A Vertical Move

[rassafraggin]

The day's entertainments at court are not to be shared for long with the Feldane. He is singled out by a young page, who winnows up to whisper invitation to his ear, a private audience as promised. The Queen's parlor, if you would please, milord?

Dashton Feldane has finally managed to come to an agreement with his tailor on some manner of appropriate Rebman attire that will still have *some* manner of more conservative, gentlemanly component he is used to and fond of. In this case, it is a loose-fitting, crisp white shirt that is a bit transparent now that it has hit the water. Perhaps the tailor pulled a fast one on him! This shirt tucks into a pair of expertly crafted, fitted trunks made to look like larger fishscales with a slight shimmer. A string of pearls run between two mother of pearl shells that hold a light blue cape about his back that flows rather nicely in the water! In spite of the different mode of transport in the water, the Feldane gentleman returns with his customary walking cane in hand. He brightens at the whispers of the page, rewarding the young fellow with a warm smile before he is led toward the parlor.

The parlor is situated a ways down a private hall from the grandiose throne room, the echoes of song and lively conversation fading to a hum, then silence within the chamber itself. The three tall windows are stained glass depictions of historical encounters with the Dolphins, the Sirens, and the Selkies, respectively, dramatic and romanticized and witnessed by attractive profusions of coral, kelp, and fauna. The day's light filtering from the surface realm splashes those myriad jeweled colours onto the quartz-tiled floor like an ornate carpet. The room is appointed with dignity, fit for graciously receiving small, stately company.

The side tables are furnished with an array of elegantly-spun bottles of liquor refreshment, along with a tray of bite-sized biscuits and puffs encased in a thin gel to preserve their crispness. There are seats of smoothly curved stones arranged in a tasteful, casual manner, though one stands out with gold veining as the chair upon which the monarch receives her company. Queen Moire is here already, standing before her chair with no impression given that she is waiting on anyone or thing, so long as she is held in the embrace of the Sea.

Also in attendance, Lord Setao of House Dafydd, who does look up from his tinted glass slate expectantly when the opalwood door rolls aside and the blond man ushered past the guard stationed outside. That walking cane gets a look from the sentry and a slight gesture, but Lord Setao shakes his head slightly and indicates for the page to remain for now, while the door slides shut. He offers Dashton a friendly smile.

Moire's contemplative gaze slides Dashton's way. "Lord Feldane.." and here her voice is gently personal in tone, unlike the carrying depths of oration in the great hall. "Do make yourself welcome and comfortable. We shall speak at length today."

Recognition strikes immediately as hazel eyes land on Setao and mirrors the smile with a warm one of his own and a dip of his head in a small, wordless greeting. It is but the briefest of moments before Dashton's full attention turns to Moire then as his smile grows just a touch. Moving further into the room, he gracefully falls to one knee and lowers his head, "Your Magesty, I am of course honored to have been granted an audience with you. It is most gracious of you." He waits for the appropriate gesture or indication before rising again and appraising what refreshments she, Herself, might be partaking in to follow her lead there.

After that acknowledgement of their association, the scribe returns to the business of preparing to record the agreements and knowledge shared. The page perks up at the opportunity to provide the refreshments and heads for the side tables.

Moire follows Dash's movements with an eye for his polished manners, more than his fashion, which is still conservative despite its clear nods to the culture. Presented with the top of his blond head, there is a glimmer of extra consideration in her gaze, perhaps for all the other pesky golden-haired men of her acquaintance. Then she bids him rise with a outturning of her hands, which she then threads together at waist-level, contemplative again. "You shall have ample opportunity to sample our cuisine in the days to come. Let us share gold kelp wine and a selection of crisps." She glides a pace back and sinks languidly into the gold-veined chair. The remaining seating choices are varied, though an open scrolling loveseat is angled closest.

Dashton's warm smile reappears as he rises to hear tell of future possibilities in culinary and cultural exploration. "Ah, that would absolutely delightful. I look forward to that. One of the many joys of travel." The Feldane continues to close the gap and once the Queen has taken her chosen throne for the room, he slides into place on the loveseat. The Feldane gentleman can't quite help his hands moving toward his thighs to instinctively begin the motion of tugging at pants... that are not there. The moment the hands arrive, they transition to simply resting on his knees while sitting. One of the hands then raises to accept the incoming kelp while, all the while keeping his eyes on Moire. "I had managed to sample a bit in my previous visits, though never quite had the time available to venture out as much as I'd have liked. It is an exciting time below the waves. I was rather eager to make a study of how the architecture was beginning to evolve."

"Much of what escaped ruin, remains as of olde," she notes briefly, with just a hint of yearning for the static, stable millenia before the Cataclysm. As he explores, Dashton will find that even some freshly rebuilt structures tend to follow the same styles as counterparts above. There is still more of change, however, particularly regarding practical function. Who wants to go back to swinging doors undersea when they could be made to slide on a plane?

Lord Setao sits himself in a single armchair across the low-slung central table. "I imagine we will start with a reiteration of his Lordship's status with House Feldane," he says in general, then to Dashton specifically, "Do you serve a particular function within Feldane?"

Dashton nods with interest as Moire speaks, holding his smile all the while. A bit of the interest in the subject seeps into his tone as he replies, "Indeed. Unfortunate that such things should be required, though it does offer the unique opportunity for uniquely Rebman features and expressions to show. I've always enjoyed how architecture is a bit of art where one can truly see history unfolding as one simply wanders about a city. A fascinating thing to study." Looking to Lord Setao, Dashton dips his head in a small, gracious bow before looking back to Moire. "I have long served as a gardener at House Feldane. The role is... different for our House than most might expect. It does, true enough, involve tending to the Feldane Gardens, but also involves leading expeditions to acquire new specimens, making some trade deals related to them, as well as tending to the Ancestors and other occupants of the family crypts. I've also represented the House with the Council of Lords in Amber when Lord Robert was otherwise occupied."

The scratching of Setao's stylus blends into the peaceful languor of the currents, along with the page's movements about the room, setting down the delicate glassworks and high-rimmed plates. The young Rebman hovers for a moment longer, then is dismissed by a silent nod from his monarch once she ascertains all is as it ought. She lifts her wine and with her lips adds that bit of sealed pressure to the bottle mouth to bring the pale gold liquid up from the reservoir.

"And... in terms of financing. Do you differentiate your personal accounts from the House wealth?" continues Lord Dafydd presently. Who ultimately holds the purse strings in this proposed venture, is the likely upshot of this question.

Dashton takes up his own bottle of wine, giving it a look to begin taking in all of the facets of it he can. After the Queen has done so, he lifts the bottle up for a first sampling and then looks back to the bottle with a smile. The Feldane had already brightened from the new wine, but then there is the mention of a field often bandied about the House that has some amusement slipping into his smile. "Oh my, I come from a family of accountants, so it is a thing we could go into great detail on if you are so inclined. The short answer is absolutely. My ledgers do tend to get a bit more detailed than that, even. There are ventures where multiple Family members are involved, some are sponsored by the House, and some are entirely personal in nature. Each one tends to be hashed out, at some unfortunate level of length, with both the accountants and lawyers of the Family. The House keeps their own books."

The origin of all Palace vintages, he may learn, is House Dilwen's renowned monastery, far away on the ancestral marches. Wines from their Golden Groves can only be found by the public during royal functions, being the Queen's preferred stock. She monitors the Q&A between scribe and subject with lingering interest, quiet still and partaking of a dainty wafer biscuit.

"Very good, Lord Dashton," nods Setao, after etching a short notation, shorter than the explanation provided. There are details that Rebma already possesses about the Great Houses of Amber, surely. "In undertaking this grant of property in Rebma, then, are we of the correct understanding that accountability rests and ends with you, in all respects?"

Dashton takes a moment for another sip, savoring this one a bit differently as he focuses on another portion of his pallete to gain further appreciation of the product of another vintner. He and other members of House Feldane do craft their own wines, after all! Granted, the sort that may well turn one mad over time... "That understanding is correct, Lord Setao. The ledger for this endeavor is completely my own and decidedly in the personal category. It will be my own name behind any matters related to this, should it be granted."

"And granted, it shall be," Moire responds now, breaking her silent observation of her guest. "For all the respect and good will held between House Feldane and Rebma, it is my debt to you, Lord Dashton, which carries the power equal to your proposition of residence and operation." The barest lift of her chin preempts the Royal Scribe's adding detail and condition to that statement. Setao stays silent and poised while they await his reply.

Dashton's head turns rather swiftly back to Moire and his smile is leveled simultaneously. His head dips a bit deeper than it had toward Lord Setao and is held there for a few beats of the heart. "I am truly humbled and honored that the request shall be granted. It is my sincere hope that I and the House might do more for both Your Majesty and the Deep Peoples alike." The Feldane returns to proper posture and continues on then, "I do not imagine that these undertakings will be easy and I should like to do all that I can to build the relationship between us to ensure success."

Moire's regard is serenely fixed and seems to change little in the face of Dashton's graciously effective body language. She offers her own nod to acknowledge his short acceptance speech. There is a touch of sharpness in her gaze though, when he talks up the possibility of further association, perhaps on a personal level. Though surely he meant that in the general Deep Peoples sense. "Indeed," she says softly, lifting her fluted bottle. "Surety is measured by gazing not forward, my Lord, but into the Past." That said, she drinks.

Setao smiles slightly and taps his slate gently to find his place within the developments. "The formal dispensation of Her Divine Majesty's favor, therefore, is ascribed to this: Registered status as Foreign Agent with grant of property and limited licence to operate within Rebma. The scope of said operations, may be periodically subject to examination, encouragement, or criticism. What say you to this, Lord Dashton?"

Of course he did! Dashton Feldane is no Courtier and would not presume to have a personal relationship with a monarch! That bit of sharpness is caught by the gardener, though it does not seem to diminish his smile or enjoyment of the results of the meeting thus far. Once more, he dips his head in a gracious bow toward Moire, agreeing with her, "Quite right, Your Majesty." Righting himself, he steals a sip of wine and turns his attention back to Lord Setao. At the end, his smile renews and he nods his head in agreement. "Lord Setao, it sounds not only lovely, but rather exciting. And worded quite well. I shall be certain to bear this awesome responsibility well."

Moire seems to relax upon hearing Dashton's wholehearted agreement to the terms defined, at least, she settles in against the backrest, displacing some of her green mane to billow out on either side and drape over the scrolled armrests. "Then so shall it be," she murmurs.

Lord Setao allows an unprofessional grin to flash in a show of faith for the topsider's abilities. Then he's humming lightly over his document again. "In the matter of the property, you will have your pick of several along the upper plateaus. These are private estates without living claimants. All require a renewal of structure to be of service. House Mairwen will send a master mason to determine your needs and costs. Should your staffing needs extend to additional dwellers from the surface, you will submit their names for the purpose of record-keeping and verification, as well as those of any others who will reside on the property on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. What say you to this, Lord Dashton?"

As always, Dashton dips his head in one more small, but most gracious bow as Moire speaks. He lifts his head again in time to catch Lord Setao's grin and chooses that moment to take another sip of the fine wine before he might allow a slip of his own in reply. "That sounds absolutely perfect. I do look forward to working with House Mairwen in restoring a structure. I am on pins and needles waiting to see what they feel would best suit each properly. I've anticipated you might make this request of any staff or others who might reside with me and I have already prepared a list with some rough information and references for each for you to peruse and approve later. I'll be sure to have that sent over. I've done what I could to keep it to bare essentials." Bare essentials, for a Feldane, at least! One should see what is included in the family's expedition supplies! Most Townhouses are not so well appointed as a Feldane expeditionary camp!

Lord Setao makes these new notations with efficient strokes, blancing the slate on the folio over his knees while helping himself to a sip of wine. "Ah, that foresight is appreciated and will hasten the process. That brings my duties here today, to a close," he bustles. "By your leave, Your Majesty, I will make the necessary agencies aware." Moire gives her assent with a gentle look of thanks to her scribe. He packs up and rises to offer Dashton a nod of farewell, and a deeper bow to Moire upon rising, intending to slip away backwards to a prescribed distance before turning for the door.

Moire turns her attention back to the Feldane. "I trust you have some further time to speak on your vision for operating within Rebma, Lord Dashton. For your abilities, and your natural inclinations, must be informed by an understanding of Rebma's perspective and laws concerning life and death."

Dashton's smile warms again and he delivers a more subtle nod of his head to the dutiful scribe, "Excellent. I'll have the prepared items sent over promptly. Thank you, Lord Setao." His attention also returns to the monarch as he dips his head in another small, gracious bow of his head. "If it pleases Her Majesty and is not too much of an imposition, I do. I could not agree with you more on this and would humbly appreciate any guidance or direction that might be provided. In the past endeavor, I had come to an understanding that much of what I practice is... not looked upon well by all of the Deep Peoples. I would certainly like to cast as few waves as possible and work cooperatively with everyone."

Moire maintains her lounge after Setao's departure, keeping the wine flute balanced on one armest while she listens. Head inclining pensively over his remarks, she ruminates in silence for a few moments after he finishes. "The notion of the realm beyond death is not one restrained by cultural belief so much as it is limited by expression. As the Sea's Chosen, the Rebman life cycle is tied to the Sea, and also in death, the Rebman is returned to that from whence life was drawn." She sets a questioning look on her guest. "Tell me, Lord Dashton, whether you can envision your Feldane philosophy serving alongside these terms."

Dashton fills that gap of silence with another sip of his wine, considering it thoughtfully before Moire begins to speak again. He listens intently, nodding every so often, and then pondering her words carefully before nodding his head more slowly in an understanding manner. "I feel... there is a common ground and that is where I would operate. No more, no less. To be clear, yes, I will follow those terms. This is something I feel passionately about-- Obviously, otherwise I would not be here today." The Feldane lets some concern show for a moment before he schools his expression back to something more neutral. "Well, I admit I am not fond of letting the dead roam freely amongst the living. In our experience, passing through Death's Door is the natural, final conclusion of one's journey. Perhaps after returning to the Sea? But, I will abide by the philosophy of the Sea's Chosen. Of course. I am a gardener in someone else's garden and will simply do whatever I can to assist. This is a tremendous opportunity and responsibility and I do fully understand and appreciate the bounds within which I ought operate."

More than a glimmer of a smile curls as the Queen attends his words. She lifts her sippy flute at intervals, forming a pleasant reciprocal cycle of speaking and drinking, since they are fostering this mood of agreeableness. After a moment's absorption in silence, she replies, "The cultish belief is of spiritual reunification with the Sea, which allows the sense of the portal you uphold. For as the Sea shall provide, so shall It take away. Though you may be required to reach a semantic agreement with the Temple regarding the finality of death, the concept is sound. From this point of agreement, you shall be able to share a regard for the spiritual presence which is rife beneath the waves. The remnant you would encounter therefore, should not be a Rebman who was properly consecrated and delivered unto the Sea."

Dashton nods in agreement, "Ah, indeed. A wonderful idea, that semantic understanding. I do believe the core concepts are quite the same. All the same, uttering a wrong word or failing to observe a sacred ceremony or ritual are things I should like to avoid. I certainly recognize the importance of Duties being things of details and that those details certainly differ from place to place." Pausing to steal a sip, he has a look of contemplation about him before picking back up again. "This seems a perfect use of time during the rebuilding phase of the proposed home."

Moire watches with serene patience while he ponders. After a sip herself, she agrees, "Exploration, and achieving rapport with the clergy, shall see you through the time of reconstruction, Lord Dashton. The enchantment spans outward from the city enough that you should explore enough of the waters, touched by the current sources, to gather a sampling of the presence of which I spoke. Should you wish to range further, arrangements need be made for an escort who would provide a blessing of the Sea's protection. Of late, a change to the balance of life and death is expected, and you may have a sense of this as well. A legend of the Sea who has long been absent, is said to be returning through the waters once more."

Dipping his head in a small bow, Dashton holds it there in a sign of agreement and appreciation of what is said. "Just as you say, Your Majesty." Listening intently, he steals another small sip from the specially crafted wine delivery system. "Ah, the presence. Yes. I may have some familiarity from a prophetic vision? Lady Aurora, the Philosophos Esteros of Pathi's Academy of Brass and Royal Oracle of Amber, was kind enough to share something similar with me. Perhaps it is from a different matter. Either way, I will certainly exercise all due caution. Who would be best for me to liaise with, should such a trip seem necessary?"

Moire says, "Your Lordship is already acquainted with Murdoch of the Badlands, who has been named the Royal Beastmaster. He shall be notified of developments in your situation here, should it please you to continue that association. And I shall allow the commissioning of an underwater mount for your travel use." She pauses a moment here rather than address the subject of prophecy from upstairs sources, gazing at him with mild query.

Hearing a familiar name, Dashton brightens and renews his warm smile at once. "Ah, yes. I remember Murdoch quite well and do look forward to working with him once again. How fortunate. That would most certainly please me and I must compliment you on the fine appointment." The Feldane's eyes widen the faintest bit at the mention of a mount and his smile grows once again. His head dips in a gracious bow as he replies, "That is most kind of Her Majesty and I am honored. Well and truly." Returning upright, he reads the expression of query and asks, "If it pleases Her Majesty, I could speak to Lady Aurora on that vision she had to gather her notes? Perhaps I might combine them with my own and have them sent, if they could be of any use? I would try and recount it now, but I fear she has a great many and I may not be as accurate as I would like."

"I believe Prince Martin was given due warning of the Amber Oracle's vision during a meeting of the Council of Lords," says Moire with a pensive air that only borders on uncertainty. "There was a period in which Rebma was not participating in these meetings above the waves. Should you receive information you believe to be of special import to Rebma or the Crown, the avenues of communication remain open through Lady Vialle and the Embassy. The ambassador has means for determining where such information should find most useful direction. The portent which concerned yourself personally, of course, you may wish to bring before the Holy Order of Eilrahc."

Taking one last sip from his flute, Dashton escapes it to nod with a narrowing of his eyes as he looks back, followed by their return to normal with remembrance. "Ah, indeed. I do believe I recall that. For a time there, *none* of us had been attending those meetings. Quite unfortunate. I will certainly relay anything notable to Lady Vialle. I don't believe I have had the honor of formally meeting her, though I shall endeavor to rectify that." More mental notes are taken. The Feldane's list of meetings and correspondence after this audience is growing by the minute. "I'll forward my notes toward them and will ask Lady Aurora if she has any more insights of her own from that vision. I do hope it might be of some use to them."

Moire nods slightly, one fine eyebrow arching further. "It shall be useful to you, if you have fallen under the shade of the Pit, in some form," she says solemnly. "The Sea Witch Gorgonne has fled the realm, at last report from the Order.. though she is herself merely a servant of the Abyss."

"Indeed, I do fear I have drawn some attention. In the midst of the operation to restore you to your rightful vessel I had seen... something. And been seen, it would seem." Fingers lift from Drashton's flute in a small gesture before he sets it down. "Then, this Sea Witch is known? These things she has done, this brand of necromancy is extremely dangerous. I should hate to see such things unleashed below the waves. Time can sometimes be of the essence, with the way these magics work, much like a--." No, the snowball rolling down a hill reference will not work here. "Compounding interest. They are capable of creating problems that grow exponentially. Would I be able to liaise with the Holy Order on this matter?"

Sitting still with that lounging poise, there is nevertheless of shiver of tension through the monarch's frame. The fluted glass stays on the armrest for now, while she listens thoughtfully, lips softly pursed in a frown. "The Black Water in Rebma, the agent of chaos, is a ripple in the present revolution of the grand current, Lord Dashton," she advises after a moment. "Whereas the shadow of the Immortal Wound in the Heart of the Sea is eternal by comparison. Do make yourself aware of the differences, as you go along in the Deep. Counsel from the Holy Order's scribes shall be invaluable, and should you manage to become of interest to a knight-inquisitor of that brotherhood, you shall have assistance far afield."

Dashton dips his head in another gracious bow, which he holds a moment, "I do appreciate the clarification, Your Majesty. I foresee a great deal of time being spent researching all of these things along the way." The Feldane repeats the motion a few times after that, continuing along, "Ah, one can only hope. That would be quite the boon. I imagine I will need all of the assistance, guidance, and knowledge I can muster in this endeavor. I do hope that it will always be mutually beneficial." What timing, it is now that a page slips and a small bit of etched glass is passed to Dashton. A glance is given to it and then he nods to them before looking back to Moire. "Lord Robert sends his regards as well as a gift, if it pleases Her Majesty." The door opens and the page now walks in a dog. A very sizable dog that the Queen of Rebma would certainly recognize as it had watched over her some months ago.

RPG: Dashton gives token DTH with the title 'Spectre' to you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------[ DTH ]----
Author: Izett Held By: Moire
Date: Wed Oct 2 08:18:45 2013 Focus: 3
Title: Spectre
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Created via Baskerville Hounds (ANI-BH): power-token rechargeable special token-3 type-magic
Gift description:
Large, fierce beasts bred and enhanced by Feldane magics; they are capable of seeing and interacting with the physical and spirit worlds, and take on an ephemeral appearance blending easily with mist and shadow when in a graveyard, place of death, or necromantic power, save for the eery blue glow of their eyes. Without expending the token, the hound can be set to guard against threats from either world, freeing the master to deal with one or the other. They can also be directed effectively in battle as a weapon, though only against foes the master can see.

The hound can 'howl', either on command or as it dies. Any who hear this may have a vision of Death's Door opening to them, and through it witness a scene of their imminent death. Some short time afterward, a couple of days or so, they will experience that very scenario for real. The outcome is not certain, however; the vision is only one possible scenario. This use expends the token.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Token Description

This animal bears the same relationship to a dog as a carthorse does to a thoroughbred. Tall, broad, deep chested, it stands at the sort of height normally measured in hands, not inches. With features resembling that of a mastiff it is clearly not a creature to cross.
Its shorthaired coat has the sheen of blued steel, and its eyes are an unnatural, icy blue that is found on cyanosed lips and deep in glacial crevices. In the dark, the dog's eyes almost glow, and its fur gives it a ghostly appearance. That pale gaze seems to focus into objects, and not on them, so that it looks at and through where its attention passes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moire leans in just a touch, as there is an air(??) of conclusion coming to their tete-a-tete, with matters being reiterated and summarized, followed by the entrance of the young aide. "So shall it be," she murmurs, granting the page a gentle smile and setting aside her drink glass. As the youth retreats back the hall, she is the first to rise from her chaise, though with such languid grace as gives Dashton ample opportunity to follow suit and be the first one fully standing, as befits their sense of gentility.

So, it is at this point that she is apprised of the Lord Seneschal's respects, and the rollers of the door scrape it quietly to the side once more. But it is the peculiar tint of a flavour-smell pervading the chamber, preceding the massive canine, more than the sounds, that alerts Moire first. Her chin lifts, along with a faint slackening of her mouth, and a little flare of nostrils and eyelids, and she turns from Dashton in a floating, swirling cloud of green mane that encompasses a fair portion of the chamber before it settles. She inhales more sharply, but the utterance she gives upon sighting Spectre is quieter than a whisper. Even so, perhaps Dashton still catches something very like 'Woggums' from the nearby eddies.

Certainly it goes without saying that if Dashton so much as breathes a sound very much like 'Woggums' outside this room, he's a dead Feldane!

House Lethem has a very particular way of teaching manners. As such, memory and thought are not required for Dashton Feldane to rise gracefully from his seated position as Moire does so. There is a considerably more modest version of his warm smile in place as the canine enters and if he catches the monarch's whisper, he certainly does not seem to react. A simple, but elegant gesture is made toward the dog before he clucks his tongue twice to signal that it should pad its way over. "It has been an honor to serve the realm beneath the waves and we do so hope we may continue to enjoy that honor. Both I and House Feldane look forward to what the future might bring." Now, finally, he does turn with the full warm and easy smile in place as he bows before Moire.

Moire stands very much nonplussed, although on her it still resembles a breed of sangfroid.. that of lesser royalty perhaps. Contemplating the hound as Spectre pads nearer, she cants her head in a listening gesture, paid to Dashton's closing remarks. Finally, she lifts a hand to delicately trace the dog's broad, solid features from brow to jowl. Nothing bodily transferred from the Lord Warden to her, not scent nor strength, yet if any creature could make the association between then and now, wouldn't it be this spirithound? "You may convey my appreciation to the Lord Seneschal, for his continued generosity," says the Queen calmly, having now turned to look upon the Feldane lord and foreign agent, acknowledging his bow with a benevolent nod. "May all the good of the Past repeat between our Houses, and all ill remain as singular events and fade thus."