NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC:
Written with permission of her Most Graceful Siriness.
Special thanks to Taure for the help with the Quenya thingies.

Events leading to this thread can be found here. (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=312631&page=1) ]

***

Somewhere in Vinyatírion,
Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar

The apartment is rather small, tucked somewhere on the edge of the city among many other similar apartments. It is furnished with some totally inexpensive furniture (by local standards, that is) and is currently occupied by three people. One of them is an average blonde elven woman, nothing particular. The second is a half-elven porcelain white goddess with an ass to die for. The third occupant is male. High of only 175cm he is surely not the tallest man around and, although he is thin, it is clear that it is better not to provoke him. He has a medium length black hair that doesn’t reach the shoulders and that is passed behind the ears(that are not only pointy, but also long), deep blue eyes that express no emotion whatsoever at this very moment in time and a slim face with a seal of boredom all over it. His skin is very pale, although it seems to have some kind of deep purple shadow over it. He looks at the clock and then on the two females. Although they seemed to be rather relaxed, they were actually on watch. One, that appeared to be asleep, was facing the entrance door, the other one constantly patrolled the windows with her gaze, as if she was looking on the outside out of boredom.

The man sighed and sat back in his armchair.

- Number Seventeen, are you done already?
- Yes, the ground has been scouted and preparations made.
- Number Eight?
- Returning to base.
- Number Thirteen? Thirteen?

He suddenly realizes that Thirteen was killed awhile ago during the Plague (aka Aphyr Conflict/Incident, Civil War, whatever). Too bad, she was one of the best ones. A ‘Queen’ Class to be precise. All of them died back then. What a waste…
As such, appealing to Numbers Thirteen(‘Queen’), Five(‘Queen’) and Nineteen(‘King’) via the ‘thoughts chain’ (aka telepathy) is obviously useless. The ‘thoughts chain’ is that little link that existed between all of the Curare and certain of the Masters. Currently, the only Master to be still alive is that very man sitting in the room with a bored look on his face. The High Coordinator made personally sure before evacuating, that all people knowing too much about the Curare and that would most surely talk during interrogation (aka torture) were ‘dealt with’. Those of whose loyalty he did not doubt were hiding in the former Grand Duchy, awaiting their time. The Ruling Council would not know about the Curare for some time to come. Of course, sooner or later they will find out, but in the meanwhile, the High Coordinator and his six friends (five females and one male) have the time to prepare…

And right now, they are preparing to establish contact with the Archduchess. They know she is over at the Fëanor Palace and that going to the Palace and knocking on the front door is not the best of options. After all, those Mornahossë can think that they are assassins sent by the Kaskad in order to ‘deal with’ the Archduchess and either take them into custody for verification or shoot them on the spot. In the former case, the prospect did not present itself as overly joyful either. He knew not of the local interrogating customs, but as always he based himself on the worst (meaning what would the TDI or the Alexander Guard do in the same case) interrogation (meaning torture) scenario possible. And since the Archduchess will surely not remember neither him nor any of his subordinates, the elves will eventually come to a conclusion that the intruders are Kaskad spies and are to be dealt with. He has already lived a very, very long life and had still many, many centuries left to discover, so he is not eager to end his days stupidly.

And so they have put a plan up how to extract the Archduchess from the Palace. All that they need is to get her out, make her remember at least partially and then improvise. After all, they do need the equipment stored in that bomber in order to prepare the Archduchess for a return to power… as such, cooperation of local authorities is essential (mostly because stealing an aircraft from a Menelmacari base might prove slightly delicate without the TDI ordering all air defense systems not to fire upon that very aircraft…)

The man stands up and walks over to the refrigerator, takes out a bottle of water (he does not drink anything else, only water), also mentally noting down that the fridge needed a replenishment in a certain vital resource known as ‘food’, and goes back into the living room. He sits down on a sofa and thinks the scheme over again. It seems to be casual, unoriginal and rather amateurish and they will sure cause some panic around, but… that was their best course of action. His agents have reported that the ground has been scouted and all preparations made. All, but one… and for this, the High Coordinator has to get to work himself…

***

Fëanor Palace,
Vinyatírion,
Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar.

It has been several weeks now since her little escapade from what not so long ago was the Grand Duchy of Tarasovka and the events are present in her mind in all their splendour… The Initiation of her brother to the Rulership of the Grand Duchy, the protest of her sister and the division in the Order of Seven Deities… The Challenge to the Sword by Anastasia and the conflict… Her father’s desperate last attempt to solve the situation… and the last words Nekshas ever told her: “Don’t worry… we’ll make it!”
Seems as they didn’t make it after all… She suddenly catches herself on the fact that she is being sarcastic and shakes her head. And then, her brother fell in battle… the military took power and she was forced to flee like a dog with her tail between the legs…

She looks outside the window by which she sits, up on the night sky above, on the silver stars and the pale moon. She makes a faint smile and goes back to bed. Ever since the Plague, she lost her sleep, nightmares took her mind over. And such is the case this night, when she makes that dream yet again…
She sees a scorched land, a land of smoldering ruins. She sees a grey sky and rain pouring down upon the dead soil. And she sees a raven atop the carcass of a black wolf, tearing the wolf’s eye out and flying off into the rain…

All of a sudden the setting of the dream changes. In fact, everything vanishes, only a black emptiness is left. And a voice, a soft, calm and seducing voice that calls her somewhere, gives her instructions. The voice seems familiar… but as she tries to remember, it fades away and she falls asleep.

Morning of the following day.

She wakes up and stretches lazily as the sun shines brightly through the window, illuminating the bedroom. She sits up on the bed, deciding to go on ‘walk’ in the city. She suddenly wanted to go shop for some new garments. She really cannot understand why… maybe just an other female instinct woke up in her? She knows not and, which is remarkable, doesn’t even want to understand. Surely a female instinct.
She does her morning preparations and walks out of the bedroom into the living room of her apartment. There, one of her guards is on duty. The elf makes a polite bow to her and she nods back.

- I wish to go on a ride in the city…

She stopped and pondered. She had quite a hard time remembering elven names. And making a difference between all of the elven dialects…

- I am truly sorry, but what was your name again?
- Lietirnon, Your Highness.
- Ah, yes. I am truly sorry again… does it have any certain meaning?
- Defender of People…

Vethara ponders for a moment. Her own name meant ‘carried by the wind’ or, in her brother’s teasing interpretation, ‘blown away by a fart’. She looks back at her guard.

- Alexander… the equivalent of your name is nearly holy in my country…

Her gaze wanders off into the void in front of her. She was assigned three Mornahossë guards upon her arrival to the Palace. It would seem that the Mornahossë were the local equivalent of the Alexander Guard Honourary Regiment, only that they also appeared to be involved in other types of operations, which back in her country were often assigned to the TDI Black Wolves. Well, back in her country a single Alexander Guard was already more than enough to guarantee that nothing would harm you as long as a last drop of blood still ran in he soldier’s veins… However, a standard escort for the Grand Duke usually consisted of five to seven Alexander Guards. After all, seven men could cover more territory and directions than one man…

- Your Highness?

Her thoughts brake up and she looks back at the guard.

- Ah, yes?
- Should I ready transportation immediately?
- Ah, yes…
- May I proceed?
- Yes, yes, surely… Oh, just one thing… would it be possible for you to put on a casual outfit instead of your uniform?

The elf nods and walks out of the living room.

***

Random Clothing Store in Vinyatírion,
Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar.

The car stops by the entrance of a rather big store that deals in all sorts of clothing. She still cannot understand why she wants so badly to go do some purchases in this very store, but it seems to be stronger than her as she enters the interior. She walks around the stalls, looking at the garments without any interest at all. One of her guards took position by the front entrance, the other one went to see for the backdoor. Both soldiers are using active camouflage, so they are rather discreet and nobody noticed them. Vethara herself doesn’t pay much attention to them, since these guards seem to be popping out of nowhere every now and then and then vanish again. And so she was left all alone with Alexander (at least, she could remember the name that way). The soldier face appears to be made of stone, showing no particular emotion. Vethara picks up some random robe and walks off to check if it suits her. Actually, at this very moment in time her actions became automatic, as if somebody is telling her precisely what to do. She enters one of the several changing booths and at that very time the fire alarm as well as anti-fire measures go off. The elf immediately rushes off to the booth to get the Archduchess out and runs into a group of panicked elven women that rush out in Eru knows what on them. Remarkably enough, one of them even manages to knock the soldier off his feet while running for the exit. Useless to say that the other visitors of the store also begin a general retreat towards the outside, the guard at the front door not being able to do anything to stop them. Yet again, the same scenario as before… Something (or someone) knocks him off his feet while passing closely by… And due to the fact that the soldier was rather ‘unseen’, the whatever thing that knocked him down surely knew he was there, which was very suspicious (counting the fact that the fire alarm went off with no fire to be seen or smelled…)
When the store is finally empty, the Archduchess is nowhere to be found…

- Intyan námmë mí alta upoica, - sighs one of the elves rushing off to stop and question any witnesses while Lietirnon contacts his commanders…

"You lost her?" came the response from the Palace, a regal and ancient voice... the very commander of the Mornahossë, the greatest of Menelmacari warriors this was.

"Er... yes, Lord Glorfindel," Lietirnon replied. "There was some confusion at a clothing store, and now she's, er, gone. It'll be in my mission rep--"

"You don't have time to file a report," Glorfindel interrupted over the comm. "Find her. This may be Vinyatírion the Eternal, but her life could be in danger nonetheless. Vethara's welfare is of prime concern to the Lady. And she is your responsibility..."

"Yes, milord..." Lietirnon cut the channel and gestured to his comrades. "We've got to get hunting."

Somewhere in Vinyatírion,
Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar

Everything seems in a haze as she feels her legs move quite quickly, as if she is running. She feels somebody near her, then her feet leave the ground, and stop moving, she feels as if she is transported somewhere… then she begins moving all by herself again… She cannot see anything. She only feels somebody near her. Somebody familiar. Very familiar. Suddenly, the reality dawns on her, the haze vanishes and she stops abruptly, looking around. She is in a park somewhere, surrounded by trees…
She looks to her right to find a man of around 175cm with black hair, deep blue eyes that fix her coldly.

- I see you have improved, Number Twelve…

Vethara only blinks. She cannot understand why was she brought to that place. But she already understood several things. Whoever that person is, he seems to be able to control her somehow. So yelling or running away is not an option. If that person wants her dead, why is she still alive? So either it is a Kaskad agent that likes to play with its victim, either its not a Kaskad agent at all… And even if it is the former, it would be a great deal funnier to make her hang herself on he gates of the Fëanor Palace. She would die and Menelmacar would have some bad PR…
All these thoughts pass her mind in matter of a second as she raises her gaze to look at the man.

- Who are you?

- Your most loyal servant and your worst nightmare.

- What do you mean?

- All in due time, Your Highness, all in due time.

- Why have you brought me here?

- I need you to remember me… that I am your ally and friend.

His gaze pierces deep into her mind, pictures begin appearing in front of her eyes. She finds herself in a cold stony basement. Somebody is yelling, somebody is sobbing. A child is dragged away and the sobs cease as a man in a black robe advances towards her. The man lifts the hood and she sees the smiling face of that very man she is standing by.
The image changes. That of a platform, all covered in snow. The blizzard is unbearable, the wind is kicking her off her feet. She is facing a young girl, chest naked, wearing only a pair of tattered trousers and wielding two swords. The girl charges her, she fights her and then a blow… hot blood runs down the snow, coloring it red… A man in a black robe that was watching them comes towards the corpse of the girl and examines it. He then rises, looks back at her from beneath the hood… and she sees a pair of blue eyes, the same eyes that has the man standing near her…
An other setting. A modern room. She is standing between two pillars, her arms inserted into circular openings in each of the pillars… a strong force pulls her arm up if she raises it too much and pulls it down if she lowers it too much… she loses concentration, her arms go up, she struggles to lower them and succeeds, but she pushed too much and her arms hit the lower part of the pillars… she feels a burst of electricity rave through her, causing extreme pain… “It is not time to relax, Number Twelve… you have shown good results so far and I think you know what happens to those who disappoint the Coordinators?” That voice… that cold, relaxed voice… the same as the one of the man she is standing by.
She falls on her knees as her gaze returns to reality. She looks up at the man yet again.

- Who are you?

- The correct question, Your Highness, would be ‘who are you’?

- What do you want?

- Did you remember? Am I a friend?

- I… know not… you… you knew me before… when? How?

- All in due time, Your Highness… as of now, I need you to take me to the Fëanor Palace. I have to arrange certain things with the local authorities…

- Fëanor Palace? But… why not come there earlier?

- And get executed at suspicion of assassination attempt? No, Your Highness, I better use you as pass. Now, Number Twelve, you will take me to the Palace.

The haze covered her eyes again and she mumbled beneath her breath…

- Yes… High Coordinator…

The man grinned wickedly.

- You see, you start to remember…

The haze in front of her vanishes yet again. She looks around herself…

- I do not even know where we are…

- Oh, that is not a problem. All we need to do is for your guards to actually find us…

- How?

- Well, if they did not waste time on bureaucratic procedures and immediately put themselves to work and due to a certain number of clues I have ‘arranged’ for them… they should be here any…

He suddenly jumps backwards from the spot he was standing at and lands at a certain distance as two of Vethara’s guards appear out of thin air, pointing the barrels of their rifles at the High Coordinator. Lietirnon appears from somewhere to the right and puts himself in front of Vethara, shielding her from the ‘agressor’. In the same time, the two other Mornahossë begin circling the High Coordinator, making an escape difficult to say the least. Lietirnon addresses the Arduchess without letting the ‘agressor’ out from his gaze.

- Who is that man, Your Highness? What have you been discussing?

Vethara suddenly realizes that she and the man were speaking Native Taraskovyan and not Russian as she thought before…

- He, he is one of my… servants…

Lietirnon peers slightly into Vethara’s direction, shakes his head…

- Whoever that is, he is coming with us. Hey, you! Who are you? Name, nationality!?

The man remained silent… Vethara stepped forward.

- He is coming with us. Now, provide for transportation! We should get going!

The elf now turns his to gaze at Vethara with surprise. He then immediately concentrates his gaze on the ‘agressor’, that is standing between the three soldiers, arms crossed on his chest, with a seal of boredom all over his face. Lietirnon contacts his command for transportation and additional escort…
He looks back at the aggressor and makes a slight nod to one of the other soldiers. The stated soldier fires off a shot from his weapon and the Highs Coordinator falls on the ground, a malicious grin on his face, unconscious.

It wasn't long before a gravcar is brought, and a very relieved Lietirnon was able to report back that Vethara was found and the situation was under control. The shopping trip somewhat slightly ruined for now, the destination was back to the palace. The three Mornahossë, the Archduchess, and the unconscious fellow - whoever he is, though Vetha seemed to know him - bundled into the back and the gravcar was soon on its way, those inside riding in silence for now, back through the tunnels beneath the Eternal City, towards the palace...

The Coordinator was placed in a holding cell for now, under heavy guard, after a rather thorough search. Nobody interrogated him just yet, since he seemed to be known to the Archduchess Vethara... the Mornahossë guards did, however, politely ask Vetha in private who the man was - if he was actually one of her servants, no harm done, and if not, she could say so safely when she was alone with the soldiers sworn to protect her.

Vethara, still rather shocked after the events, demanded to talk to Her Majesty the Elentári. Indeed, it would seem that the matter was of outmost importance and confidentiality and that all she could say about the man is that he was a friend, in one way or another…

Well, demanding wouldn't normally work, but Vethara was, well, special. And Sirithil wasn't particularly busy. So she was shown right in.

The Elentári's office took up most of the floor, near the top of the palace's highest spire, with the city spread out like a carpet over a mile below, and the mountains beyond. The one guiding Menelmacar for dozens of thousands of years is sitting, perhaps surprisingly, behind a desk rather than on a throne... but itwas a very nice desk.

The Taraskovyan Archduchess entered the office rather sure of herself and then abruptly stopped, as if pondering. There was confusion for a moment on her face as she addressed Sirithil. "Your Majesty? I need to talk to you of a matter of outmost importance..."

Sirithil smiled warmly. "Not a problem at all. Please, have a seat..."

She gestured to a chair in front of the desk, which wrapped around the Elentári in a rough U-shape. Sirithil turned and opened one of the side bits, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Would you like a drink?"

Vethara nodded slightly and accepted the wine.

"Well, Your Majesty, I am not really the one who is to talk... I... euh... well... actually, I know it is something awfully important, but I do not know myself what it is! I... ehhh... well, that man that was delivered to the Palace alongside me... where is he now? And... in what state?"

Sirithil sighed softly, leaning back in her chair. "We haven't questioned him yet. He's in a holding cell, and hasn't been hurt in the least. We'll need to know from you who he is and why he's here, and then we'll ask him the same questions, and if the stories match, we let him go under your responsibility."

The young Archduchess sipped some of her wine and then brought her right arm to her forehead, rubbing it gently. Memories began to erupt spontaneously in her head, as pieces of a puzzle that were scattered around. Nothing was understandable and she desperately tried to assemble the pieces together to get a clear picture, but failed… "I have no idea as of his identity or of the purpose of his visit to your country. I just know one thing... that this man knows me better than I know myself. I know not why, I simply... feel it... He seems to even know how to 'possess' me... He is very close and yet distant... friendly and yet aggressive, hostile... I would need to talk to him myself. I do not think he poses any threat; after all... he did come along rather 'voluntarily', if I may put it so..."

"What do you mean by 'possess you'?" the Elentári asked, intrigued.

Vethara's gaze wandered off into the emptiness in front of her and then focused back on the elven Empress. She seemed to be thinking something over as her eyes fixed on Sirithil’s.

"Well... I’ve never in my life gone to a garment shop. After all, I am...was... am... part of the Ruling family, daughter of the Grand Duke, as you understand we have everything we need at the Palace. And should we order something, we do it through the Palace tailors... however, today I had a sudden urge to go... shopping... More than that, I do not really remember much of what happened. Everything was as in a haze... I could not see anything, but somebody guided me through everything... it was strange, and yet I knew I was not in danger. I always feel danger, I know not why... And this man does not wake that feeling in me..."

Vethara smiled slightly and sipped some more of the wine, her gaze traveling around the office. Sirithil nodded, thinking the words of the Archduchess over, clearly intrigued.

'So you don't remember what happened after you entered the shop? Or after you left it? And what was the next thing you remember?"

"The next thing I remember was me standing facing that very man. And then... images in my head. Would seem as if they were memories... scattered, dispersed and chaotic memories... and they were my memories, without me even suspecting that I had them. As weird as it sounds, of course."

"So if I let him go, his actions will be your responsibility," Sirithil noted as she looked Vethara into the eyes, as if asking if the Archduchess weighed all the options before hand and prepared herself for any eventuality.

"Yes, of course... I have a lot to ask him. And I am sure he has a lot to tell, so it would be preferable if I could talk to him as soon as possible."

Sirithil nodded slightly and reached for the comm built into her desk and contacted the guard on duty outside of the office. "Have the prisoner brought to my office, please."

***

The holding cell was not, of course, a luxury suite, but not an oubliette either. Very clean, at least. The High Coordinator actually allowed himself a moment of relaxation when the door opened and he heard the voice of a Mornahossë: "Walk out." And so he walked out, got his hands cuffed and was escorted away.

***

The two women sat in relative silence as the High Coordinator was led into the room and shown to a chair. Shrugging, the man sat down into the chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could with his hands cuffed, the Mornahossë guard behind, always ready to use various means of 'persuasion' in order to 'calm the situation'. He glanced up at the Archduchess coldly, which made the young woman turn her gaze away in confusion. The High Coordinator, without leaving Vethara from his sight, spoke up: "Why have you brought me here, Your Highness?" Vethara glanced quickly at Sirithil and then back at the High Coordinator.

"First... what... what is your name?"

"Let us say that the name is Kshas-Ker, Your Highness. Anything else?" the man smiles rather haughtily, as if all this discussion was not really worthy of his attention.

Vethara blinked. She was clearly confused by that show of arrogance, but then brought herself together yet again. "Yes. Why are you here?"

"Ooh, Your Highness, that is a long, long story. I wonder if Her Majesty really wants to listen to it. Perhaps after that nice gentleman behind me goes for a walk and my poor hands are released from these bonds?"

Kshas-Ker looks into the Elentári’s direction inquisitively, smiling. Sirithil leaned back in her chair, and nodded to the soldier, indicating he should leave - which he did. Sirithil is quite capable of defending herself anyway, should it come to that. "Go on. Aside from my Prefect of Defense, who's cleared for everything, this discussion will not leave this chamber." And just as she said that, she gestured casually, and the cuffs fell from his wrists - simultaneously granting his request and demonstrating the power he would face if he does anything...rash.

The man only smirked. "Well then, some basic history first then. 45,000 years ago, the what is now the 'Taraskovyan Federation' was nothing else than a land full of warriors fighting each other. Among this chaos, one man rose. Uidath of the Emerald Spire. Well, you all know the story, I will skip the details.

"At this time, the more or less official capital of the... land... was the Citadel of the Black Hand. Uidath besieged it for several months without any result, when my Grandfather, Hedrak was his name, came up with an idea. He trained two young girls in the arts of killing and used them to infiltrate the fortress and murder the enemy leader. The job was done. Uidath was so impressed that he ordered for a special unit to be created.

"Their first name was 'Kunath'. The name would change through the ages due to historical events to finally become 'Curare' under your Father, Your Highness. And I had the honor to become the High Coordinator of the unit. Now then, with the historical background briefly mentioned... Does Her Majesty have any questions so far?"

The Elentári looked at the man as she sat back in her chair. “I fail to see what your account so far has to do with the situation at hand. But I will let you continue.” The man only smiles back and looks at Vethara, his face and eyes showing no emotion whatsoever.

“My story is confusing, I know, but it will only get even more confusing. Actually, the forthcoming part is also quite delicate for the Young Archduchess, for, I am afraid, she has been lied to all her life.”

Vethara only clings to her glass, without saying a word, while Kshas-Ker smirks.

“Yes, your Highness… or should I say your semi-Highness? Oh, but that is a long story. And a story that only a few people know, thanks to me and to your brother. Now, let us begin. Once upon a time in a land not so very far but still away lived a respected and wise Grand Duke who had a magnificent wife and two children, a son and a daughter. However touching this story is, nobody is perfect and the Grand Duke had a tendency to sometimes slip out of the Winter Palace unseen by neither the Guard nor the TNSD personnel to entertain himself elsewhere. After all, I guess a hundred years with a same woman does tire one to an extent of wanting to try something else.

“But let us not divert our attention on insignificant facts, but return to our little Curare. You see, Your Highness, Your Majesty, the Taraskovyan population has been quite humanized in the past thousand years, following the Strife. And humans are in many ways inferior to the Taraskath. The human expiring date is by far closer to the production date than it is the case with the Taraskath… and I can tell you that one Curare assassin wastes more than enough money. That does explain, partially, why the TDI bought door handles for one hundred thousand Franks a piece. I will not even mention toilet sinks.

“As such, a human is not the best suited to become Curare. You train them, they serve for several years and then their performance diminishes exponentially with every year passing year until the expiry date comes and they become simple biomass. And with the Taraskath also decreasing exponentially in numbers with every year and the general quality of the Taraskath ethnicity being dissolved by humans, we had to find some other way to create Curare. So guess who we chose?”

The man pauses as he looks up at Sirithil. His face appears to made of stone, registering no real emotion, his phlegm almost filling the entire room. He sighs and goes on with his cynical and phlegmatic tone, as before.

“Yes. Elves. Well, they are inferior to the Taraskath in many ways, such as lacking the same aggressiveness and many other things, but at least they live quite as long. Sometimes even longer! As such, we did not have to worry about the unit expiring before he was called to action. Well, since a Curare is trained from its very first breath, we put up in place a very evolved network of hunting out suitable pregnant hosts and abducting them. I will spare you the details, it would take too long.

“Now, let us return to our Grand Duke who, disguised under some random appearance, enters the apartment of an elven female. Don’t remember the name, so many passed through me and my colleagues. Well, eventually, after a year or so of fooling around the Grand Duke was distracted by some war and did not absent himself from his wife that much ever since. His momentary passion, however, got pregnant. And since she was suitable…”

The man pauses and ponders everything over, looking at the two women in turn.

“Should I continue or is everything clear now? Your Majesty? Your semi-Highness?”

Vethara looks at him with an absent gaze, memories she has never known of before flooding her head. Pictures of her ‘family’ as she remembers them. Of her ‘mother’, who always treated her with a certain amount of disdain, except for some rare and precious moments, of her sister that outwards hated her and mocked her through her entire life and of her most beloved father, who never paid much attention to her. She never understood why, thought it was because of some flaws and tried to correct them, only to be faced with the same coolness yet again. And now, she finally understands. Moreover, she curses herself for having had to hear that in presence of a witness, the humiliation suddenly waking up some hidden part in her, an outburst of rage and anger fills her mind as she struggles to remain calm. And then, she remembers her brother, who was always trying to protect her from the rest of the family, always helping her when needed. And the anger is washed away by a feeling of peace and safety, replaced with sadness as she remembers the images of the funerals…

She looks up at the High Coordinator, her face calm, to break the silence that reigned over the room.

“And why have you come here?”

“To return you home. After some exercise, of course.”

“Return me home? But I couldn’t!”

“Oh, do not worry. In several years the population will be more than fed up with the Ruling Council and it will be your moment. And in the meanwhile, Your Majesty” – he says as he addresses Sirithil – “I would have a favour to ask from you. Nothing major.”

OOC: Sorry for shortness.

Sirithil watched her two guests throughout all of this, nodding periodically throughout the narrative, and watching Vethara's reactions to all of it. Based on what she was seeing, she had no reason, really, to doubt the truth of the Coordinator's words. And ah, here it was, the catch! A favor!

"I see," she said softly. "What might this favor be?"

The High Coordinator smiled politely and spoke.

"I would like to have access to those Grand Ducal," - he automatically insisted on the last two words, - “aircraft that have brought Her Highness here. There are some items that I will need in the future.”

He gave a glance at Vethara, smiling slightly, and then continued.

“I would also dare to ask you for a suitable location for my future activities. Some spot in the mountains would be good, it would be simply perfect if there were also woods. And, as a last note, I would request that there would be no surveillance of us…”

“Us?”

Vethara asked, as she frowned with suspicion. The High Coordinator nodded to her.

“Of course, Your Highness. I do believe that if I make you remember who you were, you will have no trouble returning to Vigvar, cutting some heads off, putting them on open exhibition for all to see and asserting your power.” He pondered for a second and sighed. “I will also teach you diplomacy, of course. After all, there has to be some boring part to everything good.”

Sirithil nodded. "I think that can be arranged," replied the Elentári, after a brief moment of thought.

[OOC: Might cover a period of up to a year and might be the first part of a larger post decribing the stated period.]

Ecotourism.

“Yes, you leave this here. And this there. And watch out for this crate, you don’t want to break it!”

Vethara sighed as she sat down on one of the containers that the Menelmacari soldiers were unloading from the dropship under the ever watchful eye of the High Coordinator, constantly giving indications as to how to proceed with such and such crate. A part of her began to regret ever asking Sirithil to let the man out of his cell, a part of her was curious as of the future, and an other part of her was hungry. She looked around the various crates and containers and sighed. Any could contain food, as well as some nasty surprises about which she did not want to know yet.

Finally, the elves finished unloading and, thanking Eru in all of their dialects, took off to leave the crazy ecotourists alone. The High Coordinator breathed deeply the air of the mountain woods, giving a glance at the trees around them, pointing into a direction.

“We will set camp there.”

Vethara blinked, looked at all of the crates then into the direction and, staring at the Coordinator, asked: “Euh… and what are we to do with all the boxes?”

“Well, carry them, obviously! I would have thought you to be a bit more bright, Your Highness.”

He shook his head and sighed. He moved towards one of the containers and pressed some button on its side, the crate immediately rising itself into the air and hovering above the ground. The man nodded approvingly and glanced at Vethara. “Don’t just stand there! We have a camp to set up!”

***

The tents were up and the containers sheltered from the rain. The High Coordinator returned from setting up detectors on the perimeter of the camp, so that if any paparazzi wanting to spy on the Archduchess got into the perimeter, he would know. And he didn’t like paparazzi much… How much? No one knew, for none survived to tell the tale. Vethara, exhausted, sat against a tree, breathing quickly, as the High Coordinator, who was as fresh as ever, proceeded to examine the interior of some of the containers, nodding approvingly as he opened one of them. Led by her curiousity, the Archduchess stood up and went up to him, stopping several steps behind him and, raising on the tips of her toes, peered over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking through the weapons.”

“Weapons?”

The man turned around with an assault rifle in his hands, Vethara blinking and making a step backwards.

“A standard issue Taraskovyan army rifle, the AV-140. Uses gauss-type technology to fire needle-shaped ammunition at enemy personnel and vehicles. Has its good sides, has its bad sides, overall a precise rifle that fires cheap and effective ammunition.”

He turned back towards the container and invited Vethara to come over, which she did, staring curiously at the racks with quite a number of weapons. The High Coordinator laid the assault rifle on the racks as the young woman pointed towards a rather imposing rifle towards the bottom of the racks.

“And what is this?”

“An anti-materiel rifle. Point at enemy tank, press trigger.”

“Can I try it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because before I give you these advanced weapons, you will have to remember how to use… these…”

He straightened himself holding an AK-47 in his right hand and a Makarov handgun in his left hand. Vethara blinked as the man grinned. He lay the weapons on the racks and went towards an other container, which he opened, revealing a variety of cold weapons.

“You will have to remember how to use these, too.”

He silenced for a moment, looking the Archduchess over, and then took out some little device, which he pointed at the woman. He pushed some buttons, read something on the display and sighed, shaking his head.

“They have extracted your amplifiers.”

“My what?”

“Stronger muscles, increased resistance for the bones. You know, funny stuff. And your current physical shape does not allow an immediate implantation.”

“Euh… which means?”

“You will be doing fitness, my dear. Lots, and lots of fitness…”

He said with a malicious smile as Vethara gulped.

***

“No! No! This is not the way you hold a combat knife!”

He took the weapon out of her hand and placed it correctly into her fingers.

“Remember, that when parrying with a knife, be sure to direct the enemy blade away from your body. Either you do that or you also move your body while diverting the enemy blade so that it does not hit you. A knife fight is not a static business, you need to move. Get into the back of your enemy and, in most cases, you will win.”

He took some distance from her and nodded, inviting her to charge. Which she did, her knife getting knocked out of her hand within mere seconds and ending its path in the trunk of a tree. The Coordinator shook his head and sighed.

“Remember to also hold your knife firmly.”

***

“Good… you remember quickly.”

The High Coordinator nodded approvingly as he peered through the hole a tree. The hole pierced the trunk from one side to the other, starting right in the middle of the improvised crosshair drawn by the man for Vethara to practice. The young woman came up to the tree, holding her AV-140, and smiled contentedly. The man nodded approvingly and grinned.

“Good. You have remembered most of the things you have forgotten. Except for one…”

“Which is?”

“Oh, I will fix the problem later…”

***

The fire cracked nicely as the flames played in the night. Vethara sat next to the fire, enjoying its warmth, as the High Coordinator sat slightly back, shadowed by trees. He yawned and sighed, peering at the Archduchess.

“If only Sathala knew how bored I am she would end my days and spare me the suffering.”

Vethara turned around and smiled. “Maybe we should find a game to play!”

A rather loud slap was heard in the dark, as if somebody just slapped his own forehead with the full strength of despair. A sigh and some muttering resembling “Gods, I knew she’d say something like this” was also heard until finally the Coordinator spoke in a tone that indicated that not obeying the order was not advised.

“Vetha, stand up.”

She blinked for a second and stood up, slowly, clearly not understand what for.

“Now, strip.”

“What?”

“I said now!”

Balancing between fear and rage, but still not daring to disobey the order, she took her garments off, one by one, with shaking hands. She finally straightened, naked, covering herself with her arms as an other order followed, as harsh as the first one.

“Lie down, arms stretched, legs bent and apart, knees up… ye-e-es… good girl.”

He moved on all fours towards her, not caring to take his own clothes off, placing himself above her shivering body, his face lowering to hers, his eyes filled with rage and disgust as he hissed angrily.

“Quite an obedient little puppy, aren’t you? Tell me, who am I?”

She mumbled something incomprehensive as she began to sob, tears running down her cheek. His eyes flared up and he hissed in an even more terrifying way.

“Who?”

“M-master…”

“Yes… and you are to obey me, right?”

She nodded trying to hold her sobbing. Her answer clearly did not please the Coordinator who lowered his face even closer to hers.

“Wrong!”

His own breath suddenly became quick as he was, for the first time, losing his calm. He hissed violently and quickly as she took every each of his words in.

“Wrong. Wrong! Wrong!!! You are the Master! Unless your dear sister or brother suddenly pop out of their graves, you are the Shokath-Kshas! I am your servant, your sex slave or mere cannon fodder, not the contrary! You are not a pup, you are a wolf! Strong, cunning, aggressive. A dominant predator, not a subdued pray! Remember this, always. I will not tolerate a defenseless, shaking and cowardly little puppy to wield the Sword! I will better kill you with my bare hands instead of suffering such a disgrace for my country!”

Her sobs died out, completely slaughtered by the anger and rage that now overwhelmed her as she shook him off and charged him furiously. This move was to no avail, however, since she quickly found herself back on the ground, immobilized in a rather not very comfortable position. He grinned and spoke, in his normal voice, this time even with some softness and pride.

“Yes. Now I recognize you, Number Twelve. Now go get some sleep, tomorrow will be a harsh day for you. I see now that you are fit for amplifiers.”

She glared at him as he shook his head.

“You can always behead me or torture me until you are bored when you assert your power over what is yours by right. But for now, you need me more than I need you. Now go, sleep.”

She retired to her tent as he smiled again and looked at the fire contentedly.

***

He charged straight at the Archduchess, sliding through the air slightly off the axis of the barrel of the handgun she was holding. If before she thought that it was easy to hit someone on point blank range, she was clearly mistaken. His left arm pressed against her chest as his right hand put itself over the barrel of the gun, pointing it away. She pushed the trigger, sending random shots into the surroundings, his left arm simply pushed her away, sending her flying against a tree, hitting it with her back with full blow. Everything happened in matter of seconds. Vethara stood up and looked at the High Coordinator who was standing several meters in front of her, with her gun in his hand.

“Now you try.”

He pointed the barrel right into her head and pushed the trigger. Vetha darted to the right, the bullet whistling near her ear, burning it slightly. She jumped off the ground and directed herself at him, preparing to give a blow… only to have her arm grabbed. He pulled her at him, leaning slightly forward and placing a blow into her belly, stopping her flight and letting her fall on the ground. The Coordinator looked down at her and shook his head.

“Stand up. Remember that speed is not everything, you must also remember how to use your reflexes to automatically react to the evolution of the combat. You know the moves, just remember how to use them!”

She stood up, clearly exhausted, her breath deregulated, and looked at him. Her entire body was still aching after those injections he did, her muscles seemed to be made of stone and her bones seemed to weigh a tonne. Of course, they didn’t, she did not gain any additional weight after the injections. In fact, she was losing kilograms steadily as the training went on. The Coordinator looked up at the sky, painted red with the setting sun.

“Enough for today.”

Past Times Won't Die.

“You seem pensive, Number Twelve…”

“Stop calling me Number Twelve.”

“How should I call you then?”

She looked up at him, her eyes showing frustration and anger.

“And just how do you address a Grand Duchess?”

The Coordinator erupted into laughter and nodded, as he bowed to Vethara, who frowned slightly as she stood up from the ground, stretching her aching limbs a little. She already got used to her ‘increased performances’ and already managed to master them. She learned how to master a cold weapon, how to wield a knife properly. In fact, she could not say that she ‘learned’ to wield a knife, but that she actually knew how to do it and simply remembered her past experiences. With each passing days more and more memories flooded her mind, and not the brightest ones. Each evening, the Coordinator would fix her with his gaze and start talking about something, putting her into sleep. Each morning (if he actually allowed her to sleep till morning and not wake her up in the middle of the night yelling: “Alert! We have ten thousand enemy soldiers coming from the east! Twenty thousand from the north! Three and a half from the west and the south passage is guarded by a man in wheel chair with rocket launcher!” or something along the lines) she woke up, her mind free of torment, but as the sun directed itself towards the horizon, more and more pictures and sounds poured in.

He only shook his head and sighed, as if he understood that he might have made a little mistake somewhere. But none the less, each night he put her into sleep with his hypnotizing gaze to let her wake up to an other day of exhausting physical training. He said that she needed to remember her skills, that she should use them to exterminate the Ruling Council and claim the Sword for her through force, because this was the only way for a ‘coward that fled to pointy eared realms to rehabilitate herself’, that there would be people that would help her, but she needed to prove to the kin that she was their true Shokath-Kshas, quick, cunning, ruthless. And in the meantime, she remembered dark halls of citadels, yells and pain. She saw as others similar to her fell, incapable to endure anymore of the ‘training’. Her nose could smell death again as she herself disposed of those similar to her, under the watchful gaze of men in black hoods, scarves hiding their faces from the gaze of the outsider. Only cold and piercing blue eyes in the darkness, always watching, always judging, never letting go.

She stood silent for a moment plunged into thoughts of her own, as he looked around the camp, letting the Grand Duchess alone. They have already had quite some extensive training today, training that she no longer actually needed. Her current skills were enough to face an entire regiment all by herself (of course as long as the stated regiment suspects nothing of her presence and she picks fights one by one with small groups of foes), she could easily penetrate the hideout of the Ruling Council and part their heads from their bodies. She looked at him, with the same pensive look on her face.

“Tell me…”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You did get to see my… real mother… didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How… was she?”

He plunged into his memories for a second, bringing up the picture of ‘Host #11.1107’ and sighed as he remembered the pointy eared female that came up to have been in quite close relations with Grand Duke Mikhail I.

“She was quite beautiful, quite modest and shy, did not oppose any significant resistance. Many Hosts refused to eat during the first days of their detention, which endangered the health of the child still in the womb. She ate perfectly well, collaborated with the medical staff during routine checks. She even accepted to breastfeed you and an other newborn after his own mother assaulted a security guard and had to be isolated.”

She listened to him carefully, in silence, not moving a muscle. He spoke in a calm voice, with complete indifference, clearly uninterested in the fate of anyone. Vethara simply could not understand how can somebody lose even the last spark of kindness, compassion. But the High Coordinator, who refused to give his name no matter what she did or what threats she used, was as cold as a block of ice. Not that he never cheered nor smiled (oh, yes, he did smile and cheer in his own manner, but his things that made him laugh would freeze the heart of a normal individual with horror), but his complete indifference (not even hate, but a simple lack of interest) about the fate of others scared her beyond any comparison. After all, if he cared for none, what guarantees did she have that he would not slit her throat if he wanted to do so? She only had his fealty to the Dynasty as shield. But if even the most loyal of black wolves somebody bit their masters, what to say of a human being without any attachment to any values, except to death? Well, he did seem rather attached to their common Motherland, but that made him even more dangerous. What if he deemed that his Masters failed his Motherland? What loyalty will be the strongest?

“In other words, she was a very cooperative element. Too bad I do not remember her name, never actually paid any attention to it.”

Blood boiled in her veins as she glared at him. 'Never actually paid any attention.' Yes, he cared for none, for nothing, not even for himself. But being angered against him was of no use, for he was simply different from her. The fires in her eyes calmed down as she asked, with a trembling voice.

“Tell me, what happened to her?”

“She committed suicide when you were twelve, Your Highness. You were gravely injured during a trial fight against an other apprentice, whom you killed before collapsing yourself. Somebody told your mother that you were dead.”

She sat back on the ground, bringing her knees up to her face and wrapping her arms around her legs as he continued to speak.

“Of course, I have ordered a purge in the security elements, looked through everybody who talked to her or somehow interacted with her after your fight. As you understand, our service does not like chatty people much, had to silence several for all eternity. I also made sure that whoever failed to prevent the suicide could not fail ever after. Did not, however, help to bring one of our best Hosts back.

Your Highness?”

She neither replied nor moved, only her shoulders and arms were shaking as her sniffing was drowned in the chants of the birds and the whispering of wind in trees.

Vinyatírion,
Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar

The sun was setting as the military dropship touched down at the designated location in Fort Dant'harthad, outside of the Menelmacari capital. The elvish military base was, as all military bases Vethara has seen so far, well regulated and always full with activity. The young Archduchess looked through the windows of the aircraft as it touched down, standing up and letting herself be guided to the exit by an elvish soldier. The High Coordinator, always present, followed the woman as a shadow. Vethara went through the hatch and into the fresh evening air, to jump up with joy and rush off in the direction of one of the people meeting the dropship.

“Alex!” She said joyfully as she hugged the Mornahossë soldier that was charged with protecting her. Lietirnon remained composed, but also unsure what to do with this fireball of joyful energy that was by his side. “So good to see a friendly face after a year among trees and…” She gave a glance at the High Coordinator, who was standing several steps back, frowning, clearly not happy with a Taraskovyan Archduchess behaving herself in such a familiar way with a… foreigner…

The elf only nodded, giving a quick glance at the man he first met a year ago in shady circumstances. He could not quite understand how was the Archduchess allowed to remain alone with this man for such a long time, but then again, it was Taraskovyan business. Now that Vethara was back under Lady Sirithil’s protection, he would make sure no harm came to her. He made a step back, distancing himself from the woman, and invited her to proceed towards a gravcar that was waiting for them.

“We must return to the Palace now, Your Higness. Your apartments have been made ready.”

“Ah, of course. Let us move out then!”

Orbiting the planet a cloaked Raider ship- Reaver class, watched planetary defenses, intensively, in the quest to find a weakness in both their orbital defenses and their planet side defenses. The crew watched in dismay as they noticed hundred of openings in the planning of such an important planetary aspect. They hoped for a challenge, but were given an easy run, by their calculations they'd only need a twelve man team. Though the defenses were weak, they hoped that the troops of the standing military were well trained, and equipped. For to defeat a weak opponent had little honor in it, but even then they were ordered to action by both the Council of Ancients, and the Prime Consul, Emperor Dal'a Ved'ra. As they repeatedly went over the mission specs and Intel, they planned for the raid with the utmost detail, as they had been trained to do from birth.

The raiders prepared their gear and armor, and finally when they had equipped themselves with their heavy raiding gear. Including their Exo-armor, all their weapons, melee, ranged solid shot, ranged energy shot, and both solid and energy grenades. They prepared for the drop, by reciting sutras, from their holy texts, then finally by stepping into the drop pods for their mission.

As the timer counted down to the drop time, each warrior prepared for the free fall through both vacuum and atmosphere, this was the kind of mission they were trained for. Out numbered by seemingly invincible odds, with no support until retrieval. As the timer reached zero each pod was simultaneously ejected from the ship, and made their way unnoticed to the surface of the planet. Near the main capital the twelve warriors exited their pods and regrouped for one final time before they went on their individual missions.

"You have your orders, we've gone over the planning, remember your training, and you will come back alive. Move!"

One of the warships holding station near Vinyatírion opened fire with plasma cannons, and swatted down all the pods with perfunctory, almost insulting ease. The incident was logged and life went on. Meanwhile, a Grand Cannon in the mountains easily detected the vessel that had launched them. With a single emerald bolt of starfire, it was all over, as the dropship was consumed by a bolt of plasma large enough to physically dwarf it.

OOC:

You didn't run this by me. Therefore, all your men are dead. Thanks for coming out. Don't post in my threads again, ever.

(OOC: Dude, I ran it past Tara, ask him, he'll vouche, and when he does I expect you to delete that post.)

Irrelevant. You want to infiltrate my country, you run it past me. Period. Further posts by you will be deleted. Period. There is no debate on this. Period.

(OOC: you got TG, and sorry for the mix up.)

[OOC:
1) Nobody ran anything past me.
2) I only replied a TG from DF five minutes ago, and my responce was a negative one.
3) I have to run off to college now. ]

The sun has already set beyond the western skies, the city of Vinyatírion, proud capital of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar, was now waking itself up for its night life. And in the very heart of the Empire, the Fëanor Palace, the Elentári, dressed into silken robes of gold and scarlet covered with intricate embroidery, wandered along down the majestic halls of her abode, towards the rooms she had set aside for Vethara. She had a free evening, for once, and decided to show her guest some good time. And as she arrived in front of the entrance to the apartments occupied by the Taraskovyah Archduchess, she knocked lightly on the door. At the time the knock at the door was heard the aforementioned Vethara was happily talking to Lietirnon about the various species of birds and the difference between them and their songs, and the particularity of the Eru-knows-what sub-population of specie of family of nightingale. He didn’t quite catch everything Vethara had been busy talking to him about during the past several hours, since her constant jumping from subject to subject really did not help to follow the thread of her thoughts, if any thread there was. It is thus with great relief that the soldier absented himself from the one he had to keep safe to go open the door. He saluted the Elentári immediately and turned around, letting Sirithil in, introducing her as she passed the door. Vethara smiled and bowed to the Queen.

“Oh, Your Majesty, what a surprise… I have not been expecting you.”

Sirithil smiled and nodded slightly to the young woman as she spoke. "Well, I hadn't really been expecting to come by either. But I wanted to see how you were doing." With that, she took a seat opposite Vethara before continuing. "So, how have things been since you came back from, er, your trip?" A clear hint to Vetha's recent stint in the forests above Vinyatírion with the man only known under the title of “High Coordinator”, to which the Archduchess smiled broadly as memories came back in her mind about her little ‘trip’. “Oh, it was marvelous! And the forests and mountains around these parts are simply marvelous! You truly have a nice land to rule over.” She said with a soft smile, a smile reciprocated by Sirithil that nodded approvingly to Vetha’s admiration of Menelmacar’s pristine nature.

"Well, you sound like you've a lot to talk about. What say we get out of here for a little while, perhaps dinner and a show?"

“Oh, I would love to!” Vetha said with a broad smile as she sprang up from her chair. “It would be an honour for me to accompany Her Majesty!”

Vethara’s determination to stick with formal ceremonialism and her obsession with addressing people by their titles caused Sirithil to blush slightly. "When it is just us, ‘Siri’ will be fine. Or, if you insist on at least some formality, 'Lady Siri'. Shall we?" She gave a glance to Lietirnon, who was already on his comm ensuring that a protective detail of Mornahossë was to be arranged for to discreetly follow the pair about.

“As you wish, Lady Siri.” Vetha said with a grin and pondered for a second. “I just need to go an put something more appropriate on. I will not take long… May I take my leave?”

"Take your time," replied the Elentári with a smile as she sat back in her chair. Vethara, however, did not follow Sirithil’s words and quickly erupted from her bedroom wearing a white evening dress made of silk, with the skirt that flowed lightly along with her motions. The young Archduchess blinked for a second as if trying to think of anything she might have forgotten and then looked up at the elvish Queen. “I think I am ready.”

"Well. You look lovely." Sirithil smiled brightly as she stood up from her chair.
“Thank you. Your outfit out shadows mine, though. But we will have to do with that for today.” Vetha said pensively. “Now… how do we proceed?”

The Elentári blushed a little. "Well, to the hangar bay. I have a dropship that I often use; the Mornahossë will follow us, of course, security and all, but they are most discreet." She needed to say no more, for it was well known that the active-camouflage wasn't just for hiding from the enemy.

“Yes, I know how discreet your guards can be.” She said with a smile as she glanced at Lietirnon and then added, pensively. “I guess you will have to lead the way, for I do not know your domains well enough.”

"Well, then, off we go." From there, she led the Archduchess through the palace, over window-lined skybridges between the palace wings, with spectacular views of the city, and down great galleries filled with statuary and tapestries and works of art, and through lush gardens of trees and rocks and waterfalls that could make one forget one is a mile above the ground.

“The more I live here, the more I like it here.” Vetha said with admiration as she gazed around the beauty that the views had to offer. “Vigvar is also quite high above sea level, and the Winter Palace is right on a mile or so high cliff overlooking the Vigvar Gulf. We have a room with transparent ceiling that makes you feel as if you were walking in the air with water very, very far away below your feet.”

She said pensively as she followed the Elentári. “Of course, it is not the only entertainment the Palace has to offer, mind you. We have guest apartments to suit all kinds of tastes, for example.” She said smiling, as if remembering something particularly funny, her grin noticed by Sirithil as she smiled herself. "Does something amuse you?"

“Yes, something does, Lady Siri. But you would have to see that to understand, so we will leave that to your future visit to Vigvar, I guess. As of now, let us concentrate on your city.” Vetha said, still smiling as the elvish Queen nodded. "Well, all right." She led the Archduchess into the hangar bay, where her dropship was already prepared. It was a Vilyulairë, in fact, the same model used by the military for myriad purposes, but the interior was customized such as to be very comfortable. Once they were aboard, the dropship lifted off, exiting the bay and descending between the towers of the city. Vethara made herself comfortable in Siri’s own aircraft, remembering the flight that took her to Menelmacar in the first place. Hopefully, nobody had the extreme desire to shoot her out of the sky this time. And so she charged herself with the duty of admiring the landscape of the city below while conversing with Sirithil, who continued her talking with Vethara until the dropship set down near a building closer to the waterfront, in which was an extremely expensive restaurant. As it turned out, they already had reservations, meaning either the evening out was not quite so impromptu, or Siri's staff were very good at their jobs.

“This looks most promising.” Vethara said as she looked over her surroundings while following Sirithil to their table. She had to admit that she grew quite unaccustomed to an important presence of people over the last months and so she was rediscovering her ‘sociable’ self once again. She actually liked being in an elvish restaurant, elegant and beautiful, the place having some particular charm, something that she could not explain but that she appreciated greatly. The two women were led to their table, located as to offer a great deal of privacy without isolating its occupants from the rest of the customers, took their seats and plunged their eyes into what the menu had to offer that night.