With a vision of a gentle coast

P. Iomair | The Fort's Edge

POSTED: Wed Jan 15, 2020 8:22 pm

Diplomat III Thread Prompt wrote:Facilitate a meeting with the King or Regent to discuss your work.

The memory of the ball, with all of its pomp and circumstance; poise and posturing; pride and decorum, had been unlike anything that Percival had taken part of in his entire adult life. Here, he had been someone of whom it was expected would show their guests proper etiquette and become the face of ambassadorship for the Realm. Here, he had been compelled to provide thoughtful conversation and words of appreciation. Here, he had been someone important.

There had been little of that last winter, at the Court's final Masquerade, where he didn't even have a pack that he could properly represent. Then, he had only a band; a family, of which he belonged and protected and provided for. But, small though it was, Percival remembered feeling proud of his role as his family's ambassador, standing respectful and straight (if a little wide-eyed with wonder and awe) while elite members of neighboring packs danced and drank and discussed matters of diplomacy.

That, anyway, was what he remembered. Had there been discussions of diplomacy at the Masquerade? Perhaps, but perhaps not. But there were such talks at this past autumn's Diplomacy Summit in Casa di Cavalieri. Regrettably (and only in hindsight, having endured what he had from the Realm's Lord-Regent during the Summit ball), only Athras could say just what kinds of diplomatic matters had been debated among pack leaders behind closed doors.

Feeling a twinge of annoyance at the gradually aging memory, Percy frowned out at the ocean beyond and drew his mind out of the depths of irritation to marvel at the way the sea almost appeared as though swallowed by the sky. Or perhaps the sea was swallowing the sky? He blinked and sighed, clouds of breath from his nostrils disappearing with ease in front of him.

There was no keeping the vexation from taking center stage, and so the bearded Parhelion confronted it head-on.

That the Lord-Regent would risk sullying the Realm's reputation – still fresh and fragile in youth as the area's newest pack – for a Goddess-forsaken knife remained (and forever would remain) beyond the comprehension of Percival's good and law-abiding mind. It was the Goddess herself who had blessed them by allowing them to go free with neither discovery or nor punishment for Athras' crime.

He hoped dearly that the Knights did not judge them all by a single individual's actions, however lofty that particularly Caledonian's rank happened to be. Percival hoped that he had offered an alternative impression for the Cavaliers to consider, one that did not involve theft, lies, or cheats. One that instead inspired a sense of respect, pride, and duty. That was how he had chosen to present himself, both in the name of his pack and of his family.

"Thank you for your conference today, High King Iomair," the young Parhelion said, dipping his bearded head in deference to the Realm's leader. Straight-backed and proud-shouldered, Percival returned to looking at Iomair respectfully. "I hope that you'll find my work to be satisfactory."

Unbidden, Clementine's autumn-kissed face materialized in his mind as he waited for the High King to address him.

[WC — 541]

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LuperciDiplomat II, Piscator II we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(

POSTED: Sun Jan 26, 2020 7:27 pm

In the wake of the event the Realm had been met with muffled silence. Iomair had spent morning acquainting himself with his new mount and had been surprised to find that visiting Byrony in the Rhovanion was one of the few reasons that Vodeva would agree to leave the confines of their room. It was taking more and more convincing – and he could see the same frigid sheen returning to her eyes as the warmth of the call to court began to dissipate.

Iomair had found his own warmth. Thoughts of Fennore had him spinning out – fragments of memory that he could not linger upon for too long lest he lose himself to it again. It had been reminiscent of his time spent in the den of Heartwards, but for the first time in months he had felt something other than the weight of responsibility or the strange guilt that so often lingered just out of reach when he spent time with Vodeva. She had tried to placate him, to act as a proper Queen during the festivities – but she had been forced to retire early as vestiges of her sickness reared their ugly head.

Iomair sat in what he thought of as the receiving area of the Bastion – a tiny alcove that butted up against a pair of narrow windows. Two overstuffed chairs had been pushed together – ripped at the corners where the ancient stuffing leaked out to scatter itself like snow along the creaking floor boards. It was not the receiving room of dreams, but Iomair found that the longer he stayed in the Bastion that the more he felt that time would see it changed – the state of it now did not speak for the power of the realm.

He crossed his legs and straightened his tunic, patiently awaiting the arrival of one of the Realms esteemed diplomats.

Percival had asked for a meeting, the pensive boy forging a path for himself that would soon see him joining the ranks of the elite. Since joining Iomair had seen a change in the boy, and as he dedicated himself to his work he grew more confident, eager to prove that he represented not only the pack but his family as well. The Shoal had done well for themselves, immediately taking up the helm of Piscators and Diplomats – even, Corsairs.

When the boy found him the King rose, beckoning for him to come and sit across from him.

”Well met Percival,” Iomair grinned, shifting his weight about to get comfortable in the creaking chair, ”Of course, of course.” Iomair chuckled, ”To what do I owe the pleasure of our meeting? How did you find your time down south?” His eyes sparkled, "And the Call to Court of course."


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The High King
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Maintenance Aide (I GOT THAT BROOM BROOM BROOM) Luperci Tinker I

POSTED: Wed Feb 12, 2020 5:18 pm

Regal as the High King was when he rose, golden fur glinting in the dim winter sunlight that slipped in through the Bastion's gaping windows, Iomair was still visibly cordial. It was plain to Percival in the warm grin that shone through his wiry whiskers and the soft chuckle that warbled in his throat and, just like the very first day that king and peasant had met, the young Diplomat was reminded of his father. He had only enough time to register the ping that flicked his heart and recognize it as guilt before the High King gestured to the seat placed before him.

With a slight, deferential nod, Percival lowered himself slowly into the aged and weathered chair. It reminded him distantly of his mother's old, overstuffed chair. And that memory gave way to the fire and smoke that had surely consumed it. He furrowed his brows and refocused his attention on the now: the present day and the task at hand.

"The Diplomacy Summit was... informative, to be sure," he began, hesitating momentarily to find the right word. Though certainly a spectacle, the summit and the ball hadn't been the first important gathering that he had attended. And compared to the Call to Court, which Percival thought provided a superior show (however much he disapproved of Athras' trick), it was the lesser of the two notable occasions. "The interactions and the knowledge gained were invaluable, and the Cavaliers were dutiful hosts. I am grateful for the opportunity to join the Lord-Regent and my fellow Aear on the journey." Again, he dipped his head.

When he lifted his eyes to Iomair's face again, there was a visible cheer in their depths that did not often shine through. "But the Call to Court was truly impressive. I feel that our guests were adequately tended to." He remembered watching the Salsolans enter the Realm, loaded with their horses and gifts, to be received with welcome and warmth. And of the ball itself, with its duel and the festivities that followed, seemed to him a lively and entertaining enough show to offer their honored guests. "I hope that they were left with a positive impression of the Realm."

He cleared it throat softly. "But that was actually why I requested audience with you, High King Iomair. I'd like to help build ties with the Salsolans, and there was someone who I met at the Call to Court: a diplomat from their pack. Her name is Clementine Salcedo." His face had returned to its usual stiff, serious expression. "She is also a merchant. Perhaps by working with her, I could also help to transact inter-pack trades."

Falling silent, Percy took a long and quiet breath in and waited for the High King's thoughts.

[WC — 468]

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LuperciDiplomat II, Piscator II we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(

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