The Kandala City Arrival

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The applicants were reviewed, and hard decisions were made. Some people were cut out, and unexpected people were selected. Some who didn't even apply were approached and asked to represent the city. Arrangements are made fast, travel arrangements made and the group flown out to the city. The airship is luxurious, sent by the city itself to pick up the representatives. The airship gives a blatant showing of wealth. The trip is short and sets down in the private docks of the wealthy. The party is now ready to depart the ship. Anything they are not carrying themselves is being carted to the quarters assigned to them in the city. A contingent of guards dressed in white wait at the bottom of the airship's ramp. A young lord, with a easy going smile stands with them. Holding pamphlets he is handing out to each representative. The pamphlets contain the itinerary for the negotiations. Day 1: City Tour Day 2: Opening Negotiations Day 3: Games Day 4: Counter Proposals Day 5: Masquerade Ball Day 6: Closing Debates Day 7: Decision. As the pamphlets are handed out the young lord speaks up, "Ahh welcome welcome to our fair city. My name is Baronet Alskier Markov. I am to be your host for your stay in our lovely city. If you have any questions feel free to ask."

Having the leadership of this diplomatic contingent thrust upon him, Dietrich has found himself equal parts bewildered at the decision, unhappy about the destination, and resolute to see the job done. With the import of the mission in mind, the white wolfkin first made sure to give his vest a good, thorough polish, and change out gloves and boots for something a touch less... heavy. Drawing in a deep breath as he steps off the airship, he lowers his head to the noble before him, as the porters carry off his single bag. "It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord Markov," he says, offering a hand to shake after the pamphlet is received. "I hope this talk will do a great deal for both our cities."

Celeste strolls down off the airship, looking prepared for war as much as for negotiations; the mouse has her spear and shield slung across her back, with the recent addition of a sword strapped to the back of the shield. She bears a single duffle, which she has insisted on bringing along herself, and carries herself with an air of laziness, and a sagegrass cigarette dangles from her lips, polluting the air with its pungent aroma. "Much 'bliged," she comments, upon receiving a pamphlet. She glances at it, turns it over a couple of times, turns it over so it's the right way up, and then stuffs it directly into one of the pockets of her jacket. "An' pleased ter meet'cha. I'mma Celeste St. Wallenrod."

Amongst our fair representatives, one Burmecian is quite cleaned up. In fact, it might be hard to recognize Archimedes at a glance with his fur cleaned and his leathers replaced with traditional wetland garb. Long sleeves, simple but elegant folds, all loping downwards like a waterfall frozen in time. All this, and a walking cane with a thick curled dragon on the head. He greets the host with a sweep of the arm and bow. "We are honored by your hospitality," he says. "Arhimedes Ashford. I look forward to getting to know this kingdom of yours."

The swordsmoogle is dressed as he is usually dressed. His sirappe is clean, his hat is re-strawed. The only different is that the thing pinning his cloak together is a badge that puts him as a guard. He wears his sword, the sword of the Late Captain Black, strapped across his back. He carries a simple bag of his own, though large, in comparison to him, slung across his back. - He spent little time enjoying the airship. It is not that the moogle does not enjoy sights, he has spent much of his life drifting, and to see new sights is a thing to savor. But opulence for opulence's sake tends to sour fast. - When approached by the guard, Kupor bows, fist in hand, to a medium height. Showing no particular deference, but not rude. "Thanks, kupo, Lord Markov," he offers in return for the pamphlet. His brows quickly knit. Games. - /BALL/ - The swordsmoogle frowns. He had thought the book was joking.

Alistair seemed to have enjoyed the trip over, though the Detective fairly kept to himself, making no real comment about his own thoughts about this mission he was selected for just yet... And upon arrival, he simply collects his messenger bag, slips his tailored frock coat over his equally tailored suit, and promptly descends the gangplank to position himself next to the wolfkin who is ostensibly his superior for a time. The pale, slender Hume casting his baby blues around the docks with an appraising gaze, before he accepts that pamphlet with a brief smile, and nods towards the young noble... His upper class Archadian accent, which the party would have noted during their trip, entirely gone as he speaks, keeping his voice neutral as a bit of light subterfuge perhaps, "And a splendid welcome it is, my lord. Your city's architecture is wondrous."

Lord Markov offers a grin, "Of course, you would not have been invited otherwise. I am." Pausing as he looks over the group, missing a beat, "Honored to be your host." His smile very superficial, he turns around, "Time for the tour. You need to see our fair city and all that it offers of course. We have lunch planned at one of the finest restaurants in the city, and for dinner you will be hosted by Lord Kittemer himself." Two guards immediately flanking him as he walks off. The rest of the guards keeping a respectable distance from the group, mostly just keeping a eye out. The trip is short out past the private docks, and into the main streets. "Ahh this is the merchants quarter. You will find shops for everything and anything here. Please take a look." The streets are lined on each side with shops, that range from mundane items, to the more magical things like potions and tonics. Multiple streets turn off. Lord Markov speaks up again suddenly, "Oh I almost forgot. I would recommend you do not go down Barter street, the merchandise sold their as I was informed, is not to your taste."

"...Indeed," Dietrich answers, the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes, and backward cast of his ears belying his easy smile. "Our thanks for your consideration, of course." The tour of the markets, received with courteous interest, the occasional merchant catching his eye nodded to in greeting. Now and again, as the Lord looks away, he casts a thoughtful eye back over his fellow diplomats. Some he knows in passing, others complete strangers, and already his mind is working out how the talks might go.

Celeste takes up a position at the front of the group, and strides along with a confidence that might border on arrogance. Her tail sways in the air behind her, and her hair and coat rustle in the breeze. Her cigarette eventually runs down to be too small to continue to bother with, and she flicks the remainder away, into the gutter. "Ain' me first time'n Kandhala," she observes, to nobody in particular, "But ain' had no tour b'fore." She grins, eyes lingering on a jeweler's wares before she picks up the pace again.

Dietrich overhears: "A couple of passing merchants walk by talking to each other: "Lord Kittemer has through great lengths for security, but did you hear? One of his serving maids was poisoned!" The merchants lost in the crowed moments after."

A street merchant runs up to Celeste, "Finest smokes in all of Kandala! Cheap cheap!" Holding up a case for Celeste to look at, a wide grin on his face.

Celeste draws up short, and regards the merchant, his wares, and then the merchant again. "N'thanks," she replies, and carefully skirts around the man. "Ain' gonna chain'm one after t'other. Maybe nex'time."

Archimedes folds his hands upon his cane and looks out from the docks, smiling. Oh, yes, this would be an adventure of a different stripe. He keeps his thoughts largely to himself, save for moments wherein a more formal response would be appropriate. For now, the entourage seems to have the better part of chatter down. His job? To look as snobbish and unassuming as possible while still being charming. The market catches his eye. He studies it closely--goods available to trade, seeing how it matches up with their foreknowledge. What resources Kandala has available, and the kind of people running it. As to the remark of Barter street, he waits a beat and then leans over and whispers to... let's say Alistair. "Seems someone does not want us peeking under their skirts." He laughs, soft, and faces front again. "Tis impressive. What would you say is Kandala's most important export?" Ah. Phrased like this it sounds almost like a question to taste face, a public demonstration. A play. Most of this stuff was on the docket, anyway.

Alistair's expression stays perfectly neutral, almost pleasant even, despite the careful mention of the city's slavery practices... Seeming to not let it outwardly bother him at least. And he just nods then as he continues to follow along, staying mostly at the center of the group, and letting his eyes roam around the market as they pass through. The man taking in everything there is to see, but paying special interest to the stalls selling various alchemical supplies... Once allowing himself to linger at one of the vendors a moment as he picks up a sinisterly black flower bulb and carefully raises it to briefly take in its scent... Giving the vendor an approving nod right after, before he sets it down once more and falls back in line.

The street merchant shakes his head, "Free Sample!" Shoving the case into Celeste's hands and running off before they can be refused, disappearing into the crowd.

The swordsmoogle takes in the sights. He has never spoken much with lords, but several books have given him a basic understanding of decorum. As a guard and emissary, he is likely to be looked down upon, but smiled to anyways. Markov marks that off in his mind. Kupor lets his eyes rove. He has his senses out for any sort of attack. A rebellious protest assault would likely happen on the first day. Something small, a few rocks perhaps. - But as well, Kupor takes in the people. Merchants selling to make a name for themselves. People bustling about, buying. The way people make their lives here. Women with their children. Men arguing over price. His eyes drift over each. - "It could be a trap."

"It could be a great many things, my friend," Dietrich murmurs toward Kupor, ears flicking toward a pair of passing merchants. "Best be gracious, lady, and tuck those away for the moment. Once we get settled in, we can see what that was about." Looking to Archimedes as the alchemist makes a good opening question, his features shift to polite attentiveness, as he waits for the Lord's answer.

Lord Markov shakes his head, "No no please explore. So tense, so weary, this is for you to get to know our city. WOnder, and ask questions of our people. Learn a bit about us. I will be waiting here, the guards following each of you will let you know when it is time to come back." A touch of amusement in his voice now. Looking to Archimedes, "Slaves." Rather blunt about it to, "Then followed by a very lucrative mining operation, jeweles of all sorts, metals, and lastly we have a good abundance of food products."

"Kupo." He agrees, pauses, thinks for a long moment, then nods. "Kupo," he agrees more firmly to Dietrich, acknowledging that he had been thinking along a line of one on edge, and acknowledging the more clandestine things possible.

"You'll have to forgive us, my Lord," Dietrich says, shaking his head and chuckling. "Too often what appears to be a simple voyage turns out to end in dire threat. Please, we mean no insult by our caution, and think that it would be lovely to explore your markets." Looking to Kupor, he nods at Archimedes. Celeste, paired off with Alistair, as even with the Lord's platitudes, the wolfkin seems to prefer his fellow envoys pair off, in case trouble does come calling.

Alistair glances over at Archimedes as he rejoins the party, and offers the Burmecian a faint, amused smile, seeming about to respond right afterwards, only to have Lord Markov address Archimedes instead... And he just chuckles lightly then, before giving Arch a shrug, and then sweeping his gaze over to Celeste and her impromptu gift... His eyebrows raising minutely, before he ever so smoothly slips closer to the mouse warrior to join her in exploration, as their fuzzy leader indicated, as well as to study the box up close, letting his keen sight wander over it to see if he might notice anything untoward just at a first glance of its exterior. You page, "A plain basic metal cigar case." to Alistair.

Celeste turns the box over in her hand, before stuffing it in the same pocket as the pamphlet. "Yeah, I ain' dumb," she mutters to Dietrich, following his advice on what to dow ith the box. She pats the pocket lightly, before turning her gaze towards Alistair. "A'ight, le's go shoppin'," she comments, and starts marching off, though she makes sure the Burmecian can keep up. "See, I'mma knowin' this great tavern down'a road here..." she trails off, and glances over her shoulder to gauge how far out of earshot they've managed to get from Lord Markov, before pulling out the now rumpled pamphlet, and thrusting it into Archimedes' hands. "A'ight, now what'n *Hell's* this damn thing say?!"

Celeste turns the box over in her hand, before stuffing it in the same pocket as the pamphlet. "Yeah, I ain' dumb," she mutters to Dietrich, following his advice on what to dow ith the box. She pats the pocket lightly, before turning her gaze towards Alistair. "A'ight, le's go shoppin'," she comments, and starts marching off, though she makes sure the Hume can keep up. "See, I'mma knowin' this great tavern down'a road here..." she trails off, and glances over her shoulder to gauge how far out of earshot they've managed to get from Lord Markov, before pulling out the now rumpled pamphlet, and thrusting it into Alistair's hands. "A'ight, now what'n *Hell's* this damn thing say?!"

The bluntness of the word slaves hammers against Kupor's face. But he keeps his hat in the way of his expression, lest Markov make something over it. At Dietrich's look, Kupor nods in agreement of the caution. He steps in line with Archimedes. He is taking the books quite seriously on court politics. Questions will give away anything that can be used against the group. And Kupor is far too blunt a moogle to keep his words cloaked.

Celeste and Alistair overhear: "As you walk away you over hear a couple of merchants. Merchants talking: "The slums are more dangerous than ever, with all the extra security around the estates less to keep the garbage in line."

"Aha." The Burmecian smiles and searches Markov's eyes a moment. No doubt a strong connection between the two, a thought betrayed maybe by the twitch of an ear. Nothing more. "As something of a craftsman myself, I take great interest in a kingdom's fine earths. I am sure Kandala will not disappoint." Archimedes bows again, and takes his leave, rather than quiz the ear off Markov all day. The slight tap of his cane wanders and he smiles at Kupor. "I would like to visit the jeweler, and the mining companies, if you can spare the time. And I am willing to go wherever you wish." He gestures to their host. "Use this opportunity to educate yourself. They will learn what we learn." Including what they certainly don't want us to discover.

Pending of course he gets his way, his eyes are open and his questions are always simple. Something to the line of "what are you digging up these days?" Loaded, but earnest. His pocketbooks may be modest, but the Tempered Drake's run deep, and if he can find a good deal, it's practically his obligation to consider it. That, however, may be a separate negotiation.

The jewelry shop is large, one of the cities bigger exporters. As Archimedes and Kupor enter in they can over hear a couple of the patrons talking. "Lost three slaves today, going to have to go to barter street and see if there are any that might survive more then a month." The two exit right as they enter. A man behind the counter glances up and smiles, "How can I help you two today? Some of the best craftswork in the city here." Indeed the jewels are cut with great skill, and some of the jewelry made by master craftsman. The city can clearly afford some of the best.

Lord Markov offers a smile to Dietrich, "I can see why they put you in charge of this group. Any questions, feel free to ask." A knowing smile crossing the mans face, "Otherwise, we can stare at each other for the next hour."

Dietrich's lips twitch upward at the corners. "Well then," he says with a chuckle, "that certainly makes one of us. I *do* thank you for your patience, Lord Markov, and for questions, well... Does the Lord Kittemer often have a problem with security? Or is it simply the price paid for talks with foreign interests?"

Kupor nods, letting Archimedes take the lead. Kupor's skills land elsewhere. Archimedes' seem to do well here. Barter street. Kupor's ears flick briefly from over his hat, but he does not look up to them. Kupor frowns at the jewelry. He is not one for rings. But as Archimedes appears to be the one with people skills here that do not rely on the honesty and pureness of one's soul and/or punches, he pretends to look.

Alistair keeps his senses sharp as he wanders after the mouse, and soon glances towards a conversation that catches his interest, efficiently filing away a tidbit of information in his 'mind castle' for later study... But then, as that pamphlet is thrusted towards him, he looks back over at Celeste, and without any sort of judgment showing on his face at her apparent lack of reading ability, simply glances over the paper again, and answers her, "Ah, it's our itinerary, lass. Day one, city tour- This would be it. Day two, opening negotiations. Day three, games- it seems they intend to entertain us. Day four, counter proposals. Day five, masquerade ball- a perfect venue for an assassination attempt, to be sure. Day six, closing debates. Day seven, decision." The man offering her a brief smile then, before he hands the pamphlet back and adds, "I shall let you lead the way. You seem to have prior knowledge of our location."

Celeste arches an eyebrow as she listens to Alistair's reading of the itinerary, though her ear perks up at the nearby conversation; then she makes a strange, half-choked sound in response to what day five is all about. "I'mma s'pose that'll mean they's all 'spectin' me ter be wearin' some ridic'lous dress, jes'cause I got tits," she observes. "Well, that ain' happenin'." She stuffs the pamphlet back down into her pocket. She hefts the weight of the spear and shield on her back, the latter proudly displaying a grand emblem of a rampant lion. "Up t'yer if'n yer wants ter head ter tavern," she adds. "Prolly ain' th'right time fer gettin' propper sotted, though. Any other sort'a place yer wanna see?"

Lord Markov doesn't falter or miss a beat at all, "of course he doesn't. He is the head lord over the military. He has enemies everywhere of course, never have they gotten close. Always a rumor or two flying by though. Best be more careful in what you believe." The lord offering that superficial smile on his face again, "Anything else?"

In a fancy jewler's shop... Archimede's ears give another token twitch. "A bit eager, aren't they?" he murmurs to Kupor. "It's obvious why they're one of the ones with coin to spare..." A little conpsiracy is to be expected, yes? But once the Jeweler has his attention he has to be more appropriate! He laughs, warm in tone as always. "I will be the judge of that," he says, but leans on the shade of 'positive.' "Mm. I'd be looking for a cloak brooch. Something simple, yet elegant. You make your own wares?" He smiles. "And a local supplier, I'm sure. This kingdom is brimming with regalness." Hopefully he's not boring Kupor to tears by being a hobnobber. The soft questions come now. The harder ones may be those that are spoken in the end.

Dietrich inclines his head. "Thank you, my Lord, but you misunderstand; I ask, because I'd rather not believe *anything* I hear, unless someone I trust can verify. So, my thanks for placing my mind at ease... Now. I see there's to be a masquerade ball, yes? Will we be seeing tailors, if there's a need? Only, I don't believe all of us found the proper time to choose acceptable finery."

Alistair smiles some at the mouse again, before he responds, "Ah, but a masquerade ball implies anonymity. Wear your mask, dress like a man or however else you want, and I'm certain no one will complain, or even be any the wiser." The Hume shrugging then, before he ever so briefly thinks... And then adds, "A tavern will be a valuable source of information, by virtue of the loose tongues that will be present around us. We will simply have to limit our own partaking." And he winks at Celeste then, before motioning at her to lead the way.

The city is alive with activity. Celeste and Alistair will find a small group of guards walking by. "I got to see that Emberstrand group, bunch of riff raff they are." Another guard speaks up, "Ha. Still probably more trustworthy then the Rozzarians. Envy Lord Zikel. Gets to host them, and that lady has one fine..' Cut off by another guard, "Yea he lost his bet with Lord Markov. Does he have anybody to oogle?" The first guard speaking up, "Na, do not think they even had a woman in their group." The guards walking off down the street out of ear shoot." The jeweler snaps his fingers, "Simple yet elegant, of course. We have a fine selection over on that counter there. We have our own craftsman of course. The nobles and merchants alike are always wanting to show off their wealth." He himself is very well dressed. The counter indicated has a wide selection of brooches to look over.

Celeste snorts loudly. "Then what'n hell's'a point?" she asks. "Goin' ter some fancy-pants shindig an ain't n'body knowin' who yer are or tha'tcher there." And then, there are guards walking past, one of them commenting about the Emberstrand group not having a single woman amongst them. The words 'I'mma woman yer idjit!' cross her mind, but somehow she manages to merely grind her teeth rather than voice them. "Idjit," she mutters under her breath, unable to quite let it pass unremarked upon. "Bet he dun even know what tits look like," she adds, before turning to head towards the bar. "C'mon. Place's called th'Lobo's Den, best tavern on'a street. An' usually good merchants 'bout, too. Ain' far."

Lord Markov considers Dietrich for a moment, and chuckles. "We have tailors ready in case any of your party requires assistance with costuming. In fact that is our next stop right after lunch." yet his smile grows wider, honest this time. "You want your mind at ease?" Yes there is a wicked gleam in his eyes, "He had a serving maid recently. She was found to be compromised, visiting certain individuals down in the under city. She was going to be sold on the block, or commite suicide. She knew another lord, has a fancy for such traitors, so she choose suicide. A pity, means her family gets no compensation or split from the sale."

Kupor considers the brooches. It is not his place to judge others for their lifestyles choices. He does his best to look interested, which is a vague raise of his eyebrows here and there on his dour face. "The local mines, then, kupo, they are gold?"

Archimedes picks out something small, silvered, with green inlays. And a bracelet with blue sapphires. "I think you're willing to give me a good deal," he says, swaying his tail. "Because whatever you stand to lose on these, everyone in this city will see your shop's work on foreign dignitaries, and in the King's Court. This store will thrive for months, at least, on that alone. I imagine your craftsmanship will carry you further." The Burmecian smiles, taps his cane, and twitches his ears. Interested, almost, more in the keep's response than he is the jewelery itself.

The Jeweler doesn't even blink a eye, "Merchant guild association sets all prices for all goods in the city. It is against regulation to sell any item below listed prices. Cost is listed below the item." There appears to be no room in the man for negotiation, "Or are you simply pretending to have money when you do not?" A very direct question. A glance to Kupor and a humpf, "Everything, the mines are rich, it has it."

The easy smile is wiped right off of Dietrich's face, ears slamming back against his head. "....My lord," he says, voice dropping several degrees, "I'm quite well aware, what you and yours must think of us. A poor offering from Emberstrand, such a motley and uncouth lot, yes? But what you may mistake, my lord, is that we are here as political delegates, who intend to do the very best job we can do... And we are here, to show Kandhala what the city's chief export is. *Adventurers,* my lord. A word to sneer at, perhaps, but *only* if one mistakes dust for dirtiness, for a single adventurer, time and again throughout history, has turned the tide of many a world-spanning conflict. And I will ask you, now... When this war finds itself on your doorstep, is it not wise to have made a friend of the city that *teems* with strangers willing to fight your enemy to their last drop of blood?"

Alistair shrugs lightly at Celeste and offers her another smile as he responds to her comments about the point of a masquerade ball, "One of the many mysteries of nobility, I'm afraid." Only to let his gaze wander towards the passing guards as he overhears their comments... His expression remaining entirely neutral despite the insult directed at their party, and soon looking back at the mouse warrior... The man briefly appraising her female form with a clinical eye, before he simply remarks, "We can assume he finds more enjoyment in bedmates that lack mammary glands, yet have the addition of a phallus, if it makes you feel better, dear." And starting to follow her right after, towards the inn.

Lord Markov smile never falters, the look in his eyes never fading. His voice smooth, "I have hired a few adventueres as well goodman Dietrich. I am one of the few on Lord Kittemers side. Rumors say I lost a bet, I did that on purpose." Leaning in towards Dietrich, "You asked about security, I gave you a answer. A problem was found, it was addressed. Criminals are sold to pay for their crimes, accept that. Also remember, it is you who needs us. Do not be so choosy as the begger at our doors. We know a war is comming, pray to the spirits that you can manage to convince the Banker and the King to choose you."

Archimedes laughs as if in great amusement and shakes his head. "Really. My apologies. Kandala really DOES have its own way of doing things." He quietly produces and sifts through his coin bag. It might be most of his wealth in his entirety, but no one knows that. A gesture, an answer to a question. "If the city is as rich and talented as it seems, then I would be a fool to buy the first piece I saw. You understand." He returns his purse and glances at Kupor, prepared to leave.

Kupor smiles. If only a little. That this is not a game of politics, but of business. Kupor is not above business. He frowns. /Everything/. Kupor doesn't have much knowledge in geology, but he is fairly sure mines do not work like that. There must be some sort of Earth magic in the ground, perhaps. The moogle turns away from the brooches. He is about to speak some sort of pithy remark about him and money, but at Archimedes' look, he sighs and realizes the game is still being played, and begins to leave.

Celeste has quite the female form; in spite of her strength, she's blessed with beauty, and not some sort of ogrish appearance. Still, for a moment she looks like she's about to do something highly uncouth. Fortunately, however, she does nothing other than supress a snort and manage to chuckle. "P'raps," she replies. "B'then, I'mma likin' that kind'a thing, so ain' gonna fault n'body else fer likin'em too." She turns, and pushes open the door to the tavern she'd previously mentioned. The atmosphere inside is dimly lit and smokey, with a cacophany of noise from patrons laughing and drinking. "Now this'my kin'a place," she states happily, holding the door open for Alistair.

The Jewler chuckles softly and steps back behind the counter, "of course of course. Do take care." Not seeming upset in the least he didn't sell the item. Leaning over to whisper some words to a young boy who then takes off. "If you would excuss me I have other customers to attend to." The place not lacking in the least for business.

"Believe me, my lord," Dietrich rumbles, "I do. Had I thought otherwise, I'd not be here. I'll not say this is going to be an easy thing, for either of us; I've seen no small amount of your merchants incensed about our refusal to allow their slaves within Emberstand's walls. But, yes. Kandhala's wealth *is* needed. If only so that your fair city may be guarded from trouble, in the days to come. I am most pleased, however, to hear that you *chose* to host us. It means there is ground for friendship." Leaning back, the wolfkin considers the noble a moment, ears perking up. "Tell me, my Lord... do you happen to play chess?" The Tavern is almost completely full, every table having at least oner person at it. Ranging from merchants, to off duty guards, and the occasional traveler. The two as they enter are mostly ignored. It is not uncommon for strangers to walk in. yet one person sitting at a far table waves the two over as they step in.

Archimedes tucks his bag inside his tunic and bows. No sense in not being polite! "You as well." Once out of earshot, he offers Kupor a smile of apology. "I am starting to wonder if this was not a mistake." Shopping for baubles, or the entire business? "Think of that as a taste of what's to come." A test of the local sentiment. The ratty stops smiling, for a moment. "Would you care to look around, or rejoin our friends?" he wonders. Though he suspects if the moogle gets anywhere near Barter street, his pure morals might drive him into causing a ruckus.

Alistair just offers the mouse a brief smile at her comment, before he steps inside the inn after her, and right away sweeps his keen gaze across its interior... Almost instantly letting his blue eyes pause upon the figure waving them over... His expression staying entirely neutral despite the oddness of this gesture, and simply throwing a glance towards Celeste before he straightens his coat some, and then slips further inside to walk towards the individual at the table, "Let's see what they require of us, shall we."

With guards following them, Kupor is not likely to go to Barter Street. The sight of suffering will drive him to do what must be done on the spot. As they exit, Kupor considers. He begins to cast his eyes about for the stalls that do not sell extravagant food, for the places where the paid laborers and their families might shop. "Come, kupo. I would know what the people that make up the most of this city think of us." Celeste pauses a moment to heft the weight of her arms once more, surreptitiously loosening her spear in its sling as she does so; a practiced motion, and one not immediately obvious to many. "A'ight," she replies, and starts off across the tavern floor. Upon reaching the bar, a quick detour on the way to the waving man and his table, she slaps down a few gil; uncounted, but certainly enough to be worth more than the drink she snatches up in turn, which was actually intended for someone else. She puts the mug to her lips and drinks. "Oh good, Ale," she observes, before continuing on to the waving man. "Af'ernoon," she drawls, upon reaching him. "We met?"

The man waving over Celeste and Alistair looks young, but clearly trying to hide his features. Doing a rather poor job, he is clearly of some noble line. He seems nervous and glances both direction as he leans in, "Emberstrandians right? I umm...' Nervous as he looks around, "Saw you heading this way. Umm..." pausing again, "I err, we need your help."

Kupor will easily spot a entire street of small cheaper stalls. Selling lower quality goods, foods, and clothing. The street marked, Beggers Lane. The people alone the lane are clearly the serving class, most seem to be doing decently well.

Lord Markov shakes his head, "Still a novice, my father Baron Markov is a master of the game. As for friendship, we shall see. I suspect that you will find much of what you wish to be questioned." Shaking his head as he glances up to a nearby clock weatching the time. "Not much time left." Motioning over to the guards, "Start rounding up our guest, time for lunch."

Alistair raises his brow just a bit as he stands before the man's table... And then idly glances across each shoulder, trying to note anything or anyone the young noble might be nervous about, before he simply pulls out a chair and slides himself in it. The detective resting his arms on the table and idly steepling his fingers as he looks at the young man, and responds, "Do you now? And who would 'we' be?" He asks, his voice neutral.

"Indeed," Dietrich says, offering a short nod. "By your leave, then." With that, he starts off into the market, heading in the direction he'd last seen Archimedes and Kupor disappear.

"I wonder if they are so fastidious as to have groomed the town for our arrival," says Archimedes, looking about the 'poorer' section of town. "Or that of our counterparts. I can only imagine what adventures they are having right now."

Dietrich overhears: "As you walk by a weapons merchant. Weapons Merchant: "Filled another report with the guard, second attempt at a break in this week. Somebody is trying to steal my special stock! Have a big shipment coming in tonigth, may have to hire extra guards for it."

The moogle frowns. "There is much to be gained on this, kupo." Here, he is willing to trade his money, purchasing an apple, and providing it for a woman near him. "And yet so much in this city." He shakes his head, "This war will test what people fight for. And what of that they are willing to sacrifice." The woman who is handed the apple just stares at the apple, "Who, what do you think I am? Just some begger from the slums?" Tossing the apple right back at the moogle, "I work well for my living, do not need some charity." Humpfing as she walks off.

The red-head follows Dietrich to the market. "So there seems to be a lot more going on here, behind the scenes, than what the outside world seems understand.", she says quietly as they are on their way. "And I guess the question is how greatly do we need their help, yes?" Azar rubs one of her cheeks, while fussing with her hair.

Kupor catches the apple. "It also appears this city makes people... grumpy."

Kupor and Archimedes overhear: "A pair of workers walking by, "Yes, the voice said tonight. We have to make sure nothing goes wrong." More appears to be said, but they are out of earshoot by then."

Archimedes rubs at one of his ears and muses. "Strange, ones who 'work well' and live well, don't you think?" He pauses a bit, and then gives a meaningful look to Kupor. "..."

Celeste arches an eyebrow upwards. She takes a long swig from her slightly purloined ale, and regards the man with as neutral an expression as she can muster. "Well, that'll all depend," she replies at last. "First, y'all gonna have ter be tellin' us who y'are, an' what all t'is yer be wantin'."

The nervous man at the bar just shrinks back against the chair behind him, clearly scared, "The voice, I work with the voice. He is trying to end slavery here." His voice dropping to a whisper as he says that, "Me, me I am nobody. Just nobody. Voice said you could help, you would help us."

"Greatly enough," Dietrich growls, his customary good humor apparently left with the Baronet's guards, "that we are all going to have to bite down hard on many a thing we'd rather not even *taste.*" Letting out a breath, he pulls his cloak around his shoulders, navigating the crowds of the market, and keeping an eye out for the rest of the delegation. "But it's true; we'll need Kandhala's goodwill, *badly.*"

Azar nods to Diertrich, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Indeed, we do. I've always believed though, that change does not happen from without. You have to foster change from within, and what better way is there than if we work with them as equals. And slowly bend them?" You page, "A pair of workers pass you, talking to themselves. "Did the voice say where? Yea some weapon merchant is getting in a shipment tonight, there is a plan..." Walking out of earshoot." to Dietrich and Azar.

Kupor takes a bite of the apple. He chews and swallows before responding, "They are proud of how they work, kupo." His ears flick. He looks across for the guards of Lord Markov, then looks back at Archimedes. There is something of a gleam in Kupor's eyes. "Pride usually breeds a different sort of emotion. Something bothers them." As if it is not apparent! Archimedes nods a little to Kupor, and leaves it at that. Discretion is tantamount, after all. At any rate, the two of them should be easy to find, or back in the direction of the others, shortly enough.

Alistair regards the young man neutrally as he sits there, opposite him, his fingers still steepled some and the Detective seeming to considering the man's words... And he responds then, keeping his tone casual, even as he briefly glances at Celeste, "I cannot speak for my companions, so I may be overruled in this, but I'm afraid I cannot personally promise my aid. As noble a cause it is, I'm sure, we have our own goals to attain, our own citizenry to deliver freedom and hope to- to spare them Archades' oppression... So while I would normally certainly consider you request, and I can understand your people's pain, it is not yet in our best interest." And he shrugs then, pausing a few moments... Before he adds, "But as I said, my opinion is but one."

Celeste hunhs softly. "Th'Voice," she murmurs. "Lookit. We all's here ter get help from Kandhala -- an that'a mean not pissin' off th'wrong folk. But." She shrugs her shoulders lightly. "I ain' never been no fan'a slav'ry. So tell yer what; when all's said'n done, b'fore I'mma go home, I'mma come back'n have'a chat wit yer 'Voice', if'n he gonna speak ter me. An' we's see."

The guards nods to Kupor and Archimedes as they approach, "Lunch is in twenty minutes, please follow us to the resturant." If they follow they will find themselves inside a very high class establishment. Some of the finest foods found from across the continent here in this rich city. Everything is paid for them already, curtesy of Lord Kittemer. They can order anything off the menu they wish. The guards that follow Azar and Dietrich approach them, and also lead the way to the resturant. "Your friends are all being led to lunch, please follow us." Lord Markov making his way behind Dietrich and Azar at a respectable distance. Celeste and Alistair will find their guards entering the tavern to approach them. Their friend talking to them spooks instantly as he leans in, "The voice says this is our only chance, the cigar case has the instructions!" With that he bolts for the back entrance. The guards do not seem to care, "Lunch time, please follow us." Leading them all to the same restaurant.

"We shall have to see," Dietrich grumbles. "I hope, my friend, that you have the right of it." And as the guard approaches, that's all the wolfkin says, his sour countenance smoothing to pleasantness in the span of a pair of heartbeats. "Thank you, my friend! Right with you." And gesturing for Azar to precede him, he falls into step, allowing the guard to lead him toward the restaurant.

With a nod, Kupor follows along to the restaurant, finishing his apple along the way. He eats the entire thing, seeds and all. He is soon seated in a chair for moogles which is NOT A BOOSTER SEAT and frowning once more. - Pickled duck beak is a food? Azar nods at their escort, and takes the lead, and she looks over her shoulder at Dietrich, "Truth, Dietrich, is that I too hope that I have the right of it. It makes my stomach sour to be in situations like these. One way or another, people will be hurt, and quite possibly die. All for the discussions we have here and the decisions we make. This is where the saying, 'Do the right thing.' often dies."

Archimedes hopes to take some time to soak in the rest of the group dynamic, and eating as little as possible. Unless it happens to involve seafood. Then he might, just maybe, indulge himself some.

Alistair quirks his brow a man as the man bolts... But he files away the tidbit of information given, and then pushes himself back up from his seat. The pale hume turning to the guards then with a pleasant smile, and answering, "Ah, certainly. A spot of dinner would do me wonders." The man not indicating anything untoward just happened as he moves to follow the two men.

Celeste watches the man bolt, and hunhs softly. The mouse shrugs as nonchalantly as she can manage when the guards appear, before breaking out into a big grin. "Lunch? Wond'rful. lead th'way, if'n y'please." She brushes her fingers through her hair as she swaggers out into the street, to allow the guardsmen to lead her and Alistair to the restaurant where all this is taking place.

The restaurant is extravagant, only the richest of the richest eat here. The pickled duck beak is explained as being a delicacy, a acquired taste by some of the local nobility. Aged wine from 798 is served. The group is left alone, as the guards and Lord Markov take another part of the restaurant.

"Then we shall have to do our utmost to see otherwise," is all Dietrich says, and throws a bright grin toward the Lord, as the party rejoins, and they're led to their table. THat Lord Markov and his guards decide to eat at another table is some cause for surprise, soon shaken. "Well," he says, glancing toward the menu. "...Braised coeurl whisker and desert greens...? Hm... Yes, that please." The wine, received with an appreciative sigh, a look of true gratitude given to the server. Once the staff has departed, the wolfkin places his hands on the table. "So," he says quietly to all seated, "I assume your wanderings were informative?"

Celeste plops down, and picks up a glass of the aged wine. She eyes it for a moment, before putting it to her lips and draining half of it in one gulp. "Dunno 'bout inform'tive," she replies, "But in'erestin' a'least." She pauses, and shrugs her shoulders, before pulling over some food for herself. She breaks open a bread roll with her hands, butters it, and bites off half of it in one go. "Been here b'fore," she explains. "Doodlebug come 'ere all'a time."

Azar elects to stay quiet at this point, ordering what amounts to the most expensive salad known to man. After Dietrich speaks, she clears her throat and says quietly, "The feeling I am getting is that we have been used by our hosts as a lure, or they have played us into giving away our sympathies. Either way, it stinks."

The swordsmoogle looks at his pickled duck's beak. He is in the same boat as Archimedes. He has some measure of Deitrich, but the others remain mysteries to him. "If I am correct, there is a large merchant's guild that controls much, kupo. There is a problem with slaves. And there is a great deal of value on wealth."

Archimedes knits his fingertips and braces against the table. "The aristocracy is in tight control of the market and wishes to keep it that way," he says. "The people are stubborn and caught up in maintaining an image of wealth and power, and they only see meaning in what shines and fits in their palm." Archimedes laughs. "But we knew that before we arrived. If they did not want something from us, we would not be here." The Burmecian exhales. "Think about what we are, and who we fight for. Does accepting their help mean accepting their values? If it does, then we may as well hand our lands to Rozarria and been done with it. Do not plan to enter the court with half-hearted convictions."

Alistair takes a seat at the table, and after a single, quick glance at the menu, orders his prefered dish... Somesort of exotic, smoked fish together with the wine being served. Looking at Dietrich then as he lowers the menu again, as well as casting a quick glance around the table in general, he remarks simply, "Quite. But I will leave our indepth discussion on what Celeste and I learned for a more suitable time and place." Offering the wolfkin a brief smile then, before he adds towards Azar, "In diplomacy, some sympathies must be revealed, to make clear your aims and goals in the matter. But I agree we should practise a measure of caution."

Dietrich looks to each in turn as they speak, nodding slowly. "'Stinks'... A very good word for our predicament, Azar," he says quietly, settling back and taking up his wineglass. "As I see it, we're in a very poor position, here. We've come begging, and Kandhala well knows it. We're hardly ideal diplomatic envoys, and Kandhala knows this too. Thus, it falls to our *actions* to speak the most of how fit we are to befriend... But as Azar pointed out to me on the way hear, that may mean we must be very, very choosy about how we do the right thing. How we build goodwill. And what we have to swallow in the doing of these things."

Azar hmms, "They do want something, that is certain. Either legitimacy, which is my main bet, or a change to snap up some of the trade that flows through Emberstrand. Legitimacy, which would allow them to keep a harder grip on the populace. Or trade... because that is what they do, yes?" She begins to dig into her salad, taking a sip of wine before continuing, "As I said to Dietrich before, no matter what we do here today, people will come to harm. We just get to decide who, the when is only a matter of time."

Celeste perks an eyebrow upwards, "Well, we'all just have ter make sure it's t'other people what come to harm," she points out. "As in th'Rozarrians. An' not us." She leans back in her seat, and works on finishing off her bread roll, before moving on to something much more protein-like. And she even manages to use a knife and fork. With the correct hand for each.

Azar shakes her head, "Nono, Celeste. The decision will be whether Emberstrand's populace suffers, or this city's populace suffers. That's why this position we're in... stinks."

The moogle breaks a bit of pickled duck beak to sample it. "What is important, kupo, is to remember why people demanded this war in the first place, rather than peace."

Alistair looks towards Azar again, and casually remarks, "This city's populace has been living under the yoke of slavery for as long as the city has existed. It is ingrained in their culture. They can carry the burden for a while longer. Emberstrand's people are in more immediate dire straits, I'm afraid."

Archimedes shakes his head. "Kupor is right. If it is 'legitimacy' that we are talking about, then we could very well be cutting off our own hands here. Emberstrand cannot fight without resources. But it also cannot fight if its very reasoning is called into question." He clenches a fist. "We stand more to lose here than just funding. We must do what is ultimately best for our country, whatever that means."

Azar's eyes narrow at Kupor, "It was a decision to fight, Kupor, Archades started the war. You wanted us to roll over, yes?" She looks to Archimedes and Alistair, "I find myself leaning in your direction when it comes to making a decision here. I am simply pointing out what happens when we do make the decision. I am just hoping we make an informed decision, that is all.

"Then it seems," Dietrich's voice rises over his wineglass, "that our course is clear. We'd soil the very concept of an alliance of Free Cities, if we went about stepping upon whatever we didn't particularly like. Thus... we've an opening to build a bit of goodwill. A weapons merchant, it seems, is going to be under attack, tonight. Why, I'm not certain, but it appears he'd gone to the guards before for protection. It may not be enough, to keep his wares from being taken, his person put to harm."

The waiters keep their distance, the parties booth very private. Lord Markov appears to entertaining a young lady himself, and is compltely distracted. The party appears to truly have privacy at the moment to speak freedly.

Archimedes perks an ear at Dietrich. "By whom, I wonder?" Perhaps it has something to do with this 'Voice' business. He chuckles and, given the state of freedom, also jokes: "we were sent to get aid from Kandala. No stipulations were made as to who had to be running it when that happened." Ah, honey-tongue and dockworker glib.

Kupor stops. He looks at his pickled duck beak. If he says nothing, he will break the party here. Can he condone the act of violence? But what if breaking that violence brings more suffering? More pain? When is violence the correct course? Is it right for Kupor to attempt to direct such events? He is just a moogle with a sword. Nothing more. - "Do you know who the weapon merchant is, kupo?"

Alistair nods some at Azar, before switching his attention back to Dietrich, and seeming to consider even as he sips his wine a moment, "And what do you suggest we do with this information?" He asks then. Azar hmms, "Tell our hosts? Or find the merchant and ask him to hold off on his activities for now in return for our assistance when the time is right? Oh what a web we could weave..."

"We go pr'tect 'im a'course," Celeste replies to Alistair. "Or a'least, *I* do." She says this with a certain, meaningful non-negotiableness. "An' any one'a yer what wants ter's more'n welcome to come'long." "Better that he not be there in the line of fire in the first place, Celeste. Get him to safety beforehand, and then there's no issue at all.", says Azar, over her salad and wine.

"I'm of two minds, myself," Dietrich says, examining a forked bit of tentacle-like meat, coated in honeyed sauce. "The price for criminals... especially those aiding this... underground... is slavery. We tell our host, ensure the merchant's livelihood is protected... And create yet more slaves to suffer. We protect him ourselves? We may be seen as swaggering Guardsmen of Ivalice entire. And mind, Azar, the concern isn't solely the merchant, but his wares. That, in the end, is the goal."

Archimedes smiles at Dietrich. "And if we protect the man but not the wares?"

"Then the wares are stolen, and the man's livelihood harmed," Dietrich says easily.

Azar nods to Dietrich, "Aye, I do see the end goal. However, this man is no snot-under-the-nose, fresh-faced seller of arms. Losing him means losing experience, and the arms are likely lost. So we do need to save both, in the end, yes?"

"I imagine not, if he's backed by the merchant guild." Archimedes waves a hand. "Insured or not."

Alistair sits back and quietly enjoys his meal, the man just glancing to one companion or another as they discuss the situation, and what course to take... The Detective not offering his own opinion on the matter, or at least not just yet, simply taking everything in.

Kupor looks at the food, "We should ask around, Archimedes," Kupor says heavy with meaning, "to take the measure of this attacker."

Celeste pages, "Yes, but in private." to you.

As the deserts are brought out one of the servers sets down a plate in front of Dietrich, a paper sticking out from under it.

Archimedes nods. "Indeed. But we act with discretion, and when the time is right." Archimedes folds his arms. "Emberstrand's reputation is also on our shoulders. Our actions represent her now, to whatever end." He glances up as the paper arrives.

Celeste cocks an eyebrow upwards. "So, lemme ask'n yer summin'," she says, pointing a fork at Dietrich. "Yer all c'mplainin' 'bout criminals gettin' sold off's slaves. But, what'd the Judges do? Chop they's arms off, or they's heads? In some places thieves's hanged, in some they's shoved in'a dungeon ter rot... is bein' a slave really worse'n all that?" She pauses, and shrugs her shoulders lightly. "An' anyhow. If'n they knows th'punishment an'does it anyhow, why all ought we ter have symp'thy? Now, th'ones what were pressed in'a slavery fer nuthin', tha's different."

Dietrich's eyebrows rise as the plate is set in front of him, and he breaks away from the conversation to pluck the paper from beneath, carefully unfolding it to read its contents.

Azar raises an eyebrow at Dietrich's reaction, and continues working on her salad. Her eyes wander to Dietrich from time to time, looking for some sign of what the note contains. "Our hosts?"

"If only," Dietrich rumbles, passing the note about the table for each to read in turn, as he tucks into his vanilla creme pie. "See for yourselves."

The note reads: We need your help, our only chance is now. While all the focus is on negotiations. There is a weapon shipment coming in tonight. Meet me at the Docks at 10pm, I will find you. For the freedom of the Slaves. ~The Voice of Freedom

When the note comes, Kupor nods to himself, "I...suspected such, kupo." "It is never as simple as that, when it comes to the ownership of a living being," Archimedes replies. "Who's to say the Judges were of the right, either?" Archimedes' eyes turn downwards, and then he passes the note along, making little comment.

Archimedes pages, "When were you thinkin' of running the next session? If it's the same time next week, I'll be on a plane, so, problematic. :(" to you.

Celeste reads the note, and passes it on without comment. "Yer need laws, ter protect th'weak from th'strong... an' th'sneaky," she points out. "An' laws ain' mean nuthin' wit'out punishment fer bustin'em." She shrugs, "If'n th'punishment here is yer ends up in chains, then tha's th'punishment. Dun' break th'law, 'r dun get caught, 'r live wit' it."

Alistair glances at the note, and without needing to give it much thought, voices his opinion, "Our concern is, and should be, Emberstrand. We can not afford another powerful enemy right now. We need a powerful ally."

Archimedes tilts his head at Celeste. "I wouldn't have thought... well, there are better times for debate. But I will say this--Kandala stands on the backs of those slaves. If you can find nothing troubling of that, then I will give you no more quarrel."

Azar sighs, "Laws aside, look at it this way. If there is revolt, we get no help from Kandala no matter who wins, they will be too busy, and will have no concern for us."

The party does not have much time to soak in this note, or possible implications. Is it legit, is it a ruse, or is somebody simply trying to use them? Lord Markov walks up to the group with the guard escort. "It is time for your fittings. Please have a idea of what you would like your costume to be. We head to my families personal tailors to measure you for your Ball costumes. Please come along." To think, day one isn't over with yet!

Part 2

The group is lead through the merchant quarter along the Market road towards the tailors. They pass Barter road along the way. A auction can be overheard going on. "Five silver, do I hear five silver. Criminal just recently captured, would you believe attempting to bribe a guard? Six silver do I hear six, oh seven silver do I hear eight!" At which point the party passes the street and the words are lost. Alistair follows along at a leisurely pace, letting his eyes roam around, taking in more of the city as they move... And as they pass that auction, is interest is naturally drawn to it. The pale, slender hume Detective taking in the scene with sheer neutral interest, his expression betraying no moral dilemma as he simply observes the mechanics of the auction, taking note of the way that sort of business is conducted here.

Dietrich's ears tip backwards, as the sounds of a slave auction reaches them. Grimacing, the knight remains silent... though it does seem he'd very much enjoy acting otherwise. An eye moves toward Alistair, gauging the man's reactions, until finally he leans over. "All things considered," he murmurs, "it's a good thing you're here, sir. I'll be counting on you to relay what you notice that likely we'll not, mh?"

Kupor's eye ticks.

Celeste doesn't notice the sound of the auction; the mouse is too busy grumbling to herself, about the prospect of wearing a dress. 'Not some damsel' and 'Ain' doin' it' tend to be relatively common phrases. Just for good measure, she's dressed like she normally is, in light armor and a naval trenchcoat. Does she even own any other clothes?

Lord Markov glances back to Celeste, "Miss, you do not have to wear a dress. It is a masquerade ball. You are welcome to request a outfit to your liking. Just have something in mind now." A touch of amusement on his face at this, clearly there is something more to this ball. "Almost there." Pointing to a very large building. "Tailors Guild." Written across the sign. As the party steps in you see fabrics of all sorts, in every color. Men and woman are working here, moving back and forth through the lobby of the building. A elf woman walks up, her dress and attire quiet fashionable with a silk red dress and trailing ribbons from her hair, "Ahh lord Markov. This must be our guest. Come come to the dressing rooms. We need to take measurements." Eyes looking over them and sighing, "Oh the work to be done here."

Dietrich moves up behind Celeste, touching the warrior on the shoulder. "Miss," he says quietly, before they enter the tailor's, "really, it would be most productive if you ceased your complaints. Our mission is to secure the aid of Kandhala, and of all the things you could be asked to do to ensure this... One would think that wearing fancy clothes would rank somewhere *above* digging ditches." As the tailor gives the party the once-over, a wry smile quirks the corners of his mouth, and he inclines his head. "Then, my lady, we shall be certain to trust in your inestimably superior judgment." Kupor offers on Celeste's behalf, "Digging ditches can provide a lasting and useful device."

Alistair looks back to Dietrich as the wolfkin talks to him, and quirks a brief smile before he responds, "Ah, certainly. I will brief you on some of my findings at our earliest convenience." The man looking away again then, and letting his blue eyes fall upon the building's sign, before he nods some to himself and follows the rest of the group inside... The Detective- who is already wearing a high-quality tailored suit of classic Archadian innercity design- taking a few long moments to study the guild's interior, and the large collection of fabrics... Until his gaze pauses upon the Elf woman, and his lips simply curl up into faint smile, instead of looking insulted by her judgment.

The mouse warrior's jaw works for a moment as she seeks a response, but finds none, to Dietrich's admonitions. She glowers openly for a moment, before allowing her expression to soften a notch. "M'name's Celeste," she replies. "Not 'Miss'. An' if'n bein' fancy-pants's what I'mma gotta do fer Emb'rstrand, then y'right, an' I'mma do it." She perks an eyebrow upwards, and nods to the wolf. "Dig y'own ditches," she says to Kupor as she walks past him, following Alistair into the tailors. She shrugs her shoulders out of her jacket as she enters. "I like red," she comments to the elf woman, in passing. The elf woman offers a pft, and then giggles as she shakes her head, "Oh I do love doing that. Lots of work to be done, as we have to make all of your stuff in five days. Quiet the work to be done. Come come." The dressing rooms are well sized cubicals lined with mirrors to be able to get a quick glance at any side of a person. Several men and women are waiting as the party enters. Quickly grabbing people and moving them to a dressing room. Ready to take measurements. The elf woman giggles again, "Oh my my, I am Lady Mary. Now now, what would each of you like to be?"

The swordsmoogle looks a little... put out by the show of extravagance, but as Deitrich said, this is useful. He does not complain, though he looks relatively uncomfortable with the prospect of 'being measured' and otherwise handled. He removes his sword, his hat, and his cloak, but he keeps them close, as they are among his few possessions.

Kupor, of note, would rather be digging said ditches.

"I'm certain, Lady Mary, that you and yours are more than able to rise to the challenge," Dietrich answers as he's led away. Being measured, a task that he puts up with in silence, and relative good humor, and once measured and re-dressed, he emerges, giving thought to the question. "...I think," he says slowly, casting his eyes about the party, "that I'll be in the mood for a bit of comedy, ere the ball draws near. Perhaps something to do with chess... the Knight, perhaps? Black, I'd prefer; why make a single statement, when one can make many?"

Alistair seems quite comfortable with the whole procedure... Mostly because 90% of his existing outfits have already been custom tailored, and as such he finds himself in establishments much like these quite often. The man knowing just how to stand to make each measurement be quick and efficient, before he involves himself in deciding on his outfit for the ball... The Detective soon settling on a suit much like he wears now, but in stark white rather than his current black, to go with a porcelain harlequin mask that has been split into two, distinct halves... A scowling, but quite angelic face in black, and a smiling, horned devil in white.

Kupor overhears: As you are being measured you overhear a couple of the servents talking, "You know I swear I overheard some talk from the lords. The Blackbeards are gearing up for war against house Ziekel!"

Celeste overhears: You overhear some talk from the servents, "The Blackbeards got what was coming to them. Had their vineyards burned to the ground last week. Stuck up assholes might learn something from it."

Celeste consents to being measured; though she does cheerfully warn the tailors that before they take her armor, that she isn't wearing anything underneath. Her ear flicks at some overheard comments from neadby employees, but she offers no comment on what she's heard. Once measurements are taken, though, she saunters back into the main area, to where Mary is standing. She brushes her fingers through her unkempt hair, and shakes her head to send it all cascading over her shoulders. "So," she says at last. "How'bout yer makes me a dragon?"

Alistair overhears: You overhear from one of the people measuring you, "The Ziekels are gearing for a fight. Greybeards blammed them for burning their vinyards. May even issue a challenge soon!" Mary offers a chuckle and nods to Celeste, writing that down. "Dragon it is. You wish for some illusions magics to go along with that?" The lady is not phased in the least by the request. As the last of the measurements are done, and what people would like to have their costumes made obtained. Lord Markov offers a cough, "Well that went rather quickly. We have several hours until your dinner with Lord Kittemer. The next part of the tour is through the temple district. You know we have one of the most grand temples to King Bahamut here?" Motioning for the party to follow after. Alistair overhears some things of interest as well... Though he doesn't outwardly indicate that it managed to actually pique him, keeping his expression perfectly neutral even as he mentally files everything away, to add to his report later on. The man stepping over to follow Celeste then, smiling at the mouse as he does and commenting, "A dragon? A quite interesting creature, despite our society's resentment of them. I have always wished to study their biology and the like more indepth, but alas."

"I did not know that, my Lord," Dietrich answers, eyebrows rising. "Then I'm certain it'll be a sight to see." A glance is tossed over his shoulder at Celeste, a nod of thanks given to the warrior and a hint of a smile. "The Lady Mary is a most skilled and competent tailor, My Lord. I'd've been surprised, had it not gone more smoothly." As the party makes their way toward the Temple District, he keeps his own ears out for interesting gossip, regardless which way he's looking at the moment.

While uneasy, Kupor is good at parting his mind, letting it stray, withhold, keeping himself completely erect as the tailors work on him. He swivels one long ear at the sound of intrigue, frowning momentarily. But the words are, for the most part, meaningless to him. - In short order, he is among the party once more, his sword affixed, his hat donned, his cloak once more clasped by the pin. Kupor, equally looks interested, as temples are usually grand works of art rather than devotions to opulence. Usually.

"Sure," Celeste replies, to the question of illusion magics. "Jes' not t'much, yeah? I'mma still wantin' folks ter know I'mma woman, an' a damn sexy one n'less." She flashes a grin at the elf, before moving to follow the rest of the party. She whirls her coat back about her shoulders, and legs it briefly to catch up. "S'Lord Markov," she drawls. "Who all's the 'Blackbeards'?"

Lord Markov for the first time, has his face falter. A look of shock crossing his face, but it is quickly recovered. "The Blackbeards are the biggest winemakers in these lands. If you want a good wine, it is a Blackbeard brand. Why do you inquire miss?" As he leads the way to the temple district. The temple district is a competitor to the nobles district. The grandeur of the temples is a work of mastery, and of beauty. Several of the major spirits holds temples here, from Shiva, Ifrit, down to the biggest temple of them all, Bahamut. The temple is massive, with dragon details and statues everywhere that can be seen on it. Gold and silver line the walls of pure white marble. It reaches high up into the sky, as if trying to pierce the very heavens. Lord Markov offers a touch of a grin, "Please, you may wonder as you wish and explore. You will find the priest very friendly here."

Alistair glances aside to Lord Markov as the man explains the nature of the Blackbeard family, but soon looks away once more, feigning a lack of interest and instead turning his attention to the temples surrounding him... The man soon appearing quite interested in these, as if touched by the sheer grandeur, and by the connection to the many spirits worshipped in this place... Though truth be told, most his interest lies in the basic architecture surrounding him, studying the city's construction methods and building styles- never having had much use for the world's patrons, even though he can't actually deny the existence of the spirits.

Kupor turns his head up to the temple, casting his gaze over it. He is slow, taking his time to study the sculptures and the very scale(seewhatIdidthere) of the temple. Kupor presses into the temple. If he must be about here for said tour, then he will at least explore, and take in the various sights.

"THat is," Dietrich breathes, head turning up to follow the spires of the Temple of the King of Dragons, "a *most* fitting tribute indeed. My thanks, Lord Markov, for allowing us a moment to explore this area." Glancing back to the rest of the party, he raises an eyebrow. "If we're to split up as whim takes us... Perhaps we meet back here in a half-hour, then?"

"I'mma gonna go talk ter me Mum," Celeste announces. She nods to Dietrich, flashing a grin. "Half'n hour, a'ight. Give'r take." She gazes up once more to oggle the mighty spire, clasping her hands behind her back as she observes it for a moment. "Y'all enjoy y'selves," she adds, glancing to Alistair and Kupor. She turns to head off, but pauses for a moment, and returns her gaze to Lord Markov. "I likes me wine. I'mma like ter visit th'Blackbeards' estate, yeah? P'rhaps this evenin'?"

"The Blackbeards are a bit on... edge lately. I can put in a request if you wish to visit. I am not sure how it would be received. Though this evening there would not be time. Perhaps tomorrow?" The temple of Bahamut on the inside is perhaps more grand then it is on the outside. There is no ceiling in the center, open air all the way up to the highest point. Leaving one with a dizzy feeling if they stare upwards to long. Multiple floors go up several flights, but always have a open wall towards the center and ceiling. A priest approaches and offers a bow, "We have guest today from out of town. We have been expecting you, please come this way. The high priest would like to talk to you."

"Kupo." Kupor agrees to Dietrich as they both end up moving towards the temple of Bahamut. - Rather than the determined gait of someone who always knows where he is going, Kupor takes his time. He strolls. He takes in the sights of the artwork. Beauty is not lost on Kupor, beauty is what makes life worth living. It is a thing to be savored. He moves in quietly, avoiding most, as he is not a particular patron of the King of Dragons. As a young child, Kupor had a fascination with great heroes of legend, and Bahamut often appears in those stories. But those have traveled to the back of his mind. - For a moment, Kupor is surprised by this. Then he remembers that he is, in fact, a person of interest that everyone desires an audience with. He gives a glance back towards Dietrich before nodding to the priest. "Kupo," he offers in ascent.

Alistair just idly follows after Kupor, Celeste and Dietrich, deciding the Temple of Bahamut is as good to study as any of the others... The man soon looking up to regard the open ceiling as he steps inside, and slowly spinning himself around to take in each inner wall as he gaze drops lower, his expression briefly ponderous... But then he glances aside at the priest as the man comes up to them to inform them of the High Priest's wish to converse, his brow briefly going up before he jus shrugs and smiles, "Certainly." Preparing to follow along as needed.

Following along behind the pair, Dietrich blinks when Bahamut's priest approaches them, meeting Kupor's glance with a mild shrug and quick nod. "We would be honored," he says, falling in step next to Alistair, allowing the party to be guided wherever the High Priest may be.

Celeste was about to head off somewhere, when there's this priest saying that the party was expected. She chews on that for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders lightly. "A'ight," she replies, before tossing her gaze back to Lord Markov. "Summin' wrong wit' they's land?" she asks, before flashing a grin. "'R they jes' needs time ter clean up after they's last party?" She chuckles, turning to leave before giving an opportunity for an answer, unless it's given to her back.

The high priest chamber is far more humble then the rest of the temple. The man is elderly and has a weary look on his face. He motions for the group to take a seat, some rather comfy looking sofas. "We have some interesting guest." Eyes landing on Celeste, "Your mother sends her regards, if not her surprise. As for the rest of you." A touch of a smile, "You have a difficult task ahead of you. We knew you would make your way here soon. I cannot interfere you know, that does not stop me from offering advice, and perhaps giving you the lay of the land if you wish to inquire."

Dietrich bobs his head, moving toward one of the profferred couches and sitting, lacing his fingers over his lap. "We've yet to be here a day, Father," he begins, pursing his lips. "Yet it seems we've already found ourselves deeply embroiled in local....... politics."

The swordsmoogle takes the last seat. He sinks into the sofa slightly. He adjusts himself, sinks in once more. It takes a moment for him to find a point where he feels he can stand quickly. His brows knit. "Does this treaty concern the King of Dragons?"

Alistair doesn't hesitate to take a seat as he's offered one, the Detective settling down with one ankle crossed across his knee, and taking a moment to study the interior of the priest's chamber- as he studies every new place he finds himself in- before looking directly at the older man, and raising his eyebrow just a moment, "I'm sure your input on local intrigue would be quite useful, sir. I'm all ears, as they say." The Detective glancing at Dietrich a moment then, and nodding.

Celeste hunhs softly. "She ain' us'ly so watchful a'me where'bouts," she observes after the greetings are passed on from her mother. "I'mma have ter talk t'her later, yeah? Y'have to tell me where, I'unno where I'mma find her here." She pauses, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Must'a known we'all'd get caught up in'a nonsense when w'came," she points out. "So's me Mum got any in'rest in all this? 'R is it all un'er Bahamut's eye?"

The priest looks at Kupor, "of course not. Mortal affairs and such. Though as a citizen of this city, I do have my personal concerns of where things are heading." A touch of a wry smile, "Even we priest know how to play politics young moogle. Though I warn you, do not let you desires for justice outweigh necessity of what needs to be done. You may find greater evil if your wake if you do." A shake of his head and a glance to Celeste, "Not sure, though coming here catches a lot of eyes, word may of been passed along." he moves to take his own seat behind the desk, "You guys are underdogs, very badly so. Word has it though a few may be easily talked into helping you. Baron Markov being one, he is sitting on the fence, but pulls a lot of weight. The Blackbeards have recently has some of the best vineyards burned down, blame points to house Ziekel, but personally I smell a set up. If those two houses go to war, it will spell disaster for trying to get either sides support, but you may swing one if you support the winning side." Shaking his head slowly, "Lets see, the Under Rat Cartel has been acting a bit funny lately to. Do not have many words from the slums these days."

"I'd like to know, Father," Dietrich says, digesting this information, "what the Temples know of this... Voice of the Underground. I have to admit, while ordinarily I'm all in favor of slaves organizing for their freedom... we were contacted almost *immediately* after our arrival, and I find myself suspicious."

Alistair just takes in all this information... Idly tapping his fingers onto his knee as he listens, letting his mind process and formulate... But also letting Dietrich and the others ask the pertinent questions for now, his blue eyes flicking to each in turn as they speak.

Celeste reaches into her pocket, and produces a small cigarette case. "Right when me smoke were finished, feller in'a street marched up an' shoved this all in me face," she states, as she opens it and pulls out a note. "An' it had this all in it." She pauses, and eyes the note for a moment, before thrusting it into Alistair's hands. "He'll tell yer what it says."

Alistair takes the note from Celeste, the man carefully unfolding it before he holds it up to read, brows slightly quirked as he does so, "'I have a business proposal for you. An opportunity to get some advantage in your negotiations. Meet me at Baker and Market at 9PM tonight. V'" The Detective pausing a moment then, before he offers the note to the priest, and adds, "Obviously, we are of some interest to this Voice fellow."

The priest rubs his chin a long moment and shakes his head, "Just a recent new thing to the city. Seems to have some kind of operation down in the slums, calls themselves the voice of Freedom. Though I have also heard the Voice of the Innocent. So cannot be sure. As for the contact, people did know you were coming for about a week." He listens as the note is read and shakes his head, "If he is anti-slavery, I can understand. Emberstrands stance is well known. May be looking for sympathizers and the like."

"Hn," Dietrich grunts, sitting back in his seat and tapping his thumbs together. "...Then I suppose, we'll have to keep our ears to the ground, where the Voice is concerned. About Baron Markov, then... I'm told he's the leader of the city's military force, yes? And what would house Ziekel have their fingers in, that a war between houses would bring hope of support crashing down?"

The priest blinks to Dietrich, "Markov is the ones who run the white guard, or city guards. Kittemer, your main supporter is Military."

There's a long pause from the mouse, before she shrugs her shoulders. "I'mma go meet'm," she states. "Jes' talkin' ter him can' hurt. But." She spreads her hands, palms up. "I'mma'gainst slavery jes'much's everyone else. *But*. I been talkin' loud 'bout freedom'n 'bout other powers keepin' they's mitts off'a Ivalice long 'nough. An' ain' m'place ter tell Kandhala how ter live. If'n Kandhala wants ter get rid'a slav'ry... tha's up ter them ter 'range. Ain' me place, I'mma figure."

Kupor lifts his voice. "There are many sides to consider. But we cannot consider any of them until we see for ourselves, kupo, the men who lead these groups, what drives them."

The priest offers a sad smile, "The evil you know, or the evil you do not know young moogle. Your choices, and who you gain support from will have a impact long from when this is over. Tread carefully, I have given you my time for now. Feel free to visit later if you wish advice. We are always open." Standing up as he moves to the door, "For now our time is over. Tread carefully." his old eyes looking over each you, "Do meat this V as it were, though I suggest you do not go alone. The cities eyes are on you, so are the spirits. They do not dictate our actions, but they do watch."

"Wise words, Father," Dietrich rumbles, leaning forward and blowing a lock of hair away from his face. "It would seem the night is to be a long one, then." RIsing to his feet, he dips his head, offering a hand for the High Priest to shake. "We are *most* thankful for your counsel, Father. Believe me, like as not we'll be back."

Alistair continues to take it all in, eyes flicking from one person to the next as the voice opinions and ideas... And then the detective nods, looking over at Dietrich as he simply states, "We shall see if this Voice shall be an asset or a hindrance to a cause, then." Before he uncrosses his legs, and gets up to leave as well, keeping further thoughts and conclusions to himself.

Celeste rises to her feet, and stretches lightly. "Thank's f'yer time," she drawls. She bobs her head politely, before straightening out her jacket. "Ain't 'fraid ter go 'lone," she adds, "But I'mm take sum'n if'n they all wants ter come." She shrugs, and flashes a smile at the priest. "Now, I'mma go find som'place ter speak ter me Mum. I'mma sure we'll speak'gain later, yeah?" She leaves it at that, as she turns to leave with the group.

With mostly stoic decorum, Kupor gets off the couch. "Thank you, Father, for your time." A lesser man would consider what stake the father has in this, perhaps favor of the church? Kupor does not. "I, kupo, believe that there is always the third choice." Kupor dips his straw hat in respect as he bows. "To choose no evil at all, kupo." He nods in agreement with the others. "There are many men, kupo, to see."

Part 3

The trip through the temple district is time consuming. The temples are big, grand, and perhaps a little to much money spent on them. Archimedes rejoins up with the party, having wondered off to visit different temples then the rest. Celeste has no luck finding a means to contact her mother. A few shrines or temples are missing, such as one to Alexander. Lord Markov gets everybody gathered back together and offers in a clearly amused voice, "Ahh dinner time. Please please, follow me it is time to go see Lord Kittemer, your host for this evenings dinner."

Throughout the tour, Alistair showed more regard and interest for the architecture and construction techniques of the various temples than their actual link to the spirits, the man often stopping to peer up at a ceiling or column to study their load bearing properties and the like... But as the call to gather back up goes out, the man doesn't linger, soon meeting back up at the others and offering Lord Markov a polite smile and a brief incline of his head, "Very well." And then glances briefly at the others.

It is not at all hard to tell Kupor is out of his element here. In every way possible. These are not the tasks he is used to, the grandeur he often stands in, the decisions he must make, and the people he must stand up against. - But he will not fail. To set himself to feel so is defeatist. Instead, resolutely, he takes in the sights in the rest of the time allotted, seeking out a temple of Valigarmanda in response to something he was told. - The swordsmoogle comes out of the streetway to meet up again, nodding at Alistair's glance. Despite all the walking, he appears to have prevented himself from growing dirty. Archimedes returns wearing a hat. It is somewhat of a goofy hat, though more perplexing than jesterly. There may or may not also be a feather in it. Archimedes does not say anything about it, nor make much comment about his goings on; one well versed in local etiquette might be aghast to find that it's technically 'appropriate,' at least for the travel. "Delightful," comments the Burmecian, pressing his hands together. Onward!

Azar doesn't dawdle when the call for dinner is heard, heading back to the assigned place in decent time. The Temple district holds only a little interest for her, the buildings are perhaps a little to gaudy for her taste. "I understand that the spirits must be venerated. But... well, it seems to me that holy places should be frugal, sensible places. It is not what is on the outside that is important, but what it on the inside, spiritually. I wouldn't say it's tacky but, well... it is, kind of. It is different than in Archades, and in Emberstrand. I mean... can money really burn such a hole in your pocket that you feel the need to cover an entire Temple roof with gold leaf, Dietrich?"

Celeste rejoins the group, looking mildly disappointed for a moment; but only mildly. She soon enough wipes the look from her face, and perks an eyebrow upwards. "Dinner wit' Kittemer, hunh?" she muses. She straightens her jacket, and brushes her fingers through her unkempt hair. "...An' I'mma guessin' I'mma gotta get m'self all gussied up f'that, too," she adds, under her breath. She clasps her hands behind her back, and strides out proudly alongside her companions.

"It's less about money burning a hole," Dietrich says with some amusement, "than veneration, I've found. One desires a certain atmosphere in honor of one's Spirit, and differing cities, differing Orders, have differing ideas on what invokes that atmosphere. You're not like, in any city, to find a temple to Lord Bahamut that *doesn't* overwhelm with grandeur and richness, in whatever fashion they can achieve. Here, it's sweeping towers covered in gold leaf... a material more readily found at hand here than most anywhere else. Thus." As they join up with the party, Dietrich bows his head toward Lord Markov. "We are *most* grateful for your indulgence, my Lord, and thank you for allowing us this tour. I must say, I'm delighted to meet with Lord Kittemer, after all we've seen today."

The walk to Lord Kittemers place takes the party through the noble district. The time and money spent on the estates puts the temple district to shame. The houses are not as tall, but the yards seem to be a endless conflict to see who can out do the one next to it. Exotic plants and rare statues can be found in almost every lot. One even seems to have a Malboro wondering through the gardens, possibly a pet because of the collar and tags around its neck. Lord Kittemers estate is the most heavily defended. A large portion of the cities military is stationed out of there. A obvious display to the rest of the nobles, he is the one who holds the sword. Walking through the front yard is like walking through a military boot camp. People exercising, new recruits being trained, and one man being yelled at for having his uniform out of order. It is not a big military, but enough to keep the city safe from most outside threats like fiends and pirates. The house itself is several stories high and looks like it could withstand a small siege by itself. It is not built for beauty like the rest, but for practicality. The architecture is reinforcing and lacking any extra designs above what is needed for functionality. Inside though the story changes, it is rich, bright, and lavish. Gold and silver are set into the walls in complex patterns and rare paintings line many of the walls. The group is greeted by a butler, who offers them a bow, and leads them in to the banquet room. Lord Markov at this point, takes his leave for the evening. Everything in the banquet room is set up, places set for each one of the party, the house of the house not having arrived it appears. Giving the group a moment to themselves.

Alistair's eyes and head both swivel this way and that on the way over, having just so many interesting things to take note of... The man briefly pausing every so often to take in a particulary exotic plant, and the otherwise relatively calm detective seeming almost delighted at the sight of the pet Malboro... While further on, Kittemer's household demands similar interest, the man taking measure of both the Lord's private military, as well as the stronghold he calls him... Mentally filing away some details of note even as he walks alongside the others of the group, and promptly steps inside... Where there are even more things to see! An obsessively curious man's work never ends, really.

Azar looks around and hrms, not entirely liking what she sees. "That is an awful lot of troops sitting out there. Is he doing it just because he can, or is he under some sort of threat? Is he taking rumors of a slave rebellion seriously, I wonder?" The red-head lets out a low breath, "Well, at least we are getting a first hand view of a culture that remains closed off to most outsiders. It has been eye-opening so far, yes?"

Celeste pauses once, and backpedals to look at an exotic cactus in someone's yard display. "Hey, I'mma ate one'a them once," she declares, pointing at the plant, before quickening her pace to catch up with the others. Her fingers pass through her hair once more, as she makes her way up to the front of the group. She passes by the pet malboro without a second glance. "Almost got ter eat one'a them too," she observes. Passing into the Lord Kittemer's hall, she slows, looking around herself at the impressive gold and lavish interior. She straightens her breastplate, idly fingering a spot where a dent didn't quite come out. "Hunh? Closed? Kandhala ain' closed s'far's I ever heard."

Archimedes is used to a certain degree of nobility and extravagance, but it is different where he comes from. Everything has a purpose and a meaning. This just looks like the whole kingdom won the redneck lottery and didn't know what to do with it. "Ahh, the elegant trappings of the nouveau riche." Archimedes muses aloud, letting people make of it what they will. Still, he studies eagerly beneath the trappings of one red feather and smiles cheerfully. He's entertained--just maybe not in the way his hosts intended. "Open or closed, these tours have been incredibly eye-opening," he nods to Azar. "I can say one thing. They may have the money, but I question whether their... discipline and experience is enough to make us of it, especially should they run afoul of Archades." And given their choice of lovers between Emberstrand and Rozzaria, it's only a matter of time.

"Azar," Dietrich murmurs, "Lord Kittemer... Or General, if you prefer... oversees the City's standing army. Which, given the logistics involved in maintaining one, is impressive enough, and of far more use than a... my word, does that Malboro have its *lips* painted?!" Shaking his head, he trails off. "...Where was I? Ah. Yes. I imagine his estate doubles as the city's barracks and training camp, or so that's what the first glance tells me. I'm curious about their experience as well, Master Archimedes, but from what we've seen they've discipline enough to serve, and more." As the butler makes his appearance, and escorts them toward the banquet room, the wolfkin can't help but whistle lowly, upon examining the furnishings. "Astounding..."

"Archades is on the war path, with a scorched earth policy." Offers a deep voice stepping into the room. "Though it appears your history of our city is a bit lacking there." The lords eyes falling on Archimedes as the man steps into view. He is a big man, and clearly trained in military arts. His way of standing and walking speaks of weariness, even in his own home. He has a sword at his side, simple design without any extra bells and whistles. A weapon clearly used. He is currently dressed in rough leather and covered in some dirt and mud. "This city has stood for 3500 years. Archades will strip us and burn it to the ground, Rozzaria will offer sweat words while they bleed us to death. You will find the men under my command." Dropping a shield on the table with a loud clang, a servant moving in quickly to pick it up and carry it off. "Are well trained, and experienced, and good fighters. Yet that is not why you are here, is it? To few to make a difference from a military stand point. You are here because you need resources, money, food, finished goods." Reaching up to unclasp his cloak, another servant carrying it off. "Oh do forgive me, I just got out a practice session. You are a bit early now. I am Lord Kittemer, General of the White Guard. Kandala's military and guard. Please, have a seat. There is much to talk about."

"Any extra swords would be helpful, but you are correct: we seek trade and resources." Azar sits as asked, leaning forward and templing her fingers. "I do like the fact that you still practice despite the other hats you have to wear. It can be too easy to forego training when you have so much else to do, such as treat with foreign diplomats such as ourselves.", she says with a wry smile.

This place is making Kupor frown in general. It would be easier simply to note when Kupor STOPS frowning. - Curiosity is piqued, however, that this Lord Kittemer seems to do so much training at home. What could one man need? Yet, he keeps it inward, as the book demands. Shows of power and wealth and influence are the same as swords, and they are wielded either with accuracy or with main strength. Or so the book says. Kupor gets a vague notion of what it means. Kupor HOPES the Malboro is a show of strength and wealth. - "One would hope, kupo," he responds to Dietrich. He turns to Lord Kittemer as the lord enters. Kupor's eyes take in the man's manner, the sword, the wear of the armor, the mud, moving up and down with a glance. He nods once, perhaps in approval, and places his fist in his palm to bow with more respect than he has provided to Lord Markov. "Thank you, kupo, for taking the time for your duties to host with us." He is not being facetious here. Kupor may be incapable of doing so.

Archimedes brushes back the feather in his cap and smiles. "Perhaps I spoke out of turn. I am glad to hear it, m'lord. I think in spite of, perhaps, a few differences, we can agree that Archades must be stopped." He bows a bit, proper gesture and all. "And no matter what comes of this forray, many of us would sleep easier just knowing we had a friend with whom to stand against them." He seats himself, as offered and all.

Alistair seems about to respond to some of his companion's comments, turning towards them, when he finds himself distracted by Lord Kittemer's appearance instead... The Detective turning back to cast a quick glance across the large warrior, taking him in, before he quirks a brief smile and nods, before he starts to take a seat as offered, "Certainly, General. A pleasure to meet a man of more sober gravitas in these rich surroundings." And then falls silent once more, offering no further comment as of yet as he instead listens to what some of his companions might have to say, and the General's reaction to such- studying the man's expressions and posture carefully, if surreptitiously.

"We do, of course, apologize for interrupting your exercise," Dietrich says, placing a fist over his hear and bowing, before taking a seat at the table. "But my friends speak truly; we are, indeed, most thankful for all you've done already." Lacing his fingers together in his lap, he marks the General's movements and speech with the interest of a young, but blooded warrior.

"Archades' gonna be halted in they's tracks," Celeste asserts. She folds ehr arms across her chest, and adopts a visage of personal implacability; but that vanishes soon enough, when the offer to sit is extended. She pulls back a chair, a mite noisily as it scrapes across the floor, and positions herself in it, arranging her jacket so it doesn't sit funny. "I'mma Celeste St. Wallenrod, General. I ain' bout ter let th'Archadian's in'a Emberstrand, an' me friends ain' neither." She nods, and clasps her hands over her lap. "Thanks yer fer y'hospitality t'night," she adds. "Is a pleasure ter meet th'General."

Lord Kittemer nods slowly. his eyes landing on each one with a very careful gaze. Assessing each with a moment of silent. Then sits down himself and makes a motion with his hand. Food trays being brought out and set before everybody. "Is that so?" The lords eyes landing on Celeste, "Yet you have a Archadan noble living right under your roof. One who is in fact brother to somebody rather high ranking. You also have." Making a motion to Alistair, "A archadian right here with you on this very trip. Though he didn't leave on the best of terms, is that not correct?" A touch of a sly smile on the lords face as he addresses Alistair. Then puts his elbows on the table, clasps his hands together and rest his chin there. "What are you bringing to the table? Just what does Emberstand offer to win our support in this travesty of a conflict?"

The moogle takes his seat. He is not, in fact, aware of what Emberstrand has to offer. And he has had enough of being told he is idealistic for one day. He takes off his hat, his cloak, his sword, sets them carefully behind his chair, enough to seem out of reach, and sits.

Azar chuckles and raises a hand, "I too am formerly of Archadia. Emberstrand offers disparate people a second chance. While some folks may be in Emberstrand to forward an Archadian agenda, most of the expatriate population there is not. They simply wish to do as everyone else: Live their lives in peace, and go where ever life may take them. Please, General, those of us who are here and who are Archadian, are here because Emberstrand needs assistance. We're not here as Archadians, but as citizens of Emberstrand."

Alistair doesn't seem at all surprised that the General did some digging, as he is in fact well versed in that game himself... The Detective briefly regarding the offered food, before he glances back up at Lord Kittemer and nods, "Oh, certainly. Entirely correct, I'm afraid... Some of my methods fell out of favor, and I was forced to relocate." The man smiling ever so briefly then, before he nods some at Azar's statement, and then casually adds, "I have heard mention of you, my lord, during my time as an Archadian citizen. They say you are a strong man, loyal to your city, even though you had need of certain goods from the empire- but one can not be faulted for simple trade during peacetime, of course. Did the pair of airships serve your troops well, so far?" The Detective not really making a particular point, other than to let the General know two can play the knowledge game...

"Actions mean more than words and titles," says Archimedes, gesturing a hand. "I have seen many men defect from the ranks of Archades. And given their goals, I expect many more to abandon the empire." He leans forward a bit and meets the general's gaze, if briefly. "Strength is not the question. Several of us at this table have fought off their incursions first-hand. And emerged victorious." A look given to Celeste. They've been in the same skirmishes before, at least. "Thus far, Emberstrand has acted as a shield. If Kandala supports us, we will have the strength of sword and shield, and that blade shall be on the throat of Archades." The Burmecian's posture straightens. "Archades brings its war to the homes and streets of their foes. We cannot give them an inch." And if Emberstrand should fall, Kandala would certainly come under siege next. The General must know this.

The mouse warrior shrugs her shoulders lightly. "Ain' a man's blood what in'rests me," she replies, "Is's *Actions*. Ought'n it be what sum'n does what defines 'em, things they all can choose, an' not things they ain't chose, like where they's born?" She leans forwards, resting one arm on the table. "Hell, me Mum were Archadian, an' she fought 'em, jes' like I'mma gonna. Wit' help'r wit'out, either way."

"What Emberstrand brings," Dietrich says, once the others have spoken their piece, "is the same thing that allowed it to survive the disaster these hundreds of years hence; air support. Should Emberstrand stand, the flow of goods from Balfonheim to here will remain uncontested; between supply raiders and merchant protection, the shipping lanes under our aegis could only be halted by the most determined efforts... which, even still, would draw the eye away from the other cities. Like as not, there's a great deal more that could be done as well, General, and it's why we seek a League of Free Cities."

Lord Kittemer just shakes his head slowly. Then lets out a slow sigh, "You do realize." his voice growing a bit weary, "That I asked you what Emberstand is offering?" Making a motion over to Dietrch, "Which he speaks well on. Things that can be sold to the others. Yet words to play as a shield, or it is in our best interest are just that, words." Eyes looking over to each, landing on Alistair, "They have." Leaving the knowledge game at that it seems. Then he looks to everybody as he considers. "Rozzaria offers us re-enforced military strength. Which will deture the pirating we have outside these city walls. They will be protecting the trade, by having us supply their ships as they pass through and being a base. An offer the King and Banker was going to take until I said my word. You are here, honestly, as an amusement to humor me." A touch of a sly smile again, "Because right now, they see a mix-matched group here that barley knows what shoe goes on which foot. To visit a city that will watch you like a circus show for their entertainment." Picking up a knife as he looks over it thoughtfully, "Your arguments are good, and there is something to be gained. Though right now the offer of the Rozzarians is stronger, and appeals to the many of the greedy natures in the city. As it requires them to give less of their own." Still looking at the knife, "What do you think about that?" Watching now, to gauge the responses from those before him.

Azar hmms, and rubs her chin. "We offer you freedom." The look on her face is serious, even with so curt an answer. "Emberstrand's offer comes with no strings, we seek not to drag Kandala into a web of intrigue, or slowly deprive her of a means to defend herself, or occupy her and change her values. We simply wish an exchange, to be aided when in need, and to aid in return when Kandala is in need." She shrugs, "Sure, the Rozzarian offer looks good now, better than ours. But look at things historically. How many cities that used to be free now count themselves as part of Arachades or Rozzaria? Sure, Rozzaria will help you with pirates. And so you won't have a need to patrol yourself, and when you have long enjoyed such a thing... what will happen if Rozzaria just stops taking care of the pirates? The same falls for Archades... they would make you a jewel in their Crown. A jewel that will have to compete against others for attention, a jewel who will be slowly bereft of her wealth and shine."

Alistair's reaction is perhaps not easily gauged by expression and posture alone, the former staying mostly neutral even as he busies himself with the offered food, taking a bite and then taking a moment to savor it... Before he shifts his gaze towards the General once more, and nods some even as he glances at Azar a moment... And then adds to her words, "A ragtag bunch we may be, but our intent is honest, as the lady has said. There is no dagger held out of view, ready to be plunged into your back. Simply a willingness to scratch said back, if you would be so kind to scratch ours." The man ever so briefly smiling then, before he takes another bite.

"Not ter mention' a jewel what's 'spected ter pay f'the privelage a'bein' a jewel," Celeste adds, after Azar's statement. "They want yer money; taxes'n duties an' whatnot. Send 'em y'gold. Send 'em y'sons an' daughters f'they's army. Archades'an Rozzaria both." She leans forwards, resting one arm on the table. "An' Dietrich ain' said all what Emberstrand gots t'offer. Y'lookin' at us all rag tag an' funny ter you, but y'ain' payin' 'tention ter what we is. We's called Adventurers. How many Rozzarian soldiers ever took on a big daddy Malboro, jes' imself an 'is cousin? I done that." She peels her lips back in a broad grin. "How many 'a 'em knows th'Nam Yensa Sandsea top ter bottom? Tell y'what; yer put twenty'f 'em in one 'a yer arenas, an' I'mma clean 'em up all by me onesy. Tha's summin' what Em'erstrand brings."

The swordsmoogle eats little. He has already eaten the rich food of the city. However, to keep himself from being rude, he takes a heel of bread and begins to eat. He does so lightly. As if it were more something to pass the time. - The swordsmoogle is having a hard time. From the most legitimate view, the Rozzarians may offer the most prosperity. So he answers the question that Kittemer put forward, rather than expounding, allowing the others to explain further. "I do not believe, kupo, greed can sustain a city."

Archimedes bursts into a bit of laughter. "A circus...! Well, that explains the veritable sideshow that we've been dragged through to get here." Archimedes smiles toothily and puts his palms on the table. "No. We are not here to 'humor' you, Lord Kittemer. The others, perhaps, but not you. You are not a man who would waste time and resources on our behalf if you did not believe that Emberstrand was key to defeating Archades. We are not trying to gild our estates with fire lillies. We are defeating an empire." "Rozarria and Archades are empires, General," Dietrich says, curiously glancing over the foods placed in front of him. "What alliance they offer, will only ever be prelude to Kandhala becoming a client state. A puppet, to the leadership of either side. And that, my Lord, is no fate one should ever wish upon another. More, certainly, they offer; one can easily expect a nation of great means to purchase loyalty with lavish gifts. Emberstrand asks of Kandhala a harder price, but likewise seeks to pay in kind. That is, after all, how a true ally would behave, is it not?"

Lord Kittemer just offers a smile, a knowing sharp smile. "I know my history, and so do many of the other lords. Yet, Rozzaria is in a bad situation, drought, hard times, and many believe when the time comes we can simply push them out when we no longer have a need for them. Archades is starting on a path to destroy itself, it is more a matter of holding out until they can no longer sustain a campaign against others." a touch of a frown now as his smile fades, "Rozzaria suspects this to. Yet there they play a game, dancing in the shadows out of sight. I have not been able to figure out that game, and the other lords and nobles all smile and dance at their strings." He glances to the knife he is holding and hmms, "I sent the request to Emberstrand. To send me adventures, not smooth talking nobles or autocrates. Because I need you." Eyes looking to each, "The Rozzarians are up to something, that is how they work. You need to convince the other nobles to join your side, and along the way figure out what the Rozzarian envoy is up to. The conflict between the Ziekels and Blackbeards to coincidental. This voice speaking out against slavery from the slums also bothers me. I have already had to sell two of my staff because they allowed themselves to betray me."

Azar's eyes narrow, and she finally allows herself to eat from the plate set before her. "So you have requested people like us specifically... to solve a problem you are having. Does this mean, General, that if we do this thing for you, you would convince the nobles to side with Emberstrand? Is that the deal you set before us, sir?" She sets to eating, and drinking of the fine wine, and looks over at her companions, before awaiting his eventual reply.

Kupor considers. He looks at his heel of bread. He nods to himself. "There is not much that I can do, kupo, for diplomacy. But if you say Rozarria is trying to undermine your very city, then I will aid you." He sets the heel of bread down. "Regardless of your response to Emberstrand."

Archimedes just melts a little in an 'oh thank Bahamut there's someone who sees through all this crap here' way. Even if there are points of disagreement. "Think about it," he says, to the table as a whole. "If we answer this call to action, if Rozzaria is plotting against Kanadala, and we win the favor of the nobles anyway... both Kandala and Emberstrand benefit." The Burmecian dips his head a bit. "'sides, seems the right thing to do to."

"What it means," Dietrich murmurs, pursing his lips, "is the suspicion I've had that we've accepted two jobs under one name, is true. General. You *are* aware that however much we may wish," he says, looking to Kupor and Celeste, "to help your city weather this sudden influence... our *purpose* here is to secure Kandhala's support. Thus... We ask, as adventurers, that our payment be in political capital. You asked for adventurers, not diplomats... Which means we're already known to be making a bloody fool of *our* city on the diplomatic stage. With your help, General, that ends today."

Alistair allows himself a brighter smile than he has displayed thus far, the Detective lightly raising his brow at the general as he remarks, "Ah, intrigue and ferreting out hidden intent? This I can do, and gladly at that, though I of course do not speak for my companions." The man in honesty not seeming bothered by the implication that they might be being used or the like, but rather seeming somewhat excited at the prospect of properly applying his trade, his blue eyes slightly alight even as he glances at Dietrich.

Celeste looks back and forth between Kittemer and her companions... and then towards the center of the table. The mouse perks an eyebrow, but apparently considers her piece to be quite sufficiently said, for the moment. So she reaches out and starts piling food on her plate; and by the time all is said and done, she has quite a lot. She tucks in at that point, though at least she has enough manners to chew with her mouth closed.

Lord Kittemer glances to Azar and shakes his head, "My talking has bought the week you are here. I have given much to make this happen. I will not see my city fall." His voice serious, as one of his fist balls up for a moment. He glances to Dietrich, "Have you not questioned why you were put in charge of this group? Why somebody very new to the city was sent?" Another sly smile, "Let me just say, the composition of your group is not chance. It is no my intent to make you look like fools, or Emberstand to look like fools. I did though have to hide my intent behind all this. The Rozzarians tried very hard to shut this down. I have lost a lot of favor in this city, a lot. Let me say this, my future, depends on your success. Fail and I lose everything, succeed and I stay, and you win the support you seek. I will help you every way I can. Kinda reminds me of my old adventuring days."

"If we succeed, then Emberstrand will look quite well in the world's eye." Well, to anyone who matters. Archimedes nods to Kittemer. He understands the gravity of the situation well enough. Though one thing said is bothering him. "If I may ask... 'The Voice.' It seems to be a name or a title. It is whispered within every wall of this city. How long have your people spoken it?" he wonders.

Kupor remains stalwart. However, there might be a great deal of tension eased in his face. This, perhaps, is something he will not be alien to.

Azar hmmphs, "It seems like a bit much to me, General. A bit of a circuitous way of getting us here, don't you believe?" She fixes the General with a look, "What can the other nobles do with such a large camp of soldiers outside your door?" She sighs and shrugs, "Whatever Dietrich decides is what I will be bound to, whether we do our adventuring bit or not."

Alistair carefully sets his fork down, and steeples his fingers some in thought, his gaze momentarily going distant... But then he focuses those blue eyes onto the General once more, and speaks up, "I'm certain a man of your position has access to a personal intelligence network of somekind... If you could provide us with the initial findings of your spies, I will try to ensure we get well on our way to ferreting out the Rozarrian's intent."

"Then it seems we're agreed," Dietrich says, catching Alistair's eye and raising an eyebrow, then looking to Archimedes as he mentions the Voice. "We'll help you hold your city together, General... and as proof of our good word, it may behoove you to know that the Voice's cause includes attacking a weapons shipment, tonight. Denying an uprising its teeth for a moment might get a bit of your influence back, mh?"

"Sounds like ever'one at this table got summin' ter lose," Celeste muses -- with her mouth full of steak. She swallows, and picks up a glass of wine, eyeing the reddish liquid for a moment before downing half of it in one gulp. "Well, if'n yer gives us what we need, I'mma figurin' I'mma needs jes'a touch more disclosure. Like'n yer said th'group'a us weren' chosen by no acciden'; s'yer dun picked us. Why *us*, in'a partic'lar? An' how much yer knowin'bout us?"

Lord Kittemer nods to Alistair, "I have already prepared that for you. Though my network has been clipped lately, my information is not what it should be. The vineyard fires are the only thing I have anything solid on, started by a third party. Have the name of the man who did it, but have not been able to track him down in the slums yet." Clapping his hands once as the desert is brought along. "I have prepared rooms for you all here. You are free to come and go as you please. The guards already know your faces and will not ask questions." That sly smile coming up again, "I suspect some of you..." Pausing as he glances to Dietrich and blinking, once, then twice, "Hmm." Rubbing his chin and shaking his head, "There are two shipments coming in tonight. One for a weapons merchant, another for the military. We have lost three shipments in the last several weeks, but I did not know they were linked to this voice. Which is kinda new, hit the streets about a month before we opened negotiations with the Rozzarians. Thank you for that information, still do not know how they are stealing them." He glances to Celeste thoughtfully, "I know who your mother is. I also know you are out spoken in Emberstrand for your willingness to fight. I have a bit of knowledge on each of you, it will be included in the files I let you view, as a act of good faith. As for why, because I feel you can get things done, and also." Shaking his moment again, "Because the Rozzarians will view you the way the rest of the city does, and perhaps try to use you for their own ends. I am honestly, hopeful they will try to use you. So you can tear apart their web."

Alistair nods a moment at the general, and remarks, "Very well... I will also require general information on the city. Maps and the like. Perhaps bend the ear of some of your men to see what insights I might glean..." The man seeming in his element now, appearing just a tad more lively as his brain quickly goes through the processes an impending investigation bring forth in him.

"In the meantime, we should take care not to blow our cover." Archimedes nods and folds his arms. "As far as anyone else is concerned, including Emberstrand, we are still diplomats, and we should behave the part." He'll leave the better part of advising to Dietrich, but he seems quite intrigued by the prospect of information. "Thank you," he says to Lord Kittemer, giving a more proper bow. "We will not fail you."

Kupor samples the desert. To do otherwise would be offensive. "I will do my best, Lord Kittemer," he says, looking up. "If you have read so much of me, kupo, you know I will do my best for the whole of the city. And to do what is right." Both warning and promise.

"Then it may interest you, General, to know that at ten PM, the Voice will be looking for one, some, or all of us at the Docks, to help... liberate... this shipment. We'd not decided *what* we would do about it, but now it seems some of us will need to show, regardless... if only to ensure their plan is defeated." Settling back in his chair, Dietrich lifts up his glass in salute. "May we all, then, make our way through this nest of scorpions unstung, General."

Celeste pops a cherry in her mouth, and enjoys the flavor for a moment while Kittemer is speaking. "Lemme go in'a slums an' find 'is man," she murmurs, tilting her gaze towards Dietrich. "Ain' like I ain' been there b'fore. Had me some good times there las' time I were here." Her tail flicks lazily in the air beside her seat as she continues to eat, keeping her ears perked to the conversation. The truely insightful might work out that she's not entirely comfortable here. Why oh why can't she just deal with something she can punch when it doesn't act according to plan?

Lord Kittemer stands up after he finishes his food and nods to everybody. "Well as I said, you are free to go and come as you please. If you decide to go, well I am sure you will do what is best." A glance to Kupor with a smile, "Oh I know, you are predictable. Idealism, a powerful tool. Though in light of this weapons shipment. Let me ask you this, something to think on. Is stealing weapons from a trader, and giving them to hands that will use them to kill, an act of good? The name of a ideal such as freedom can sound romantic, but your hands still get dirty. For now, I have things to deal with and the hour grows late. You can go where you please miss." A glance to Celeste, "If you find it in your desire to track this man down, well that is your own business. The less I know, the better. Your friend can vouch for plausible deniability I am sure. Good night." Glancing around, nodding his head and stepping out.

Kupor levels his glance at the Lord. "No. It is not an act of good, kupo."

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