#solendis

He careened into the common room, he wasn’t even looking to the crackling flames. Vissehn had only eyes for windows, and stars. In that candid moment, before he knew of the other man, his youth revealed like so much bare skin, he was every inch the vagabond he had espoused-- wind tousled hair, cheeks freckled and high in color, the acrid scents of liquor and thistle a cloud around his shambles of an outfit. 

When he heard the voice, he turned hard on a heel, spinning almost comically towards his chosen surname. “Oi, Steward Emberheart?” Vissehn saluted breezily, squinting a moment to make sure he had the right man. “Cor, you look like yer brother in this light, almost thought I was seein’ ghosts!” He grinned, his good mood taking even the barbs out of his jests.

Solendis folded his arms, taking measure of the man- no- the boy in front of him. He did not like what he saw. This was Stenden’s agent of choice. True, Vissehn was a capable killer, a proven agent that had served greater names than theirs in the past, but all in all, the boy in front of him was a bad influence. He made Stenden forget his station, the decorum that separated nobility from the commoners- and possibly the only thing that held the Emberglades together.

“Enjoying yourself?” He spoke firm, arms folded, ears flat against his skill and a gaze that only disapproving parents could muster. “You may have free run of the house as my son’s agent, but don’t for one second believe that you’re free to do as you please- without consequences.” Solendis rose to his feet, towering slightly over Vissehn. “I understand that you believe you are helping Stenden by…” he made an offhanded gesture at the roof. “Relaxing. But you are doing the complete opposite.”

Vissehn looked up at his friends father as he rose, one brow lifting to that jaunty arch that made the youth look puckish and fey. Solendis was a tall man; taller than Vissehn and certainly bore down with the paternal disapproval that had likely cowed Stenden in his more playful years. The light of his evening was dimmed in the derision he heard in Solendis' tone, but not with shame. "Yeah, you got good liquor down in the cellar and bad locks to go with them. Sounds like a mighty enjoyable evening to me."

Eyes glittering with that cold mirth, he let his lips curl up in that wicked grin. "Naw, see, the plans to let him get all cozy comfy an then ruin th'Emberglades by exposing that their Lord is--" he gasped theatrically. "A fuckin' lad who wanted to live a little! Gods an' ghosts, whatever'll everyone do? Carry on with all their lives cause it don't fucking matter if a boy has a moment to hisself?" He snorted and tossed his name of golden hair. "Consequence, hoo M'lord I'm just a peasant brat what didn't get that stirling education, you'll have to use smaller words than that." He feigned a poor imitation of woe, the light never leaving his eyes as he already turned to walk off.

Solendis maintained his composure, sticking to his condescending gaze of disappointment. But as Vissehn began to walk off, he raised his voice. “You’re a smart boy, educated or not, so listen to me. Stenden cannot afford to be a boy, not now, not ever. I’m not sure where you’ve lived exactly, but the entire system that holds the Emberglades together is predicated on the ideas of nobility- exclusivity- the right to rule because we are a cut above the rest. Let the people see him the boy he is and not their Lord, and you’ll have what we have now, only ten-fold.”

The bark of authority in Solendis words made Vissehn straighten-- though perhaps not for the intended reason. Hackles raised and blood thick with liquor and assurance, he turned and closed the distance faster than his stumbling in the hall had would indicate. 

This close to the man, Vissehn could see the weight of years in the lines around his eyes, the necessities he had born in the name of the Emberglades; he’d been illused and run up by wars and ledgers and lost causes. In other times, Vissehn might have sheathed his bladed tongue and let the man go on with his platitudes and his conceptions, but alcohol made truth out of anger and the commonborn youth had so much truth in him.

“Cut above?” His grin pulled sideways. “Oh, fancy that, cut above. See, even piss drunk an’ half blind from thistle I shoulda never mistook you for Sederis, cause there was a bloke that knew the truth in it, didn’t he?” Vissehn’s words were sharp with laughter. “Ain’t a single soul of us better than the dirt we’ll die in, save by the deeds done on it, not the blood we’re born of.” He canted his head and let his gaze streak over Solendis. 

His following snort showed how much he thought of the inspection. “Your father seems to have ‘predicated’ that he was right to rule by sowin’ more graves than any other fucker; how his get carry on is on them, I figure.”

“My father sowed those graves so he could reap almost three centuries of peace!” Solendis responded to Vissehn’s snort. “And there is more blood that has yet to be spilled to let Stenden enjoy three hundred more. Leave it up to people like you and we’d still be a wartorn backwater, stabbing each other over better plots dirt. Content to accept your lot, and do as you please. No ambition to change things for the better! Nothing beyond what can be touched and felt on the morrow!”

Solendis threw his arm out to his side, gesturing at the manor and everything that surrounded it. The fields, the villages, and for now, the soldiers that were fighting on their behalf from all over Quel’thalas. “So yes, we are a cut above the rest. Because building a better tomorrow is more important that the price we pay today. That was something Sederis understood, before the end. It is that, which puts Stenden a cut above the rest.”

“Which includes you.” He brought his arm back round and pointed his finger at him, the distance now close enough to bring his fingers inches from his chest. “You more you remind him that he’s a boy, free to do as he pleases, the more you drag him down to your level. Keep it up and he’ll be back to square one- No one will bear an ounce of respect for him. His words will carry no weight as they did at the start. And I’d sooner be damned before watching him get humiliated- and underestimated like that again.”

Sobriety was the better part of wisdom, and even when not a bottle or more in, Vissehn could not be called wise. “Like me, eh?” His voice was low and soft, a shadow coming to those bright eyes. “And what the fuck do you think you know about me?”

He was in Solendis space then, closing that distance so that the finger extended pressed against the fabric of his tunic. “I know your lot-- a merchants lad’ll break your bones, a lords son’ll bury the lot. I know how many of my cousins had long ears after their mums spent a spell as maid in a manor. That’s how you shape your tomorrows-- kill the kind that don’t match, or if you’re feelin’ charitable, just fuck it into them. You all pretend to some greatness, somethin’ pure and noble of the blood, but I seen what your lot do when no one important is lookin, and your kind is as base as mine. Leastwise we don’t have the gall to claim ourselves any mans betters.” The deep hate in him seeped out into his words, and he pushed forward so the finger jabbed hard against the fabric. “That you think Stenden’s greatness has got anything to do with Mereded, or you, or this bloody manor and name-- that’s where you’re wrong.”

Vissehn grabbed Solendis’ wrist, his lean and long fingers gripping tight enough to show the strength of the boy but not yet painful. “I’ve bled and killed for better tomorrows-- cut enough short for others to know the weight of a future and how little it really is. Stenden’s got a greatness to him, but it’s not been inherited from warlords or passed on by cuckolded politicians. He’s got vision, a heart big enough to carry the burdens of his ancestors an’ a mind canny enough to know when to hold fast or when to fold.”

He released Solendis, shaking his hand as though he had touched something filthy. “Everyone ‘round here got their heads so full of shite, Emberheart, Illithia, sayin’ names like they got weight behind the letters somewhere. You want a son at the end of this? Stay out of my way. Elsewise Emberglades’ll get a Lord, for certain-- one without a soul. I’ve looked into the eyes of the livin’ dead, and I’d take on a scourge and a legion afore I have to see another home lost to a man whose got more nobility than soul.”

Solendis rubbed his wrists, “Then I’m afraid to say that such horrors await you.” The Steward spoke evenly, knowing better to test the patience of an impulsive drug addled youth- With a body count to his name. “Maybe not now, maybe not for a hundred more years. But when Stenden is a boy no longer, you’ll find that he’ll sell his soul on his own accord. Because you are absolutely right. You are right. Stenden has greatness to him, he’s growing into it right now, but all great rulers understand that a soul must be sacrificed to rule-.”

He let his arm sink to his sides. “To rule well with kindness, and justice. To put his people first. That leaves no space for himself or the baseness you seek to encourage.” 

Then his hands clenched into fists. “You claim I know nothing of you? Well, touché Mr. Bladeborn- or whatever your namesake truly is! I am not those men who inflicted misery upon you and yours, they are not my lot!” He thrusts a finger at Stenden’s office, still glowing with candlelight within. “HE is my lot. Stenden, Riah, even my brother, THEY are my lot. We live, trying to undo the sins of our fathers, to make the blood they spilled and injustices they wrought WORTH it.”

Solendis pushes himself forward, folding his arms once more. “So, you tell me to stay out of your way? Let my son live a little? Indulge in his desires? Your way will turn Stenden into one of those Lordlings you hate.”

“He doesn’t have to sell shit!” Vissehn roared, losing the thin threads of control he had on himself. His hands shot forward, clawed to grab Solendis by his tunic but at the last moment he jerked his hands back as though burnt. “You can be kind an’ good an’ still have power-- The High Cleric, The Knight Commander-- you can take lives an’ still be good, and real. Don’t need a title, don’t need a-- a legacy to protect. You’re gonna kill him an’ not even have a body to mourn!” 

He ran his hands through his hair manically, laughing roughly. “You’re offering your fuckin-- your fucking son-- for a future that you can’t even see is all going to shite! You’re layin’ him on an altar and lettin’ the world go in with the knife. Gods, I might as well be fuckin’ trying to reason with Her!” 

The eyes that turned on Solendis were thick with undisguised disgust. “He ain’t your lot. You might have gotten him on his mother, but he’s got more of Sederis in him, an’ that means he can be more than you’re giving credit for.”

Vissehn turned away and rubbed his face, exhausted from the anger he’d let fly. He was a tall youth but he was so lean, hungry in every sense and it showed in the way the light flickered over the sharp edges of his cheeks and the faint hollows beneath. His head pounded, the lights were all too much, and he’d thought of Her for the first time in-- in too long. “You’re not my employer, an’ until the time Stenden sends me off like th’nothin I am, I’m his. However long he’s got a soul burnin’ in there, he’s got me.” The weight of the declaration settled in his soul, and he realized he meant it. “You want to know the ilk who is swearing themselves to your lad?” The words tumbled out before his reason and self preservation could stop them.

“Vissehn, once of the Hawk.” He shrugged and let his grin return, still wicked but dimmed. “My deals-- my vows-- are good.”

Solendis gives a moment for his confession to sink in. “Ah, so,” he speaks after taking in its meaning. The rumors were true. He had heard whisperings after looking to Zarannis’ background and the tribe of Tel’dorei that she had spent the best years of her youth with- The Hawk Tribe. The boy was Unwelcomed- Exiled- Dead in the eyes of his clansmen. “We could never confirm if you wore the mark that all Exiles of your kind wear. But I see where all that spite comes from.”

His arms unfold, reaching for his chin, a calculating look flashing in his eyes. “Very well. I think there’s no point on harping-on on what’s already been said. You belong to my son’s retinue. You say you’re good on your promises- Then good. Serve him well. Just know that Stenden, like Sederis before him, understood the meaning and value of sacrifice. It’s only a matter of time before he offers his soul to the Emberglades.”

Vissehn did not look back as he left Solendis in the common room, the stifflegged walk to his own rooms too long by far. Solendis had no answer from the youth to that parting volley, only the seething quiet of rage contained poorly behind clenched teeth. Vissehn slammed his door, knowing it would only cement whatever the man thought of him and finding he wanted to prove every base thought true this time. Let them think him a roustabout; a good for nothing witches get. He was and worse, for all they would ever know of him.

When the door closed, though, he slumped against the wood, hand rising to catch at his collar.

In the dark spanse of his suite, he stared. He stared until the shadows held no mystery, until the ghosts and monsters summoned with just Her thought had dissipated into vapor and paranoia. Only when he was sure, only when the lock slid I to place and the windows shuttered against the night, did he settle on the overstuffed coverlet. 

Vissehn pulled up the tunic, palm grazing the fabric of the binding beneath. His fingers pushed between the layers of bandage, and he twisted until his breath came short and his vision swam.

People like you.

You’re the first real friend I’ve had Viss.

He threw himself down on the bed, eyes closed as he tried to find the moment under the stars, the burn in his belly.

Instead, the press of Solendis finger seemed to burn instead, the judgement lingering long after the night and sleep claimed Vissehn, once-of-the-Hawk.

--

[Banter]

Thanidiel spends a long, long, drawn-out moment staring at Beathyn particularly. Then to Renalays. Then to Beathyn. Just Beathyn. Her long platinum brows entrench in the polar opposite of 'pleasure.'

Kebha is about as focused as she's ever going to be, which is not a lot. Her ear flicks as Thanidiel edges closer.

Lirelle looks between Renalays and the woman on the opposite side of her. She looks askance at Thanidiel briefly before turning to the inquisitor. "What are you doing here?"

Thanidiel definitely seems to prefer the Illidari over the -Inquisitor.-

Ethalarian sits with his arms folded over his chest, leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table like the uncouth dirt farmer he is.

Stenden looks across the table to all the officers who came today. The rest were seeing to their troops at the front no doubt. "Thank you all for coming." The boy gestured to the walls where briefings and reports on the major players in the conflict. "If you need to get up to speed, especially for the new comers, feel free to have a gander." He said, in reference to the Inquisitor and the Illidari who both seemed to cause tension with their very existence in the war room.

Vissehn yawns and scratches under his arm, looking unkempt and delightfully uncouth. He waves to the others, before listening to Stenden with the fullness of his short attention span.

Kebha seems to be absolutely oblivious to this tension- but then, she also doesn't see a problem with her eating habits. She instead chooses to bounce on her heels, 'looking' down the table at the assembled lot.

Vissehn:"Oi, hail scary Inquisitor lady. Eat any babies t'day?"

Renalays:"Sir Valcinder -humbly- requested my presence here on behalf of the Lord Emberheart here. Not that it has been an inconvenience; the Inquisitors have been... sorting the Kingdom province by province, as it were."

"Are you offering?"

Vissehn makes a show of warding off danger, feigning a stricken look.

[Planning Starts Proper, Summary of Turn 1]

Solendis:"So now that we're all gathered: Goodember is in our custody. The frontline against his realm of Shalemarch is holding for now. The Illithian front has gone well thanks to your efforts- And House Wintergale has, just last night, declare their loyalty and support."

Thanidiel:"I assume Fish saved the day in the Cloudrend Glades?" That's a veiled insult.

Lirelle:"Hm. Wasn't aware you knew each other."

Thanidiel:"Don't."

Renalays:"Are you ashamed of your service, Phoenix Guard Highdawn? No matter - this is not the time to coddle or press egos."

Beathyn clears his throat loudly and dramatically, attempting to keep some ensemble of order on Solendis' behalf. "As per our agreement that we came to," he gestures towards the compatriots of the diplomatic team of Vissehn and Renalays. "He will be providing us verbal support and access through the Cloudrend Glades. He won't however, be providing soldiers for the war effort unless he is attacked by House Illithia directly."

Isilos raises an eyebrow at the mention of his Nephew's organization before slienlly returning to the table and ignoring the rabble.

Lirelle squints at this weird shared history. Right.

Thanidiel stares at the Inquisitor for a steady moment - the vile burning bright in her felfire eye before she huffs and focuses on the report. "That's good," she can -at least- claim.

Thanidiel:"It would be harder if we had to drag him by his ancient ear from skirmish to skirmish."

Stenden:"Going by how old he is, that ear might come off."

Thanidiel:"Withdrawing support whenever things bothered him again would have struck the morale."

Lirelle:"It saves us the trouble of having one last player to deal with after this is over. As long as he keeps his word."

Kebha loses interest in the table, and retreats to crouch on those lovely chairs right there like some kind of weird, folded gremlin. She can hear just fine from here thanks.

Solendis gave his son a LOOK. Which chided him back to a more official tone.

Vissehn:"He's piss-scared of throwin' lots. Wants to be independent an' his own entity."

Vissehn shoots a look to Solendis, and murmurs to Stenden.

Ethalarian 's eyes flick back and forth between Renalays and Thanidiel, but he doesn't seem interested in saying or doing much. Above his paygrade, probably.

From Vissehn: "Might rip off half his face wivit, yeah? He'd look a right horror, like from Northrend."

Renalays:"Exactly. Complacency is what we need from your people. Not a... tenuous simulation of it."

[Wintergale gives nominal support]

Stenden folded his arms. "So, what should we do about this development. Before we move on to... Other affairs that need dealing with." Stenden looked to the military minds at the table.

Esheyn also chooses not to get involved in... any of that. She folds her arms across her chest, listening silently.

Lirelle:"Zarannis will keep him in line, one way or another. There are other things more important for now."

Oosaarn released a frosted breath into the air with a snort. "Don't suppose they would simply follow whoever kills their leader."

Beathyn flings his arms into the air at Oosaarn's comment. "That's what I kept saying!"

Renalays:"Inefficient."

Beathyn gives a look at Renalays.

Oosaarn:"It's the only way Warsong decide who's right."

Renalays:"The Sin'dorei do not rally as easily as the other cultures of the Horde."

Kebha perks up at that- that was what she was good at. The killing thing. The talking thing, not so much.

Renalays:"They would spend weeks, if not months, fixing together all of their pieces into a different puzzle with different names."

Ethalarian exhales a long sigh through his nose.

Renalays:"Less energy dedicated to -killing.-"

Oosaarn:"Just saying. The other person can't win the argument if they can't argue."

Vissehn jerks a thumb towards Renalays. "His death can wait til the present unpleasantness is done."

Solendis:"So, logically speaking. We could start up a Western front against Illithia. Only real question is, how much ought we invest into this- and does the Coalition wish to be part of it- Rather than continuing to advance as they are now against the more defensible frontlne."

Thanidiel:"A token force would demonstrate 'allyship' between Wintergale and Emberheart."

"Otherwise, I doubt Illithia has interest in traversing the Cloudrend Glades either."

Stenden tapped his finger on the map. "So, a token force. Diversion perhaps to draw numbers away from the east?"

Thanidiel:"Possibly. It's easy to feign numbers."

Thanidiel:"Tie branches to the horses' tails, burn more fires than there are squadrons every night. Yes?"

Lirelle:"If you intend to create a diversion, you still send -enough- men to handle being a diversion."

Renalays gestures her gloved hand in Thanidiel's direction. For both seeming to -dislike- each other, they're almost speaking like two halves of the same weapon.

[Muroco offers Rockhoof Guerilla Warfare.]

Muroco:"I can act as a diversion."

Thanidiel:"Honestly I like that."

Oosaarn:"I would like to see the Grimtotem acting like a diversion."

Stenden looks at Muroco. "I'm listening." His ears perked up at the sound of that.

Thanidiel:"He counts for thirty of your ill-fed Northerners."

Lirelle:"That is honestly not a terrible idea."

Muroco bangs his fist on Mammoth with a resounding thud. "Your locals aren't used to seeing someone like me, and they haven't seen Grimtotem tactics before."

Ethalarian arches a brow in the big Tauren's direction. "I didn't realize smashing everything in sight to a pulp was tactics." He scratches at his chin. "It works for you, though."

From Lirelle: you could do an event for mark when hes got free time since he's not around as much

Thanidiel:"Grimtotem are quite known for guerrilla warfare amongst the Shu'Halo."

Oosaarn:"It's called psychological warfare."

Muroco:"They're going to smash themselves into a pulp against me."

Oosaarn:"And also regular warfare."

Stenden:"It'll spread our forces more thin, but if you believe you can do so, I can give you one division of troops for support. If you can instruct them- I am certain they will be very useful to you."

From Lirelle: or he can write a story cause he's really good with those, you can talk with him imo

Kebha nods in the background. "The big one is good."

Muroco is now a leader of fledgling guerilla fighters to-be.

[The Fate of Nelio Goodember]

Stenden turns their attention back to the front. "So. Now onto the other matter at hand. Nelio Goodember."

Renalays:"Ah, you have contained the fat bastard?"

Oosaarn:"Horrible name."

Renalays:"His petition records at the Magistrate annoy me."

Kebha subtly perks up, resting her cheek in a clawed hand and looking like she might actually be paying attention.

Vissehn beamed. "I dangled him off a balcony!"

Nelio Goodember is dragged into the room, bound, but not gagged. "UNHAND ME!" he screeches as he gets shoved onwards into the corner of the war room.

Renalays:"Did you break your wrist in the process or did your youthful years prepare you for that?"

"Hello there, Lord Goodember."

Lirelle:"Oh for fucks sake. Who thought it was a good idea to drag him in here?"

Vissehn laughs at Renalays, brows waggling at her.

Kebha literally hisses at the loud bastard.

Oosaarn:"You're surrounded by enemies. And at least half of us don't so much as blink at the idea of removing someone's head. Best to keep a silver tongue."

civil*

Thanidiel:"What the orc said. Shut your jowls."

Solendis gives a wry smile. "My idea, I think it was best to let him listen to his fate as he's decided- and to plead his case accordingly." He walks up to Nelio. "Hello friend."

Lirelle sighs. Fucking diplomats man.

Ethalarian glances up and leans forward to take a peek around Esheyn at the bicc boi currently dragged into the room. He grunts and then goes back to being a grouch and leaning back. Exactly what he figured one of these northerners to look like.

Nelio Goodember pouts and shuts up for now. Not wanting to aggravate the warriors with a blood thirsty reputation. "Well?"

Vissehn waves to Nelio. "Oi! Nice seein' ye again! Thanks fer cushioning my landin!"

Oosaarn just... marched right up to the trio and sized up Goldmember. "Could untie him and let my worgs chase him around until he feels like being cooperative."

Esheyn glances to Ethalarian with a shrug as he takes a better look around her. She comes to lean against the table when she turns to face Goodember and the others, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Kebha:"He looks like he would make good crackling, no?"

Vissehn elbows Stenden. "See, I got manners."

Stenden speaks up. "So. I've been told I should execute you."

Nelio Goodember visibly sweats as the orc steps up to him. "W- Worgs?"

Oosaarn:"Yes. Giant wolves. Worth ten of your pitiful chickens."

Thanidiel:"I'll repeat myself and my say that I dislike the concept of killing him if we can use him. Shove him back in the dungeon with his House's seal and give him a treat every time he stamps off orders for his people on our behalf."

Ethalarian throws a hand up and shakes his head in Esheyn's direction. "You could also let Muroco just step on him a little at a time." He tips his chair back on two legs now. "Unbroken bones make for good bargaining chips."

Muroco:"True."

"I could break the bones he can live without."

Kebha:"Ooooh! Can we hear his toes crunch?"

Oosaarn:"Mokra hasn't tasted elven flesh since the second war."

Muroco:"He's too corpulent. He won't put up much of a race against worgs."

Solendis:"Bargaining chip sounds the most useful. But by not just having his head- I fear we will be sending the wrong message about how we see traitors."

Vissehn looks to Stenden. "What you wanting for him?"

Vissehn:"You're the Lord here, we're offerin' the peanut gallery of commentary."

Thanidiel:"Fish has a point for you, Lordling. In the end, we stand by your choices whether they feed us or burn us." That's... not comforting in spite of the -fervent- loyalty expressed.

Ethalarian visibly cringes. Smooth, Thanidiel.

Stenden looks at Vissehn, and at the man that was visibly shrinking by the moment into the corner of the room. "I'll hear everything at my disposal first. What I want is for the realm to stop tearing itself apart- and how we handle this... Traitor, will determine that." He gives his agent a nod. Wait, see. For now at least, he supposed. 

Thanidiel doesn't seem concerened at all. 

[Judereth Swiftquiver nominated to rule Shalemarch]

Lirelle:"He has no worth to us as a prisoner, he is simply consuming resources. What Highdawn said is made much more smoother if someone else is in charge of Shalemarch. Someone capable. And loyal."

Renalays:"Do you have a recommendation then, Lady Dawnbrook?"

Solendis snaps his fingers at Lirelle. "What was that? Who would that be?"

Lirelle:"I'm sure you have minor lords that you could elevate to that position, those who have served your family all this time. Failing that, give it to Judereth. She is capable enough, and you no longer have the Black Banner to call on. Someone martial is not out of the question."

Oosaarn:"I offer no useful advice except that which entertains me. Former general. Not diplomat."

Nelio Goodember sweats more.

Renalays:"Judereth is an individual that the State would appreciate in control of Shalemarch."

"She has merit and war to her."

Kebha hasn't a sane thought in her head, she is not the one to be asking.

Solendis scratches his chin. "That would work. She's known to the peasants as a good leader too."

Solendis:"So where does that leave you?" he looks at about to-be-not-Lord Goodember.

Renalays:"It sets the tone as well for your government, I will preface, however, Lord Emberheart. Embrace one group to alienate others."

"Although, your uncle and his father before him had no taste for noble-blooded aristocracy and I suspect you have some inkling of that in you."

Vissehn looked to Renalays. "Stenden ain't neither of them, he's willin' to do what it takes."

Nelio Goodember:"I have-" he paused. Gold? That'd be ceased. Influence? In chains? "I have the love of the people? I pulled them from poverty and kept them well cared for in a time of heavy Horde levies- If you remove me, I believe any still loyal are likely to resist the decision!"

Oosaarn:"Want my advice? Side with those whose loyalty and honor are iron. Not sniveling nobles who more likely to respect their dinner plate than you."

Renalays:"I will believe that when he takes after the traditions." She stares plainly at Stenden, "A leader should fight, like the Farstriders who warden and guide us."

Ethalarian rolls his eyes.

Stenden sighed and joined his father. "I am the Emberglades." he says coldly. Looking at Renalays, he gives a small smile and a nod. "I can't please everyone. But I can keep the peace, even if it costs blood."

Thanidiel:"--Lady Illithia spills enough for her family."

Muroco:"Want me to punch him in the stomach for you?"

Stenden frowns but says nothing at Thanidiel's comment.

Lirelle:"Enough Brat. He is a child. If he dies on the front lines, this becomes an even bigger mess than it already is."

Oosaarn:"Too easy of a target."

Vissehn bristles visibly but says nothing.

Ethalarian:"Much as I'm loathe to admit it, the fat bastard raises a valid point." He turns his attention to Lirelle. "How certain are you that this replacement of yours won't have to contend with sedition from within?"

Renalays scoffs behind her white mask - more reigned by Lirelle than anyone else who had barked back at her.

Lirelle:"I don't know, and I don't care. His subjects love his money more than they love him. Any disorganised mob that forms can be easily crushed."

"If necessary I will remain here with the Crows to handle any sort of consequences."

Ethalarian:"Oh, right. Murder more of the common folk. That's always the solution."

Oosaarn:"So take his money for yourself."

Renalays:"If you are going to install your own woman in Shalemarch, then have the process be organised. Order is what comforts the lost."

Thanidiel:"Fish could help there if he doesn't miss the frontlines."

Lirelle:"Common or not, once you take up arms, you have already made your choice."

Thanidiel:"No faster courier and herald in Quel'Thalas."

[Summary]

Stenden stands above Nelio Goodemeber. "I have heard your council," he gives a nod of appreciation to the heroes gathered in his hall. "As Lord of the Emberglades, I hereby strip you of all lands- titles- and assets- They now belong to me to redistribute as I see fit." He says, clear as day. "Bladeborn," Stenden looks back over his shoulder. "Fetch Judereth Swiftquiver. Tell her what has transpired here and that she needs to meet with me immediately." He turns back to Nelio. The man who had severely- Severely- underestimated him. "And you. You will remain in the dungeons. A hostage to your supporters. Hopefully they're not stupid enough to get their 'Lord' killed by rabbling."

Vissehn nods. "I got a way with the lowborn. Bein' one, yanno."

Renalays:"Hmm."

Kebha looks almost disappointed that she's not going to get to murder anything, but she just sighs and taps her claws on her cheek.

Vissehn bows low, silently and obediently, and immediately slips away to do Stenden's bidding.

Renalays does have a glint of what appears to be genuine appreciation of Stenden's mandate - even with that subtle behaviour to the boy's agent.

Nelio Goodember eyes started to water. At least he'd live. Right? Right?

Stenden:"Thank you. All of you. I do appreciate your council."

Thanidiel:"Shall the rest of us push to the western front?"

Oosaarn:"Is that where the fighting is?"

Stenden looks to Muroco. "Especially you, Rockhoof. I have high hopes for your efforts and high hopes that my soldiers will not disappoint you or your methods."

Stenden:"Yes, keep where you are- And when Rockhoof draws more than they can afford away from their lines, it should give you an opportunity to strike once more as you did."

Lirelle mulls over Stenden's ruling. It was at the very least, acceptable. A hostage was not her preferred method of doing things, but it had its own merit at least.