Closing as many potential loopholes as I could took every ounce of gathered experience as a mercenary I have, some cues from former employers and, more recently, Windy's examples. But even having 'done my best', I can say with confidence - or perhaps from acknowledging a lack of it - that it won't be enough to render the contract watertight. Using the fact that I've memorised the Oath of Sincerity as a major point of reference in tandem has hopefully allowed me to make exploiting us through this contract more difficult than it would be otherwise, though I don't fully understand everything I transplanted from it and used the reactions of those around me as a sort of barometer for how well I was doing by how aggravated I made them.

Granted, a lot of that acrimony is born from the sheer inability to understand why the Empire of Stone would ever stoop so low as to make a mockery of a contract by subverting its terms, but my cynicism trumps their carefully cultivated hyper-nationalistic fervour, so...what do I care for their opinions?

I don't. For the most part, as they still have influence, even if it won't be turned against us, so burning bridges not yet built stings a little.

Still.

I know full well what the entrenched rich and powerful are like. The Cugostha are no different than any other self-interested authority figure I've met or heard tell of on Earth or Merrow. Not even those I harbour some respect towards are - nor myself on some level - untainted by the need to hold fast to what power they have, much as I hate to acknowledge it. The folly of a mortal mind, perhaps.

Speaking of paranoid authority figures, Count Hiolh donned a circlet of some kind a few minutes ago which is apparently a communications device telepathically linking him straight to the Imperial Council's chambers. The silence that ensued seems uncomfortably similar to that of a church in silent prayer, with me playing the part of the agnostic dragged along by their parents to attend Mass.

The atmosphere doesn't go away when, at last, Count Hiolh's eyes slowly open and he just as carefully rises from his seat, disabling the communications device, removing the circlet from his head and placing it into a silken-fabric-lined case. With sure steps, he approaches the devices arrayed against the wall and begins moving them into position, tapping away at a few mounted control panels as he goes like he's trying to find a good signal.

Apparently satisfied, he turns to us with a solemn expression, "We are to be visited by Lord dun Ocri. Make yourselves presentable at once."

Hardly eager to bow my head and stuff my tail between my legs, I force my lethargic Vessel to stand while the witnesses behind me frantically adjust the fit of their clothing and inspect their appearance with the help of the Silva woman's hand mirror. Curious myself, I ask a pertinent question, "Lord dun Ocri alone? I believe I mentioned that all of the Councillors in addition to a member of the capital's chief administrative bodies would need to sign before I put my own name to it."

"Lords dun Noellor and uin Finzina are currently preoccupied and will join with their chosen representative once His Radiance Lord dun Ocri has said his piece," Count Hiolh explains calmly, "Consider this an honour you will ill-find yourself receiving in your pitiful existence."

A bit of cheekiness passes my lips before better sense stops me, "You say this to a Blade of Lady Jannis..?"

 He blinks, appearing to consider it, "Yes, I suppose that does count for something after all. Though I dare not question her choice..."

You say that, but the implication is so obvious as to be an intentional digression. Jealous, perhaps? Pfah, how immature, you're almost twice my age. Despite that your plush skin, vigorous form and rosy complexion may hide it. Returning to the topic, Lord dun Ocri has something he wants to say in private, huh? Interesting.

I'm not too familiar with Lord dun Ocri, as famous as he might be for being one of the leaders of the Empire of Stone. At least, disregarding the propaganda that sings their praises collectively which is nigh-inescapable. For a group so unilaterally beloved and talked about, there exists precious little in the way of information about what the people themselves are actually like that's public knowledge. Maybe if I were to ask around in their personal holdings or the Northern Provinces that might change, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, the Imperial Council is a gestalt entity.

Racking my memory, I don't come up with much, and even in my notes, I don't think I really have much written down about the Lords themselves. I think that out of all three of the Lords, Lord dun Ocri is the most militant, and is the one with the biggest axe to grind with the Truth Liberati since his lands overlap with the frontlines in the War of Faulted Ideals.

He's not, at least officially, part of the military itself, however. Control of the battlefields falls more on the shoulders of people like Count Hiolh, his peers and superiors. Part of the balance of power, or something, since his fellow councillors would certainly not appreciate him accruing too much influence within the Empire's armed forces, that just goes without saying.

House Fander was purged and the remains salted for far lesser of a crime. If neutrality in the face of a civil war can, in that context, seriously be considered a crime, of course.

After some time passes, Count Hiolh peels the circlet from his head with a soft sigh, kneading his temples with the heel of his palm and putting it back into its box with the other, rising smoothly from his chair to address the congregation, "Orpen, attend to the machinery and renew the intraplanar coordinates for the Fleshsand Manifestation Array into the Entangled Astrum Splitgem Transposer. Lord dun Ocri is beginning the transfer procedure momentarily. As for the rest of you, prepare for the arrival of His Radiance."

'Fleshsand Manifestation Array'?

That's not something I'm familiar with. The same goes for the machinery's apparent name. Similarly, I don't recognise the kind of ridiculous-looking pose that the witnesses have assumed after leaving their chairs: Back arched at a concave angle, their chins held high and eyes shut. One hand hovers over their hearts while the other follows their left leg back with a flourish as the right bends down, the tips of their left foot perched daintily on the ground. Some sort of ritual unique to the upper crust of the Northern Province, I suppose?

It carries a sense of excessive subservience that rankles at my sensibilities. If this is to be a first impression on one of the most powerful men in the world, it wouldn't be too bad to emulate them, but my pride being stubborn as it is in the face of such figures, I can only find the notion distasteful. Not to mention, until the contract is signed, my status is nominally equivalent to his, and they've already made their distaste for my existence known - albeit by proxy. Imitating these obsequious fools won't do much of anything to change the Councillors' opinions if they're even inclined to, and might even serve to piss them off further.

At a loss for a stance to settle on, the pulse of magical emissions from the machinery, potent enough that the air around several parts of the beast vibrates with power, the Count glaring from out the corner of his eye as he oversees the process. I stand, bring myself to attention and effect the formal salute of the Enduring Empire, causing the characteristically placid Commander of the Unstained Reginlei's composure to crack with surprise, for a moment, afore he assumes the same strange posture as the others with Orpen, the machinery buzzing fully to life.

Gemstone inlays and enclosed glass bulbs light up in sequence, a flood of arcane characters fleeing across metal panels and holographic screens. A large metal crate, standing 9ft tall, festooned with jutting crystals intertwined with metal, arcing energy from one to the next, in the centre of the whole thing vibrates and shakes intermittently, the innumerable, tiny patterns of runescript spiralling across the surface glowing to life in turn, transmitting the gathered power from the crystal pylons to the interior.

On the side, a valve flips open, and from the pipe spills a steadily strengthening deluge of dull grey sand that puts me in mind of the metal dust left behind on the workshop floor after sharpening a blade on a grindstone. Rather than form a pile at the base, however, the iron filings stream forth along the ground, forming two pillars, that stretch up and up until they form an arch, the bottoms steadily gaining in definition. Thus, a pair of pointed shoes with a slight bit of clearance at the heel, the hem of a pair of tights on muscular calves, the tail of a waistcoat trailing away from the beginnings of a broad-shouldered torso. Finally, the visage of a bearded man of middling years with nary a hair out of place whether on his chin or 'midst his slicked-back scalp, the flat and pupil-less eyes nonetheless carry an indelible self-satisfaction and regality.

Far from a simple statue, though, the micro-movements from the shuffle of his feet to the sway of his head as he breathes paint the construct as a living being. Or, to be precise, a 'Vessel' for Lord dun Ocri made by the so-called Fleshsand Manifestation Array. Curiously, he appears to have entirely forgone any sort of ornamentation, save for the fine clothing and a saber at his waist.

When he opens his mouth, addressing someone absent from our end of the connection to his right, the voice that emerges has a staticky quality, "...Arrival complete. Motion tracking....acceptable, auditory transfer needs cle-...ing up. What? Ele-...Storm? -o matter, boo-...signal."

A moment later, he starts muttering nonsense quietly, random words and poetry excerpts I suppose are meant to test the connection. Finally satisfied, he spares one last affirmation to his unseen assistant and stares down at the prostrating Count Hiolh, "Commander, the connection is now stable. Present yourself."

"Aeit! Lüdr dun Ocri! Tresn aiset Ekonma dun Hiolh, ol e nom'len ähash!" Count Hiolh responds loudly and full of pride in a language I barely recognise as a variant of Founder's Merrowan. Or, perhaps the original version? Whatever the case, it sounds even more archaic than what I know of the language.

"Astorn ged hashre," Lord dun Ocri intones back, "Now then, which of them is...hrmph, so it's you."

With a slight turn of his head, the Councillor's gaze falls squarely on me with a mix of irritation and curiosity, "A strange choice of presentation. The inroads to the Enduring Empire are strictly secured and monitored, and all information related likewise. However did one such as you learn that greeting?"

"I've been down there a few times in the past," I answer truthfully, "However, that isn't what you're here to discuss, I would hazard a guess."

With a grunt he folds his arms, "Indeed. Commander, I would speak to him alone. Remove these others from my presence at once. Neither you nor they are required until my compatriots arrive."

"Your Radiance!" Count Hiolh executes a swift salute and about-faces, "By your command."

Left alone, the door clicks shut behind them, the only noise in the room now the humming of the machines. Lord dun Ocri wags a finger, beckoning at someone behind him, points to where the Count's chair is located behind the desk, and moves to take a seat, "So. Silver Nosster, was it? Is that truly your name?"

"As much as any a man chooses for themselves," I shrug, relaxing out of the salute and dragging my chair closer, "The name I was given by my parents is of no import to you. "

He frowns, "I did not give you leave to sit."

"You needn't," I make myself comfortable, "Since you insist on taking my possession of a Lord's Title so seriously, I may as well act like it for as long as I have it. Although, if I were to really sell the image, I'd need to make some drastic, paranoid gesture like sending one of the Empire's greatest war assets to solve a minor issue in as hackneyed a way as possible. So, ere we turn to the matter you wished privacy for, would you terribly mind explaining what really brought The Unstained Banner away from the war effort against the Truth Liberati?"

"You believe yourself of equal worth to me?" he snorts, derision dripping from him, "Preposterous. I have no need to justify anything to you, nor do you possess the right to any information concerning the decisions of the Iempern'ioll Cugosth and military deployment."

"I do, in fact, as the head of House Fander," I shake my head in rejection, "Until the contract is signed and my rank demoted, you are obliged to treat me as a fellow Lord. And if the insult to your seemingly fragile honour is too much to abide, perhaps you should have handled my case with more delicacy and curiosity, than fear and disdain, escalating it to this point as a result. I have never sought to contend for a place on the Council, all I care for in taking up this broken House is the land acquisition rights afforded to nobility within the Empire for the sake of my Guild and future businesses. In that regard, you'll find me little different from any Merchant."

"So you claim, but your talent for 'coincidental opportunism' is like none I've seen in decades," Lord dun Ocri steeples his fingers as he leans into the chair, "Feh, very well, let us humour you this once."

Raising a cupped hand to his chin, he tips his head back as if drinking, the receptacle not represented on this grey facsimile, "We were aware of your existence and the appearance of those like you 'cross the continent well in advance of your generous 'gifts' of information through the Olton Mountain's priests, and we had already deemed it necessary to assign some personnel to the Southern Province to investigate and monitor this sudden ingress of foreigners from some as-yet-undiscovered Reflection perhaps. While this would stand to reason on it's own merits, the problem comes from the sheer severity of the chaos you incited and stand to foment left unchecked. A chaos we can ill-afford when, not that I expect word has reached this backwater, the Truth Liberati's firebrands are whipping up those multitudinous vermin into a renewed frenzy after three years' reprieve."

"So you were content to let an Archdemon and his lackeys operate unchecked for decades, but my arrival's somehow where you draw the line, is it?"

"The Archdemon Arevas was a known quantity of little consequence," Lord dun Ocri grumbles, "Distasteful though it may have been to leave such a cancer be, the damage it could inflict was localised to a region of little import and of perishing little significance for generations yet to come. Furthermore, the Maehgrandi have sworn off associating themselves with anything to do with the matter - as well as most Demon related incidents - for centuries. Even with them, the death toll and material loss expected to result from confronting the creature promised to be greater - we consider ourselves fortunate a Dragon Knight finally saw fit to intervene, regardless of your part in affairs."

There's a noticeable distaste to his tone when he references the Maehgrandi, the foremost institution for the study and practice of magic within the Empire of Stone. While I may not share the sentiment as concerns the organisation as a whole, I can well understand any dislike he may harbour for it's top officials, that thrice-damned thief Rea-Maehgrandus Loorm Ulni in particular.

Lord dun Ocri continues in lieu of a response, "Then a stranger with the blessing of a deity arrives and overturns everything, attracting the attention of a, and I genuinely struggled to believe it, Dragon Knight. If your patron favoured you any less, we would have been comfortable destroying you to excise the problem cleanly. But then after your appearance at Olton Mountain, we came to a rather unpleasant bit of conjecture after observing reports from Triumph and...geugh, Panopla."

Grimacing at the thought of an independent nation of Panoplasts, he shuffles himself forward and leans in, "You are...certainly an outlier, but you are not as unique an existence among your kind as we first considered. Whether in the Empire's borders or without, few of you 'Newborn' respect our laws and traditions, suffused with naked, all-encompassing gluttony for power and recognition, not a single thought given to personal safety, a recklessness buoyed by your inexplicable self-ressurective properties; Some even taking matters as far as you, if reports are to be believed. A decisive purge of your ilk might be possible at least in our domain, but with the apparent sponsorship of gods, how far can we really afford to take it?"

Pausing to partake of his drink, he sighs, "So, even were we to deal with you alone, might you, like others have proven capable in defiance of logic, appear elsewhere in a new guise? What about two alike to thee? A dozen? Hundreds, or thousands of 'Silver Nossters' newly appearing with no understanding of what became of their predecessors? As before, as now, we have simply chosen to set our attention and expectations on a...known quantity. Ensuring the long-term stability of the Central & Southern Provinces in the face of such a threat to our internal stability as a renewed warfront looms close requires a steady hand from those qualified we can most afford to spare. Thus, the Unstained Reginlei was reassigned to be our watchmen in the south while a reshuffling of the Central Province is also underway, if more involved due to the difference in the quality of governance and facilities. Once complete, a reform of the South will follow and Commander Hiolh shall return to his duties in the war effort."

"Setting a fox as guard to scare the chickens while the farmer is away, is it?" I mutter, inwardly full of wonder that I've apparently somehow managed to force the Imperial Council to implement a reformist policy. If I'm to understand it correctly, the reason this is all happening is down to two major factors: The renewed seal on Arevas, and the timing.

Originally, Hadrian King was little more than a territorial crimelord confined to Fander Field, just barely raised high above his peers by the 'grace' of Arevas. As far as the Councillors would be concerned if I'm reading Lord dun Ocri correctly, it wouldn't have been of any particular significance - just business as usual, like Geronil Erment was never killed off. More pragmatically, by the time all of this went down back then, it was several weeks from now.

By which time the War of Faulted Ideals had likely renewed hostilities, tying up most of their competent military on the battlefield. Even if they were inclined to respond and piss off an Archdemon Count, they couldn't get the people.

On the one hand, internal affairs in the Empire of Stone will be less prone to corruption and public security will become much higher, which will force my plans to advance Truthseekers to take a drastic turn in policy in certain key areas, but on the other, the longer this state of affairs continues, the more dearly they'll miss the Unstained Reginlei's assistance, as what the Councillor fails to understand, is that the coming conflict with the Truth Liberati has a much deeper secret to it than 'business as usual'.

No choice but to observe the hurricane I've whipped up and respond accordingly, in the end. I have no particular loyalty to the Empire, or perhaps more accurately, to the Imperial Council, when it comes down to it.

"Though I don't wholly endorse the resulting actions, I can at least follow the logic," accepting it as it is, is all I can do, "Thank you for saying my curiosity, Lord dun Ocri. With that puzzle laid to rest, I am ready to hear what you wish of me."

"Mind your tone," he warns, "Remember, always, that you live by our leisure. Each time you see fit to push at the boundaries of our most gracious patience, the line wears thinner and more fragile."

"So I've been made painfully aware, as though your subordinates were mindlessly echoing each other," I stifle a bored yawn, rubbing my eye, "Please continue, the concoction I drank earlier is making it increasingly difficult to maintain consciousness and I don't wish to pass out in the Council's presence."

"Very well," the Councillor concedes the point, "Before, you were made an offer, to place yourselves under the command of the eminent Commander Hiolh and the Unstained. This was not made without thought, nor consideration to you, as in truth, I at least can see some potential use in you and your little club."

"The attempt to enslave me was your idea, then," my eyes narrow dangerously.

"Do not insult me with such accusations, whelp," he snaps, tossing aside the unseen glass, "It would have been a position of high honour, and though the Commander may have objected to taking you under his wing, the methods employed after my insistence are his responsibility alone. Loyal as he is, Commander Hiolh is perhaps a touch too eager to see the will of the Empire done and rather accustomed to having his wa, so unfortunately he appears to have taken my wish to recruit you beyond their intended bounds. The Commander's territory will be paying the price of his zeal as punishment, and he will be made to reflect on his behaviour."

"So you claim," I throw back the doubts I've been harangued with word for word, enjoying the irony, "Then, having failed to force it through a delegate, you have chosen to make another 'offer' in person. Pray tell, how lavish is the collar you have picked out? Is it adorned with gemfrost? Threaded with finest alchemical asnythite?"

"Continue to disrespect me and you will find your sarcasm a reality," Lord dun Ocri threatens coldly, "Mayhap irony's humiliation will be a fitting reward for a mouth that doesn't know when to shut. Regardless, you will heed my offer, as I consider myself nonetheless a pragmatist in concerns of state, and one man's pride pales in comparison to the well-being of an empire."

Following the outburst, I force down the bubbling vitriol with the aid of the steadily intensifying numbness. No matter my feelings, I too must swaddle my pride & distaste in pragmatism for the sake of the guild and my goals. Regardless of whose responsibility it ultimately is, the Count or his Lord, I stand to lose nothing by hearing him out when he's feeling more...accepting. Dismissing him out of hand like I did that woman from the Pavillion would have graver consequences.

"Fine," I let loose a long sigh, "I am listening."

Relaxing into his chair, Lord dun Ocri accepts something on his end of the connection and raises it up, calling to mind a clipboard or tablet computer, "The context I have explained already. Regardless of my misgivings, I know of none in this era still living that can truthfully claim to have survived a confrontation with an Archdemon Count with their lives and their Paths unbroken by the seditious beast. Such mental fortitude and good fortune is hard to come by even among the elite, regardless of the exact circumstances, and though Demon-related incidents are just as rare within the Empire, they are not without precedent or casualties. A group of undying warriors who can weather the corruptive influence of a demon are thus highly valuable."

"You want Truthseekers to play the part of 'Demon Hunters'?" I question half-rhetorically, a little surprised by the notion, "Surely you have people that-"

"As I already explained, it is a matter of suitability, and the Maehgrandi is wont to dig in their heels rather than risk exposing themselves to Corruption whenever even the lowliest of specimens is discovered," Lord dun Ocri interrupts, tapping the invisible panel against his knee as he crosses his leg one of the other casually, "Having already proven yourself capable of dealing with an Archdemon, the Magpie Demon's lessers should pose little trouble so long as you possess sufficient Levels. What say you now?"

Leaning back, arms folded, I chew on my knuckle, giving the deal due consideration, "I'll need to raise the matter with my colleagues first, but I won't deny that it wouldn't be too terrible to crush some demons for pay. Having said that, I can't promise we will always be available to contribute to the resolution of any incidents resulting from a demon's emergence even if we do decide to enter into a deal with you. What sort of benefits are you offering for our services, might I ask?"

"Endorsement to my fellow Cugostha, for as long as you prove yourself worth the investment," Lord dun Ocri smiles, confident we'll accept, "Though Itri cares little for matters on Firmament, Quolo has thus far been the one most interested in seeing you destroyed or sealed away. Given that he has the loudest voice in the Empire's administration and among our closely affiliated Merchants, he will make every effort to curtail your growth without a suitable sponsor to justify leaving you be. My only wish on the other hand is for the Empire to be stable enough to not require splitting away even more military resources from the frontlines, no matter how that end is achieved. Recompense would otherwise be commensurate with the task on a case by case basis."

We would in essence, still be his hunting dogs. But if nothing else, well-fed hounds, allowed to roam the estate freely until it's time to ride out into the woods to hunt. The comparison in my mind doesn't make it easier to consider. Viewed in a vacuum it's still a pretty good deal, but I more than most am very well-accustomed to such dirty work. Matters like this were, after all, the bulk of Astral Knights' commissions from more powerful people who likewise didn't want to risk contamination from demons and cursed relics.

I myself was considered too valuable to be directly exposed, but it isn't as though I lived that life without accumulating any at all. We were simply lucky enough to have access to methods of cleansing some of it regularly. They weren't guaranteed and expensive besides, but it was more than could be said for most, even at our level. It could even be said to be one of our best qualities in sales pitches to potential clients.

"Alright," a job's a job, "Since you're bringing it up at all, I surmise that there is something you want us to look into afoot already?"

"Not as yet," he denies it, "However, they've been unusually quiet for far too long now, and with news of your victory over an Archdemon, I would be surprised if they could restrain themselves any longer, uncharacteristic as it is to do so. I would expect some of them to be eyeing you rather hungrily, even now. Consider yourself most fortunate as to be under the Unstained Reginlei's protection, for however long it lasts."

"There is that possibility, I suppose," grimacing, my hand runs through my hair, massaging feeling back into my tingling scalp, "How should I contact you with our answer, Lord dun Ocri?"

"Leave a missive with the Commander's staff and it will be relayed to me promptly," the Councillor lays out, "In turn, any communications I have will be through them. Whether you accept the job on offer or not, do not keep me waiting, as time is a precious resource I can ill-afford to waste, and you should understand that you must put aside any notion of living quietly, hoping to avoid notice. Your existence is no secret any longer, if such was your desire - The world might forget you as time passes, but will not fail to recognise you the moment you move."

"Should I be thankful then, after all this?" I murmur, disbelieving, "Fine. Thank you for your warning, Lord dun Ocri."

"You are still a Citizen of the Empire, after all," the Councillor replies with a twisted smile, "Though I find it hard to accept you demi-immortal thugs of unknown origin, you can at least serve our interests accordingly. A legion of your kind on the battlefield in service...A pity that it would squander your potential."

For all the insults towards me over my ambitions, the naked greed Lord dun Ocri is exuding for an undying army of Newborn is the real irony here. Though, I can hardly blame him, as the human wave tactic is something Newborn are set to abuse vigorously for some time yet to come, and depending on the circumstances, I might find myself needing to resort to the same abuses. A prospect to be avoided, when possible, due to the diminishing Levels that follow each death and the impact it would have on Guild morale when used poorly.

His Lordship turns his head, looking off at something in the distance, "Ah, they're here. Commander! Return with the witnesses, it is time we got this over with....As for you..."

He turns back to me, voice low, "I will take your interest to heart, and at least for now. While I won't support you fully, should my compatriots attempt a move that I consider an obstacle to my own interests in you, I will intervene. Do not expect more than that, and mind your tongue. They are not like to be as patient as I."

"Thank you for your consideration," I reply dully, unsure how to take this turn of events all in all. I take this to mean that Lord dun Ocri will be an uneasy ally for the foreseeable future. So long as we're useful, and don't step out of line.

---

 

After clearing some space in the room and setting up a large meeting table - I seriously suspect that Count Hiolh has an Ikea's worth of furniture in his intraspatial storage artefact - the newly arrived last two members of the Imperial Council take their seats at the head of the table, sitting alongside one another. Lord dun Ocri sits on the left, while a ponytailed, dashingly handsome moustached man with a glint to his eye that somehow shines through even the blank pupils of the sand, takes the right, dressed in a long, elaborate coat with voluminous sleeves, and a thick-chained amulet hanging from his neck. Curiously, he doesn't seem to be breathing at all, judging by the stillness of his breast.

The Councillor between them is, simply put, an ordinary old man with a gaze that doesn't waver an inch, dressed in a simplistic hooded robe with some sort of religious emblem on the shoulder, and a hint of chainmail beneath. The only thing out of place about him is the bulky gauntlet attached to his left arm that has seemingly replaced his hand. His demeanour brings to mind a crusader of holy purpose, completely at ease within the comfortable confines of his own beliefs. I've met many who act much the same, to one degree or another, and not just among the religious - they tend to be rather conservative thinkers, allergic to any and all concepts outside their understanding.

"May the Watchman observe this meeting diligently," he prays quietly, caressing the symbol on his shoulder, "And let it be brief, as there is much work to be done that has been set aside for this matter. Haaah..."

"Quite, quite. I need to be on a ship in an hour," the dandy complains with a playful smirk, "Our colonies 'cross the waves will soon forget their allegiance if my absence is prolonged further. So I ask forgiveness if I must cut this short and fly to the Sloping Dock, Quolo, Klancic. Those ungrateful mongrels are ever pernicious, hahahaha."

"As you say," Lord dun Ocri shakes his head, not willing to argue for him to extend his stay, "Let us forgo the traditional greetings then, unless you have any objections, Lord dun Noellor? Lord uin Finzina?"

"Nay," the religious Lord uin Finzina gestures to the documents arranged in front of them, "I take it this is the draft? Is the Oathpaper prepared as well?"

"Aeit! Kutre, Lüdr uin Finzina!" Count Hiolh bows his head deeply, displaying extreme obedience.

"Üluevy. A moment to read, then," he mutters, disregarding the Count immediately, a pair of spectacles appearing on the bridge of his nose after raising an empty-handed arm. Curious how that works.

Lord dun Noellor shrugs, utterly uninterested as he checks something taken from an inside pocket of his coat, likely a timepiece of some description, and humming a jaunty tune. Lord uin Finzina glances away from the papers momentarily before recommitting himself to his reading, rapidly shuffling through the pages in silence.

"Have you read this already, Fran?" Lord uin Finzina proffers the sheaf of parchments to him.

"Nay, and I trust your judgment over my own," Lord dun Ocri pushes them back gently, eyes firmly fixed on me instead, "So long as my interests are answered, I care not for the little details you so adore."

"Mmm," Lord dun Noellor shrugs, "I'm of the same opinion on this one. If it were a trade contract I'd have more to say, like as not, but I've already made my stance clear during the original drafting stage."

"...Then, with your permissions, I'd like to put the contract into effect," the elected representative coughs, "Though, before I do, I'd like to ask something that's been vexing me for some time. You, Blade, how did you manage to catch the attention of a Patron like the Lady of Steel's Ambition with such paltry strength? It would have to have been by Her support you survived an Archdemon's wroth, and therefore before its defeat."

"That's rather personal, don't you think?" I mumble, rubbing my drooping eyelids, "Sufficed to say, the details are between herself and I, but it must be noted that she isn't really one to value 'strength' like many of the other martial deities. At least, not sheer martial prowess alone. Rather, from my understanding of Lady Jannis, what she most values is 'Self-Reflection' and 'The Will To Act Upon It', ideally in concert with others."

"How insightful," his eyes narrow, as if observing a specimen through a microscope, "Even in all my years, it's a rare thing to hear first-hand accounts of our most esteemed Patrons above, so far removed from us as they find themselves. I admit no small envy that I do not have the same level of favour from Most Watchful Theransen."

"Now, now, leave the poor child be, Quolo," Lord dun Noellor chuckles, "Perhaps She simply has a preference for stubborn young Silva lads, hm? Haha, to each their own, to each their own, 'tis not our place to guess at Their motives. The Patrons are known to think quite differently from us almost by definition."

Something about how he told that little sacrilegious joke rubs me the wrong way, as if it weren't wholly sincere in it's effort to 'be' a jest. I can't call him out on the insult without lying in the presence of people more versed in deceit than I or throwing caution to the wind and angrily demanding satisfaction from a man leagues above me who isn't even really here.

I will make a point to remember this moment, I decide.

"Indeed, if you wish to satisfy your curiosity, do it on your own time, Lord uin Finzina," Lord dun Ocri sighs, "What's taking so long?"

"Loctis nu ea y'ren, Lüdr dun Ocri a nu ladncro," Orpen responds apologetically, carefully transcribing the contract onto a long scroll of surpassingly lustrous white, bordered with green patterns. The ink is a curious purple pigment, and his calligraphic skill is remarkably high for a soldier, I have to say. The precision and aesthetic beauty of his characters is something I can't help but admire as a former artist.

"Mol. Jhern a unc ea alquer," Lord dun Noellor replies with a jolly laugh, removing his feet from the table and sitting upright, "Littore feal?"

Orpen gulps, his hand pausing, "Aeit, Lüdr dun Noellor."

Gingerly, the manservant ferries the scroll of Oathpaper over to the choleric Councillor, and bows deeply as he proffers the writing implements like an offering to the gods. From there, the Lord completes the task with far greater speed, but without sacrificing accuracy or page space.

In short order, the contract that sees my rank diminished is signed with no immediate reaction for such a powerful binding artefact, and the three Councillors look to me expectantly to relinquish the information that allowed for this all to happen so cordially to begin with.

"The Core...is interred at the bottom of a deepsea trench off the coast of the Unclaimed Lands, I believe about 114km due south-east from Wayfarer's Launch. It is the power source for an enormous, ancient submersible vehicle from a long-forgotten Astral Era, and a Platinum-Tier Cursed Raid."

Their faces look like they just sucked on a lemon with electrified barbed wire wrapped around it. Too late to regret it now, hehehahaha...