished jasper stopper that fit flush over its pursed lips. The blood stopped dripping from Draxus' palm within seconds. The ram, however, was bled for a while longer, it's lifeless body falling limp onto the table.

Draxus was now attended to by a slave, who dressed his wound with a strip of silk, removing the shawl from his head as he rose to his feet. He nodded to the priests, who retreated from his villa with haste, carrying the bloody receptacle with them back down to the underwater city below.

Neverminding that, he retired from the atrium into a more secluded space while he waited for a divine answer. Already, his scribe slave, Pascias, was at work with correspondence.

"A pox on it, Pascias, I have no stomach for small affairs. Send them away for the evening."

Undaunted, Pascias held up a single parchment that had no identifiable marker.

"Begging your pardon Satrap, but a word comes from Asga on the matter of Fyrian. Supposedly a sighting in the flesh."

Annoyed, he snatched the scroll.

"Really Pascias, you'd do well to divest yourself from such fantasy. Fyrian is a story told to sailors and dullards. I do not doubt the fantasy's power, but as for what lies behind the name, it is less corporeal than the air you breathe."

Nevertheless, he unrolled the scroll. It wasn't the account of Fyrian that caught his attention. It was the parcel that the supposed Prince of Pirates carried. He quickly rolled the scroll up again, color momentarily leaving his face.

"The Lantern."

[Mr. Glasswater]

Hooves pounded the soft earth mercilessly, an accompanyment to the creak of saddle leathers, dangling trinket charms, and the hissed urgings of frantic riders. In the early morning dawn, steam from the horses' nostrils puffed out in short bursts. They had traveled hard for many leagues without rest. They were strong animals though, and could easily keep their paces for any amount of time.

The group thundered along a pathway, trees lining both sides as they passed by at a dizzying pace. Four of them; three Glaucan and one Freeman. They coaxed every amount of speed from their mounts as possible. That they were racing against time was well understood among them, and their actions spoke well of that. They could not fail their Captain. He had given them their orders, and they would follow it.

One rider pulled ahead of the rest, his horse surging forward into the morning haze that collected in the woods surrounding them. Broadshouldered, hair like flame, and haunting silver eyes, he was a sight that demanded respect. He, more than the others, held more accountability. He would not fail.

He urged his ride faster, and the horse tore down the path.

Thirty minutes later...

The riders did not slow as they came upon a small, unassuming village. The lead Glaucan knew where he needed to go, and steered his horse with slight tugs to the reins. It was a fortunate thing that most of the village had not yet left their homes. They would have found themselves trampled.

The Glaucan pulled up sharply then, his horse skidding to a sliding stop in front of a small tavern. The animal pawed at the ground, muscles trembling in the wake of such hard riding.

"Ariadne!"

It was a bellowing voice, that none could help to not hear. The Glaucan would not go unheard. He cast a menacing silvery gaze at the closed door as if by will alone he could open it.

Behind him, the other three had also reined in their mounts, and each horse shifted nervously where they stood, hooves excitedly stamping the earth.

"Ariadne!"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Ariadne!"

here was a groan from one of the back tables as a Glaucan woman slowly roused herself at the sound of her name being called. The voice she knew well enough, but he had no business here. She wasn't due back to the Fold for another three days.

Mr. Glasswater had come early for her, and Ariadne Fyrian was finding herself more and more displeased with that. She was still hugging a bottle of some unkown liquor, half-full from the night before, and tucking it in close to her body, she groggily rose to her feet. A few stumbles, and she was standing upright without the aide of the chairback.

There were others around her, a few disturbed in their slumber by the voice outside, but most ignored it and went back to their drunken sleeping.

Reeling in her mildly drunken stupor, Ariadne clumsily navigated her way through tables, chairs, and other bodies toward the door of the tavern.

One hand went out to unlatch the handle, and she pushed it open, sea green eyes squinting in the morning sun.

She stared up at the red-headed Glaucan. Her own fiery locks framed a fine-boned face, exotic cheekbones, and gentle lips.

"Mr. Glasswater."

Her normally smooth tone was rough and hoarse.

"You're not due for another three days. Go back to the Fold and leave me alone."

"I cannot do that, Ariadne."

The female Glaucan blinked, not entirely sure whether to be angry or surprised.

"You must come with us. It is your father"

She watched Glasswater scowl, feeling as a fist closed tightly over her heart.

"He is at the edge of the Black Waters."[/i]

[Csephion Draxus]

"When can we leave?"

Draxus's question was direct and cut to the bone. Pascias wondered if perhaps his master was suffering a flux of the mind.

"Begging your pardon wise Draxus, but 'we'?"

The Satrap knew his personal slave's mind, and it was almost equally as keen. He was an eastern scholar before calamity forced his low lot in life. Still, the Satrap knew how to recognize and to reward talent. Though a slave, Pascias lived exceedingly well.

"Yes. We."

As two other slaves made sure lamps were lit in the study, Draxus and Pascias pored over scrolls that the Satrap plucked from random document holders.

"We, and a not insignificant honorarium."

He let slip a bemused, clever smile.

"It is the West. There may be barbarians after all."

Pascias, though understanding the guile, was nervous.

"The Satrapy would see this as a military matter, would they not? Would it be better to send a General, or raise another Imperator to travel to Asga? They won't agree to a politician, despite your impeccable credentials."

With a snap of his fingers, Draxus had a slave at his beckon call to produce a cup of wine. He took of it, and drank, ready to quieten the throb in his hand.

"I think you underestimate my manufactured tact, my friend. Barbarian wars in the west are recently out of fashion in Demos. I think that a political victory would be much more charming for our friends to the east. Pick a king, any king."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Sauce for the goose is vulgar flattery and coin. It makes even gamey fowl toothsome. We travel west, suckle the whore's teat a while, and when that deed is at an end, turn about to bring Fyrian into account."

He knew by the purse-lipped smile and finger tapping that he had sold Pascias on the stratagem.

"So then I say again, when do we leave?"

Pascias paced, and paused.

"You are within your legal rights to procure one Talon from the Phressian garrison, I believe. No one could hold you to account for that on any serious grounds."

The Satrap smiled. Now, all there was to do was to hear from the priests of Denetion Medevantis over this whole affair regarding his missing Imperator.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

It was a blessing of the gods that Ariadne had been so quick to sober herself. Glasswater's news did well to banish any sort of effects from the previous night as well, and the constant fist around her chest did not loosen its' grip.

Atop her mottled grey gelding, Ariadne was almost neck to neck with her father's chief navigator.

"What happened?!"

She had to shout over the thundering of their horses' hoofbeats.

"It was the storm. He was caught by a wave and thrown into the mast. We were able to stave off his departure for now, but he will not last for much longer."

"And the ship?"

"She still floats. Will need repairs though."

The Glaucan woman said nothing more, instead urging her mount to greater speeds. She overtook Glasswater without trouble, and lengthened her lead considerably. If her father was not long for the Black Waters, then that meant it would fall to her to lead the Fold.

Was she ready for such a thing? True, she'd joyously stood beside her father as he guided the pirate band through more than their share of skirmishes and adventure-seeking, but was she prepared to step into his role?

Would she ever be?

This latest venture that'd given them the Golden Lantern had been a particularly bold move, and had brought down the anger of Necia. She'd not been present during the taking, but had indeed heard of the incident through her father's couriers. She'd been there during the planning, and those delicate negotiations in which Glasswater had acted in the interests of Fyrian. It was one of those things that was a constant, and helped to keep the leader of the Fold always shrouded in unknowns.

Her father was Captain. As hadbeen her grandfather. And her great-grandfather.

And now it was settling itself on to her shoulders.

Ariadne hissed at her mount, spurring it onward through the forest.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus reclined on a couch as Pascias drolled off the various foreign scapegoats he could possibly entreat upon. It didn't particularly interest him, as Pascias was just as capable of making a nuanced choice as he was.

"The Tirgats are nascent, and not altogether untoward us Domus. Perhaps an audience with the Tirgat monarch could even prove to be a genuinely constructive endeavor?"

Draxus nodded absently, studying a sea chart as he sipped his wine. Pascias continued unabated.

"Shall I draft an itinerary then?"

The Satrap looked modestly annoyed.

"Yes, a thousand times yes Pascias this is a trivium. Go and do. Point me at the correct people to flatter and the correct sweetness of honey liquor to apply to the dullard. You know the type."

He raised his glass and rolled his eyes as he droned in an officious and monotone lilt.

"O gracious king for whom I have plied the treacherous realm of Denetion to entreat upon, allow me the privilege of thy court. O king of kings, warrior of warriors, basin scrubber of basin scrubbers, whose beard is as long as his phallus may glad tidings and ample treasures forever fall upon thy feet."

Pascias was as amused by the absurdity as the Satrap, and took the hint.

"Very well then. One highly predictable itinerary for the Tirgati king's audience. I am assuming gold?"

Draxus waved a disinterested hand. Pascias continued to fill in the blanks.

"Five talents, very well. Spices to match and a train of horses?"

The Satrap sat up from his reclined position to watch a pair of torchlights beginning the ascent up the steep climb to his villa. He stood, and left Pascias to attend to the minutiae.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

The wood opened up to a long stretch of beachland, and Ariadne breathed the salty sea air deep into her lungs. It was a glorious scent, and one that she had grown up on. Gulls scattered to the nine winds as her horse tore along the beach, hooves digging into the sand to propell itself faster. Behind her rode Glasswater and his small cadre. The had bee left a fair enough distance behind her, as she given rein to her mount, who'd opened up with his powerful muscles and brought her ever closer to fate.

Horse and rider sped along the coastline, veering onto a small strip of beach that extended out to the sea. At its' tip was a small landing boat, and beyond that, farther out to sea, was her father's ship.

The Chiron.

As she neared land's end, Ariadne braced herself as her horse plowed into the water. The powerful animal slogged ahead with a vengeance, but the Glaucan woman needed his aide no longer, and dove from her saddle and into the cool water.

Using the landing boat would take far too long.

She'd be able to reach the Chiron quicker if she simply swam herself.

[Csephion Draxus]

Pascias was sated with the duldrum of a slave's duty, and the Satrap attended to more pressing issues.

The two priests returned to his atrium, their sea silk tunics still lightly damp and leaving faint trails of moistened marble tile behind them. The foremost priest bowed deeply.

"Draxus of the Csephii, Satrap of Phressia, we return as heralds of Denetion Medavantis, Lord of the Dominion of the Sea. He has accepted your offering of vitae and found it pleasing. He brings you a message."

The second priest presented a peach-colored conch shell, and pulled a ribbon of silk, on which text had been written.

"Search far and wide to the vast corners for naught, Satrap. The Imperator was delivered from the sea unto Asga in the west, sole to escape Denetion's displeasure. Deliver alms to the poor, affix light unto your spars, and beware ill omens from black birds feasting on carrion. This is the will of Denetion Medevantis, Lord of the Dominion of the Sea."

Draxus's jawline tightened as he carefully spooled the silk around his finger before slipping it off. He walked away without a word, gesturing for a treasury slave to dispense payment to the priests' for services rendered.

Enough bloody attrition from the sea. It was apparent he would have to right this folly himself.

"Send a runner to the garrison."

The Satrap snapped at a citizen attendant to his office.

"Muster one Talon of personal guard. I intend to leave for Asga at dawn."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

The water was cool against her skin.

Ariadne allowed the familiar motions of the sea to aide in her own efforts, and she drew alongside the Chiron's hull. It was weatherbeaten and the paint had long ago been stripped by crashing waves.

She reached an arm up to grasp at the anchorchain, and hauling herself up hand-over-hand, Ariadne scaled the side of her father's flagship.

It wasn't a grand vessel, but it was elegant in its' own right, and was the sturdiest craft to sail Midgaurd's oceans. She'd been on many other ships, but the Chiron was always home; always the backbone of the Fold. It had withstood many beating from Necian triremes, and stood to deliver in return the splintered wounds that it recieved. To her, there was simply none other of its' kind.

Hands grasping at the railing, Ariadne pulled herself aboard, fierce red hair dripping and falling heavily around her features. She left a trail of water in her wake, ignoring the stares of her fellow shipmates as she stalked toward her father's cabin.

Throwing the door open, the Glaucan stood in the low doorway for only a moment.

She turned to look over her shoulder at those that'd gathered in a loose group behind her. The looks on their faces were tired, with a sense of expectance of what would come in the next few hours. Glaucan and Freemen alike, though always a proud looking assortment of pirates, held among them the disturbing air of having had their energies sapped.

Ariadne scolwed, grinding her teeth, and stepped into the captain's cabin, shutting the door loudly behind her.

[Csephion Draxus]

Dawn arrived, and the Satrap greeted it without hardship. For as privy as he was to noble living, he was also no stranger to military life, and operating on little sleep was a trifle. Pascias too was alert, though dependent on a tonic made of peppercorns, honey, vinegar, and rose water to stifle a headache. Around them was arranged the honorarium, armor and helmets faintly lit at the edges by the rising sun on their backs. A plume of bright feathers atop one man's helmet and a richly patterned cape noted the Captain of the Talon. He saluted the Satrap with a fist across his heart, thrust outward as it thumped his breastplate.

"Compliments of the Martial Praefect, my Satrap."

The Captain raised the ornate faceplate of his helmet, revealing a passingly handsome face rendered imperfect by a scar that hooked over his nose and down his cheek in a severe canyon.

"The Mare Praefect informs me that he has affixed light to his triremes spars, as you command."

Draxus glanced to Pascias, who recalled the other particulars.

"Domus, the portions of the ram were dispensed to beggars with 100 aquilae, as asked."

Draxus smiled.

"Very well. Let us not bring cause to offend Denetion. He is of ill temper of late it seems."

The Captain gestured ahead, ready to accompany the Satrap and his retainers with the honorarium toward the piers, where the Glaucan flotilla awaited them, to carry the group across the short span to Asga.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She had kept her vigil throughout the night, and when dawn approached Ariadne emerged from her father's cabin.Her cabin now, she knew as much. Kariun Fyrian had passed at the toll of the midnight hour, leaving his legacy to her. The Fold was hers to command, and the Golden Lantern was hers to deliver.

In the time before his dying breath, Kariun had shared with her the reason for their newest endeavor, and how the tides had turned, his intentions shifting from something so simple to something far more devious. Perhaps it had been his hatred for the Necians that drove him to do as he did. She could not share in his anger towards them, but Ariadne would not defy his dying wish.

When she emerged out onto the deck of the Chiron - her ship - the first face she saw was that of Mr. Glasswater. He served her father faithfully, and he gave her a solemn nod that told her he would serve her in the very same way.

"Ariadne?"

She gave a fierce look to Glasswater, and squared her shoulders back . One hand came up to rest atop the pommel of her cutlass.

"That is not my name, Mr. Glasswater."

Her chief navigator grinned wolfishly then, and gave a single guffaw.

"Ha! Right you are, Fyrian!"

[Csephion Draxus]

Tirgatia


The squadron of Necian triremes had arrived at the western kingdom without incident. The king, having been given no notice of the envoy, was at first put to alarm, but the lead trireme broke ranks and pushed ahead, garlands hanging from its timbers with an icon of the Goddess Ulea seated on a high mast. Having some notion of Necian pantheon, the King understood that Ulea presided over peaceful concord and union. Engagement of violence under Ulea's icon was sacrilege.

The trireme pushed into the small harbor of the coastal kingdom, and the King presented an envoy to the Necian honorarium who prostrated himself in greeting.

"Greetings to our guests and great friends from the eastern sea. To what do we owe this auspicious meeting?"

Draxus, escorted by his Captain and flanked as always by Pascias in the background, greeted his host with magnanimous poise.

"I am thankful of your hospitality, my Tirgat host. I travel to seek to honor the sanctity of the Tirgat king and his throne, and to discuss the mutual prosperity of our friendly nations."

Behind him, he could almost sense Pascias smiling in silent affirmation of his master's tactful delivery. The envoy was suitably flattered. This augured well for the Satrap's creative diplomatic holiday.

[Mr. Glasswater]

Glasswater was of a quiet mind for the most part as the day carried on. His vocal amusement at Ariadne's reappearence aside, the matters of the day would be solemn indeed. Kariun Fyrian's burial was an affair that had not been anticipated, as his death was so very largely unexpected. Perhaps he had transgressed upon Denetian in some way? Any number of the Lesser Gods he knew Kariun to regularly curse, and so it very well could have been one of them, taken to anger by the pirate Captain's raging tongue.

But Glasswater was himself more inclined to believe that Denetian had simply favored the Necian's in this go-round. The Necian soldiers no doubt made promises and vows to the God of the Sea so that their precious Golden Lantern would be returned. The tall Glaucan knew that Denetian rolled every which way, so much like the waves of the oceans that he ruled over. It was only a matter of entreating him kindly enough.

But, he also knew the true destination in Kariun's mind for the Golden Lantern. He'd been Fyrian's only confidant in that matter, and now he suspected Ariadne knew as well.

She was not so bent against Necia as her father had been, but Glasswater suspected that she would follow Kariun's last wishes in some form or another. It only remained to be seen how she would next act.

Kariun Fyrian was given back to the waters that he'd for so long loved, and for the remainder of the day the Chiron's crew would go about making the needed repairs. She still floated, thanks to Denetian for that much mercy at least, but she was still in a sorry state. Her sails were torn and tattered, and supplies had been swept out to sea by the raging waves of the storm.

Glasswater and Fyrian would instead spend their time in her cabin, discussing the plans for the Golden Lantern, and whether they would begin riding southward. And if they were to strike out over land, how many she would deem necessary to take with her, and when they would be leaving the Chiron behind.

He sat opposite Fyrian at a table placed in the center of her cabin. Laid flat along the table's entirety was a map of Asga, painstakingly and lovingly detailed with each city and coastal port on the continent. And atop that was an assortment of other maps and compasses, daggers and mapping tools.

Glasswater leaned back in his chair, wide hands spreading flat the papers on the tabletop.

"We are to ride toward the southlands, then?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian idly stared at the larger map along the table's surface. That her father had wanted to take the Golden Lantern south had been a bit of a surprise, but one that she could understand the reasoning behind. Certain Necian figureheads had asked him to start a war, and such a war he planned to start!

"Southward," she sighed while leaning forward a bit on the table to gaze at an upper portion of the map.

"It would seem so. We will need to pass through Tirgatia for proper landward traveling supplies though."

"And how many will we be taking with us?"

"Only you and I. We can travel faster with just the two of us, and it will leave the rest of the men to finish repairs on the Chiron that much faster. I will leave Blackpool in charge."

Glasswater nodded in agreement, and Fyrian stared long at him.

"This war my father wished to start. It will be much bigger than the Necian's desired."

[Csephion Draxus]

By virtue of Tirgatia's proximity to proper civilized culture, the nature of their ways was such as to not be unfamiliar to Necian taste. The king held audience with Draxus and his retinue within his palace, and afforded the honorarium pleasant accomodation during their stay. In the palace itself, triclinia were set around a massive hardwood and ivory table, and the guests were seated to the periphery of the king, with the Satrap at his right side in a place of honored setting. The dining couches were plush and silken, and Draxus propped his left shoulder amid a pillow as he discussed matters of high politik with his host. The dinner was full of pomp and ostentatious creativity as was the fashion, with courses of flower-stuffed pheasants, spiced and candied mice, braised tongue of Gorrath with a sauce of rare lingberries and gold flakes. Olives pressed into the beaks of whole songbirds, roasted whole on a spit were a pleasant topic of interest as handsome young men played the triple pipes and arranged garlands on the heads of the kings guests. The Tirgat King boasted of his bountiful marble quarries and inquired as to Necia's interest.

"Ever intrigued by the cut of your handsome stone, good King."

Draxus sipped from a ram's head cup, watching a nude woman doing a pantomime to the flute music, acting out the temptations of Seria amid the God Liberius.

"In Phressia, marble is always in demand. I am sure by the nature of my colleagues envy, you will find suitable trade in them as well."

This pleased the swarthy-skinned king, and he nibbled at a mouse while the performance went onward.

"Will you bring a petition on our behalf to Demos? Pirates swarm my land like flies on a corpse. In the interest of our trade, they must be put to the sword."

The Satrap rolled an olive between a thumb and forefinger, considering his words.

"I assure you that I share your concern. In fact, recent pirate activity on this coast has not escaped my attention. What news do you have of it?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her orders had been given to Blackpool, a burly, tattooed Glaucan, and without parting words, Fyrian and Glasswater set off. Atop her mottled grey gelding once more, she urged the horse into a gentle lope. Her navigator as well sat astride his own jet black mount, and they turned the sea to their backs and their sights toward Tirgatia.

It wold not be a necessarily hard ride, as the land was gentle and the trails easy to follow.

Each wore loose and flowing traveling clothes to ease their movements, and hide the assorted arms they had chosen to take with them.

The Lantern itself was safely secured in one of Fyrian's saddlebags, carefully wrapped in a layer of linen, then silk, and then finally burlap. Bundled up, it was nothing more than any other unassuming parcel that any given traveler would keep in their packs.

The ride to Tirgatia would last the better part of the day, and the two travelers opted to ride in silence. They had nothing noteworthy to discuss between themselves, and so each tended to their own thoughts.

They would not need much in Tirgatia itself, only dried meats and bread, as well as other sundries needed for hard riding.

For once they'd left the city, they would very literally flee to the south. They couldn't afford distractions, and both had agreed to run their horses into the ground if they had to, to get to where Kariun had so wished them to go.

[Csephion Draxus]

The King quaffed his wine, and continued.

"No less than Fyrian himself I'm told."

Sensing the Satrap's curiosity ripen, he continued conspiratorially.

"I hear he is of some interest to you?"

Draxus smiled politely, prying a piece of Gorrath tongue with his fingers and popping it in his mouth.

"A great deal of interest, good King. A great deal. I think that in the scheme of things, finding Fyrian would be very good for our mutual business."

The King snapped his fingers, bringing a man from the door clad in military regalia. He stooped over the King as he whispered something. That done, the soldier stood, and left promptly.

"There is a trireme perched off our north coast. It looks to be quite damaged. There was a storm out to sea in days recent, and we suspect it limped ashore in its wake."

The word of a storm piqued his interest, and the Satrap hung onto the king's words. The trireme could have been of the Imperator's squadron, or it could be a pirate ship.

"I would very much like to see this ship, good King."

[Mr. Glasswater]

Glasswater reigned his jet black horse to a stop at a crossroads in the road that they'd been traveling on. A wooden post jutted up from the ground in the center, with markers showing the direction needed to take for some of the closer cities in the area. Tirgatia was one of them.

"We still have a decent enough distance to cover."

He gestured to the south while shifting in his saddle.

"After we've gotten what we need in Tirgatia, it will be well for us to simply ride south and not bother with roads and trails. They could bring us unwanted attentions. We'd best ride over the land itself."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian nodded her agreement, eyes going to where Glasswater indicated. He was correct, and while the terrain would be at times harder to traverse without following any of the roads, it would be safer.

"Yes."

She would've liked to approach Tirgatia from along the coastline, but knew also the danger that that might bring. The had to appear as - while still Glaucan - more inland traveling wanderers simply looking to restock their supplies.

Nudging the grey, Fyrian sent it once more in motion, Glasswater also following suite.

[Csephion Draxus]

The symposium concluded with as little pomp as possible, on account of expediency. The Tirgat King with his own cavalry accompanied the Satrap and a contingent of his honorarium on horseback to the north shore. The King was annoyed at the brevity of formal interaction with his powerful ally, but understood that the possibility of tangible success against eastern pirates was a potential boon for his nation. The group raced onwards, eventually coming to a clearing that led to an open plain, and sandy beach beyond. In the distance, a familiar crescent-shaped object perched in pale blue water.

Draxus extended a hand, and his Captain, Cneidon Mako, produced a spyglass. He pressed it to an eye, closing the other. It was soon obvious that the vessel was not a Necian ship. The markings on the hull were familiar, however.

"The Chiron."

He closed the spyglass with a snap, and looked to Mako, who took the viewing device with grave understanding.

"Good King Dravian, our common enemy presents himself."

The King, eager to please his ally, was up to the unspoken task.

"Noble Satrap, my men wish to give you an offering of blood, and to cement our goodwill."

His own continent of cavalry whinnied, and stepped forward to form a battle line. Draxus smiled at these useful pawns.

"I would like to extend my honorarium to you as well, as a kindness."

The King looked at Captain Mako, and at the small phalanx behind him, and nodded. What better seal for friendship than in blood shared?