Casus Belli

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her grey shifted his stance, but Fyrian ignored his movements. So quickly calmed from the dead run she'd previously been pushing him at, he was hard-pressed it seemed to slow so suddenly.

Instead, she moved her mount so that she was no longer in front of the Necian, but beside him.

She could well guess that her crew was safe. Blackpool had done a good job in ensuring that much. She still had to meet Glasswater, but she opted to give herself enough time to enjoy herself somewhat.

His inquiry was met with a crooked smile.

"How badly do you want to know?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I am King, you will not insult my gu..."

Draxus raised a calm hand at Dravian's outburst at her impudence. It was crude, but the Satrap was still intrigued by this specimen.

"Do you regularly speak to nobility in such a coy way?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her crooked smile grew, and Fyrian settled herself a little more comfortably in her saddle. The King's outburst and subsequent silence was music to her ears. The Satrap held power with a simple gesture; that was easy enough to see.

"A man is still a man, Satrap. If he has a title, it only means that his name is longer."

She waved a dismissive hand then, turning to look ahead of them at the ranks of soldiers.

"I am Ariadne, if that will satisfy your curiosity enough."

Another sly grin as she looked sideways at him, and she nodded at his honorarium.

"Is it common for Necian nobility to be out with their soldiers playing Army in lands that do not belong to them?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Common for great men with long names to be guarded against lesser men with shorter names, perhaps."

He afforded a laugh at his self-deprecation.

"Ariadne is a short name indeed. I hope you intend me no ill fate, as we've hardly met."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I am not a man with a short name," she answered coyly, "... so I doubt that I could intend you any sort of ill fates."

Fyrian scratched at an itch on her hand.

"Tell me, what brings a man such as yourself away from Phressia, to travel to Tirgatia and... enjoy the company of her King?"

[Csephion Draxus]

Now that she'd betrayed her knowledge of him, he gave her a look, insisting that she ought not to ask questions that she knew the answer to.

"By virtue of being fortunate, to extend our good fortune to our neighbors."

He glanced to Dravian, and the King smiled as well.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Taking that as her cue, Fyrian pulled back on her reigns, and the grey took a few steps back. There was only so much time that she could waste on the Satrap, and as initially interesting as he was to her in their brief meeting, she still had to trail Glasswater.

"Than who am I to interfere in such matters of state."

She smiled sweetly, inclining her head to Draxus in a rather exaggerated nod of formality.

"Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Tell me of yourself, traveler."

Not quite ready for the intriguing woman to leave his good graces, the Satrap continued to speak to her.

"It would be a shame to not get to know such an intriguing specimen as yourself. Come and share my company at a symposium in Tirgatia. I insist."

He smiled easily.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian stared at him then, not expecting this sudden shift in the least. On any other day she would have welcomed the chance at such subterfuge, but today it was an obstruction. But, Draxus being who he was, she knew that to deny him would be folly.

She looked away from him then, towards the south and the direction that Glasswater was undoubtedly traveling by now. This was most unfortunate.

But, her disappointment she kept to herself, and instead returned the Satraps smile as she looked back to him, offering a weak resistance that he'd know to be merely procedural.

"I'm a common-born Glaucan, Satrap. I've no business being in such company as yourself."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Common birth often yields uncommon deeds. It's a trait that Necians understand, and we celebrate plebeian spirit."

The honorarium had by now broadened out on the road, with the matter settled. Draxus, the King, and their guest were returning to the city.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her grey fell into step, and Fyrian only gave a nod at Draxus' words. He was right, but she wasn't so sure if he'd care to hear the truths that she pulled from his words. Biting her lip, she shifted in her saddle. First instincts would have led her to simply bolt at that moment, to damn them all to Denetion's ill wills and ride for the south to meet Glasswater. But, such an action would be ignorant, and so she stayed herself. Her mount, sensing his rider's conflicting emotions, pulled on the bit and gave a slight hop-step which she calmed with a gentle pat to his neck.

What would her father say of this? It was good that he was dead, for if he'd known that his daughter rode in the company of Necians he would have surely lashed her to the Chiron's mast for a week without food. Yes, it was good that he'd passed into the Black Waters.

Fyrian rode in silence mostly, her mind racing with the possibilities of how she could soonest leave the company of the Satrap and begin the hard ride south to meet Glasswater. It was an unkown at this point, and it drove her almost mad. True, there was the matter of the Chiron, but she knew that Blackpool would take care of her ship and crew.

She caught snippets of conversation between Dravian and the Satrap, but paid their discussions no mind. What they talked of she had no wish to hear, as her thoughts roiled around far more important matters. Such as the Golden Lantern.

[Csephion Draxus]

The procession returned to Tirgatia, speeding the King and his entourage back to his palace. With the nascent threat of pirates, the honorarium stood with the King's mounted guard, in readiness to prepare for any quick strike that may need to be inflicted. By now, the Necian squadron was already on its way in pursuit. Both Dravian and Draxus expected to hear news of a swift victory at sea within the next few hours. For now, they would resume their pleasant company, and each party washed their hands in a flower-scented basin before returning to the palace.

"Tell us of your trade, Ariadne."

The King had found a curious liking to the Glaucan by proxy of Draxus's own interest, and as they returned, the Satrap caught the eye of Pascias, who quickly glanced at the Glaucan and returned a quizzical expression to his master.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Nothing so grand, I assure you, your Highness. Aquisitions mostly. What I choose to sell I do, but I suppose you could call it a form of collecting, since I do not sell my wares that often."

A smile to the Satrap. She'd seen the look he'd traded with the one she could only guess to be his servant, but chose to ignore it for now.

"It is not a lucrative business, but I enjoy it."

A lie wrapped in half-truths, Fyrian found the thought of it all suddenly enjoyable. Perhaps it was that she was in the very presence of a Necian Satrap that caused such thoughts to enter her mind?

[Csephion Draxus]

The throng was seated at the tricilinia, with Ariadne offered the couch to Draxus's right. Offerings of wine and more pleasant foods were brought forward again.

"Tradeswoman then? Very good."

Breaking bread, the Satrap extended half of the loaf toward the Glaucan.

"Your people have a natural predisposition. Tell me, what city state do you come from?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She took the bread from him with a thankful nod, but made no move to eat of it just yet.

"No city state, Satrap. It is a small island to the north, nothing much but a stopover for sailors."

Tearing off a small bit from the half that she'd been given, Fyrian popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"My father was a sailor, and my mother... " she gave a smirk to Draxus, knowing that he had a good enough idea of what sort of women proliferated the smaller island stopping points.

She took a long drink of the wine that had been given to her, washing down the bread and then some.

[Csephion Draxus]

A spiced boar's phallus soup with lentils was doled out to the guests by a cook slave, and Draxus dipped a pinch of bread into a carved ivory bowl.

"The Kestrals? I used to compete in footraces there. A scandalous place as you infer, though I find the company stimulating. My noble pedigree is only sometimes useful. I find vulgarity to be an aphrodesiac."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian gave him a grin, and took another bite of her bread. The soup that had been placed out was one not to her liking, and so she simply settled for the half-loaf Draxus had given to her.

"It is best taken in controlled doses."

She was around such behavior day in and day out, and while it was something she grew up on and instinctively participated in, Fyrian found it not unsurprising that one of the Satrap's status would be drawn to it in a small degree.

"I have dealt with it many times. Men with more refined mannerisms are far the better to deal with," another smirk, "... though such vulgarity is enjoyable at times."

She looked away then, staring at the far wall. From what she could tell, Dravian had spared no expense at entertaining his Necian guest.

"I was in the marketplace earlier this morning, and heard talk of you and your soldiers taking something of a sojourn to the coast.

"I also heard that Fyrian was about these parts."

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap supped on his soup, intrigued at her worldliness.

"Is he?"

He glanced sidelong at the King, and back to their newest guest.

"You know of him?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Only what I hear in stories."

Fyrian settled herself more comfortably on the couch, and watched the Satrap with a curious look in her green eyes.

"They are greatly exaggerated I feel, however. I think the last one I heard from someone had him at nine feet tall with glowing yellow eyes and fangs."

That much was true at least. She'd heard from some drunkard the description, and laughed him off.

She took another sip from her wine.

"If Fyrian is anything, I doubt it is that."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Reputations have a way of becoming their own magic. Word of mouth can make great men even greater."

He tilted back the soup bowl, taking a mouthful of the dish before setting it aside in favor of his wine.

"I've met the man before. You can lay the mental image to bed. He's a person of exceptional deeds, but still no appreciable difference from the next man."