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white and black building interior

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The Andelusia Opera House had once been the soul of Ursa Madeum, a stage that hosted the queendom’s best talent. Once, it had been the central and most popular performing arts venue in the queendom, hosting operas and classic plays.

Not anymore, Rozharon mused.

The building had been a shell of its former glory when she’d visited; another victim of the Tyrant King’s rule and his disregard for his kingdom’s history and culture. Most of the opera house had been damaged.

It would be used one more time before she left the islands. Apt, that this relic of the old kingdom would be the stage to usher in the new government.

As she did with all things abandoned and unused, Rozharon had repurposed the amphitheater into a meeting hall. Crumbling walls had been repaired, the stage salvaged, ruined seats removed. Now, sunlight filtered into the space through windows that stretched from ceiling to floor. If one looked southwards, one could glimpse the gleam of the ocean on the horizon. 

The nobility would be seated at a table at the center of the space, where the stage had once stood. Anything spoken here would carry across the room. The balconies, which had remained intact, would host those not participating in the discussion. Paper and pens were provided at the table, should the representatives of each house wish to take notes. In addition, a page containing the matters Rozharon intended to discuss was placed before the seat of every noble.

Guards were stationed outside the building. Pallas and Lenore walked the balcony, providing enough security for those there.

As for the assembly of nobles, well, Rozharon was present. That would be enough.

Now, there was little to do but wait for the others to arrive.

Rozharon paced, her steps silent. Her sons were chatting amongst themselves, quietly excluding her from the mental conversation. Rozharon eyed a grand piano at the corner of the room - one of the few pieces of furniture that had been mostly undamaged.

ᴘʟᴀʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ.

The Angel-Queen sat herself before the keys. A simple tune thrummed through the old opera house.

She waited.
 

@Tyler @notmuch_23 @danzilla3 @Infernal @King @vielle @Aleksei @supernal

OOC | Spectator thread

Edited by Csl

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Aveline is apparently the first "noble" to enter the room, with a stack of papers in her hand, since Thurgood is off doing something for John Wilder. With purpose she strides across the deteriorating audience seats, up the stairs to the stage, slaps the stack of papers down, and takes her seat.

The stack is various drafts of the charter of rights their house would have proposed if they were staying. The ones they've settled on include:

  • the right to life is paramount
  • the right to liberty is just under the right to life
  • the right to property is just under the right to life and liberty (meaning a sapient being's right to liberty supersedes another sapient being's right to have one as property)
  • all rights are sacrosanct until exercise of a right interferes with the rights of another, or are removed through the due process of law
  • the right to express one's own self and opinions, individually and/or collectively, the way one wishes (includes all forms)
  • the right to own, use, and maintain weaponry
  • the right to defend one's self, others and property
  • the rights of those accused of a crime to legal counsel, a fair trial, and within a reasonable time frame
  • the right to petition the government for redress of grievances
  • the right to rebel if government does not uphold and/or defend these rights
  • the right to change one's location of residence within the Veluriyam Empire at one's own will, as one's own resources allow, without needing permission from any level of government
  • the right to conduct commerce privately, in the form one sees fit to (on either side of the transaction), which includes the right to not be forced into a private transaction

Aveline has told anybody who will listen (which became increasingly numerous as she did), about her vision for the rights of the common citizen, and that if the new government does not grant or uphold them, to fight until it does.

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It appears she and her siblings have arrived too early, when before, they have always been late to the party. Perhaps this is a good omen.

The Lady Hildebrand steps up to the stage with measured footfalls, gazing about the opera house with awe and nostalgia in equal measure. She recalls coming here as a child, in the golden years of the Queendom’s full glory. All of that is dust now; there is no room left in her heart for mourning or remorse. It is time to usher in a new age for the islands she calls her home, and Varda will be ready with all the strength she bears, no matter how much her heart aches ragged in the cage of her ribs.

Without further ado, the Lady takes her seat, examines the agenda laid out with a considering eye. She takes one look up at the balcony towards her siblings, then to the piano where the Empress is coaxing wondrous music from its keys, then finally to the first noble seated around the table.

“Miss Aveline,” she greets the Singlance representative with a warm smile; she remembers the plans they’ve yet to fulfill in the shared future they’ve imagined for Ursa Madeum: plans to modernize agriculture for the betterment not only of their houses but of the common people, and everything else that comes after. “Your brother is not here?”

 

@notmuch_23


 

Edited by vielle

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Abigail_Karradeen.png?dl=1She had arrived donning her fanciest uniform, one which had been carefully crafted to accent her feminine beauty, while yet still displaying the practical, business-centric nature of her house. It had always been something Abigail Karradeen took seriously, the desire to remain the epitome of a noble lady, yet still carry on the naval, merchant traditions of her forefathers. Had this event been social, she would have worn a dress, as any noble woman ought to, but this was a political meeting, and thus she appeared dressed for business. Her smallsword was sheathed at her left side, her pistol holstered on the other, while her hair was carefully styled and and braided in a way that kept it out of her eyes, but as always, remained ever befitting of a noblewoman. 

The two had arrived before her were likewise noblewomen, or one was at least. To Abigail, Aveline Singlance's nobility and femininity were both questionable at best, completely illegitimate at worst. But at least for today, she had to be regarded with passable respect, or at least recognition anyway. Varda Hildebrand, on the other hand, was worthy of her attention, thus she was greeted by Abigail first, in the traditional and polite way. The greeting granted toward Aveline, though not impolite, was decidedly less elaborate. A simple head nod and a "Lady Singlance." in acknowledgement of her presence, then Abigail moved on to taking her seat. She was located directly across from the point between the two other women, to her right was to be House Mythal, to her left, the embattled House Uldwar. Neither representative had arrived yet, however.

The empress was present however, and playing on a piano in the corner. Abigail was uncertain why though. Maybe Rozharon was merely bored and passing the time until everyone had been assembled, or perhaps she was trying to convince the others of her "humanity" by playing an instrument, thus hoping to convey an appreciation for the arts and a sensibility for music. The Lady Karradeen did not allow either reason to impress her, even if she appreciated the music itself. There was no reason not to at least enjoy that aspect, for music was music, and the motives behind it mattered little.

 

@vielle @notmuch_23

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Love once swept me off my feet at the sight of you, Ioreth, if only it allowed me the ability to stand back up from the fall...

-Godric Uldwar

The wheels were turning, propelled by constant pushing from an elderly man, by far the oldest looking member of the group, and yet in years he could have been the youngest. Godric Uldwar was a different man from the days of careless adventure and wanderlust. Now he was bitter, crippled by age and feeling a sense of anger for the world around him. Had he not been deceived by a wretched serving woman, he would still have his youthful body, he would still have a chance at courting his beloved, but alas, things had changed.

"It is a pleasure to see you all, Ladies Singlance, Hildebrand and of course, Duchess Karradeen. Hopefully this will be a productive and civilized discussion between us all." At times he still didn't recognize that voice, the voice of a man past sixty years at best, but it was his all right. 

"If someone could be so kind as to move this chair." Godric asked as he approached the table. "I shan't be needing it, as you can tell." It was possible for him to use his prosthetic arm to move the chair himself, but the rapid aging had made the use of it difficult, and it always tired him greatly whenever he performed extraneous activity. To think, that moving a simple bloody chair could exhausting the once robust and fit adventurer, it was downright madness. 

It didn't matter, he thought to himself, the woman who did this to him was dead, and while he struggled in his relationship with Evienne Goldcourt, he at least had someone to be with. Sometimes that's all you really needed to be happy, and yet, he just couldn't be without that rebellious elf he used to work with, in what feels like a lifetime ago. 

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Milorian entered with a laugh that echoed with the tinkling tune dancing across the stage and beyond. The words sweeping his mind were full of chastisements, though the annoyance that peppered them was strained with laughter and playfulness. Primera has taken every opportunity to tease him about his right eye and the tune for the day was her disappointment in not seeing him wear a patch. It had been suggested by various parties, and each suggestion had been shrugged off; he has no need for such unnecessary adornments.

He wore his robes of grays, reds, and whites. Behind his left ear is a small bunch of flowers picked by his wife, and the only jewelry he wore is the ring on his left hand to show his marriage. The Mythal thought it best to not arrive in his usual opulence. 

'Do you have some strange fascination with pirates?' was his mental reply.

Not wanting to appear rude, he did nod towards the earlier arrivals to acknowledge them between his conversation with Primera. His steps forward were rather slow, his lack of sight in his right eye made him a little less graceful and delicate in his ways. The would that sliced his eyebrow in half and trails down to the swell of his cheek is still red with annoyance; the three pale dots on his forehead glowed, signifying the pain he still felt from the attack on Misral. 

'No, I have a fascination with the ridiculous.'

'My wife claims me handsome, thank you very much.'

'Well, I would never judge Birdy for her choice in men. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yes?' Her remark was bubbly.

'And you're blind, so I suppose your opinion should be taken with a grain of salt.'

The elf could hear the rustling of finery - bracelets clinking against one another, silk and lace shuffling, painted lips parting and colored lashes batting. Primera had gasped and placed her hand against her chest in mock offense, causing her protector (Delphine) to laugh behind a gloved hand. Milorian had insisted that Primera have some form of protection and offered up a single Seeker who would also benefit from this little get-together. The two have gotten along rather well, something the elf will have to watch for as that's another individual getting comfortable beneath the Grand's extensive reach. 

"Here you are, ser."

Milorian came back to the world of the living just to hear Godric ask for the removal of his chair. Milo reached and pulled it aside where it would not obstruct anyone else. 

Afterward, he took his seat, gently laying down papers of his own that (so unlike the rest) are minor suggestions and points. House Mythal has done little in comparison to the rest of the Houses, and Milorian is entirely comfortable with their slow and steady progress. Perhaps, in the beginning, he had seen the growth of each house as a rivalry; now he hasn't the time to compare and contrast. He does not come here with the hopes of forcing anyone to do anything, all he truly wants is to ensure that all Houses and their peers have the time to argue, fight and disagree for those are freedoms many do not have. 

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It wasn't just a practical decision, or else she'd have gotten rid of the stage and moved everyone within speaking distance. In keeping the stage and placing the speakers atop it, Rozharon proves herself a fan of the dramatic. As that awesome fool who magicians worship might say, it appears comedy transcends the human; tis divine.

The thoughts amused him, as they must. To a vulgar audience the extended metaphor and cultural references were vague shadows, but to a sophisticated mind his wit could be described as nothing short of effulgent. And was his not such a mind? So then, he was helpless but to be amused. When he sat, after bowing to Hildebrand and Mythal (accompanied by verbal recognition to account for the Lord's blindness), nodding to Karradeen and Uldwar, and smiling politely at Singlance, it was with a smile curling the ends of his lips.  

Ampelos undoes the clasp of his cloak. Removes his gloves, folding them and laying them flat on the table beside him. He leaves the supplied writing utensils alone and rests an envelope with a slim stack of papers squarely before him, not quite as thin as Milorian's but a mere adolescent compared to Singlance's fully matured ream.

He spares a passing glance about him, taking individual note of the gathered audience, nodding to the various Dali members claiming their seat among the others, representatives for each of the various branches, including his own. Expertise promised depth but not breadth, so Dali baked the latter into the former by diversifying their panel; what a Moontraveler might glean from a sentence could differ wildly from a Titansinger, and each remain as valuable as the other.

He is delighted to see that others are armed, as he was. A promise of security was no less and no more than just that, and while Rozharon was impressive and her children must equally be so, Merida was quietly spirited away right under their noses. These beings, he knew, had limits, and Ampelos refused to be one of Veluriyam's rounding errors.

The papers were mostly legal documents. Sanitized memorandums and transactional documents, both repudiation and nonrepudiation disclaimers, non-disclosure agreements, things of that nature. The agenda for what Ampelos wished to convey on behalf of Dali was in a bulleted list and kept entirely in his head. Item one towered over the others and read simply: no more kings.

"Music and no drink? What a somber affair this must be."

Edited by supernal

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Fotos e vídeos de Alle Page 알페 (@sando_0) | Twitter

 

Grant Knight was one of the last to arrive; owing to the fact that he had gotten underway slightly late. The night before had been a trying one; and his sleep had been fraught with nightmares. Fortunately for him, he had a great deal of experience at moving in a hurry, and he had quickly showered, dressed, and departed from the manor. Now he ascends the stage, glad to see that he has been placed between allies and friends. He had worn his sidearm, an enchanted revolver, on the off chance things ended up going in a violent direction. Knowing Aveline, it seemed likely that she had a few weapons tucked away as well. 

"Aveline," he deliberately omitted the, 'Lady' part for her benefit, "I see you brought your charter. I'm glad. You make many fair proposals. Hopefully the council will give them consideration."

Turning to Varda, he bowed, "Lady Hildebrand. I'm glad to see you well. Silas tells me you to have been getting better acquainted these last few months."

The last part was accompanied with a knowing, approving smile. As he settled in, he glanced across the table to see the representatives of House Mythal; and among them his lover Delphine. When he caught her eye, he gave her a sly wink, and a warm grin.

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“I don’t see why you need me here.”

“Because you’re my brother, and more importantly, I want you here.”

“There are more pressing matters that need my attention.”

“More pressing than the future of our house? No, I thought not.”

“I’ll not be able to contribute anything from the viewing.”

“You don’t need to. This is my forte, Andross.”

“We are agreed. So again, why am I here?”

“To mingle. I need people to know who you are for when I marry you off.”

What?”

Teasing Andross had long-since been a favored pastime of the elder twin, but also a manner of diluting conversations he deemed too personal, too intimate. It would be unfitting for Alexandros to tell his younger twin that he felt vulnerable without him, and that if—by some unholy curse—the worst came to pass and violence erupted in the halls, there wasn’t another soul in the world he’d rather have there to defend him.

Alexandros was far from helpless by any means, but years of study in the arts, philosophy, commerce, and political doctrine came at the expense of martial prowess. He was to be a general, a tactician, and his brother the warrior – he the wielder, and Andross the sword. And such a truth, engraved into them since birth, showed in their appearance.

Whereas his brother wore his hair longer, free at the base but tailed at the top, Alexandros kept his white hair short, neatly cropped and tamed. He was several fingers taller than most men, and though less muscular than his brother, still boasted a generously athletic physique that his formal military attire, a soft blue in color and trimmed with silver, complemented quite well. His bronze face was freshly shaven, his jawline sharp, lips full, nose a slender slope, and his hazel eyes held in their gaze both a nobleman’s curiosity and knowing.

In his right hand he carried a single folder, filled with documents no doubt similar to those the other representatives have brought. At his hip hung a saber, its handguard gilded and encrusted with old Rosinderian jewels that still held the shimmer and gleam of the old homeland.

There was a notably inquisitive air about him as he entered the room, surveying the other attendees. Alexandros knew none of them by face, what with House Kholin’s isolationist practices, but he caught a name here and there as they were flung in cursory introductions, and quickly learned who was who.

Alexandros took his seat quietly near the Lady Varda, uninterested—at least for the moment—in any small talk the other nobles might take comfort in. Instead, his eyes drifted off to the piano, where Rozharon, the “angel-queen,” brought to life a tune the elder twin had never heard before, but appreciated. The motive for its birth mattered little in the face of its beauty.

Edited by King

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The last notes of the piece faded into silence. Rozharon stood, swept her gaze over the nobles, then looked up at the gathered spectators.

She took her seat. “Thank you all for coming.”

A pause, as she picked up her copy of the meeting agenda.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve gathered you here today to discuss several matters that concern the Ursa Madeum as a whole. Most notably, that the Veluriyam Empire will be withdrawing from the islands, restoring Ursa Madeum’s sovereignty as a nation.”

Rozharon glanced at the paper in her hand. “I’ll discuss this in more detail later. I’d like to pass over some more issues that require more immediate concern. If it’s necessary, we can take a break midway into the session.”

She laid two fingers against the table. The marble darkened, an ink-like substance swirling at the center of the table. Beneath the stone’s glassy veneer, a map of Misral formed.

“Mount Egon erupted two weeks ago due to the emergence of a volcano elemental. Mia Uldwar apparently agitated the creature by attempting to cap the volcano’s main vent. The initial earthquakes damaged a great deal of infrastructure all over the island, affecting even coastal areas”

A series of concentric circles appeared on the map, originating from the volcano. Outlines of the affected towns appeared, their names scrawled in neat script.

“The buildings of the Tankred estate, located on the slope of Egon, were destroyed,” Rozharon paused, a flicker of sorrow passing over her face. “No survivors were found.”

She continued speaking, the map updating itself as she ran through a few more details: the extent of the damage to the island’s vegetation, the spread of the fires caused by the lava flow, which had now cooled into trails of igneous rock, and the other losses suffered by the island; both in lives and resources.

“Fortunately, several groups were quick to respond to the crisis,” Her gaze settled on Milorian. “Lord Mythal, the Hildebrand's Order of the Orchid, and the Singlances were included among those who assisted in the relief efforts. The elemental was defeated quickly.”

She didn’t elaborate on how and by who. There was time enough to discuss the Oathblades later. Instead, she briefly her attention to Godric Uldwar.

“Mia Uldwar, as I understand, has been removed from Port Mars? Whatever the case, House Uldwar may manage its internal family affairs, but the extent of the damage to Misral is something someone has to take responsibility of. I have no reason to believe Mia would purposefully awaken an elemental to destroy the island where their estate is located.”

Port Mars glimmered on the map.

“It’s relevant to mention that a few days after the Egon eruption, Oscar Uldwar was captured in Corinth. He’s accused of murdering several knights of Hildebrand and amassing a group of bandit followers who terrorized the forests. He claims he convinced his daughter to cap the volcano and wishes to takes the blame for the incident.”

Rozharon turned her gaze to Varda. “Lady Hildebrand, I believe the decision on what to do with Oscar falls on your house. At least, for his crimes against Hildebrand.”

The Empress leaned back in her seat. She regarded the gathered nobility with an expression that lay between expectant and curious. “Thoughts on the matter?”

Edited by Csl

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"Whelp, you're reassigning us elsewhere," Aveline says, "so I can't afford to care about Misral even if I wanted to. As for Oscar, I think he should be executed by impalement asshole-to-neck Vlad-Dracula-style, or strung upside-down, covered in tar, and lit on fire. Either way, do not let that evil... 

...thing live any longer. Then dissolve his remains in sulfuric acid to remove the possibility of necromancy. I'll even do it if nobody else wants to."

It's no secret that Oscar Uldwar hated Thurgood and Aveline singlance, and the feeling is quite mutual. What Aveline will say now will likely make Abigail Karadeen feel the same way.

"Plus, I'm really fuckin' sure he made a deal with Copperbeard to disrupt House Karadeen's shipping. I can't completely confirm it since he was wearing a cloak, but before I got wrapped up in all this political shit, I took a job which turned out to be an overwatch sniper for that meeting, so I got a really good look through my scope: the other guy was the exact same size and shape, had the exact same gait and mannerisms of Oscar Uldwar. Wgen I met him at the Mil Dot, I recognized him, but until recently couldn't put my finger on it, but I would bet my ebtire share of everything we own that it was Oscar Uldwar meeting Copperbeard."

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It hit him as soon as the words came out, just as it likely did with the other nobles in the room. 

"Do you mean to tell me." Godric said calmly. "That you knew of a covert deal between my father and a known pirate Lord, and said nothing?" He made a small, quizzical sound as he wrote down a note upon the paper. 

"So even as ships were plundered, people died and everyone was confounded as to how the pirates were becoming privy to information and eluding capture, you said...nothing." Putting his pen down, Godric sighed and looked upon the woman with a grimace. 

"It is my understanding you and your brother care about the people and yet...all I see before me is an opportunist. Your services and loyalties, it seems, are up to the highest bidder. I find it highly doubtful, no, most certainly probable, that you have no interest in helping our people, only helping yourselves to what you can reap out of our ignorance and our so called back water ways. To know that you have not only sat back, apathetic to the suffering of our people at the hands of brigands and bandits of the sea, but to preach to us the importance of your technology and it's applications, disgusts me to no end."

"You are most certainly not of nobility. Noble men and women do everything in their power to ensure the betterment of those we have power over. Those people are our responsibility, and even as fractured as we are now in our politics, the people should always be cared for. I am glad you and your brash brother will be gone from these islands, as I shudder to think how much more broken we could have become, should you have been allowed to continue exploiting the people we are tasked with protecting. Granted, what my father did was wrong, and I condemn him for it with everything that I have, but you." He said with indignation. "What you have done is by and far worse than that, because you facilitated it, you allowed it to happen, and then did nothing as our situation went from bad to worse. May any gods out there, real or fictional, have mercy upon your souls."

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"I still cannot absolutely confirm that it was Oscar Uldwar," Aveline shouts, "and if it was him, he went through an awful lot of care to make sure to conceal his identity, and nothing could trace back to him. It finally dawned on me maybe about a month ago, and I've been looking for anything short of capturing and torturing Copperbeard, and didn't find shit. How many of you would move to even investigate such a bold claim with just one eyewitness that didn't even see the other person's face? How many of you believe me now?"

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"The Empress would have believed you." Godric said scathingly. "She would have confronted my father about this, she would have found the truth. For Gaia’s sake there could have been an investigation at the very least!" His anger was getting the better of him, but he could not help it.

Like father, like son, I suppose.

The thought was gone before it could have affected his next decision. "You and your brothers should be arrested for this! It is because of you that people have died and my father was allowed to continue his descent into madness. You could have stopped so many of these killings, you could have stopped Mt. Egon from erupting if my father hadn't been allowed to go to Tazarek for the supplies needed for that device!"

Looking to the others, he looked to them and called for their help. "Do not let this criminal go another moment with freedom. These deaths are on her as well and she should be held responsible for keeping it to herself! If we are to govern ourselves we must hold justice equally, for everyone! Who is with me?"

Edited by Infernal

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She is quite pointedly ignored by Aveline, and Varda can’t help the faint pang of hurt that simmers in her stomach at that. She stays quiet in her seat for the rest of the period before the meeting is called to order, giving those who greet her with polite smiles and head nods. It is quite notable, her contrast with most of the figureheads around the table: she had not thought to bring any sort of formal documents with her, save for perhaps a few scribbled notes Jasper had prepared for her.

Already, this meeting is getting off to a good start.

A man she is unfamiliar with takes his seat right next to her; she would know of him only by knowing the noble house who is to be situated next to her in the meeting: House Kholin. Varda does not know much of the isolationist house, but she does know of the renown attached to their warriors for their great skill. Catching Jasper’s gaze up in the balcony, she steels herself to try and strike up a conversation with Lord Kholin, opening her mouth to greet him when—

“Thank you all for coming.”

Drats, she had lost her chance. Cheeks flaming, Varda looks down at her lap to compose herself before raising her head. The Empress comes to the head of the table, uses her powers to punctuate her points with a magical map of the islands as she speaks of current concerns: Mount Egon’s eruption, Misral’s burning, House Tankred’s destruction (—it is here that she violently pushes back the wave of grief and, deeper down, immeasurable guilt—), Mia Uldwar, and finally the matter of Oscar Uldwar’s capture.

To think that Varda had once respected the man, had once given time to listen to his concerns for the new legislation he had planned to bring up to Veluriyam, had once thought he had the betterment of Ursa Madeum’s peoples in mind. What he has become, what he has done—not only to Hildebrand’s knights, people she had known her whole life, but to many others as well throughout the islands—had been utterly and entirely despicable.

“Lady Hildebrand, I believe the decision on what to do with Oscar falls on your house. At least, for his crimes against Hildebrand.”

She assumes that with the Empress granting her the choice of Lord Uldwar’s fate, the baton of the conversation has been passed to her corner, and so she prepares to speak, and once again, she is interrupted.

Will there be no end to such injustice on her part? She could have been planting arugula in the fields instead of this, for Gaia's sake.

Varda allows her lips to thin at the two nobles going off on a tangent that continues to veer away from the current matter at hand. Getting bombarded left and right with sudden, worrying announcements—Singlance’s apparent departure to wherever Aveline means by elsewhere, Aveline’s insinuation of Oscar Uldwar’s involvement with Copperbeard, Aveline's own possible involvement in acts of piracy—is not quite what she had in mind from the get-go of this particular agenda’s discussion.

With the echoes of Godric’s question ringing in her ears, Varda raises a hand to call attention to herself before she interjects. “If you would permit me to speak,” she begins, internally praying for a composed verbal delivery of her thoughts, “I would suggest we move this discussion to later on. From what I have heard so far, these accusations are based on speculation and uncertainty. Perhaps we should return to the original topic at hand, deciding the fate of one who has committed crimes far more disastrous and with irrefutable evidence to show for it, and address this accusation against Aveline later on.”

Varda hopes that'll do. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself by glancing up at her siblings for support, continues her spiel with her gaze flitting to and fro between the faces gathered about the table. “The Hildebrand are not the only ones who have been wronged by the former Lord Uldwar. A great number of us, especially those who are no longer here because they have been lost to us, have all been affected by his actions. Even as the decision has been given to Hildebrand to deal with him as we see fit, I wish to hear what each of you believe to be a fitting punishment for him.”

 


 

Edited by vielle

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