Speak, Fiend, And Enter

[rassafraggin]

Listening to the conversations as they travel between the participants, Maggie takes the time to survey their route. It is beautiful and alien with the slope rising behind them soon hiding the sea-foliage and coral structures growing above. Adjusting her focus forward, she watches the pillars grow to giant proportions as their conveyance comes closer. Looking up and up she studies them as questions struggle for expression and fade away when their guide flips into position. Rising, she adjusts her clothing and hair before stepping forward. She does not move in front of the Royals, but does take up a place behind Moire, Martin and Miriam.

OOC> Merrisol says, "Moire has personally given the Sea's blessing to Ailith, Maggie, Ruby, and Shao. Martin takes care of Miriam, I'd assume. I'll declare the gift so you're refreshed on how it goes. Other than these, there are a couple of Selkies. About a dozen other Rebmans are staying behind at this depth, which is 5000 ft depth thereabouts."

RPG: Merrisol declares that he has the The Selkie's Kiss (SEA-SK) gift. Use '+gift SEA-SK' to view the gift description. Last edit: 5 months ago.

Miriam has been quiet for a while, also just listening to the others. And, occasionally, tuning out as she sometimes does when seeing something in her mind. In particular, she seems very interested in Ailith's explanation of the Queen. And then it's time for those who can handle the depths to go, and she moves to stand with her husband.

Architecture, now that is worth something in Shao's eye. He finds his underwater book and underwaterpen to lay the lines of a sketch. For good measure, he adds two figures near a column, a rebman and a triton, so the grandeur of it all can be understood. And also a Captain Flame, with her fiery mane.

"'Ow tha 'ell do you lose a city..." Ruby smoothes her palms along herself. The scale of everything is so vast, she can't find the opportunity to blink. Ruby moves herself to stand next to those preparing for the deeper crushing depths. Making herself undertake a few tension-releasing stretches. Up on the insteps, shoulders back, rolling her head.

Moire nods to Ailith and stands at the rail, while the skiff is secured by chained weights. She steps over the side without help and descends, unarmed, to the great tiles. As sediment scatters from their movements, the cracks and spiderweb fractures are revealed over subtly-marbled slate to give the environment its due in antiquity.

Left behind in the skiffs are a trio of handmaidens, huddled all nerves and waxy complexions, in spite of the presence of numerous beast riders and guards also remaining behind. It's not that they are that close to their physical limits here, but even this vague appearance of weakness will do them no favours, going forward.

The Selkies detach a couple of lanterns from the craft and hold them aloft, to either side of the delegation, creating somewhat overlapping pools of quiet radiance within the vast murk. One of them sidlies a grin towards Ruby. "So you have never mislaid anything, forgemistress? By accident or on purpose?"

"Lyonesse lost entire countries," Ailith notes to Ruby, as she follows after Moire. "It is not so difficult, nor so rare, as one might think."

Martin is also quiet. He looks forward and keeps an eye out for any possible attacks. He seems a bit preoccupied but he has the sense to look for dangers.

Ruby purses her lips and arches a brow. A mew-mew-mew mumbling response comes out poutily to the handmaidens. "Never mislaid a place. Lost a toss-me-not or three, but they ain't got streets in'm." Steeling herself, she has descended from the skiff to remain part of the contingent.

After the party has disembarked from the craft, the Queen's escort separating themselves from riders and scouts, an expanse beyond the pillars comes alive with the hulking shapes of their hosts. Tritons, the true merfolk of Rebma. With a collective rumbling hail, more than a dozen approach in four rows until they enter the party's visual perimeter, whereupon their formation skews outwards so that sixteen may be clearly counted. The lights gleam darkly along the edges of their extended pikes, and glint off the beaded scales packing their sinewy humanoid upper halves. Gold, black, and a couple of blood red colourations among them demonstrates a range of species deviation, even if the difference seem merely skin deep. More careful study will determine the red-scaled pair up in front to bear greater stylization in the ritual scarring upon the paler scales of their broad chests, to distinguish their authority.

The Monarch of Rebma has taken a central position in their herd, though not noticeably forward as they face the great dark unknown. The chorused shout from beyond would seem to determine that they stay put and wait, however Moire abstracts her gaze for a second before deciding to walk forth to meet the contingent. One step, then she's committed to the action.

The lamp-bearers on either side of the group take note and fall into step.

Miriam occasionally glances towards Martin, but otherwise she is fascinated watching the approaching Tritons. She studies what she can determine of the differences between them, and still stays quiet. When Moire moves forward, she lets Martin decide where they should stay in relation to his grandmother.

OOC> Merrisol says, "If you want further descriptive detail on Tritons, check http://rebma.roadtoamber.com/tritons"

Maggie glances up to Ruby, then over to Ailith, a quiet quirk of a smile warming her gaze. As their escourts make themselves known, she steps forward to remain near Moire. In her Rebman getup, she is not carrying any weaponry. Then again, she is who she is and is never entirely without recourse. Sliding a glance to Moire as the Queen takes her place, Maggie eases forward a little more. Not in a place rightly taken by Rebma's royalty, but near enough to be of use if the need arrises. Hearing the sound coming toward them, she lifts both brows in surprise. That only grows as Moire steps forward. Unwilling to let the Monarch get too far ahead, she looks to Martin and Miriam, then with a silent prayer to avoid a faux pas, she slips forward as well.

The display of military power distract Shao from his landscape rendering. The mix of war paints and scars catches his eye and he must commit this cultural variance to paper. He moves along with Moire out of force of habit, drifting from impulse to impulse, which allows him to keep drawing. "Scale, Ruby-san. There are entire realms that were lost to Penglai, now forgotten, where trade died at the edges of the Empire." And there he stops himself from talking, for that could easily lead to a diplomatic faux-pas. He decides it is best to set his journal and pen aside, for the time being, so he can perceive possible threats better.

Ruby is always impressed when she is within eyeshot of Tritons. An unhealthy concoction of interest and envy in her gut, burbling away, making her expression not exactly warm and welcoming. She hangs back while Moire asserts herself, gauging the reactions that this will garner. Hands on her hips, and a wide stance, she counts all the Tritons she sees. Comparing them to the groups she's seen near Rebma when she was doing Irregular stuff. She offers a grunt to Ailith, Shao, and others. Message received and to be chewed over.

Miriam says very quietly to Ruby, "It could also be 'lost' in th'sense that Rebma had t'give it up in the agreement with th'Tritons? Not lost literally, but diplomatically." She's obviously just guessing.

Ailith is a survivor of the Winter Court, Lyonnesse posturing, and Amber politics. Head high, back straight, shoulders square, poker face. She carries no weapon, but lets her entire bearing state she has no need of one. No weakness here to exploit, no threat being made that might require challenge.

The Tritons do not appear disconcerted by the initiative taken by their visitors, but neither do their pikes move from the lower guard, which at their greater height would guide the lava glass points soundly into the thighs or torsos of their targets, depending. But that is a good dozen steps away from happening, not that it would even go that far. One or the other group will concede a halt before that happens. That's what allies do.

Moire's famous sangfroid may be hiding bursts of thought and tense study. Would she be that much more bold and confident in her own queenly body? Or does she proceed precisely because her borrowed form is tall, stalwart, and known for having taken some pretty bad knocks in the past and pulled through? Walking step by step, towards that spreading line of pikes, she says to her companions in a clear deep voice that cuts through the pressure distortion, "When my grandmother, Queen Manawydan, the First Monarch Beneath The Waves, brought her forces to the gates of the mighty Triton capital, the long war between the two Peoples had reached its bitterest point. And yet, out of that very conflict had grown another feeling; though quiet, unwilling, it was more tenacious than death." They are mere seconds from receiving a nasty jab, here. "...Respect."

Ruby had leaned ever so slightly towards Miriam to hear her take on what may make a city Lost. Ruby absorbs that, and straightens, but before she can chew too much on it, she's watching Moire face down Tritons. Listening to the Queen speak with Merrisol's vocal chords. All that confidence. It gives her a shiver. Ruby keeps her yap firmly shut, trying not to twitch.

Maggie's attention diverts for a moment as she looks up at the Tritons as they approach the line forming there. Light from the deployed lanterns ripples over the sand that their movement stirs up. Small puffs of gold gleam all around them, then settle back to the Ocean's floor or fade into shadow as the light passes. Some grains of sand stick to Maggie's legs, adding an uneven shimmer to her calves. Following Ailith's example, Maggie stands straighter, focuses forward and squares her shoulders. Her steps are not languid, but they do show the liquid grace of a dancer or a fighter. When Moire speaks, Maggie's attention turns there, then forward again. The final word sparks a gleam in her eyes and a smile settles briefly on her lips.

Miriam and Martin keep their place relative to Moire, of course. They won't stop moving until she does. She listens to the Queen, and then nods to what is said before also smiling a little. It does last long though, as they're being very official and serious there and she wants to show that respect to their hosts.

As Moire leads the group closer to the pike wall, Shao's expression grows more and more detached, neutral. Before death, one is best to show their readiness to die, there is sense in that, dignity and honor. He looks the closest Triton in the eye as a hand comes to rest against the ropes across his chest holding his blades at his back. Self respect is shown, as well as the recognition that the other side is to be reckoned with. He then stops himself and remains entirely still, although he breaks the direct eye contact. There is no telling how long the Jadean could remain like this, aware, ready. Probably a very long time.

Ailith does her best to take in the sights without gawping; no turning the head, for example. Studying the deployment of the tritons, their chosen weapons, their numbers. Offering no threat, though. This is their place, after all.

The words do reach the finned ears of their greeting party, and the red Triton on the right growls out a response that shatters the sluggish currents around them with its basso timbre. The guards halt. Moire halts. It is as synchronized a concession as one can manage who doesn't intend to run their ally through but will if they overstep the line; and who doesn't intend to become impaled on the obsidian points of their ally but will to make a greater point. Swiftly, the polearms are withdrawn, then swept safely vertical, and stamped into the floor as simultaneously, sixteen broad tails thud to the tiles with military precision. Grey silt blasts outwards from ground zero in rolling, waist-high clouds, while the guardsmen grunt out a proud affirmation.

Ailith glances toward Moire, to see if she understood. She translates in a grave tone for everyone else; "For this did King Elowyde of the Tritons agree to meet her alone in battle."

Ruby didn't mean to trail so much, or be the last of the escort. She doesn't flinch at the synchronous display, but is muchly impressed by it. She's not as rigid as a statue or immobile as soldier though, and from the neck up...she's looking this way and that. When the translation comes through from Ailith, it summons dread, with Ruby wondering if an echo of that will play out right now.

That would be bad, Ruby, what with Moire going unarmed, and besides which not being known as a fighting monarch, despite any earnest attempts by Martin to give his grandmother combat pointers. No no, she'd only triumph in a throwdown on a fashion catwalk.

While not as synchronized as Moire, Maggie manages to stop with the others. Her eyes flicker to Moire, linger there as her smile remains, then looks back to the Triton leaders. The silt that the Triton's display of precision and power kicks up swirls around her to her waist, masking the ground both near and farther away. Hearing the translation, Maggie's brows shoot upward as her smile fades. Shooting Ailith, then Moire a look, she wills herself to be still. As the silt settles, her hands lower to rest at her sides.

Shao can let his hand go to his side, now that lances have hit the ground. The hostage situation remains unsolved, at least until someone comes to meet Moire on equal terms for discussion. He would not trust any amicable gesture until is it offered by someone with authority. His eye darts to Maggie, to Martin, to Ruby, going around to account for each and everyone's cool. To Ruby, he blinks his heard very hard and slips a discrete smile.

Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie tries to keep her pride and her concern to herself.

Moire gazes at the Triton in charge and gives a small nod of thanks as Ailith declares the meaning of the guttural rejoinder. Given her blood talents, that has to be an accurate translation despite there not being close to a matching number of syllables in Red's speech. Whether or not Her Majesty herself became informed at the same time as the rest of the group, she does keep that to herself.

The honour guard in charge appears to be studying Ruby, she who had trailed behind, the bloodshot red of his marble-eyes assessing. However, he growly-announces, "Honour is satisfied between our People, Your Majesty, and those who stood with you shall pass. You are to be brought before King Aweyadne, who out of respect for the limitations for race will give audience within the highlands."

Moire smiles at that show of leaderly generosity, and as the guard reforms around them, she turns to the others with a flicker of canny expression. So... they are being limited in their sight-seeing opportunity in this Lost City. If other, deeper goals will be met on this trip, they might have to improvise.

Ailith shakes her head very slightly; now is not the time, then, to go asking about lost Lyonne treasures. Now is the time to be gracious guests and find out *why* their touring is going to be limited beyond what biology would already dictate.

Miriam has been quiet and respectful, of course, at Martin's side. She nods to Ailith as she translates for those who do not speak the Triton native language. There is another small nod of appreciation, for their King's show of respect for the limitations of his guests. She seems to be present for all of this, mentally. So far, whatever visions often distract her are not doing so.

The honour guard leads the way into the yawning darkness beyond the cyclopean pillars. Of the royal craft left behind with nominal personnel, they make no remark nor do they offer protection. It might simply be a given, this far in. The torch bearing Selkies move ahead by a couple of steps so those of the delegation without proper depthsight can walk confidently and without fear of sudden drops.

The concern turns out to be groundless, so to speak, as all eyes are able to pick out the shimmer of new light sources. Their glow defines the broad curve of ledge overlooking a steep and spiraling drop into a sort of planned abyss. The Sunken City lies within, a gigantic sprawl of venerable stone towers and domes glittering with patches of patina. Clusters of these structures are connected to other clusters by sturdy bridges. Judging scale based on the fin-tailed figures seen swimming along at that level, each of these bridges span what appears to be a gulf of perhaps couple thousand feet. Colourless light projects from random windows and the apexes of the bridgeways are set with an arch bearing a brazier of blue flame.

A number of bridges connect to the center of all this preserved antiquity; a vast, open field dotted with monolithic statuary of often headless or limbless guardians, circling round a massive cathedral-like building of obvious governmental import.

Ruby follows within the procession while trying to apply a confident stride or stroke. "Tha's good, isn't it? Sort 'o loike meetin tha Queen 'alfway. Tha 'ighlands they said." She marvels that such vast things can be hidden below the depths. Especially for one that plies her trade riding atop waves, this make it seem like she just skims the surface of far too much. "I can better imagine an grasp shades, echoes an reflections easier than take all this in..." she murmers.

So much to see, so little time to keep it. Shao has his duties and right now, without the reassurance that the king is really the one sending for Moire and her delegation, he must stay fully aware of his surroundings, of the forces in play all around. Political intrigues would make them all an easy target for a military coup. "This raises the question, how many sailors did not quite drown," he echoes to Ruby's statement of being overwhelmed. "How many more cities are there, how many realms underneath the waves?"

Ailith is using this time to listen and observe. Not just the wonders of the environment, but how the locals behave, speak, what kinds of things they're doing. It's an entire culture that is very poorly understood, so there's a lot to learn. She's trying.

Moire draws up to the ledge, compelled forth to view the dizzying whole of the Lost City below. It's arguably the most famous in the realm, though so few outsiders have been permitted to venture within. She manages to maintain enough composure to continue to pass for royalty, but there is a slow lifting within her Warden's chest that admits to being sublimely moved by just this glimpse. As Ruby yaps through the heavy distortion, she looks to one side, then directs her gaze thoughtfully at those gulfs of blackness between the bridged clusters. "These are the Highlands," she murmurs, then declares coolly to the warrior captain, "Your monarch need not be troubled to approach the heights. As you can see, we are all quite capable of withstanding this depth, and can move deeper still, to meet King Aweyadne." Perhaps she had misinterpreted Ailith's subtle nix of attempts to delve for more than a diplomatic conference.

Despite now holding aloft lamps that would be mere firefly pinpricks above the emanating glow of civilization, the Selkie attendants do not snuff their lights yet, for at least it keeps their charges illuminated for all to see. "Oh, dozens. At least a dozen," says the nearest one to Shao. "Lost Cities, that is. None quite so huge as this, I imagine."
Miriam eyes widen as she takes in as much as she can of it all. She utterly fails to look like anything but a tourist. She stays quiet, letting the grown-ups speak as she just marvels.

Ruby considers the drowned and disappeared. She continues along, considering the things lost or fallen into forgotten canyon or crevice. "Makes me think maybe I should rethink where TossMeNots best be rid." She resists fidgeting with the way her hair wavers in her wake and feels like things lightly tickling her shoulders and back.

The guard captain rumbles, "That may be so, Your Majesty. Yet he awaits you there, now." A rippling arm juts towards the center mass of the Highlands. He indicates a broad stairway in the wall of the ledge that follows the long curve of the basin downward until it joins up with the first of several bridges and building clusters they will cross to get to their audience. "Though as you wish to demonstrate your capability, Queen Moire, maybe we will take the shark's route and swim directly there." That's over the edge and across those gulfs of space. The Sea's blessing may protect them all from the physical effects of crushing atmospheric pressure, but will it keep them afloat when the floor disappears beneath their feet?

Shao has a harder time even to grasp the subtleties of things so far away. He has a general idea of where the highlands are but without a spyglass, having only one eye takes away most of his depth perception. He will have to come back here, sometimes, with the proper instruments. For now, it is fine and maybe best that way. "And ships," Shao adds to Ruby's bit.

Ailith slants a look toward Moiressol. Possibly trying to judge if the whole party is now going to be subjected to an endurance trial to get *to* the audience.

Moire is silent while she gazes at the Triton's newly issued challenge, so plainly delivered, and then studies the emptiness ahead without expression.. much expression. In the pause she is thinking hard over the immediate consequence of her seeking to impress upon these mighty allies, her readiness for their depths. Her readiness and her companions' readiness. Without looking back at any of them, she says, "We both know it would take more than hardiness to cross that expanse, Captain, more even than sheer mental will. It would require the singular brute strength of a Triton."

The fanged jaw of the warrior spreads in a smile, and he bows slightly to that admission. That acknowledgement of their insurmountable power. "Aye, it would."

When Moire doesn't let pride answer that challenge, Miriam smiles. She certainly doesn't look like she has the strength to make it. She does glance sidelong at Martin next to her, though. Perhaps she's weighing in her mind whether he'd have given it a go.

Ruby peers into the gulf. Looks towards the Queen and those in attendance. Jaw clenching like she was trying to split an atom between her molars. She catches the glance that Miriam gives her husband. Contemplating it. And as she does so, nearly baring her teeth. She looks to Martin, trying to catch his attention, and then waggles her eyebrows. ~You wanna try?~ is the open question on her face, because Ruby looks like she's going to burst into confetti at the perilous challenge.

Shao too is looking into the Abyss. This is is even deeper: it is not looking back at him. He looks then to Moire, trying to guess if she would risk it, herself. That would be a very obvious spot for an 'infortunate accident' but also, crossing it? A statement of power and courrage. He spots the question on Ruby's face and... maybe?

Ailith's study is contemplative, measuring. It may well be true that crossing that chasm unaided requires the strength of a Triton. On the other hand, humans are honestly really good at developing adaptive tools to make the impossible possible.

Moire now steps into a half-turn, and regards the others in her delegation, perhaps feeling the subliminal pressure of their own speculative consideration. The Selkies seem entirely copacetic over the matter, obviously, ready to slip to their fatty sealforms without compunction. Her gaze commiserates with Miriam briefly; after all there is no point in only some of them opting to do the swim while others would clearly need to make use of the stairs and bridges, separating the party into two. And that is assuming all the swimmers made it to the opposite 'shore' without plummeting under the weight of a water column of almost two-hundred atmospheres of pressure. Looking at Ruby, Moire suppresses a smile, but she does give The Nod to the forgemistress. Then her brow tilts somewhat as she considers Shao and then... Ailith.

...Huh. They just might be doing this. "We travel as one," she notes quietly.

Miriam looks at the others, and blinks a few times. And then looks at Moire for a moment. She looks down, and admits "I don't think I'm a strong enough swimmer yet, t'do it, your Majesty." Nope, she's not the kind to be baited by this kind of risk.

Martin looks at his Grandmother, looks at his wife, looks at Ruby, glances around. He has serious responsibilities now and can't go off on daring life-threatening dos without at least thinking about it first. "Lady Ruby." He gestures at her. "I would be honored to have you champion Rebma in this feat, if her Majesty agrees." He's a crown prince now, he can't be jumping into things half-cocked anymore. He's known for dumb luck, not strength.

Ruby has gotten the double-nod in different ways, and so turns her attention on the fang-jawed ones. "I'll cross yer chasm. Can't be worse than tha Maw or pit 'o boilin doom depth. See if it can leave a mark. Just point me at tha destination again."

Shao watches Martin, his eyebrows arching more and more as things make less and less sense, to him. He would have Maggie's opinion on this change of behavior, if he could make her in the crowd, but someone is in the way. What is Moire thinking? And Ruby? He offers Ruby a brave smile. What else could he do. He must wait for her answer, silent, his opinion on this venture a secret.

Shao's heart misses a beat and his jaw drops a little. It only closes a moment later to allow him to swallow, hard. He reaches to touch Ruby's arm, even if she may be too far. His words of good luck stay stuck in his throat. Helpless, he lets his arm drop by his side. A firm nod is all he can offer to her.

Ailith is still silent, offering words neither of encouragement nor warning. She does study Martin and Ruby though, measuring. The gulf is one that may require the hardiness of a Triton. On the other hand, Ruby is a giantess, and Martin is...well, a Chantris knows what a ta'veren is.

Moire nods simply to the princess's statement. That's it, then, and takes care of Martin's impulsiveness, too. But then the new-minted prince is speaking up as well. "...Just so, Prince Martin," she recovers, looking between Ruby and the staring Tritons. "Our lady of the forge, Ruby," she makes the formal introduction, now that their course is laid by Ruby's bald-face agreement. If she is particularly concerned for Captain Incarnate's well-being, it doesn't show.

The Triton guard captain had already measured Ruby once; now his red eyes only flicker her way for a second, then he nods sharply to Martin. "Should your champion prevail in gaining that ledge," not even a couple thousand feet from this jumping-off point. "A conveyance will be provided for you to join her there." In lieu of the stairs.