Chapter 300: Cabinet Meeting 1
Ex-Princess Joma, Varrin’s sister Riona Ravvenblaq, Varrin’s sweetheart Sineh Duckgrien, Throne the Delve Core, Vaulty the pilfered Delve Boss, and Maybe-Governer Lena all appeared around the table.
If you don’t remember who some of these people are, or where in the hells they came from, don’t worry. I’ll include reminders where appropriate.
Once everyone was present, I looked around at the diverse crowd with a satisfied smile, then motioned for Etja to get things started.
“Calling to order the Kingdom of Closetland’s first council meeting of the year 124 AC,” said the mage. “Happy New Year, everybody!”
We dove right in.
First was Joma, a member of the race known as the Iskarim from Mittak, who held the appearance of a mini-yeti. After clearing the furry woman of the influence Hysteria had twisted into her soul, I’d granted her a full pardon for the attempted murder of myself and several others in the room, and she’d chosen to stay on to work more closely with the Delve monsters Grotto bred. Most notably, she had a close relationship with Nottagator, our resident Atrocidile berserker.
She was currently in charge of not only our magical animal husbandry, but also our relations with the various beast tribes the Dragons kept in a loose coalition. Princess Ishi had made the introductions after sucking Joma up into her wake for what Ishi lovingly referred to as “Princess time,” since it was something they had in common.
But first, there was a matter of the diminutive pugilist’s current fashion choices.
“Joma, I see you’re wearing a cloak.”
“I am,” she replied.“It looks quite familiar.”
“Makes sense.”
I ran a hand along the smooth tabletop as I thought. “Is that cloak the lingering divine spawn of the avatar Hysteria?” I asked, deciding to be blunt.
“Yeah,” said Joma. A similarly blunt response.
“Okay. Why? Where did you find that? Is it alive? Can it still do orchestral metal shows, or was that a Hysteria thing?”
“I’m still alive!” shouted the cloak, its tattered yellow fabric shuddering. “I wandered for MONTHS in your stupid dungeons, trying to find my way out! There IS no way out!” The cloak fluttered in irritation, then suddenly smoothed itself out. “And I can still do concerts, I’m glad you liked my last performance.”
“I was taking Nottagator for a run through some of the unused parts of the Closet,” Joma explained. “I found him wandering around down there. Cloaky needed a friend, and we got along.”
“I see. Isn’t the cloak, how do I say it, fucking evil?”
“Rude,” said Cloaky. “Just because my parents were evil doesn’t mean that I have to be.” Part of the cloak bunched up into a sock puppet and turned to Etja. “I think you can relate, right, cuz?” She watched it with wide eyes, but tactfully chose not to respond.
“Parents, plural?” I asked. “Who was the other one?”
“They were both Hysteria. It’s complicated… but if you want, I can go into detail about their parthenogenetic asexual reproduction. Basically, Hysteria really liked to–”
“Stop!” I held up a hand. “We’re good.” I adjusted my sparkling beret and met Joma’s eyes. “Do you vouch for this guy?”
“I do,” she said with a nod, no hesitation whatsoever.
“Well, okay,” I said. If the cloak acted up, we’d just put it through a shredder or something. I glanced over the fabric of the talking piece of clothing, noting that it was pretty beat up. It still had stitches here and there from when Hysteria murdered and then resurrected it, along with a number of rips and burn marks, which probably came from the time I blew it up alongside my old mansion. “Get with Etja and Nuralie later, maybe they can patch you up.”
The cloak gasped. “You would do that for me?”
“Sure. Don’t make me regret it.” I tuned the cloak out and returned to business. “Okay, Joma, give us a report on the beast tribes.”
“They aren’t all tribes,” she replied. “Most of them aren’t. It’s a bad way to refer to them all, but it is what it is.”
“Then how would you describe their social structures?” I asked. “These are sapient creatures, right?”
“Right. And they’re all different. Myrmidons are a eusocial collective, bordering on a hive mind. The Strixen are mostly solitary and only meet with one another to trade or breed. Carbuncles gather in packs, with leaders chosen based on the size of the gem in their heads.” She threw up her hands, dark talons glinting beneath the fur. “There are a dozen more, and they really shouldn’t be grouped together at all.”
“Fair enough. We can consider them independently. That’s not a problem.”
She dropped her arms. “Oh, okay. Thought that would be more difficult.”
“How come?”
She eyed me up and down. “Humans are usually kind of human-centric.”
“Sounds like a generalization.”
“It is,” she said. “But it’s true. Generally.”
“Technically, I’m not even from this planet. I might be the least human person here. It’s not like we’ve done a comparative study of my DNA.”
“Good for you?”
I rubbed at my forehead, deciding to let the matter lie. “You mentioned you wanted to discuss these, ah, various secretive societies a few days ago. Was there anything else on your mind?”
“A bunch of them want to visit,” she said. “Some might consider moving in, if that’s feasible. They’re all losing habitat to more organized groups. Some hardly have a place to live anymore.”
“We can do some visits, so long as you want to make the arrangements. As far as having various species of intelligent magical creatures cohabitating in the Closet, let’s see how the visits go and regroup.”
“Works for me. I’ll throw together some responses.”
Next was Varrin’s little sister, Lady Riona Ravvenblaq. She was a six-foot-tall, alabaster-skinned example of idealized womanly beauty, a Level 3 Platinum Delver, and a person with an unhealthy passion for formal etiquette and the intricacies of Hiwardian nobility. She was currently managing our relations with the major Hiwardian houses.
“Ever since King Celeritia formally recognized Closetland as a sovereign nation, every major house in the Kingdom has sent you gifts,” she said.
“Gifts?” I asked. “What kind of gifts?”
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“The gifts vary, but what’s more important is that each of them serves as a message, an inquiry, or both. We can get a sense of how each house views Closetland based on the content of the gift, the manner in which it was sent, and a host of other considerations.”
“All right. Please continue.”
“I’d like to begin with the most hostile gift you’ve received. The Heronwytes sent three high-quality rings with superb health regeneration weaves. Each also has other magical affixes based on the materials. Additionally, they sent three amulets of similar quality, woven with increased Spiritual defense.”
“Why are we offended that they sent us a small fortune in free gear?”
“While your vest and boa are your signature items, those who are in the know understand that your ring and amulet are potent contributors to your build, while the more eye-catching elements have novelty functions, at best.”
I rubbed at my boa and bit back a retort. This was professional king time for professional kingly shit. Riona herself had encouraged me to keep sarcasm and side tangents to a minimum.
“During the fiasco last year,” Riona continued, “Leon Heronwyte pointed out your ring and amulet as evidence of your potential connections to certain avatars. The rings reflect your own health regeneration ring, although they pale in comparison. The same with the amulets, since your own deals with matters of the soul. While these are items that would richly suit most Delvers in your level range, they are uniquely useless to you. In short, they are gifts you cannot use and reminders that the Heronwytes have not forgotten about the alleged avatar corruption.”
“Maybe I can’t use them personally, but Closetland can use the hells out of ‘em,” I said. “Check them for traps and add them to the treasury. We can sell ‘em or regift them. Man, I wish everyone who hated me would choose to remind me of it by throwing a pile of treasure in my direction.”
“Indeed,” Riona flipped to the next page of her notes, although she hadn’t once referred to them. “Next is the house that appears to have the friendliest view. Obviously, the Ravvenblaqs have the most intimate ties.” She gestured between herself and Varrin. “Grandfather has also extended an invitation for you to visit his smithy and discuss smithing techniques, along with possible upgrades to Gracorvus.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Ignoring my own house, the gift of greatest promise came from the Duckgriens, who have provided a plethora of magically enhanced embryonic plants. Some for farming and food production, and others for use in a specialized alchemy garden.” She nodded at Nuralie, who sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “Clearly, the Duckgriens are both aware of Closetland’s needs and are willing to provide support if you so wish. It would also be polite to invite the Duckgriens to partake in the fruits of their gifts once they are harvested, so it is a soft request for an audience.”
“Love it,” I said. “We can have a Duckgrien party. I bet Bobret knows some killer drinking games.”
Riona’s eye twitched at my casual tone, but as the king, I wasn’t technically violating any rules of etiquette. She knew that I knew that, and knew that I knew that she knew, and that I was thus choosing to rib her some. Back and forth with Riona was a game with many layers.
“House Bluewren sent a substantial wine collection containing vintages all from Ashen Vineyards, ranging from years 82 through 97. However, rather than sending it in bottles or barrels, they were shipped in amphoras.”
I grimaced. “I think I can see some of the messaging there. I’m familiar with that vineyard.”
“It’s not as bad as you might think,” said Riona. She looked around at the assembled council members. “For the benefit of the others in the room, Ashen Vineyards was purchased and renamed a few years ago by King Xor’Drel’s brief allies, Ember and Cole. It was renamed in honor of their fallen sister, Ashe, who was killed by Orexis. The murder was witnessed by most of the members of Fortune’s Folly.”
Riona continued, her eyes returning to me. “Nine months ago, the Bluewrens declared a year of mourning for the deaths of Lord Director Aprogar Bluewren and his son, the young Lord Deletar Bluewren. Your Majesty’s party uncovered the death of both Bluewrens, one from within a Delve and the other when you encountered Hysteria.
“As for the choice of containers for the wine, amphoras have not been used for storage in some time, but they are still occasionally used as grave goods; something meant to be buried with the dead for a symbolic or sentimental reason.” Riona took a moment to straighten out her stack of notes. “Our father was entombed with an amphora. I believe this helped inform their choice.” She took a steadying breath before moving on. “The wine encapsulates several tragedies that you and your party are connected to.
“However, the vintages selected are not ones that were produced by the twins, all of which would still be maturing, anyway. Several of these are highly sought after, praised by well-respected sommeliers throughout the continent. The others are still prized by enthusiasts and command a significant price at market. It is an incredible collection, so I believe the gesture is meant to be respectful. Perhaps it’s an expression of commiseration, or a comment on the value of your mission and the stakes at hand. Other than that, I can only speculate.”
Varrin motioned to speak, and I gestured for him to go ahead. “Patriarch Ravvenblaq once told me of a tradition during the rebellion, started after a nighttime raid by the Littans that resulted in a massacre. Hiwardian soldiers would pour wine onto a grave or the battlefield as a promise to the fallen. ‘For every drop of wine spilled in remembrance, a hundred drops of blood will spill in vengeance.’”
Riona listened to Varrin, looking puzzled. “I’ve never heard of that tradition.”
Varrin’s eyes were downcast. “He told me the story only once. I do not think he was proud of some of the things he did after making that vow.”
Riona finally looked directly at her notes. “This changes my evaluation,” she said, writing something down. “The Bluewrens may be more supportive than I expected.”
“How much wine did they send?” I asked.
“Sixteen amphoras, which is 144 gallons.”
I tapped the table as I considered Varrin’s rhyme. “That’s a lot of blood.” I let Riona scribble a few more notes. When she was done, I asked, “What about Thrushmahogany? I think that’s the only house you haven’t mentioned.”
“Yes, well…” She brushed a lock of white hair from her forehead. “Thrushmahogany is inscrutable at times. They sent a collection of intelligence reports filled with compromising information for all of the Hiwardian houses, including their own. It also provides some lurid details concerning various officials in Timagrin, Eschendur, and the Littan Empire.”
“What kind of compromising information?”
“Abuses of power, corruption, various criminal activities, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah? Is House Ravvenblaq included?”
“With fewer examples, but yes,” she said. “We are not without our bad eggs.”
I took a beat to consider whether that was a subtle bird joke related to the house names. “So what message is Thushmahogany sending with that bundle of joy?”
“I believe they have given you a powerful weapon to see if you cut yourself with it.” She tapped her lips with her pen. “Still, it strikes me as a neutral message, one that shows their value as an ally and also the threat they can pose as an enemy. There’s an element of fairness since they discuss themselves as much as anyone else. It could just as easily be meant to drive a wedge between you and the other houses, or even an admonishment to safeguard against similar activities on the part of your own officials.”
“Seems toxic,” I said. “Like they just handed us a sack with everyone’s dirty laundry inside. Not what I’d want to get on my birthday. Or any other day, for that matter.”
“You could keep it for leverage,” she said. “Although that could backfire if someone decides it’s easier to kill you than deal with the chance of that information getting out.”
“The stuff inside is that serious?”
“Some may see it that way,” she said. “You could destroy it, but if anyone finds out that you ever had it, they’ll be unlikely to believe you actually disposed of it without committing the contents to memory.” Her brow pinched in frustration. “I only pursued it briefly to determine its contents, and that’s enough for me to worry about retaliation.” She waved her pen around, dismissing her personal concerns. “You could sell it to the highest bidder, but that risks making a lot of enemies.”
“What if we just–” I rolled my hand in the air. “–make it public?”
Riona froze. “You mean, publish it? Make copies and distribute them?”
“Yeah.”
“To everyone?” Her voice rose in pitch.
“It might be what Thrushmahogany wants. It’s not like they’ve asked us to keep it all a secret, and they know our position on information transparency. They get deniability if the info comes from us, and it puts all these troublemakers in the hot seat.” I sighed. “Still feels like we’re getting hired to clean up someone else’s mess. What a weird thing to send us.”
“That is certainly an option,” said Riona. She tapped the pen against her lips again. Then, a hint of a smile bloomed. “It is certainly an option,” she repeated, this time more muttering to herself.
“Welp, any more news from the houses?”
“That is all that is germane for the moment.”
“Cool. Send the Heronwytes a ‘fuck you’ card with a picture of me wearing all their stupid jewelry–Etja can do the illustration–let Papa Junior know I’m ready to hang out at his pleasure, send the Duckgriens a thank you card saying we’ll have them over for dinner as soon as the tomatoes are ripe, and don’t bother saying anything to the Thrushmahoganies. They’ll get our response alongside everyone else in the world. As for the Bluewrens…”
I trailed off as I had a thought, but considered that it might be a very bad one.
Maybe some traditions should be resurrected.