[Tungro]

Xeno

Reception and Courtroom

While its outer facade is unadorned stone, on the inside the court of local justice in Abestat is an opulent, impressive building which pays some homage to the city's history as the traditional dwelling place of wealthy merchants who in their later years chose often to pursue law. The reception area has a multihued granite floor, a huge sculpture of an Imperial Warbird standing at the center of the room before the balif's counter. Three passageways lead out from the main room, granting access to the three chambers which constitute the main arteries of justice for the city.

While a courthouse would traditionally rise up steeply to the dias of the magistrate, in this case the building actually slopes downward slightly in that direction, part of an architectural effort to create more room for the many who may be interested in observing judicial proceedings here. Rising out of a veined marble floor, the sea of stained oak benches carved at the top and edges with understated vinework is parted by a royal indigo carpet inset at regular intervals with tiny pearls. The hallowed ebonwood platform including the cushioned seats of the judges rises imposingly, slightly larger than normal, with the seal of Prime Province inlaid in gold at its face. Four massive columns stand at the far end of the room, one on each side of two doorways - one with an ivory bust of Ioannes peering down beneficiently over it and the other with a hard black likeness of Jalat scowling toward those who might pass under it, the entrances leading to the office of the prefect and a stretch of the hallway leading to the subterranian gaol respectively.

Office of the Prefect

In contrast to the grandeur of the adjoining hearing room, the official place of business for the prefect is comparatively utilitarian. A superlative pine desk sits in a pool of the center of the room, its only accutriments a silver quill holder and ink pot. A massive bookshelf takes up most of the far wall, a veritable treasure trove both in the resources it must have required to fill and in the generations of knowledge about local, provincial and Imperial law proceedings that it contains. The literature therein ranges from scrolls to boxes with unbound pages to actual vellum-bound texts with carefully illuminated spines and wording, all of which must be memorized in order to successfully administer the law.

The stonework of the walls is covered by a series of banners in the colonial colors of Abestat, purple, black and gold flags draping above bronze torch holders which are kept blazing during the prefect's many late nights of service to the good of the city.

Gaol

As prisons go within the Empire, Abestat was particularly vicious about the construction of its very own place for the internment of the criminal element. Seen to by the efforts of Dwarven master builders and Gnomish tinkerers swayed into the service of the township by the enormous wealth of its government and a few choice benefactors, the narrow, pitch-black corridor leading into the dungeon-like complex is actually larger in total area than the zone cordained off to hold the unlucky malcontents who find themselves on the wrong side of the law. The sloping hall is a long, cold and potentially dangerous forced march which all new residents must undergo to reach the rows of reinforced cells at the bottom of the chasmlike construction. Occassionally, the dim flicker of a torch may light the way in the hall or to delineate the winding paths between the cells, but in general the whole schematic is enormously unpleasant, frightening, and detrimental to health and sanity beyond the wildest imaginings of topside thieves and vagrants.

As a rule, only the bailifs and most senior guardsmen know the layout of the whole jail, and only the prefect and other magistrates are aware of the intriciacies of all its hidden pitfalls. More than once - though not much more - has a particularly unfortunate soul managed to escape from their immediate confinement only to sprawl to their untimely death at the bottom of a four-pace wide pit or stumble into a variety of sharp, pointy objects about which they had no prior conception. To make things all the worse, there is a constant array of dripping, chittering and squeaking noises in addition to the sounds some have professed to hear after their visits begin to grow a little too wearying on mind and body ...

The idea of granting prisoners an exercise yard took a long time to catch on in Abestat, with its traditionally overzealous approach toward any who would threaten the sanctity of its wealth, but it was eventually permitted, if not exactly embraced. The yard is hemmed in by rough-hewn, towering stone walls and razorwire as well as having redundant guard towers, two pair, with archers stationed on every shift.

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Taul Pellares

Taul entered the court of local justice, looking brighter than he felt. His lithe body was masked by his clothes, suited more for travel in the wilderness than wandering around cities. The dark blue shirt and trousers looked recently cleaned, and Taul’s short, tawny hair had been combed down. Altogether, Taul hoped he looked good. I need to be, for what I’m asking the Prefect for, he thought.

He passed through the reception, marvelling at the beauty of the place. The granite reminded him of his birthplace, many days’ travel on horseback away. He sighed, as the memory of his parents flooded back, the guiding light beacon in his life. He also remembered his brother Tel, the one he had come to rescue. He seethed with anger as he remembered Tel’s friend, frenzied, recounting the story how Tel had been taken away for a crime he had not committed. Control yourself, Taul, that’s why you’re travelling the Empire, to help him. Getting angry won’t help. He halted, and blinked angry tears away. It mightn’t have been city officials, he thought. If it was, I could be working for them in a day or two! He scowled. But it could also be a prime place for learning more about his capture, he reasoned. A thin smile crossed his face. He looked around for the Prefect’s office.

He barely glanced around the room then, lest he was reminded of more harsh memories. Nevertheless, he had to look up to see where he was going. Noticing the doors, protected by the deities, he hoped one of those led to the Prefect’s office. It can’t be the one with the scowling individual, he reasoned. That’d be more fit for the condemned. He sincerely hoped he’d never go there, at least, not as one of the damned.

But I suppose I could possibly pass through there a lot, if the Prefect accepts my application for a job, he thought grimly.

He knocked on the doorway before entering, not just to check if the Prefect was actually there, but also to announce his presence. It would do no good to start by interrupting something of great importance, as that would most likely bias the Prefect against him…

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Cabbit

The ornate reception room was empty of any officials you could see from this vantage point, a state of affairs that struck you as a trifle unusual. There was a long desk in the room behind which a clerk or bailif might usually be seated, but it was unoccupied at the moment, and you had passed no one on your way in. The room was entirely empty of life besides your own, and the sound of your footsteps was loud across the hard floor as you made your way to what you presumed was the entry to the Prefect's chamber.

Your knocking provided an equally uninviting sound in the midst of your dark thoughts, but you felt some relief when your arrival had been officially announced. A moment passed before you recieved anything in acknowledgement, however: the voice that answered you was a depthful, fluent one with just the slightest aristocratic accent, a voice of command that had nevertheless seen and directed things from the front line in the ever-vigilant battle between the forces of justice and the machinations of those who would choose to subvert it.

"Yes? Who comes?"

Nothing further from the man you assume to be the city's current Prefect, but there are no sounds that would suggest he is entertaining others on business. All you can hear within his office is the scrabbling of a quill on a piece of parchment, which did not pause even while he was speaking. Were you to try opening the door before you, you would find it locked.

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Taul Pellares

Taul reflected on the fact that he’d not seen a single soul in the place. How unusual. I wonder if this is the normal state of affairs here? He then realised that the festival was still going on. Maybe most employees have been given leave? Well, I’d better visit the festival too, soon.

Taul listened intently after knocking at the door for any sounds other than a reply. He was a firm believer in the important things that could be conveyed without speech. Hearing the brief reply from a man inside, and the continuous scribbling of quill on parchment, he deduced a lot of things about him. I’d better approach this man carefully, he thought. He sounds as if he’s got the law of the whole of Abestat in his hands. He’s obviously a man of high status and rank.

He cleared his throat as silently as he could, priming his voice for ‘first contact’. “Serale.” He attempted to open the door, but it was locked. Slightly off balance, he continued, “My name is Taul Pellares. I have come to seek employment, and I was led to believe there might be a position open for me.”

Although how he could assess me through a locked door is beyond me, he mused. He listened to the sounds in the room, as an indication of how the man would react.

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Cabbit

The undercurrent of writing you could perceive from within the closed chamber came to a stop as you announced your name and reason for entering the office. Listening carefully, you could hear a sharp click from the region of the doorknob followed by instructions from your unseen host, whose princely voice was outlined with reserved interest at your inquiry.

"Indeed, there might be. Come inside."

The door opened easily to further attempts and you would find the room beyond it to be bereft of much of the open pomp of the courtroom and greeting area, though perhaps understated affluence was a better frame of reference. The walls were crafted from plain but strong stone, hung with long shimmering pennants in the tri-colors of Abestat, purple complemented by gold and black. The fellow you assume to be the Prefect was seated at a large pine desk with no personal affects visible, the only object which might count for decoration being a functional silver ink pot placed within reach. Torches in polished bronze holders blaze on the right and left walls, lending illumination to the confined environment. Only the immense bookshelf you can see behind the prefect, heavily stocked with all manner of judicial tomes and archives, speaks clearly of his power within the seaside community.

The official you had sought was a middle-aged man who wore reddish hair cut close in a style suggesting a history as a milite, and bore a well-trimmed chin beard of the same color. The pigments of his clothing matched those of the city's seal and his garments were well-tailored but unpretentious. His eyes were piercing and observant, their appearance matching his voice perfectly. When you entered he put aside a particular volume of hard leather that he had been making careful notions in only a moment before. He rose as you approached. "Serale. My name is Cristoph Trave, the prefect. Tell me more about yourself and why you wish to have a job here, Pellares," he offered in a businesslike tone, gesturing to a chair before his desk and seating himself as you did.

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Taul Pellares

Taul hoped that that brief vocal introduction had made some impact on the man inside. The man’s voice seemed genuinely interested, he reasoned. He tried the door again, and briefly examined the room with a critical eye before entering.

What a contrast to the décor of the courtroom and the entrance area! he thought at first glance. The plain, stone walls looked more practical than beautiful, brightened up somewhat by the pennants. Not my taste in interior decoration, he thought, dryly. The lack of personal items in the room is surprising. Does the Prefect have a family? A loved one? Taul wondered what the Prefect would be like himself. Hopefully not a workaholic…

He strode towards the pine desk, standing about a metre from it, facing the Prefect. From here, he examined the Prefect. His entire attire emphasised the fact that he was the city’s Prefect. Had he not been here, Taul felt sure he’d have recognised the man, from his clothes, his hairstyle, his piercing and observant eyes, and his voice. Unmistakably the Prefect, he thought.

Taul sat down when offered, but did not make himself comfortable. Instead, he was seated so that he appeared alert, but not offensively so. He began to explain, while studying the Prefect closely.

“I was born in a small community in Enamoria. My family was very large – I have four brothers and four sisters. I spent a lot of my time with my brother Tel, who left to go travelling with his friend a while ago. I became quite lonely after he left – the age differences between my siblings and I were just too great. Eventually, his friend returned, and explained that Tel had been taken and captured. Tel had shouted for help, and asked him for me.” Taul left out the fact that it could have been the Prefect’s men that had captured him. “I left Enamoria to come here to find out what happened. I have not yet come any closer to determining what happened to him. I don’t even know where exactly he had been captured, or by whom.” He looked into the Prefect’s eyes. “Sir, I have travelled a long distance, and reached this wonderful place. I intend to stay here until I find out what happened to my brother, and I will need a job to sustain me until that time has come.”

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Cabbit

As you locked vision with the Prefect the man did the same with you, and by the end of your speech you got a bizarre chilly feeling that he had discerned at least - if not more - as much about you as you had about him from the close inspection. The most significant thing was that he was incredibly, incredibly attentive; everything you said seemed to be absorbed for dissection in an indefinite later. You vaguely recall a similar look in the eyes of the bartender at the Bloomsbury inn whose offhand advice had sent you here in the first place, where in all likelyhood that could yet be processed you were tending toward a job. Perhaps in some strange way these two were kindred spirits though quite opposite in their endeavors, siphoning out as they did the deeper motivation of their fellow men so as to apply a certain ethos and behavior when dealing with them. But just like that the musing is over with, as the Abestatian lawman begins to speak again.

"Your story is touching," he tells you, but you are not entirely certain to what degree he means it. The observation which comes next is momentarily shocking, a detail you had not seen fit to draw attention to yourself which had nonetheless found its way into the consideration of he who might be your future employer. "But do you have a love for the law, Pellares? You must know that it could just as easily have been the local Prefect's men who took Tel away."

He stopped there, allowing you to take your own pains to fill the meaningful void that followed. You were keenly aware of the hiss of burning torches and the approach of what sounded like a pair of men from the the street as the only sound in the building, yet there was no proposal of entry into the office you shared with the judiciary official, and it seemed no one would interrupt your interview at least for the moment.

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Theodore Robespere

Stepping into the courthouse's main reception hall, Theodore coughs softly as he adjusts his military uniform, his hand sliding into one of the pockets and retrieving his military identification and imperial visa. He has been whipping out these two documents so many times this past day, he has pondered on wearing them about his neck.

He gives a shrug and allows his eyes to wander as he approaches the reception's desk, distracted by the opulence of the reception hall, and its great beauty. He speaks as he reaches the desk, coughing quietly, "Private Robespere reporting as ordered. I need to see the Prefect, if possible?"

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Theodore Robespere

OOC: Just bumping things up so the thread does not fall out of view.

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Taul Pellares

ooc: sorry for the delay

ic:
This is turning into a harsh interview, Taul thought, as he took in all that the man communicated, verbally and non-verbally. He seems to have a lot in common with the barkeeper at the Bloomsbury. Perhaps they are related? Brothers?

The Prefect’s speech did not really surprise him. It had occurred to him before that the Prefect might single out that one hole in the story, for him to patch. A fallacy is unforgivable, under any circumstances. He mentally kicked himself for omitting the fact that it was doubtful it was the local Prefects’ men.

Slightly hesitantly, Taul replied, “Yes, sir, I am aware of that. Nevertheless, I doubt it was the local Prefect’s men that took him away. I have had the opportunity to study people on my travels, and I have found most guards and such men honest. I believe that is a requirement of the job. Tel’s friend explained to me what he and Tel had been doing prior to his capture, and none of it seems to have been unlawful, so it seems highly unlikely it was any Prefect’s men that captured him. Although it is still possible, for instance that Tel was doing something that he shielded even from his close friends and family, and that that led to his capture.” He sighed. “I have gone through this mental path many times before in recent times, and it has been equally fruitless on each occasion. I do not know what happened to him. I want to find out. But I cannot let my emotions rule the rest of my life. If he’s dead,” here he swallowed and continued, “then I could waste my whole life searching for something that no longer exists. I care about Tel, and I care about myself. I know he wants me to rescue him, and I also know he wants me to live life. In addition, I don’t want people having to live through the type of anguish I have, over a captured family member and friend. I want people to be assured that captivity is not something commonplace, and this security can only be offered by the law.”

He smiled, and hoped his answer was satisfactory. It was definitely honest, he thought. He looked directly into the Prefect’s eyes, nearly unblinkingly.