trans_9 | Mi Casa Su... no, never mind [Open]

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Mi Casa Su... no, never mind [Open]

When he'd reached out to the fae before, to the delicate violate tendrils of power that had wound its way into every den and dovecote in the City and the ship at large, Tarrant had momentarily been overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the place -- indelible impressions left by its inhabitants, by the constructs that maintained the ship's systems...

By a reminder of home.

He stepped off the tram (remarkable invention, that. So very convenient. So very impossible, according to the rules of his own world) and glided through the City streets, one hand resting on the hilt of the slender sword at his belt. And then...

It was Merentha Castle, as he remembered it from Erna -- the mirror twin of his own Keep in the Forest of Jahanna. The white numarble arches and stonework were intact, but he sensed no life from within. No survivors of the Tarrant clan, then, had made their home here. If they were present, they were somewhere in the pods, sleeping and unawares. He was still for a moment, considering his options. But in the end, there was no real dilemma. Like hell was he sleeping in Crew Quarters. ~~That was for peasants okay~~

He swept his way inside. The Workings would have to be redone, of course. A little project for him. He had the free time.

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As Gerald enters the courtyard of the castle, he may note a solitary bird of prey (a Red-tailed hawk to be precise) perched on the edge of one of those arches, watching with the intensity that only raptors can summon. It shuffles along the crenelation it's chosen, then ruffles its wings, preening under one.

< Very pretty. > A mental voice springs to Gerald's mind as the bird continues to watch.

< And impressive. It's like something out of a fairy tail, don't you think? >

'Pretty'. Well, that was one way to put it. Tarrant looked upward toward the hawk, but if he felt any surprise at seeing it perched there, none showed in his expression. Another crew member like Bight, most likely, capable of changing forms.

"I should know," Tarrant said with dry humor. "I designed it."

< Did you? Very cool. It's an impressive building. > Tobias replied, then swept off his perch to glide downwards to a lower spot, closer to the person he was conversing with.

< Are you a new arrival? I don't think I've seen you before. >

Tarrant inclined his head slightly, indicating a positive. "Gerald Tarrant, Neocount of Merentha. This was an old haunt of mine."

< It's interesting, the way they saved not just us but also all of these buildings. I'm not really sure why, either. Not like they'll be too much use against the Ohm, right? > Tobias inclined his head, staring down at Gerald.

< Nice to meet you, Gerald. >

"Interesting, yes." It didn't escape Tarrant that the bird hadn't bothered to introduce himself. Or that it had immediately jumped to a first name basis. "But not everything here has obvious application to the war effort."

He stepped inside the castle then, surveying the decor. Much of the paintings, books, and so on were intact -- good. Whatever else one might say of the Tarrant clan, at least they had taken care of his old things.

TObias isn't good at introducing himself. There's a rustle of wings and Tobias glided into the castle after Gerald, alighting on a torch sconce this time.

< And it's full of old stuff. Fantastic! > His mental voice assumes a faux-Scottish bent, < Myself and mah lovely assistant are here t'look at th' tapestries! >

And Tarrant was having none of it. As far as he was concerned, no manners, no castle.

A bright, silver-blue wall of energy burst into being after Tarrant, closing off the corridor behind him... and with it, the rest of the castle. Coldfire, superficially similar to real flame. In all other respects, however, it bore no resemblance to its distant cousin. Where fire gave off warmth, this conflagration would suck away body heat. Flesh, unprotected, would be frozen on contact.

It was not clear if Tarrant was still present on the other side of the wall, but the message was quite clear.

Thom recognized that on some level, what he was doing was absurd and childish. Avoiding Alanna and the rest of... everyone could only go on so long - but he would take advantage of all the time he had before they caught up with him. Staying in the Tower of High Sorcery wasn't exactly conducive to avoiding, though, so Thom set out to scour the City for a place to relocate his research. Now that the fighting was done, he could safely travel in the open.

There were a ridiculous amount of buildings in the City, but Thom's criteria was very specific. He needed a place that was either built with sorcery in mind, or already had the bones of magic in its stones. He came upon several buildings that could have done well before he approached Merentha Castle.

It was perhaps a little larger than he'd hoped for, but a quick pass with his Gift showed the bones of dozens of spells, the kind one would expect for a keep of this size. Thom kept his hand against the wall as he entered, feeling out the magic in the stones. Some of the foundations were still intact. It would take work, but he could rebuild them and make this place suitable. Of course, he had no idea it was spoken for, much less inhabited.

Inside his workroom, Tarrant paused, the documents through which he'd been sifting still in hand. Old records and possessions, fondly remembered -- but not accessed, not for some time. He had left much of his family's fortune behind when he'd cut ties with his former life. Now, as he looked back on old etchings and artifacts, it seemed almost as though he were sorting through the possessions of some distant relative. But for now, that was beside the point.

The currents had shifted, and with them came knowledge of someone else here. An intruder. Human.

He stood, pushing open the heavy, intricately carved wooden door that led up and out into the main hall. Unlike Thom, he would know precisely the layout of the castle and how best to find his unexpected guest. After all, he'd been living in its dark counterpart for years.

The audience chamber. Tarrant strode toward it in long, graceful strides, sweeping into the room. He did not conceal his presence, not here; instead he made it clear, through the confidence of his manner, that he was exactly where he belonged.

The chamber itself was built to the same exacting specifications as the rest of Merentha Castle: smooth tiled numarble, swirling decorative arches above the doorways, a chapel dedicated to the Church of the One God sectioned off behind a smaller door to the side. His relatives, alas, had done away with some of the old furniture -- including the richly decorated chair once placed in the back and center of the room, the better to intimidate one's guests. Alas.

"May I help you?"

Thom dropped his hand from the wall like it had burned him and whirled around, his black robes swirling. For a bare moment, he must have looked like a child with his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, but that moment was fleeting and Thom had soon mastered his expression.

He looked over the man who had startled him. He held himself with poise, and his voice was cultured. He was not the kind of person Thom could intimidate and it was likely they would have been of a station if they were in more civilized times. Thom swiftly came to the conclusion that this castle must belong to the man, and squashed his disappointment.

"Forgive the intrusion," Thom said, using politeness to cover his gaff. "There are perhaps thousands of buildings in the City and it is difficult to keep track of the list of occupied places." It was almost an apology, but not quite.

Tarrant smiled, ever the gracious host. "And of course, some locations are more appealing than others." The near-apology was noted, and duly filed away, no doubt for later examination. For now, however, he was more interested in the intrigue offered by this new visitor. Tarrant surmised, from the way his presence had gone almost unnoticed, that Thom wasn't merely sightseeing or looking for a convenient place to move house. He was searching for something in particular. Something the castle might be able to offer that the many strange, modern buildings sprawled out all over the City did not.

Now, what could that be?

He swept himself into a bow of greeting, polished and precise. A Revivalist custom, though no doubt the protocol he followed was slightly different from the one Thom was familiar with. "Gerald Tarrant, Neocount of Merentha. Pleased to meet you."

Thom was right - they were of a station, and despite himself he felt his spirits lift a little. Tarrant's bow was perhaps extravagant by Tortallan standards, but Thom echoed the gesture with his own nevertheless. "Master Lord Thom of Trebond, and the pleasure is mine," he said. It wasn't, of course - he would have been ever so much more pleased if Tarrant didn't exist at all, and Thom was free to salvage his castle.

As for the relative appeal of said castle, Thom wasn't about to give the man any idea that he held an advantage, much less something Thom wanted. "After a couple months stuck among all this steel and glass, I admit it was refreshing to find a place more... familiar." This keep could very well have been Trebond, if the heraldry were changed. Oh, the layout was different, but the basic concept was still the same. Much different than the highrises and apartment buildings Thom explored as of late.

Well, to be perfectly frank, Tarrant would also be a little happier if Thom wasn't in his castle. But that was beside the point. He listened as Thom described the City with an expression of mild interest. "Really. Not that the change isn't a little disconcerting, of course, but I find the steel and glass constructs... intriguing. Proof, perhaps, of what humanity will become capable of, provided the right environment and opportunity to develop. It does lack a certain aesthetic, though, doesn't it? A little plodding."

You should have seen some of the swank castles Tarrant had been to, Thom. Like the crystal palace in Lema. Er, before he and his pals blew it up. "And the communications devices they were handing out like children's sweets... useful little things, aren't they?"

Now that their conversation was humming along a little more, Tarrant reached out to the currents, crafting a Working even as he spoke. He needed no key words or signs; for an adept like himself, manipulating the fae was second nature.

The Knowing took form: a delicate, silvery tendril, visible only to those born with the Sight. Or those who had sacrificed to gain it. It wound its way through the air toward Thom and Tarrant felt it brush against some invisible surface. Deflected. Not entirely, however; he was able to get a few snatches of information. There was some sort of alien power within Thom, almost as though it were a separate entity. And not at all a pleasant power, either. Well. Likely Thom would have noticed his host's little independent action. More of a polite inquiry, really, for all that it was unspoken.

"Formulaic, is the word I would choose - although they are a feat of construction. The communicators... lack elegance, but they do well for their intended use."

Likewise, for a mage of Thom's caliber it was not at all difficult to sense the intrusion, process it and react all while retaining his polite mask. His defenses primed immediately after being brushed by the spell, but Thom held them back. Under normal circumstances on his world, he would have released a bolt of power down the probe to deter whoever it was from trying again - that is, if they liked their brains in one piece.

But the spell Tarrant had used was subtle, not hostile, and Thom made it a habit not to make enemies on this ship. Thom judged the man simply wanted to get his measure. He calculated for a moment, trying to decide whether it was better to tip his hand now or leave it for later. However, letting something like that go unchallenged would make him look weak at best, or foolish at worst. "Are you so thorough about investigating all your guests, or have I caught your particular interest?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at Tarrant.

A small smile played at the edges of Tarrant's mouth. "Call it more of a greeting. Surely you don't begrudge me my curiosity, after spending God knows how much time stored like a specimen in one of those slime pods."

Whatever his intention, it seemed he didn't intend to start a confrontation. Not now, at any rate. "I gather that Workers are a shade less... casual, in Trebond. And yet you didn't retaliate out of hand." A compliment? It was hard to tell.

Thom shuddered in disgust at the thought of the pods - not a process he wanted to repeat anytime... ever. He considered Tarrant's words as an unspoken academic question; when he first came on board, he too wanted to know everything about the multiple schools of magic in the universes. "In Tortall, it's rare to find a mage of both power and finesse. It requires in-born talent, education and exacting mental discipline. One can tell the difference between a cast from a disciplined mind and common witchery." He didn't have the amiable demeanor to smile, but he did smirk. "I've made hedgewitches bedridden for weeks when they attempted to probe my defenses."

His posture loosened the longer he stood in Tarrant's company, like a cat relaxing once it has evaluated an area. How he had missed the company of equals. "On this ship, however, I have learned that hostile action is not permitted and always halted rather immediately."

Unless the ship herself was offline, but there was no reason to advise him of that.

Tarrant settled himself into the cushion of a convenient chair, resting his elbows on its arms and steepling his fingers. A slight inclination of his head indicated that Thom was welcome to take a seat in one of the chairs nearby. "I can't say it's much different on Erna," he said, musing. "Common sorcerers can obtain some skill. But many style themselves as more powerful or potent than they truly are."

He didn't say anything about the tail end of Thom's comment, but he did note the casual arrogance there. Someone secure in their power, and their superiority, then. Well, well.

"To keep us from warring against each other, I'm sure," Tarrant said. "It wouldn't due to gather together an army and watch as they fell to fighting amongst themselves, would it? Still, I wonder... without the ship diffusing interpersonal conflicts, how long would it be before that order broke down?" Just a little idle speculation there. You know.

Thom gladly took the other seat. He missed the palace more than he would care to admit to anyone on board. "Despite how things may seem to the contrary, they've attempted to organize themselves into something resembling a civilized government. It functions passably for being elected like a city council."

He didn't have contact with the ship's leadership. To be honest, he didn't have contact with much of anyone, and he hoped it didn't show. "I've been slightly more impressed with the way the military is handled, if only because they seem to be the first to respond to the latest state of crisis - as it should be."

Tarrant settled himself back, considering this new information. "Yes, I met one of those Councilors when I arrived here. He was pleasant enough. And yet I understand that people don't approve of them as a whole. Generally speaking, of course." There was an unspoken request for information there, (hopefully) to be picked up on. Thom seemed like a bright young man.

"The military. Well, it's reassuring to hear that someone's looking after our best interests. The impression I received was that this ship has little but crises on its hands. Unfortunate, don't you think? I was considering offering my services in that regard."

"It's the problem inherent with an electoral system," Thom said. "People elect representatives based on promises in the campaign, and then when they get into office everyone would like instant gratification. The fact that they must contend with eight other personalities and desires on the Council, along with whatever has descended upon us this week, never seems to occur to anyone before they take office."

Thom thought the whole system was a bungled mess. There was a reason most countries were run by kings or emperors - having one single voice making executive decisions was infinitely better in the kind of crisis situations they ran into.

As for the constant state of crisis... Thom shrugged. "The crew who held this ship before we got here had a habit of picking up and chaining up ancient evils or what have you, which the crew of course stumbles upon and wakes up because not a soul on this ship understands the concept of leaving well enough alone."

Tarrant smiled. "What should they do, then? Do away with the Council? Or elect those who promise nothing?" He didn't have much patience with elected officials, or boards of inquiry, or what-have-you. Always interfering, always wheeling and dealing, never putting what was appropriate before what was popular. And what was appropriate, of course, was listening to Tarrant. In any case, he'd had to deal with that enough in his past life. Not that he felt that hereditary rulers were much better.

"Perhaps what we should do instead of stumbling on these threats is to invoke them systematically," Tarrant mused. "Explore specific areas when we feel we have the resources to deal with the aftermath. Slowly rid the ship of its store of little surprises."

"I never said we should abolish the Council," Thom said, "only stated the problems inherent in the system. I much prefer a monarchy." Not only because of the lack of nobility in an electoral system. A king was the kind of singular figure easily sold to the masses with charisma and a fair tax code.

Tarrant's other suggestion had merit, though, and Thom sat forward in his chair, suddenly interested. "Its been a complaint for some time in the Magical department that our services are usually only needed when an emergency is underway. Having something of a purpose in the downtime would be... appealing."

Waking and destroying Stacy's pitfalls before they themselves were destroyed. It was the kind of preventative solution he should have considered.

"There is one other thing," Tarrant said, almost idly. "The Councilmember to which I spoke also mentioned that the crew essentially has no strongholds. No place to go should an attack take place. Odd, wouldn't you say? I think a skilled sorcerer might be useful in that regard as well. Perhaps I'll suggest this to them at this meeting of theirs."

Projects, projects, projects. Tarrant liked to keep himself busy.

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that there are no official strongholds," Thom said. "The crew has fortified several on their own in times of necessity. The Vatican serves as a safe zone in most every crisis - and provided you have at least middling magical talent, the Tower of High Sorcery is impregnable by anything it doesn't want there."

Thom had already run into the guardian entity of the Tower and had earned his right to enter and leave as he pleased. Several others in the Magical department called various places in the Tower their workrooms.

"However, having a list of safe places endorsed by the Council would certainly remove some of the inevitable confusion and panic during a crisis."

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