The Office of the Lists [Location]

[Oracle]

Start Date:
Imperos 15, Autumn of Era III of the Celestine Mandate
Era XII Post Fractum in the age of the Darkening
Paradigm Shift: The Voice of Diana is Heard

PCs please timestamp your individual visit to the Office. Thank you!

The Office of the Lists was indeed where the notices had said it would be; in fact, it was housed in one of the disused wings of the Tel' Fenda. Like the majority of the buildings in the White City, it was built primarily with marble, and floored with wood. The great front door of the Office was open, guarded by a pair of solemn, gray-liveried soldiers, both equipped with shortsword and shield. The doorway gave way to a large rectangular room with a number of hallways leading off of it.

Immediately inside there was another pair of guards, and one more stationed at the end of every hallway. A series of long tables were placed end to end along the room, and behind each table was a clerk. At their feet rested large crates filled with papers, and more stacks of papers in front of them. A number of people were already here -- a few fae folk, including one bitter-tempered sprite, and a good number of Esh'lahier. They were all waiting in line, a number of them with somewhat impatient expressions on their faces.

When each registrant reached the top of whatever line they were in, the clerk looked up and said quickly, "Name, address, identification if you have any?"

[Laroa Linalantava]

The 20th Brightening of Imperos, Autumn of Era XII in the Age of the Darkening

The Lady Laroa Linalantava had only been back in her home for a short time when it had happened, when her father had been murdered and the Gray Circle had taken control of the city. At first she had laughed at them, had laughed at their idea of justice. She was the only rightful heir to the throne after her brother had been banished from the city. Ethgan’tor was hers to rule, and the people would turn against the Gray Circle sooner or later. She found their discrimination against half breeds unnecessary and unproductive. There were other, much more important things going on.

But then she had come to the conclusion that it was better to talk to them, to get to know them, find out who their leaders were and what they had in mind for the city. It was better than hiding in the palace or in her second home in Arium. There had been a fire in Mystique. The half Esh’lahier were protesting – which should have been expected. She wanted to know what the Gray Circle intended to do about that and whether they were willing to sacrifice Ethgan’tor, whether they were fools or at least half way sensible men and women.

She was dressed in white, the elvish color of mourning even though she had barely shed a tear for her father. Crying wasn’t her way. She tended to work hard rather than thinking about the people she had lost. Father, mother, husband and daughter, they were all gone now, and yet she went on. She had already ascended to the highest ranks of arcana, been betrayed and broken, but she had risen like a phoenix from the ashes and was beginning to regain what had been taken from her.

She appeared to be in her late one hundreds, tall, with strange wine colored eyes. She nodded at the guards that stood there, in the new Office of the Lists. She had not come alone. An ageing Esh’lahier, Narayil, her most trusted guard, followed her. He was not wearing his uniform today, but a simple white suit to match her dress. The lady waited in line like all those others even though she could have demanded special treatment. She did not want an argument now. That would come soon enough if she had bad luck.

“Laroa Linalantava ...” She gave the man an address which happened to be the same as the royal palace. Unless he had been hiding in the underground all his life up to now he would recognize the name of her House at least. She had no form of identification on her but the crest of House Linalantava. The citizens of Ethgan’tor did not have visas like the people of the Allerian Empire. “I can’t help but wonder, Sir ... would it be possible to get an audience with your superiors? I’m most interested in getting to know them and talking to them ...”

[Malkaer Andares]

Timestamp: Ioannolia of the second cycle of Junctior, Autumn of Era III of the Celestine Mandate (current Pattern), Era XII Post Fractum, the First Era in the reign of Empress Arabella the Kind.



At the moment Malkaer passed the Tel' Nim Ando they caught his eye: the pamphlets spread around in the marble sqaures and public spaces of Eth'gantor. The message did not have him jump for joy. Something was rotting in Eth'gantor. Dark days were advancing for the esh'lahier race. What had or was happening? How much time was there still to avert the downfall of his race?

After a visit to the temple the pale elf made his way over to the Office of Lists, to register himself and get in touch with the Grey Circle. He joined the back of the line as a patient elf would. As he crept forward in the line the experienced swordsman studied the guards. Grim faces told him that they were actually on watch, rather than standing bored in their place.

Finally he reached the desk. "Vedui, my name is Malkaer Andares. I am here on a spiritual trip for several brightenings. I have an Imperial Visa to identify myself." Malkaer reached into his pocket and turned up the piece of paper. Maybe the clerk would accept it, maybe not. What mattered was his last sentence. The esh'lahier lowered his voice, without trying to come over suspicious. "I have information regarding the Pale Children."

[Oracle]

Laroa:

The clerk that she approached was an older gentleman, more identifiable by the style of clothes he wore rather than the outward signs of age. The Esh'lahier, like their other Elvish brethren, aged with grace. He did not seem particularly impressed with her or her bodyguard. There was a bit of a pause when she stated her name, but he steamrolled right through it. Hastily he wrote her name and address down.

The mention of superiors made his eyes narrow. Pitching his voice for her alone, the clerk said, "Miss, I have trouble getting audiences with that lot." There was a pause, then a somewhat gentler expression crossed his face. "I'll see what I can do. Wait over there," he said, gesturing to the left side of the room. After he had served several more people, he turned and waved to a guard, who came over and leaned down to listen to the whispered instructions. The guard looked at Laroa and her companion, then nodded. The guard remained at the table while the clerk disappeared down a hallway.

It took an oddly long time, but the clerk finally returned, looking somewhat frightened. He sidled up to Laroa and murmured, "They said no. I tried, I really did..."

Malkaer:

The clerk that he spoke to was a young woman, dressed in purple, her long white hair pulled back with a pair of silver barettes. "Vedui, Mister Andares." She smiled, took the visa from him, and studied it for a moment. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she passed it back to him. The Andares name was not unknown within the social circles of the White City, but it always helped to have an Imperial Visa. The Allerian Empire tended to have fairly strict views on legality of visas -- or so she knew.

Picking up her quill, she wrote the date and his name on the list in front of her. Just as she was about to bid him good day, he added that other tantalizing bit of information. Her eyes went wide, and she dropped the writing utensil. It was the first time anyone had said that to her. There had been other tidbits delivered via other clerks... but... "Just a moment, please," she murmured, rising and hurrying over to one of the guards. Whispering something to him, she gestured toward Malkaer.

A moment later the guard approached him, bowing fractionally from the waist. "If you will please follow me, sir." Turning, the guard led him down a corridor, down another, until at last he was delivered to a wooden door. The guard knocked on it with a mail-clad fist, then stood outside the door as Malkaer was admitted. Inside, it was your standard office -- a desk with a chair behind it and one in front, some small bookshelves with books that seemed more decorative than functional, a potted plant... Behind the desk was a man wearing a gray cloak with a hood. Only the last quarter of his face could be seen: pale skin, pale lips, twisted now in a half smile.

Rising, the man gestured for Malkaer to sit. "If you have been brought here, you have information that I seek." His voice was low, solemn.

[Laroa Linalantava]

The clerk did not seem to be interested in her or her bodyguard or even the mention of her name. Or maybe he was afraid, afraid to say something, afraid to make a comment about those who had been in charge before and those he was working for. She noticed how he lowered his voice as she mentioned his superiors. As he told her that he would see what he could do, she gave him a grateful smile and retreated to the left side of the room. She watched the exchange between the clerk and the guard with curiosity.

It took the clerk a long time time to return, and as he did he bore bad news. He looked frightened, as if those that were in charge of the Gray Circle did not appreciate the visit or the fact that one of House Linalantava had come asking for them. “A half Esh’lahier killed my father ...” she whispered to him. “There are things I want to discuss with them. But if you tell me again, that there is no chance in Aetheria or Aeternia that they would be willing to meet me, I will leave. I won’t bother you ...”

Narayil put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around. “My lady ...” he said. She just nodded. Dark days were coming. Ethgan’tor was changing, and it was not for the better. She had seen her old home in Vortex fall apart because of similar conflicts, and history seemed to be repeating itself now. They had to be careful.

[Malkaer Andares]

His words had the desired effect on the female clerk. After a nod to the guard Malkaer followed him. They hurried through the hallways, the nobleman's grey robes of a just lighter tone than those of the Grey Circle, mocking them within their own sanctuary.

The moment Malkaer set his eyes on the councillor of the Gray Circle he regretted giving his real name to the clerk. He was at a considerable disadvantage confronted with the nameless anonimity of the Grey Circle member. He seemed eager for the information Malkaer had to offer. That was good; evened the odds a bit. The pale elf did have the information the man sought, but if the grey one thought he would get it this easily he was wrong.

The scion of Andares sat down at the chair without greeting or word. In his opinion someone who hid his face behind a piece of grey cloth was not worthy of the usual politeness. He took his time to investigate the cloaked man, trying to dismiss some of the anonimity which surrounded the individual. The cloak did little to hide his form, his build. Lips distinguished a person more than people thought, especially since it was the only bit of flesh Malkaer could focus on. The office was nothing unusual, but Malkaer pretended to look around with interest. "Eth'gantor has... changed" He finally said rather casually, while watching the backs of the books on the shelves. There was also a hint of surprise in his voice. Slowly his grey blue eyes turned towards the Grey man, for lack of better description, apparently expecting him to provide some sort of answer.

[Oracle]

Laroa:

The clerk looked into her face, biting his lip as he fought with his conscience. He could turn her away, and that would be that; his job and his life would be secure, but what of her? Darting glances about as if he expected someone to leap out of the shadows and kill him on the spot, he gasped, "Oh, goddess save us all... Follow me." Urgently he ushered the both of them back down the corridor he had come, sending glances over his shoulder. Hustling them down the corridor, he veered left, stopping in front of a door. Opening it, he let them into what appeared to be a lounge. Several couches clustered around a table, small paintings of country scenes and generic still-lifes of flowers decorated the walls, all the colors done in a muted neutral. Closing the door behind them and resting his back upon it, the clerk took a deep breath.

"Would you like some tea while you wait, my lady?"

Malkaer:

The man shifted in his seat as Malkaer sat down, leaning back and resting his hands in his lap; all that Malkaer could see of them were the very tips of the fingers. The cloaked head nodded in response to the visitor's statement. "It has," he said softly. "The White City is under pressure from outside as well as within. Chaos reigns in the streets, and it has fallen to those of us who still have strength to reclaim them." Leaning forward, the man tented his fingers upon the desk, tapping his index fingers upon his lower lip.

"Tell me, Malkaer Andares, what do you know of the Pale Children?" Pausing there, he made a small gesture with his fingers, an apology. "Pardon the impoliteness, but I am not able to give you my name at this point in time for reasons I am sure you can understand. Also, we are so eager to obtain information about the Pale Children because the circumstantial evidence is strong that they were behind the murder of our King as well as those other events outside our reach."

[Laroa Linalantava]

It was obvious that her words had moved the clerk in some way, that all was not lost yet, and the pale woman smiled ever so slightly. At the same time she could see that he was worried, worried that those that were in charge now would not be pleased if he came to them again. As he told her to follow him, she cast a glance at Narayil who nodded. They’d go, and he’d come with her even though he had no business with the Gray Circle himself. He’d vowed to protect her. He did not know of her past in Vortex or that she possessed more than just initiate training in the sphere of mysticism. To him she was just the daughter of the late king, nothing more.

They followed the clerk down the corridor, quickly and moved into the room. Laroa stopped her and took a look around. There was nothing special about the room. She did not know what she had expected of the Gray Circle, but there were just couches and paintings. It looked strangely ... normal.

“A cup of tea would be appreciated ...” she said and sat down. “Thank you ...” Narayil on the other hand leaned against the wall and stood there, not moving, not talking. He was only a secondary character in this game.

[Malkaer Andares]

Malkaer nodded to the first words of the man. Eth'gantor was under pressure; certainly from the outside as the esh'lahier had found out. He was not long enough here to notice the pressure from inside. Inwardly he was slightly bemused when the man said chaos reigned in the streets. Compared to a peaceful human city, the White City was dead calm.

"I know much of them, having investigated their group thoroughly after events which have taken place in Mystique, which were instigated by some members of that faction." Malkaer waved the man's apology away as if it were nothing, all the whilst regretting he had not given a false name and Visa to the clerk. The Lauryllian official nodded solemnly at the reasoning of the Gray Man. "I see." That the Pale Children had murdered the King of Eth'gantor did not add up to what Malkaer had discovered so far. A pattern was beginning to take shape here. More and more it was beginning to look as if it was simply a miscommunication problem which could be solved rather easily. Then again some people may have a benefit in maintaining that miscommunication. "So what would the Pale Children have to gain by murdering the King?"

[Oracle]

Laroa:

OOC: Apologies!

The clerk seemed to calm down a bit now that they were in somewhat more secluded quarters. He moved aside, selecting a teacup and beginning to brew her a fresh pot of a fragrant-smelling tea. He said nothing to her as he worked, allowing her to observe the interior of the room. It was more or less like every other generic drawing-room that she had ever seen in her life, even if she had expected something... different.

The clerk carried the set to her, and put it on the table in front of her. Picking up the teacup he passed it to her, bending his head slightly to whisper to her as she leaned forward to take it. "I loved your father. Hope is not dead." His quicksilver eyes met hers for a brief instant, his sorrow and determination bared to her in the duration of that brief instant, and then it was gone, his fingers leaving hers as he straightened and walked toward the door.

"It will be a few minutes," he said calmly, and left. The man that came to the door a scant quarter-candlemark later was not the clerk, but a guard dressed-down in fighting colors. He held the door open for a man dressed in an ash-gray cloak, his face concealed. The pale hands belonging to the cloak's owner were almost skeletonized, barely more than skin stretched over bone.

Both the man and his guard stepped inside, and he gazed at Laroa for a few long moments. "You do look like him," the man murmured, his voice oddly warm for all the world that he seemed more dead than alive from what she could see of him.

Malkaer:

The difference between Mystique and Eth'gantor did not entirely have to do with numbers. A giant city filled with hundreds of thousands of people could feel empty, and a small village filled with a hundred people could feel busy. It was all in the people. There had been a mercurial shift in attitudes among the residents of the White City, and of course Malkaer was not intimately aware of this, due to his long absence.

"There was a rumor, substantiated by several letters that we found in the possession of the King at the time of his death, that he had a son by a Lightborn elf just prior to his ascension to the throne." He cleared his throat delicately, and said, "He, of course, was barred from inheriting the throne. His identity has been kept a secret, as is his location. It is questionable whether he is even alive at this point." The man's fingers kept tapping his lips, keeping in time with Malkaer's quickening heartbeat.

"Our investigation into the King's murder has substantiated that only one assassin entered the Palace. He was also a necromancer, if the evidence is to be believed." For a moment the man chewed on a fingernail, the gesture making him appear oddly mortal. "The Pale Children are crusading for equality for their half-blooded brethren, and took up the tale of the unknown prince as an example of the King's intolerance. This was being put about shortly before the King's death, and it seems like hardly a coincidence. That, and a letter from one of the members of the Pale Children was discovered in the possession of a merchant here. That letter insinuated that the King's death was connected to their goal, and thus implicates them."

[Malkaer Andares]

Considering the man's information, Malkaer could still not find a true motive for the Pale Children to assassinate the King in his words. "So the Pale Children found out about this illegitimate half-esh'lahier son and used this information to put pressure on the King for the equal treating of half-bloods. Why then murder the King if they already had this hold on him? By murdering him they killed the one person who could and perhaps would further their goals. What does that merchant's letter say?" While murdering the king was certainly not benefitial to the Pale Children, the possibility that they had done it out of despair could still not be dismissed. Desperate people acted irrational. Still, it was more logical if the king was murdered by someone who disliked the Pale Children and wanted to blame them. Or by someone who wanted the power and used the Pale Children as a scapegoat- like the Gray Circle.

It was annoying that the elf was masked, making it impossible for Malkaer to read the man's expression. The chewing was a good sign though, as it made clear the man was nervous about this matter. "Back to this assassin." That an inhabitant of Eth'gantor practiced necromancy was a distressing thought. Or if the murderer came from outside equally so. "Can he or she not be tracked down and interrogated?" Many questions could be answered. Who knows, maybe something entirely different was at stake.

[Laroa Linalantava]

Her gaze followed him as he moved away to make the tea she had asked for. She did not say a word, but observed him quietly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary, as if the future of Ethgan’tor was not at stake. She was waiting, simply waiting for the things that were yet to come. As he returned, she nodded at him and murmurred a soft “thank you”. She leaned forward to accept the cup from him and wrapped her fingers around it. It was warm, almost warm enough to be uncomfortable. “I know”, she whispered to him. Her eyes met his for an instant, and then she leaned back and took a sip from her cup as if the drink was all that mattered.

As he left she rose from the chair and walked around the room a bit. She was excited, impatient, worried, and when nobody else was around, she allowed those feelings to come to the surface, allowed herself to think about them. After a few minutes she sat down again. The cup had been emptied. Narayil had not left his place for the entire time. If there was something that made him uncomfortable or worried him, he did not show it.

As the door opened, both elves turned their heads. The lady had expected the old man to come back, but found herself facing a guard and a cloaked man instead. The man looked odd, pale, his hands barely more than bones with a bit of skin on them. She could not see his face, but she had the impression that he was old. He looked almost dead. She had seen similar people before. Some had been necromancers, others had been involved in questionable acitivites, and a few had been harmless. She knew that this one was not to be underestimated, but she would not draw any conclusions from his appearance alone.

She arched an eyebrow as he spoke. Surprise was visible on her face. “You knew him then?” she asked.

[Oracle]

Malkaer:

Things could be very convoluted, this was true. In the minds of those among the Gray Circle, it seemed to be pretty clear who had been responsible for these things. The truth was easily manipulated, though, and corruptable with lies far too easily. He, out of the many, should know this by now.

"The letter addresses a meeting that was to take place just prior to the King's murder. From all accounts it was a mundane meeting to discuss trade embargos. The best laid plans, however, often go astray. Following the death of the King, a series of flyers went up around the city calling the King's death 'the beginning of the end' and other such phrases. There were a few minor incidents involving lectures on street corners, and then suddenly they all disappeared without a trace. No one seemed to know where they were, where they had gone. In answer, we of the Circle established our restrictions with the thought that such restrictions would ensure both their absence and that we would know the whereabouts of those remaining in the city."

There was a pause, a deviation of thought. "And then, of course, they cropped up in Mystique. At this point we wish to speak to their principals and discover what they know about the murder, if anything."

Laroa:

The male nodded, moving to take a seat across from her as his guard closed the door, sealing them safely away from any prying eyes and ears. "I did. I served as a commander of the guard under him. The last time I saw you, you were much younger." His voice was dry and rustly, though there seemed to be a measure of affection there as he spoke of her and her late father.

"You risk much," he pointed out, leaning forward slightly, "to come here. What is it you want of us?"

[Laroa Linalantava]

„And when was that?“ The Lady Linalantava was curious for she could not remember him at all. It had either been when she had been a baby, too young to be aware of the world around her, too young to think clearly - or he had changed a lot since she had last had contact with him. He had been the commander of the guard, and yet he was a stranger to her, with a face that she could not see. “I do not seem to be able remember you ... or your name ...”

She noticed that he spoke of her father with affection and respect. It was not what she had expected. But then again, those people had cast the half Esh’lahier out, claiming it was to avenge the murder of the King and make sure that such a thing would never happen again. He’d worked for her father. Maybe it was not so strange after all. Things weren’t always easy.

“But nothing can be gained without taking certain risks”, she reminded him. She spoke in a calm voice, trying hard not to betray what she felt inside, her concerns about the future of her home. “I want to find out more about my father’s murder and the events related to it. And I want to know more about you, about your people if you permit such a thing. You have a lot of influence in this city now ... surely you understand that, being my father’s daughter, I want to be informed ...”

[Oracle]

Laroa:

"When I left the service, you were... maybe eight or nine patterns old. I do not expect you to know or remember me." He would not put down his hood, and it would do her no good to see his face. So much time had passed in between that she would not remember him. In her youth, he had been kind to her, because after all she was the King's daughter. They had all been kind to her then. The wheels of time did much to change things, and indeed, he had followed a divergent path, one that had led him ultimately to the service of a group that, in effect, was taking up the reins in the void left behind by the King's death. It was true that in political terms, she should have ascended the throne, but the Gray Circle had interceded before that could happen. She could, of course, sue for the throne, but what would that gain her in the end?

"You were always a curious child," her host said now, his hood crinkling a little as he shook his head from side to side, a strangely human gesture. Things were not always as they appeared, and the longer Laroa lingered here in the house of those who were technically her enemies, she found more secrets that muddied the water. Nothing was black and white, not even here in the White City. There was a brief pause, and he said, "You have come to find out why we are doing this, why we have blocked your path to the throne. We are doing it for your own sake, whether you believe this or not. In time, you will understand what we are protecting you from."