The Kandala City Arrival

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The applicants were reviewed, and hard decisions were made. Some people were cut out, and unexpected people were selected. Some who didn't even apply were approached and asked to represent the city. Arrangements are made fast, travel arrangements made and the group flown out to the city. The airship is luxurious, sent by the city itself to pick up the representatives. The airship gives a blatant showing of wealth. The trip is short and sets down in the private docks of the wealthy. The party is now ready to depart the ship. Anything they are not carrying themselves is being carted to the quarters assigned to them in the city. A contingent of guards dressed in white wait at the bottom of the airship's ramp. A young lord, with a easy going smile stands with them. Holding pamphlets he is handing out to each representative. The pamphlets contain the itinerary for the negotiations. Day 1: City Tour Day 2: Opening Negotiations Day 3: Games Day 4: Counter Proposals Day 5: Masquerade Ball Day 6: Closing Debates Day 7: Decision. As the pamphlets are handed out the young lord speaks up, "Ahh welcome welcome to our fair city. My name is Baronet Alskier Markov. I am to be your host for your stay in our lovely city. If you have any questions feel free to ask."

Having the leadership of this diplomatic contingent thrust upon him, Dietrich has found himself equal parts bewildered at the decision, unhappy about the destination, and resolute to see the job done. With the import of the mission in mind, the white wolfkin first made sure to give his vest a good, thorough polish, and change out gloves and boots for something a touch less... heavy. Drawing in a deep breath as he steps off the airship, he lowers his head to the noble before him, as the porters carry off his single bag. "It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord Markov," he says, offering a hand to shake after the pamphlet is received. "I hope this talk will do a great deal for both our cities."

Celeste strolls down off the airship, looking prepared for war as much as for negotiations; the mouse has her spear and shield slung across her back, with the recent addition of a sword strapped to the back of the shield. She bears a single duffle, which she has insisted on bringing along herself, and carries herself with an air of laziness, and a sagegrass cigarette dangles from her lips, polluting the air with its pungent aroma. "Much 'bliged," she comments, upon receiving a pamphlet. She glances at it, turns it over a couple of times, turns it over so it's the right way up, and then stuffs it directly into one of the pockets of her jacket. "An' pleased ter meet'cha. I'mma Celeste St. Wallenrod."

Amongst our fair representatives, one Burmecian is quite cleaned up. In fact, it might be hard to recognize Archimedes at a glance with his fur cleaned and his leathers replaced with traditional wetland garb. Long sleeves, simple but elegant folds, all loping downwards like a waterfall frozen in time. All this, and a walking cane with a thick curled dragon on the head. He greets the host with a sweep of the arm and bow. "We are honored by your hospitality," he says. "Arhimedes Ashford. I look forward to getting to know this kingdom of yours."

The swordsmoogle is dressed as he is usually dressed. His sirappe is clean, his hat is re-strawed. The only different is that the thing pinning his cloak together is a badge that puts him as a guard. He wears his sword, the sword of the Late Captain Black, strapped across his back. He carries a simple bag of his own, though large, in comparison to him, slung across his back. - He spent little time enjoying the airship. It is not that the moogle does not enjoy sights, he has spent much of his life drifting, and to see new sights is a thing to savor. But opulence for opulence's sake tends to sour fast. - When approached by the guard, Kupor bows, fist in hand, to a medium height. Showing no particular deference, but not rude. "Thanks, kupo, Lord Markov," he offers in return for the pamphlet. His brows quickly knit. Games. - /BALL/ - The swordsmoogle frowns. He had thought the book was joking.

Alistair seemed to have enjoyed the trip over, though the Detective fairly kept to himself, making no real comment about his own thoughts about this mission he was selected for just yet... And upon arrival, he simply collects his messenger bag, slips his tailored frock coat over his equally tailored suit, and promptly descends the gangplank to position himself next to the wolfkin who is ostensibly his superior for a time. The pale, slender Hume casting his baby blues around the docks with an appraising gaze, before he accepts that pamphlet with a brief smile, and nods towards the young noble... His upper class Archadian accent, which the party would have noted during their trip, entirely gone as he speaks, keeping his voice neutral as a bit of light subterfuge perhaps, "And a splendid welcome it is, my lord. Your city's architecture is wondrous."

Lord Markov offers a grin, "Of course, you would not have been invited otherwise. I am." Pausing as he looks over the group, missing a beat, "Honored to be your host." His smile very superficial, he turns around, "Time for the tour. You need to see our fair city and all that it offers of course. We have lunch planned at one of the finest restaurants in the city, and for dinner you will be hosted by Lord Kittemer himself." Two guards immediately flanking him as he walks off. The rest of the guards keeping a respectable distance from the group, mostly just keeping a eye out. The trip is short out past the private docks, and into the main streets. "Ahh this is the merchants quarter. You will find shops for everything and anything here. Please take a look." The streets are lined on each side with shops, that range from mundane items, to the more magical things like potions and tonics. Multiple streets turn off. Lord Markov speaks up again suddenly, "Oh I almost forgot. I would recommend you do not go down Barter street, the merchandise sold their as I was informed, is not to your taste."

"...Indeed," Dietrich answers, the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes, and backward cast of his ears belying his easy smile. "Our thanks for your consideration, of course." The tour of the markets, received with courteous interest, the occasional merchant catching his eye nodded to in greeting. Now and again, as the Lord looks away, he casts a thoughtful eye back over his fellow diplomats. Some he knows in passing, others complete strangers, and already his mind is working out how the talks might go.

Celeste takes up a position at the front of the group, and strides along with a confidence that might border on arrogance. Her tail sways in the air behind her, and her hair and coat rustle in the breeze. Her cigarette eventually runs down to be too small to continue to bother with, and she flicks the remainder away, into the gutter. "Ain' me first time'n Kandhala," she observes, to nobody in particular, "But ain' had no tour b'fore." She grins, eyes lingering on a jeweler's wares before she picks up the pace again.

Dietrich overhears: "A couple of passing merchants walk by talking to each other: "Lord Kittemer has through great lengths for security, but did you hear? One of his serving maids was poisoned!" The merchants lost in the crowed moments after."

A street merchant runs up to Celeste, "Finest smokes in all of Kandala! Cheap cheap!" Holding up a case for Celeste to look at, a wide grin on his face.

Celeste draws up short, and regards the merchant, his wares, and then the merchant again. "N'thanks," she replies, and carefully skirts around the man. "Ain' gonna chain'm one after t'other. Maybe nex'time."

Archimedes folds his hands upon his cane and looks out from the docks, smiling. Oh, yes, this would be an adventure of a different stripe. He keeps his thoughts largely to himself, save for moments wherein a more formal response would be appropriate. For now, the entourage seems to have the better part of chatter down. His job? To look as snobbish and unassuming as possible while still being charming. The market catches his eye. He studies it closely--goods available to trade, seeing how it matches up with their foreknowledge. What resources Kandala has available, and the kind of people running it. As to the remark of Barter street, he waits a beat and then leans over and whispers to... let's say Alistair. "Seems someone does not want us peeking under their skirts." He laughs, soft, and faces front again. "Tis impressive. What would you say is Kandala's most important export?" Ah. Phrased like this it sounds almost like a question to taste face, a public demonstration. A play. Most of this stuff was on the docket, anyway.

Alistair's expression stays perfectly neutral, almost pleasant even, despite the careful mention of the city's slavery practices... Seeming to not let it outwardly bother him at least. And he just nods then as he continues to follow along, staying mostly at the center of the group, and letting his eyes roam around the market as they pass through. The man taking in everything there is to see, but paying special interest to the stalls selling various alchemical supplies... Once allowing himself to linger at one of the vendors a moment as he picks up a sinisterly black flower bulb and carefully raises it to briefly take in its scent... Giving the vendor an approving nod right after, before he sets it down once more and falls back in line.

The street merchant shakes his head, "Free Sample!" Shoving the case into Celeste's hands and running off before they can be refused, disappearing into the crowd.

The swordsmoogle takes in the sights. He has never spoken much with lords, but several books have given him a basic understanding of decorum. As a guard and emissary, he is likely to be looked down upon, but smiled to anyways. Markov marks that off in his mind. Kupor lets his eyes rove. He has his senses out for any sort of attack. A rebellious protest assault would likely happen on the first day. Something small, a few rocks perhaps. - But as well, Kupor takes in the people. Merchants selling to make a name for themselves. People bustling about, buying. The way people make their lives here. Women with their children. Men arguing over price. His eyes drift over each. - "It could be a trap."

"It could be a great many things, my friend," Dietrich murmurs toward Kupor, ears flicking toward a pair of passing merchants. "Best be gracious, lady, and tuck those away for the moment. Once we get settled in, we can see what that was about." Looking to Archimedes as the alchemist makes a good opening question, his features shift to polite attentiveness, as he waits for the Lord's answer.

Lord Markov shakes his head, "No no please explore. So tense, so weary, this is for you to get to know our city. WOnder, and ask questions of our people. Learn a bit about us. I will be waiting here, the guards following each of you will let you know when it is time to come back." A touch of amusement in his voice now. Looking to Archimedes, "Slaves." Rather blunt about it to, "Then followed by a very lucrative mining operation, jeweles of all sorts, metals, and lastly we have a good abundance of food products."

"Kupo." He agrees, pauses, thinks for a long moment, then nods. "Kupo," he agrees more firmly to Dietrich, acknowledging that he had been thinking along a line of one on edge, and acknowledging the more clandestine things possible.

"You'll have to forgive us, my Lord," Dietrich says, shaking his head and chuckling. "Too often what appears to be a simple voyage turns out to end in dire threat. Please, we mean no insult by our caution, and think that it would be lovely to explore your markets." Looking to Kupor, he nods at Archimedes. Celeste, paired off with Alistair, as even with the Lord's platitudes, the wolfkin seems to prefer his fellow envoys pair off, in case trouble does come calling.

Alistair glances over at Archimedes as he rejoins the party, and offers the Burmecian a faint, amused smile, seeming about to respond right afterwards, only to have Lord Markov address Archimedes instead... And he just chuckles lightly then, before giving Arch a shrug, and then sweeping his gaze over to Celeste and her impromptu gift... His eyebrows raising minutely, before he ever so smoothly slips closer to the mouse warrior to join her in exploration, as their fuzzy leader indicated, as well as to study the box up close, letting his keen sight wander over it to see if he might notice anything untoward just at a first glance of its exterior. You page, "A plain basic metal cigar case." to Alistair.

Celeste turns the box over in her hand, before stuffing it in the same pocket as the pamphlet. "Yeah, I ain' dumb," she mutters to Dietrich, following his advice on what to dow ith the box. She pats the pocket lightly, before turning her gaze towards Alistair. "A'ight, le's go shoppin'," she comments, and starts marching off, though she makes sure the Burmecian can keep up. "See, I'mma knowin' this great tavern down'a road here..." she trails off, and glances over her shoulder to gauge how far out of earshot they've managed to get from Lord Markov, before pulling out the now rumpled pamphlet, and thrusting it into Archimedes' hands. "A'ight, now what'n *Hell's* this damn thing say?!"

Celeste turns the box over in her hand, before stuffing it in the same pocket as the pamphlet. "Yeah, I ain' dumb," she mutters to Dietrich, following his advice on what to dow ith the box. She pats the pocket lightly, before turning her gaze towards Alistair. "A'ight, le's go shoppin'," she comments, and starts marching off, though she makes sure the Hume can keep up. "See, I'mma knowin' this great tavern down'a road here..." she trails off, and glances over her shoulder to gauge how far out of earshot they've managed to get from Lord Markov, before pulling out the now rumpled pamphlet, and thrusting it into Alistair's hands. "A'ight, now what'n *Hell's* this damn thing say?!"

The bluntness of the word slaves hammers against Kupor's face. But he keeps his hat in the way of his expression, lest Markov make something over it. At Dietrich's look, Kupor nods in agreement of the caution. He steps in line with Archimedes. He is taking the books quite seriously on court politics. Questions will give away anything that can be used against the group. And Kupor is far too blunt a moogle to keep his words cloaked.

Celeste and Alistair overhear: "As you walk away you over hear a couple of merchants. Merchants talking: "The slums are more dangerous than ever, with all the extra security around the estates less to keep the garbage in line."

"Aha." The Burmecian smiles and searches Markov's eyes a moment. No doubt a strong connection between the two, a thought betrayed maybe by the twitch of an ear. Nothing more. "As something of a craftsman myself, I take great interest in a kingdom's fine earths. I am sure Kandala will not disappoint." Archimedes bows again, and takes his leave, rather than quiz the ear off Markov all day. The slight tap of his cane wanders and he smiles at Kupor. "I would like to visit the jeweler, and the mining companies, if you can spare the time. And I am willing to go wherever you wish." He gestures to their host. "Use this opportunity to educate yourself. They will learn what we learn." Including what they certainly don't want us to discover.

Pending of course he gets his way, his eyes are open and his questions are always simple. Something to the line of "what are you digging up these days?" Loaded, but earnest. His pocketbooks may be modest, but the Tempered Drake's run deep, and if he can find a good deal, it's practically his obligation to consider it. That, however, may be a separate negotiation.

The jewelry shop is large, one of the cities bigger exporters. As Archimedes and Kupor enter in they can over hear a couple of the patrons talking. "Lost three slaves today, going to have to go to barter street and see if there are any that might survive more then a month." The two exit right as they enter. A man behind the counter glances up and smiles, "How can I help you two today? Some of the best craftswork in the city here." Indeed the jewels are cut with great skill, and some of the jewelry made by master craftsman. The city can clearly afford some of the best.

Lord Markov offers a smile to Dietrich, "I can see why they put you in charge of this group. Any questions, feel free to ask." A knowing smile crossing the mans face, "Otherwise, we can stare at each other for the next hour."

Dietrich's lips twitch upward at the corners. "Well then," he says with a chuckle, "that certainly makes one of us. I *do* thank you for your patience, Lord Markov, and for questions, well... Does the Lord Kittemer often have a problem with security? Or is it simply the price paid for talks with foreign interests?"

Kupor nods, letting Archimedes take the lead. Kupor's skills land elsewhere. Archimedes' seem to do well here. Barter street. Kupor's ears flick briefly from over his hat, but he does not look up to them. Kupor frowns at the jewelry. He is not one for rings. But as Archimedes appears to be the one with people skills here that do not rely on the honesty and pureness of one's soul and/or punches, he pretends to look.

Alistair keeps his senses sharp as he wanders after the mouse, and soon glances towards a conversation that catches his interest, efficiently filing away a tidbit of information in his 'mind castle' for later study... But then, as that pamphlet is thrusted towards him, he looks back over at Celeste, and without any sort of judgment showing on his face at her apparent lack of reading ability, simply glances over the paper again, and answers her, "Ah, it's our itinerary, lass. Day one, city tour- This would be it. Day two, opening negotiations. Day three, games- it seems they intend to entertain us. Day four, counter proposals. Day five, masquerade ball- a perfect venue for an assassination attempt, to be sure. Day six, closing debates. Day seven, decision." The man offering her a brief smile then, before he hands the pamphlet back and adds, "I shall let you lead the way. You seem to have prior knowledge of our location."

Celeste arches an eyebrow as she listens to Alistair's reading of the itinerary, though her ear perks up at the nearby conversation; then she makes a strange, half-choked sound in response to what day five is all about. "I'mma s'pose that'll mean they's all 'spectin' me ter be wearin' some ridic'lous dress, jes'cause I got tits," she observes. "Well, that ain' happenin'." She stuffs the pamphlet back down into her pocket. She hefts the weight of the spear and shield on her back, the latter proudly displaying a grand emblem of a rampant lion. "Up t'yer if'n yer wants ter head ter tavern," she adds. "Prolly ain' th'right time fer gettin' propper sotted, though. Any other sort'a place yer wanna see?"

Lord Markov doesn't falter or miss a beat at all, "of course he doesn't. He is the head lord over the military. He has enemies everywhere of course, never have they gotten close. Always a rumor or two flying by though. Best be more careful in what you believe." The lord offering that superficial smile on his face again, "Anything else?"

In a fancy jewler's shop... Archimede's ears give another token twitch. "A bit eager, aren't they?" he murmurs to Kupor. "It's obvious why they're one of the ones with coin to spare..." A little conpsiracy is to be expected, yes? But once the Jeweler has his attention he has to be more appropriate! He laughs, warm in tone as always. "I will be the judge of that," he says, but leans on the shade of 'positive.' "Mm. I'd be looking for a cloak brooch. Something simple, yet elegant. You make your own wares?" He smiles. "And a local supplier, I'm sure. This kingdom is brimming with regalness." Hopefully he's not boring Kupor to tears by being a hobnobber. The soft questions come now. The harder ones may be those that are spoken in the end.

Dietrich inclines his head. "Thank you, my Lord, but you misunderstand; I ask, because I'd rather not believe *anything* I hear, unless someone I trust can verify. So, my thanks for placing my mind at ease... Now. I see there's to be a masquerade ball, yes? Will we be seeing tailors, if there's a need? Only, I don't believe all of us found the proper time to choose acceptable finery."

Alistair smiles some at the mouse again, before he responds, "Ah, but a masquerade ball implies anonymity. Wear your mask, dress like a man or however else you want, and I'm certain no one will complain, or even be any the wiser." The Hume shrugging then, before he ever so briefly thinks... And then adds, "A tavern will be a valuable source of information, by virtue of the loose tongues that will be present around us. We will simply have to limit our own partaking." And he winks at Celeste then, before motioning at her to lead the way.

The city is alive with activity. Celeste and Alistair will find a small group of guards walking by. "I got to see that Emberstrand group, bunch of riff raff they are." Another guard speaks up, "Ha. Still probably more trustworthy then the Rozzarians. Envy Lord Zikel. Gets to host them, and that lady has one fine..' Cut off by another guard, "Yea he lost his bet with Lord Markov. Does he have anybody to oogle?" The first guard speaking up, "Na, do not think they even had a woman in their group." The guards walking off down the street out of ear shoot." The jeweler snaps his fingers, "Simple yet elegant, of course. We have a fine selection over on that counter there. We have our own craftsman of course. The nobles and merchants alike are always wanting to show off their wealth." He himself is very well dressed. The counter indicated has a wide selection of brooches to look over.

Celeste snorts loudly. "Then what'n hell's'a point?" she asks. "Goin' ter some fancy-pants shindig an ain't n'body knowin' who yer are or tha'tcher there." And then, there are guards walking past, one of them commenting about the Emberstrand group not having a single woman amongst them. The words 'I'mma woman yer idjit!' cross her mind, but somehow she manages to merely grind her teeth rather than voice them. "Idjit," she mutters under her breath, unable to quite let it pass unremarked upon. "Bet he dun even know what tits look like," she adds, before turning to head towards the bar. "C'mon. Place's called th'Lobo's Den, best tavern on'a street. An' usually good merchants 'bout, too. Ain' far."

Lord Markov considers Dietrich for a moment, and chuckles. "We have tailors ready in case any of your party requires assistance with costuming. In fact that is our next stop right after lunch." yet his smile grows wider, honest this time. "You want your mind at ease?" Yes there is a wicked gleam in his eyes, "He had a serving maid recently. She was found to be compromised, visiting certain individuals down in the under city. She was going to be sold on the block, or commite suicide. She knew another lord, has a fancy for such traitors, so she choose suicide. A pity, means her family gets no compensation or split from the sale."

Kupor considers the brooches. It is not his place to judge others for their lifestyles choices. He does his best to look interested, which is a vague raise of his eyebrows here and there on his dour face. "The local mines, then, kupo, they are gold?"

Archimedes picks out something small, silvered, with green inlays. And a bracelet with blue sapphires. "I think you're willing to give me a good deal," he says, swaying his tail. "Because whatever you stand to lose on these, everyone in this city will see your shop's work on foreign dignitaries, and in the King's Court. This store will thrive for months, at least, on that alone. I imagine your craftsmanship will carry you further." The Burmecian smiles, taps his cane, and twitches his ears. Interested, almost, more in the keep's response than he is the jewelery itself.

The Jeweler doesn't even blink a eye, "Merchant guild association sets all prices for all goods in the city. It is against regulation to sell any item below listed prices. Cost is listed below the item." There appears to be no room in the man for negotiation, "Or are you simply pretending to have money when you do not?" A very direct question. A glance to Kupor and a humpf, "Everything, the mines are rich, it has it."

The easy smile is wiped right off of Dietrich's face, ears slamming back against his head. "....My lord," he says, voice dropping several degrees, "I'm quite well aware, what you and yours must think of us. A poor offering from Emberstrand, such a motley and uncouth lot, yes? But what you may mistake, my lord, is that we are here as political delegates, who intend to do the very best job we can do... And we are here, to show Kandhala what the city's chief export is. *Adventurers,* my lord. A word to sneer at, perhaps, but *only* if one mistakes dust for dirtiness, for a single adventurer, time and again throughout history, has turned the tide of many a world-spanning conflict. And I will ask you, now... When this war finds itself on your doorstep, is it not wise to have made a friend of the city that *teems* with strangers willing to fight your enemy to their last drop of blood?"

Alistair shrugs lightly at Celeste and offers her another smile as he responds to her comments about the point of a masquerade ball, "One of the many mysteries of nobility, I'm afraid." Only to let his gaze wander towards the passing guards as he overhears their comments... His expression remaining entirely neutral despite the insult directed at their party, and soon looking back at the mouse warrior... The man briefly appraising her female form with a clinical eye, before he simply remarks, "We can assume he finds more enjoyment in bedmates that lack mammary glands, yet have the addition of a phallus, if it makes you feel better, dear." And starting to follow her right after, towards the inn.

Lord Markov smile never falters, the look in his eyes never fading. His voice smooth, "I have hired a few adventueres as well goodman Dietrich. I am one of the few on Lord Kittemers side. Rumors say I lost a bet, I did that on purpose." Leaning in towards Dietrich, "You asked about security, I gave you a answer. A problem was found, it was addressed. Criminals are sold to pay for their crimes, accept that. Also remember, it is you who needs us. Do not be so choosy as the begger at our doors. We know a war is comming, pray to the spirits that you can manage to convince the Banker and the King to choose you."

Archimedes laughs as if in great amusement and shakes his head. "Really. My apologies. Kandala really DOES have its own way of doing things." He quietly produces and sifts through his coin bag. It might be most of his wealth in his entirety, but no one knows that. A gesture, an answer to a question. "If the city is as rich and talented as it seems, then I would be a fool to buy the first piece I saw. You understand." He returns his purse and glances at Kupor, prepared to leave.

Kupor smiles. If only a little. That this is not a game of politics, but of business. Kupor is not above business. He frowns. /Everything/. Kupor doesn't have much knowledge in geology, but he is fairly sure mines do not work like that. There must be some sort of Earth magic in the ground, perhaps. The moogle turns away from the brooches. He is about to speak some sort of pithy remark about him and money, but at Archimedes' look, he sighs and realizes the game is still being played, and begins to leave.

Celeste has quite the female form; in spite of her strength, she's blessed with beauty, and not some sort of ogrish appearance. Still, for a moment she looks like she's about to do something highly uncouth. Fortunately, however, she does nothing other than supress a snort and manage to chuckle. "P'raps," she replies. "B'then, I'mma likin' that kind'a thing, so ain' gonna fault n'body else fer likin'em too." She turns, and pushes open the door to the tavern she'd previously mentioned. The atmosphere inside is dimly lit and smokey, with a cacophany of noise from patrons laughing and drinking. "Now this'my kin'a place," she states happily, holding the door open for Alistair.

The Jewler chuckles softly and steps back behind the counter, "of course of course. Do take care." Not seeming upset in the least he didn't sell the item. Leaning over to whisper some words to a young boy who then takes off. "If you would excuss me I have other customers to attend to." The place not lacking in the least for business.

"Believe me, my lord," Dietrich rumbles, "I do. Had I thought otherwise, I'd not be here. I'll not say this is going to be an easy thing, for either of us; I've seen no small amount of your merchants incensed about our refusal to allow their slaves within Emberstand's walls. But, yes. Kandhala's wealth *is* needed. If only so that your fair city may be guarded from trouble, in the days to come. I am most pleased, however, to hear that you *chose* to host us. It means there is ground for friendship." Leaning back, the wolfkin considers the noble a moment, ears perking up. "Tell me, my Lord... do you happen to play chess?" The Tavern is almost completely full, every table having at least oner person at it. Ranging from merchants, to off duty guards, and the occasional traveler. The two as they enter are mostly ignored. It is not uncommon for strangers to walk in. yet one person sitting at a far table waves the two over as they step in.

Archimedes tucks his bag inside his tunic and bows. No sense in not being polite! "You as well." Once out of earshot, he offers Kupor a smile of apology. "I am starting to wonder if this was not a mistake." Shopping for baubles, or the entire business? "Think of that as a taste of what's to come." A test of the local sentiment. The ratty stops smiling, for a moment. "Would you care to look around, or rejoin our friends?" he wonders. Though he suspects if the moogle gets anywhere near Barter street, his pure morals might drive him into causing a ruckus.

Alistair just offers the mouse a brief smile at her comment, before he steps inside the inn after her, and right away sweeps his keen gaze across its interior... Almost instantly letting his blue eyes pause upon the figure waving them over... His expression staying entirely neutral despite the oddness of this gesture, and simply throwing a glance towards Celeste before he straightens his coat some, and then slips further inside to walk towards the individual at the table, "Let's see what they require of us, shall we."

With guards following them, Kupor is not likely to go to Barter Street. The sight of suffering will drive him to do what must be done on the spot. As they exit, Kupor considers. He begins to cast his eyes about for the stalls that do not sell extravagant food, for the places where the paid laborers and their families might shop. "Come, kupo. I would know what the people that make up the most of this city think of us." Celeste pauses a moment to heft the weight of her arms once more, surreptitiously loosening her spear in its sling as she does so; a practiced motion, and one not immediately obvious to many. "A'ight," she replies, and starts off across the tavern floor. Upon reaching the bar, a quick detour on the way to the waving man and his table, she slaps down a few gil; uncounted, but certainly enough to be worth more than the drink she snatches up in turn, which was actually intended for someone else. She puts the mug to her lips and drinks. "Oh good, Ale," she observes, before continuing on to the waving man. "Af'ernoon," she drawls, upon reaching him. "We met?"

The man waving over Celeste and Alistair looks young, but clearly trying to hide his features. Doing a rather poor job, he is clearly of some noble line. He seems nervous and glances both direction as he leans in, "Emberstrandians right? I umm...' Nervous as he looks around, "Saw you heading this way. Umm..." pausing again, "I err, we need your help."

Kupor will easily spot a entire street of small cheaper stalls. Selling lower quality goods, foods, and clothing. The street marked, Beggers Lane. The people alone the lane are clearly the serving class, most seem to be doing decently well.

Lord Markov shakes his head, "Still a novice, my father Baron Markov is a master of the game. As for friendship, we shall see. I suspect that you will find much of what you wish to be questioned." Shaking his head as he glances up to a nearby clock weatching the time. "Not much time left." Motioning over to the guards, "Start rounding up our guest, time for lunch."

Alistair raises his brow just a bit as he stands before the man's table... And then idly glances across each shoulder, trying to note anything or anyone the young noble might be nervous about, before he simply pulls out a chair and slides himself in it. The detective resting his arms on the table and idly steepling his fingers as he looks at the young man, and responds, "Do you now? And who would 'we' be?" He asks, his voice neutral.

"Indeed," Dietrich says, offering a short nod. "By your leave, then." With that, he starts off into the market, heading in the direction he'd last seen Archimedes and Kupor disappear.

"I wonder if they are so fastidious as to have groomed the town for our arrival," says Archimedes, looking about the 'poorer' section of town. "Or that of our counterparts. I can only imagine what adventures they are having right now."

Dietrich overhears: "As you walk by a weapons merchant. Weapons Merchant: "Filled another report with the guard, second attempt at a break in this week. Somebody is trying to steal my special stock! Have a big shipment coming in tonigth, may have to hire extra guards for it."

The moogle frowns. "There is much to be gained on this, kupo." Here, he is willing to trade his money, purchasing an apple, and providing it for a woman near him. "And yet so much in this city." He shakes his head, "This war will test what people fight for. And what of that they are willing to sacrifice." The woman who is handed the apple just stares at the apple, "Who, what do you think I am? Just some begger from the slums?" Tossing the apple right back at the moogle, "I work well for my living, do not need some charity." Humpfing as she walks off.

The red-head follows Dietrich to the market. "So there seems to be a lot more going on here, behind the scenes, than what the outside world seems understand.", she says quietly as they are on their way. "And I guess the question is how greatly do we need their help, yes?" Azar rubs one of her cheeks, while fussing with her hair.

Kupor catches the apple. "It also appears this city makes people... grumpy."

Kupor and Archimedes overhear: "A pair of workers walking by, "Yes, the voice said tonight. We have to make sure nothing goes wrong." More appears to be said, but they are out of earshoot by then."

Archimedes rubs at one of his ears and muses. "Strange, ones who 'work well' and live well, don't you think?" He pauses a bit, and then gives a meaningful look to Kupor. "..."

Celeste arches an eyebrow upwards. She takes a long swig from her slightly purloined ale, and regards the man with as neutral an expression as she can muster. "Well, that'll all depend," she replies at last. "First, y'all gonna have ter be tellin' us who y'are, an' what all t'is yer be wantin'."

The nervous man at the bar just shrinks back against the chair behind him, clearly scared, "The voice, I work with the voice. He is trying to end slavery here." His voice dropping to a whisper as he says that, "Me, me I am nobody. Just nobody. Voice said you could help, you would help us."

"Greatly enough," Dietrich growls, his customary good humor apparently left with the Baronet's guards, "that we are all going to have to bite down hard on many a thing we'd rather not even *taste.*" Letting out a breath, he pulls his cloak around his shoulders, navigating the crowds of the market, and keeping an eye out for the rest of the delegation. "But it's true; we'll need Kandhala's goodwill, *badly.*"

Azar nods to Diertrich, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Indeed, we do. I've always believed though, that change does not happen from without. You have to foster change from within, and what better way is there than if we work with them as equals. And slowly bend them?" You page, "A pair of workers pass you, talking to themselves. "Did the voice say where? Yea some weapon merchant is getting in a shipment tonight, there is a plan..." Walking out of earshoot." to Dietrich and Azar.

Kupor takes a bite of the apple. He chews and swallows before responding, "They are proud of how they work, kupo." His ears flick. He looks across for the guards of Lord Markov, then looks back at Archimedes. There is something of a gleam in Kupor's eyes. "Pride usually breeds a different sort of emotion. Something bothers them." As if it is not apparent! Archimedes nods a little to Kupor, and leaves it at that. Discretion is tantamount, after all. At any rate, the two of them should be easy to find, or back in the direction of the others, shortly enough.

Alistair regards the young man neutrally as he sits there, opposite him, his fingers still steepled some and the Detective seeming to considering the man's words... And he responds then, keeping his tone casual, even as he briefly glances at Celeste, "I cannot speak for my companions, so I may be overruled in this, but I'm afraid I cannot personally promise my aid. As noble a cause it is, I'm sure, we have our own goals to attain, our own citizenry to deliver freedom and hope to- to spare them Archades' oppression... So while I would normally certainly consider you request, and I can understand your people's pain, it is not yet in our best interest." And he shrugs then, pausing a few moments... Before he adds, "But as I said, my opinion is but one."

Celeste hunhs softly. "Th'Voice," she murmurs. "Lookit. We all's here ter get help from Kandhala -- an that'a mean not pissin' off th'wrong folk. But." She shrugs her shoulders lightly. "I ain' never been no fan'a slav'ry. So tell yer what; when all's said'n done, b'fore I'mma go home, I'mma come back'n have'a chat wit yer 'Voice', if'n he gonna speak ter me. An' we's see."

The guards nods to Kupor and Archimedes as they approach, "Lunch is in twenty minutes, please follow us to the resturant." If they follow they will find themselves inside a very high class establishment. Some of the finest foods found from across the continent here in this rich city. Everything is paid for them already, curtesy of Lord Kittemer. They can order anything off the menu they wish. The guards that follow Azar and Dietrich approach them, and also lead the way to the resturant. "Your friends are all being led to lunch, please follow us." Lord Markov making his way behind Dietrich and Azar at a respectable distance. Celeste and Alistair will find their guards entering the tavern to approach them. Their friend talking to them spooks instantly as he leans in, "The voice says this is our only chance, the cigar case has the instructions!" With that he bolts for the back entrance. The guards do not seem to care, "Lunch time, please follow us." Leading them all to the same restaurant.

"We shall have to see," Dietrich grumbles. "I hope, my friend, that you have the right of it." And as the guard approaches, that's all the wolfkin says, his sour countenance smoothing to pleasantness in the span of a pair of heartbeats. "Thank you, my friend! Right with you." And gesturing for Azar to precede him, he falls into step, allowing the guard to lead him toward the restaurant.

With a nod, Kupor follows along to the restaurant, finishing his apple along the way. He eats the entire thing, seeds and all. He is soon seated in a chair for moogles which is NOT A BOOSTER SEAT and frowning once more. - Pickled duck beak is a food? Azar nods at their escort, and takes the lead, and she looks over her shoulder at Dietrich, "Truth, Dietrich, is that I too hope that I have the right of it. It makes my stomach sour to be in situations like these. One way or another, people will be hurt, and quite possibly die. All for the discussions we have here and the decisions we make. This is where the saying, 'Do the right thing.' often dies."

Archimedes hopes to take some time to soak in the rest of the group dynamic, and eating as little as possible. Unless it happens to involve seafood. Then he might, just maybe, indulge himself some.

Alistair quirks his brow a man as the man bolts... But he files away the tidbit of information given, and then pushes himself back up from his seat. The pale hume turning to the guards then with a pleasant smile, and answering, "Ah, certainly. A spot of dinner would do me wonders." The man not indicating anything untoward just happened as he moves to follow the two men.

Celeste watches the man bolt, and hunhs softly. The mouse shrugs as nonchalantly as she can manage when the guards appear, before breaking out into a big grin. "Lunch? Wond'rful. lead th'way, if'n y'please." She brushes her fingers through her hair as she swaggers out into the street, to allow the guardsmen to lead her and Alistair to the restaurant where all this is taking place.

The restaurant is extravagant, only the richest of the richest eat here. The pickled duck beak is explained as being a delicacy, a acquired taste by some of the local nobility. Aged wine from 798 is served. The group is left alone, as the guards and Lord Markov take another part of the restaurant.

"Then we shall have to do our utmost to see otherwise," is all Dietrich says, and throws a bright grin toward the Lord, as the party rejoins, and they're led to their table. THat Lord Markov and his guards decide to eat at another table is some cause for surprise, soon shaken. "Well," he says, glancing toward the menu. "...Braised coeurl whisker and desert greens...? Hm... Yes, that please." The wine, received with an appreciative sigh, a look of true gratitude given to the server. Once the staff has departed, the wolfkin places his hands on the table. "So," he says quietly to all seated, "I assume your wanderings were informative?"

Celeste plops down, and picks up a glass of the aged wine. She eyes it for a moment, before putting it to her lips and draining half of it in one gulp. "Dunno 'bout inform'tive," she replies, "But in'erestin' a'least." She pauses, and shrugs her shoulders, before pulling over some food for herself. She breaks open a bread roll with her hands, butters it, and bites off half of it in one go. "Been here b'fore," she explains. "Doodlebug come 'ere all'a time."

Azar elects to stay quiet at this point, ordering what amounts to the most expensive salad known to man. After Dietrich speaks, she clears her throat and says quietly, "The feeling I am getting is that we have been used by our hosts as a lure, or they have played us into giving away our sympathies. Either way, it stinks."

The swordsmoogle looks at his pickled duck's beak. He is in the same boat as Archimedes. He has some measure of Deitrich, but the others remain mysteries to him. "If I am correct, there is a large merchant's guild that controls much, kupo. There is a problem with slaves. And there is a great deal of value on wealth."

Archimedes knits his fingertips and braces against the table. "The aristocracy is in tight control of the market and wishes to keep it that way," he says. "The people are stubborn and caught up in maintaining an image of wealth and power, and they only see meaning in what shines and fits in their palm." Archimedes laughs. "But we knew that before we arrived. If they did not want something from us, we would not be here." The Burmecian exhales. "Think about what we are, and who we fight for. Does accepting their help mean accepting their values? If it does, then we may as well hand our lands to Rozarria and been done with it. Do not plan to enter the court with half-hearted convictions."

Alistair takes a seat at the table, and after a single, quick glance at the menu, orders his prefered dish... Somesort of exotic, smoked fish together with the wine being served. Looking at Dietrich then as he lowers the menu again, as well as casting a quick glance around the table in general, he remarks simply, "Quite. But I will leave our indepth discussion on what Celeste and I learned for a more suitable time and place." Offering the wolfkin a brief smile then, before he adds towards Azar, "In diplomacy, some sympathies must be revealed, to make clear your aims and goals in the matter. But I agree we should practise a measure of caution."

Dietrich looks to each in turn as they speak, nodding slowly. "'Stinks'... A very good word for our predicament, Azar," he says quietly, settling back and taking up his wineglass. "As I see it, we're in a very poor position, here. We've come begging, and Kandhala well knows it. We're hardly ideal diplomatic envoys, and Kandhala knows this too. Thus, it falls to our *actions* to speak the most of how fit we are to befriend... But as Azar pointed out to me on the way hear, that may mean we must be very, very choosy about how we do the right thing. How we build goodwill. And what we have to swallow in the doing of these things."

Azar hmms, "They do want something, that is certain. Either legitimacy, which is my main bet, or a change to snap up some of the trade that flows through Emberstrand. Legitimacy, which would allow them to keep a harder grip on the populace. Or trade... because that is what they do, yes?" She begins to dig into her salad, taking a sip of wine before continuing, "As I said to Dietrich before, no matter what we do here today, people will come to harm. We just get to decide who, the when is only a matter of time."

Celeste perks an eyebrow upwards, "Well, we'all just have ter make sure it's t'other people what come to harm," she points out. "As in th'Rozarrians. An' not us." She leans back in her seat, and works on finishing off her bread roll, before moving on to something much more protein-like. And she even manages to use a knife and fork. With the correct hand for each.

Azar shakes her head, "Nono, Celeste. The decision will be whether Emberstrand's populace suffers, or this city's populace suffers. That's why this position we're in... stinks."

The moogle breaks a bit of pickled duck beak to sample it. "What is important, kupo, is to remember why people demanded this war in the first place, rather than peace."

Alistair looks towards Azar again, and casually remarks, "This city's populace has been living under the yoke of slavery for as long as the city has existed. It is ingrained in their culture. They can carry the burden for a while longer. Emberstrand's people are in more immediate dire straits, I'm afraid."

Archimedes shakes his head. "Kupor is right. If it is 'legitimacy' that we are talking about, then we could very well be cutting off our own hands here. Emberstrand cannot fight without resources. But it also cannot fight if its very reasoning is called into question." He clenches a fist. "We stand more to lose here than just funding. We must do what is ultimately best for our country, whatever that means."

Azar's eyes narrow at Kupor, "It was a decision to fight, Kupor, Archades started the war. You wanted us to roll over, yes?" She looks to Archimedes and Alistair, "I find myself leaning in your direction when it comes to making a decision here. I am simply pointing out what happens when we do make the decision. I am just hoping we make an informed decision, that is all.

"Then it seems," Dietrich's voice rises over his wineglass, "that our course is clear. We'd soil the very concept of an alliance of Free Cities, if we went about stepping upon whatever we didn't particularly like. Thus... we've an opening to build a bit of goodwill. A weapons merchant, it seems, is going to be under attack, tonight. Why, I'm not certain, but it appears he'd gone to the guards before for protection. It may not be enough, to keep his wares from being taken, his person put to harm."

The waiters keep their distance, the parties booth very private. Lord Markov appears to entertaining a young lady himself, and is compltely distracted. The party appears to truly have privacy at the moment to speak freedly.

Archimedes perks an ear at Dietrich. "By whom, I wonder?" Perhaps it has something to do with this 'Voice' business. He chuckles and, given the state of freedom, also jokes: "we were sent to get aid from Kandala. No stipulations were made as to who had to be running it when that happened." Ah, honey-tongue and dockworker glib.

Kupor stops. He looks at his pickled duck beak. If he says nothing, he will break the party here. Can he condone the act of violence? But what if breaking that violence brings more suffering? More pain? When is violence the correct course? Is it right for Kupor to attempt to direct such events? He is just a moogle with a sword. Nothing more. - "Do you know who the weapon merchant is, kupo?"

Alistair nods some at Azar, before switching his attention back to Dietrich, and seeming to consider even as he sips his wine a moment, "And what do you suggest we do with this information?" He asks then. Azar hmms, "Tell our hosts? Or find the merchant and ask him to hold off on his activities for now in return for our assistance when the time is right? Oh what a web we could weave..."

"We go pr'tect 'im a'course," Celeste replies to Alistair. "Or a'least, *I* do." She says this with a certain, meaningful non-negotiableness. "An' any one'a yer what wants ter's more'n welcome to come'long." "Better that he not be there in the line of fire in the first place, Celeste. Get him to safety beforehand, and then there's no issue at all.", says Azar, over her salad and wine.

"I'm of two minds, myself," Dietrich says, examining a forked bit of tentacle-like meat, coated in honeyed sauce. "The price for criminals... especially those aiding this... underground... is slavery. We tell our host, ensure the merchant's livelihood is protected... And create yet more slaves to suffer. We protect him ourselves? We may be seen as swaggering Guardsmen of Ivalice entire. And mind, Azar, the concern isn't solely the merchant, but his wares. That, in the end, is the goal."

Archimedes smiles at Dietrich. "And if we protect the man but not the wares?"

"Then the wares are stolen, and the man's livelihood harmed," Dietrich says easily.

Azar nods to Dietrich, "Aye, I do see the end goal. However, this man is no snot-under-the-nose, fresh-faced seller of arms. Losing him means losing experience, and the arms are likely lost. So we do need to save both, in the end, yes?"

"I imagine not, if he's backed by the merchant guild." Archimedes waves a hand. "Insured or not."

Alistair sits back and quietly enjoys his meal, the man just glancing to one companion or another as they discuss the situation, and what course to take... The Detective not offering his own opinion on the matter, or at least not just yet, simply taking everything in.

Kupor looks at the food, "We should ask around, Archimedes," Kupor says heavy with meaning, "to take the measure of this attacker."

Celeste pages, "Yes, but in private." to you.

As the deserts are brought out one of the servers sets down a plate in front of Dietrich, a paper sticking out from under it.

Archimedes nods. "Indeed. But we act with discretion, and when the time is right." Archimedes folds his arms. "Emberstrand's reputation is also on our shoulders. Our actions represent her now, to whatever end." He glances up as the paper arrives.

Celeste cocks an eyebrow upwards. "So, lemme ask'n yer summin'," she says, pointing a fork at Dietrich. "Yer all c'mplainin' 'bout criminals gettin' sold off's slaves. But, what'd the Judges do? Chop they's arms off, or they's heads? In some places thieves's hanged, in some they's shoved in'a dungeon ter rot... is bein' a slave really worse'n all that?" She pauses, and shrugs her shoulders lightly. "An' anyhow. If'n they knows th'punishment an'does it anyhow, why all ought we ter have symp'thy? Now, th'ones what were pressed in'a slavery fer nuthin', tha's different."

Dietrich's eyebrows rise as the plate is set in front of him, and he breaks away from the conversation to pluck the paper from beneath, carefully unfolding it to read its contents.

Azar raises an eyebrow at Dietrich's reaction, and continues working on her salad. Her eyes wander to Dietrich from time to time, looking for some sign of what the note contains. "Our hosts?"

"If only," Dietrich rumbles, passing the note about the table for each to read in turn, as he tucks into his vanilla creme pie. "See for yourselves."

The note reads: We need your help, our only chance is now. While all the focus is on negotiations. There is a weapon shipment coming in tonight. Meet me at the Docks at 10pm, I will find you. For the freedom of the Slaves. ~The Voice of Freedom

When the note comes, Kupor nods to himself, "I...suspected such, kupo." "It is never as simple as that, when it comes to the ownership of a living being," Archimedes replies. "Who's to say the Judges were of the right, either?" Archimedes' eyes turn downwards, and then he passes the note along, making little comment.

Archimedes pages, "When were you thinkin' of running the next session? If it's the same time next week, I'll be on a plane, so, problematic. :(" to you.

Celeste reads the note, and passes it on without comment. "Yer need laws, ter protect th'weak from th'strong... an' th'sneaky," she points out. "An' laws ain' mean nuthin' wit'out punishment fer bustin'em." She shrugs, "If'n th'punishment here is yer ends up in chains, then tha's th'punishment. Dun' break th'law, 'r dun get caught, 'r live wit' it."

Alistair glances at the note, and without needing to give it much thought, voices his opinion, "Our concern is, and should be, Emberstrand. We can not afford another powerful enemy right now. We need a powerful ally."

Archimedes tilts his head at Celeste. "I wouldn't have thought... well, there are better times for debate. But I will say this--Kandala stands on the backs of those slaves. If you can find nothing troubling of that, then I will give you no more quarrel."

Azar sighs, "Laws aside, look at it this way. If there is revolt, we get no help from Kandala no matter who wins, they will be too busy, and will have no concern for us."

The party does not have much time to soak in this note, or possible implications. Is it legit, is it a ruse, or is somebody simply trying to use them? Lord Markov walks up to the group with the guard escort. "It is time for your fittings. Please have a idea of what you would like your costume to be. We head to my families personal tailors to measure you for your Ball costumes. Please come along." To think, day one isn't over with yet!

Part 2

The group is lead through the merchant quarter along the Market road towards the tailors. They pass Barter road along the way. A auction can be overheard going on. "Five silver, do I hear five silver. Criminal just recently captured, would you believe attempting to bribe a guard? Six silver do I hear six, oh seven silver do I hear eight!" At which point the party passes the street and the words are lost. Alistair follows along at a leisurely pace, letting his eyes roam around, taking in more of the city as they move... And as they pass that auction, is interest is naturally drawn to it. The pale, slender hume Detective taking in the scene with sheer neutral interest, his expression betraying no moral dilemma as he simply observes the mechanics of the auction, taking note of the way that sort of business is conducted here.

Dietrich's ears tip backwards, as the sounds of a slave auction reaches them. Grimacing, the knight remains silent... though it does seem he'd very much enjoy acting otherwise. An eye moves toward Alistair, gauging the man's reactions, until finally he leans over. "All things considered," he murmurs, "it's a good thing you're here, sir. I'll be counting on you to relay what you notice that likely we'll not, mh?"

Kupor's eye ticks.

Celeste doesn't notice the sound of the auction; the mouse is too busy grumbling to herself, about the prospect of wearing a dress. 'Not some damsel' and 'Ain' doin' it' tend to be relatively common phrases. Just for good measure, she's dressed like she normally is, in light armor and a naval trenchcoat. Does she even own any other clothes?

Lord Markov glances back to Celeste, "Miss, you do not have to wear a dress. It is a masquerade ball. You are welcome to request a outfit to your liking. Just have something in mind now." A touch of amusement on his face at this, clearly there is something more to this ball. "Almost there." Pointing to a very large building. "Tailors Guild." Written across the sign. As the party steps in you see fabrics of all sorts, in every color. Men and woman are working here, moving back and forth through the lobby of the building. A elf woman walks up, her dress and attire quiet fashionable with a silk red dress and trailing ribbons from her hair, "Ahh lord Markov. This must be our guest. Come come to the dressing rooms. We need to take measurements." Eyes looking over them and sighing, "Oh the work to be done here."

Dietrich moves up behind Celeste, touching the warrior on the shoulder. "Miss," he says quietly, before they enter the tailor's, "really, it would be most productive if you ceased your complaints. Our mission is to secure the aid of Kandhala, and of all the things you could be asked to do to ensure this... One would think that wearing fancy clothes would rank somewhere *above* digging ditches." As the tailor gives the party the once-over, a wry smile quirks the corners of his mouth, and he inclines his head. "Then, my lady, we shall be certain to trust in your inestimably superior judgment." Kupor offers on Celeste's behalf, "Digging ditches can provide a lasting and useful device."

Alistair looks back to Dietrich as the wolfkin talks to him, and quirks a brief smile before he responds, "Ah, certainly. I will brief you on some of my findings at our earliest convenience." The man looking away again then, and letting his blue eyes fall upon the building's sign, before he nods some to himself and follows the rest of the group inside... The Detective- who is already wearing a high-quality tailored suit of classic Archadian innercity design- taking a few long moments to study the guild's interior, and the large collection of fabrics... Until his gaze pauses upon the Elf woman, and his lips simply curl up into faint smile, instead of looking insulted by her judgment.

The mouse warrior's jaw works for a moment as she seeks a response, but finds none, to Dietrich's admonitions. She glowers openly for a moment, before allowing her expression to soften a notch. "M'name's Celeste," she replies. "Not 'Miss'. An' if'n bein' fancy-pants's what I'mma gotta do fer Emb'rstrand, then y'right, an' I'mma do it." She perks an eyebrow upwards, and nods to the wolf. "Dig y'own ditches," she says to Kupor as she walks past him, following Alistair into the tailors. She shrugs her shoulders out of her jacket as she enters. "I like red," she comments to the elf woman, in passing. The elf woman offers a pft, and then giggles as she shakes her head, "Oh I do love doing that. Lots of work to be done, as we have to make all of your stuff in five days. Quiet the work to be done. Come come." The dressing rooms are well sized cubicals lined with mirrors to be able to get a quick glance at any side of a person. Several men and women are waiting as the party enters. Quickly grabbing people and moving them to a dressing room. Ready to take measurements. The elf woman giggles again, "Oh my my, I am Lady Mary. Now now, what would each of you like to be?"

The swordsmoogle looks a little... put out by the show of extravagance, but as Deitrich said, this is useful. He does not complain, though he looks relatively uncomfortable with the prospect of 'being measured' and otherwise handled. He removes his sword, his hat, and his cloak, but he keeps them close, as they are among his few possessions.

Kupor, of note, would rather be digging said ditches.

"I'm certain, Lady Mary, that you and yours are more than able to rise to the challenge," Dietrich answers as he's led away. Being measured, a task that he puts up with in silence, and relative good humor, and once measured and re-dressed, he emerges, giving thought to the question. "...I think," he says slowly, casting his eyes about the party, "that I'll be in the mood for a bit of comedy, ere the ball draws near. Perhaps something to do with chess... the Knight, perhaps? Black, I'd prefer; why make a single statement, when one can make many?"

Alistair seems quite comfortable with the whole procedure... Mostly because 90% of his existing outfits have already been custom tailored, and as such he finds himself in establishments much like these quite often. The man knowing just how to stand to make each measurement be quick and efficient, before he involves himself in deciding on his outfit for the ball... The Detective soon settling on a suit much like he wears now, but in stark white rather than his current black, to go with a porcelain harlequin mask that has been split into two, distinct halves... A scowling, but quite angelic face in black, and a smiling, horned devil in white.

Kupor overhears: As you are being measured you overhear a couple of the servents talking, "You know I swear I overheard some talk from the lords. The Blackbeards are gearing up for war against house Ziekel!"

Celeste overhears: You overhear some talk from the servents, "The Blackbeards got what was coming to them. Had their vineyards burned to the ground last week. Stuck up assholes might learn something from it."

Celeste consents to being measured; though she does cheerfully warn the tailors that before they take her armor, that she isn't wearing anything underneath. Her ear flicks at some overheard comments from neadby employees, but she offers no comment on what she's heard. Once measurements are taken, though, she saunters back into the main area, to where Mary is standing. She brushes her fingers through her unkempt hair, and shakes her head to send it all cascading over her shoulders. "So," she says at last. "How'bout yer makes me a dragon?"

Alistair overhears: You overhear from one of the people measuring you, "The Ziekels are gearing for a fight. Greybeards blammed them for burning their vinyards. May even issue a challenge soon!" Mary offers a chuckle and nods to Celeste, writing that down. "Dragon it is. You wish for some illusions magics to go along with that?" The lady is not phased in the least by the request. As the last of the measurements are done, and what people would like to have their costumes made obtained. Lord Markov offers a cough, "Well that went rather quickly. We have several hours until your dinner with Lord Kittemer. The next part of the tour is through the temple district. You know we have one of the most grand temples to King Bahamut here?" Motioning for the party to follow after. Alistair overhears some things of interest as well... Though he doesn't outwardly indicate that it managed to actually pique him, keeping his expression perfectly neutral even as he mentally files everything away, to add to his report later on. The man stepping over to follow Celeste then, smiling at the mouse as he does and commenting, "A dragon? A quite interesting creature, despite our society's resentment of them. I have always wished to study their biology and the like more indepth, but alas."

"I did not know that, my Lord," Dietrich answers, eyebrows rising. "Then I'm certain it'll be a sight to see." A glance is tossed over his shoulder at Celeste, a nod of thanks given to the warrior and a hint of a smile. "The Lady Mary is a most skilled and competent tailor, My Lord. I'd've been surprised, had it not gone more smoothly." As the party makes their way toward the Temple District, he keeps his own ears out for interesting gossip, regardless which way he's looking at the moment.

While uneasy, Kupor is good at parting his mind, letting it stray, withhold, keeping himself completely erect as the tailors work on him. He swivels one long ear at the sound of intrigue, frowning momentarily. But the words are, for the most part, meaningless to him. - In short order, he is among the party once more, his sword affixed, his hat donned, his cloak once more clasped by the pin. Kupor, equally looks interested, as temples are usually grand works of art rather than devotions to opulence. Usually.

"Sure," Celeste replies, to the question of illusion magics. "Jes' not t'much, yeah? I'mma still wantin' folks ter know I'mma woman, an' a damn sexy one n'less." She flashes a grin at the elf, before moving to follow the rest of the party. She whirls her coat back about her shoulders, and legs it briefly to catch up. "S'Lord Markov," she drawls. "Who all's the 'Blackbeards'?"

Lord Markov for the first time, has his face falter. A look of shock crossing his face, but it is quickly recovered. "The Blackbeards are the biggest winemakers in these lands. If you want a good wine, it is a Blackbeard brand. Why do you inquire miss?" As he leads the way to the temple district. The temple district is a competitor to the nobles district. The grandeur of the temples is a work of mastery, and of beauty. Several of the major spirits holds temples here, from Shiva, Ifrit, down to the biggest temple of them all, Bahamut. The temple is massive, with dragon details and statues everywhere that can be seen on it. Gold and silver line the walls of pure white marble. It reaches high up into the sky, as if trying to pierce the very heavens. Lord Markov offers a touch of a grin, "Please, you may wonder as you wish and explore. You will find the priest very friendly here."

Alistair glances aside to Lord Markov as the man explains the nature of the Blackbeard family, but soon looks away once more, feigning a lack of interest and instead turning his attention to the temples surrounding him... The man soon appearing quite interested in these, as if touched by the sheer grandeur, and by the connection to the many spirits worshipped in this place... Though truth be told, most his interest lies in the basic architecture surrounding him, studying the city's construction methods and building styles- never having had much use for the world's patrons, even though he can't actually deny the existence of the spirits.

Kupor turns his head up to the temple, casting his gaze over it. He is slow, taking his time to study the sculptures and the very scale(seewhatIdidthere) of the temple. Kupor presses into the temple. If he must be about here for said tour, then he will at least explore, and take in the various sights.

"THat is," Dietrich breathes, head turning up to follow the spires of the Temple of the King of Dragons, "a *most* fitting tribute indeed. My thanks, Lord Markov, for allowing us a moment to explore this area." Glancing back to the rest of the party, he raises an eyebrow. "If we're to split up as whim takes us... Perhaps we meet back here in a half-hour, then?"

"I'mma gonna go talk ter me Mum," Celeste announces. She nods to Dietrich, flashing a grin. "Half'n hour, a'ight. Give'r take." She gazes up once more to oggle the mighty spire, clasping her hands behind her back as she observes it for a moment. "Y'all enjoy y'selves," she adds, glancing to Alistair and Kupor. She turns to head off, but pauses for a moment, and returns her gaze to Lord Markov. "I likes me wine. I'mma like ter visit th'Blackbeards' estate, yeah? P'rhaps this evenin'?"

"The Blackbeards are a bit on... edge lately. I can put in a request if you wish to visit. I am not sure how it would be received. Though this evening there would not be time. Perhaps tomorrow?" The temple of Bahamut on the inside is perhaps more grand then it is on the outside. There is no ceiling in the center, open air all the way up to the highest point. Leaving one with a dizzy feeling if they stare upwards to long. Multiple floors go up several flights, but always have a open wall towards the center and ceiling. A priest approaches and offers a bow, "We have guest today from out of town. We have been expecting you, please come this way. The high priest would like to talk to you."

"Kupo." Kupor agrees to Dietrich as they both end up moving towards the temple of Bahamut. - Rather than the determined gait of someone who always knows where he is going, Kupor takes his time. He strolls. He takes in the sights of the artwork. Beauty is not lost on Kupor, beauty is what makes life worth living. It is a thing to be savored. He moves in quietly, avoiding most, as he is not a particular patron of the King of Dragons. As a young child, Kupor had a fascination with great heroes of legend, and Bahamut often appears in those stories. But those have traveled to the back of his mind. - For a moment, Kupor is surprised by this. Then he remembers that he is, in fact, a person of interest that everyone desires an audience with. He gives a glance back towards Dietrich before nodding to the priest. "Kupo," he offers in ascent.

Alistair just idly follows after Kupor, Celeste and Dietrich, deciding the Temple of Bahamut is as good to study as any of the others... The man soon looking up to regard the open ceiling as he steps inside, and slowly spinning himself around to take in each inner wall as he gaze drops lower, his expression briefly ponderous... But then he glances aside at the priest as the man comes up to them to inform them of the High Priest's wish to converse, his brow briefly going up before he jus shrugs and smiles, "Certainly." Preparing to follow along as needed.

Following along behind the pair, Dietrich blinks when Bahamut's priest approaches them, meeting Kupor's glance with a mild shrug and quick nod. "We would be honored," he says, falling in step next to Alistair, allowing the party to be guided wherever the High Priest may be.

Celeste was about to head off somewhere, when there's this priest saying that the party was expected. She chews on that for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders lightly. "A'ight," she replies, before tossing her gaze back to Lord Markov. "Summin' wrong wit' they's land?" she asks, before flashing a grin. "'R they jes' needs time ter clean up after they's last party?" She chuckles, turning to leave before giving an opportunity for an answer, unless it's given to her back.

The high priest chamber is far more humble then the rest of the temple. The man is elderly and has a weary look on his face. He motions for the group to take a seat, some rather comfy looking sofas. "We have some interesting guest." Eyes landing on Celeste, "Your mother sends her regards, if not her surprise. As for the rest of you." A touch of a smile, "You have a difficult task ahead of you. We knew you would make your way here soon. I cannot interfere you know, that does not stop me from offering advice, and perhaps giving you the lay of the land if you wish to inquire."

Dietrich bobs his head, moving toward one of the profferred couches and sitting, lacing his fingers over his lap. "We've yet to be here a day, Father," he begins, pursing his lips. "Yet it seems we've already found ourselves deeply embroiled in local....... politics."

The swordsmoogle takes the last seat. He sinks into the sofa slightly. He adjusts himself, sinks in once more. It takes a moment for him to find a point where he feels he can stand quickly. His brows knit. "Does this treaty concern the King of Dragons?"

Alistair doesn't hesitate to take a seat as he's offered one, the Detective settling down with one ankle crossed across his knee, and taking a moment to study the interior of the priest's chamber- as he studies every new place he finds himself in- before looking directly at the older man, and raising his eyebrow just a moment, "I'm sure your input on local intrigue would be quite useful, sir. I'm all ears, as they say." The Detective glancing at Dietrich a moment then, and nodding.

Celeste hunhs softly. "She ain' us'ly so watchful a'me where'bouts," she observes after the greetings are passed on from her mother. "I'mma have ter talk t'her later, yeah? Y'have to tell me where, I'unno where I'mma find her here." She pauses, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Must'a known we'all'd get caught up in'a nonsense when w'came," she points out. "So's me Mum got any in'rest in all this? 'R is it all un'er Bahamut's eye?"

The priest looks at Kupor, "of course not. Mortal affairs and such. Though as a citizen of this city, I do have my personal concerns of where things are heading." A touch of a wry smile, "Even we priest know how to play politics young moogle. Though I warn you, do not let you desires for justice outweigh necessity of what needs to be done. You may find greater evil if your wake if you do." A shake of his head and a glance to Celeste, "Not sure, though coming here catches a lot of eyes, word may of been passed along." he moves to take his own seat behind the desk, "You guys are underdogs, very badly so. Word has it though a few may be easily talked into helping you. Baron Markov being one, he is sitting on the fence, but pulls a lot of weight. The Blackbeards have recently has some of the best vineyards burned down, blame points to house Ziekel, but personally I smell a set up. If those two houses go to war, it will spell disaster for trying to get either sides support, but you may swing one if you support the winning side." Shaking his head slowly, "Lets see, the Under Rat Cartel has been acting a bit funny lately to. Do not have many words from the slums these days."

"I'd like to know, Father," Dietrich says, digesting this information, "what the Temples know of this... Voice of the Underground. I have to admit, while ordinarily I'm all in favor of slaves organizing for their freedom... we were contacted almost *immediately* after our arrival, and I find myself suspicious."

Alistair just takes in all this information... Idly tapping his fingers onto his knee as he listens, letting his mind process and formulate... But also letting Dietrich and the others ask the pertinent questions for now, his blue eyes flicking to each in turn as they speak.

Celeste reaches into her pocket, and produces a small cigarette case. "Right when me smoke were finished, feller in'a street marched up an' shoved this all in me face," she states, as she opens it and pulls out a note. "An' it had this all in it." She pauses, and eyes the note for a moment, before thrusting it into Alistair's hands. "He'll tell yer what it says."

Alistair takes the note from Celeste, the man carefully unfolding it before he holds it up to read, brows slightly quirked as he does so, "'I have a business proposal for you. An opportunity to get some advantage in your negotiations. Meet me at Baker and Market at 9PM tonight. V'" The Detective pausing a moment then, before he offers the note to the priest, and adds, "Obviously, we are of some interest to this Voice fellow."

The priest rubs his chin a long moment and shakes his head, "Just a recent new thing to the city. Seems to have some kind of operation down in the slums, calls themselves the voice of Freedom. Though I have also heard the Voice of the Innocent. So cannot be sure. As for the contact, people did know you were coming for about a week." He listens as the note is read and shakes his head, "If he is anti-slavery, I can understand. Emberstrands stance is well known. May be looking for sympathizers and the like."

"Hn," Dietrich grunts, sitting back in his seat and tapping his thumbs together. "...Then I suppose, we'll have to keep our ears to the ground, where the Voice is concerned. About Baron Markov, then... I'm told he's the leader of the city's military force, yes? And what would house Ziekel have their fingers in, that a war between houses would bring hope of support crashing down?"

The priest blinks to Dietrich, "Markov is the ones who run the white guard, or city guards. Kittemer, your main supporter is Military."

There's a long pause from the mouse, before she shrugs her shoulders. "I'mma go meet'm," she states. "Jes' talkin' ter him can' hurt. But." She spreads her hands, palms up. "I'mma'gainst slavery jes'much's everyone else. *But*. I been talkin' loud 'bout freedom'n 'bout other powers keepin' they's mitts off'a Ivalice long 'nough. An' ain' m'place ter tell Kandhala how ter live. If'n Kandhala wants ter get rid'a slav'ry... tha's up ter them ter 'range. Ain' me place, I'mma figure."

Kupor lifts his voice. "There are many sides to consider. But we cannot consider any of them until we see for ourselves, kupo, the men who lead these groups, what drives them."

The priest offers a sad smile, "The evil you know, or the evil you do not know young moogle. Your choices, and who you gain support from will have a impact long from when this is over. Tread carefully, I have given you my time for now. Feel free to visit later if you wish advice. We are always open." Standing up as he moves to the door, "For now our time is over. Tread carefully." his old eyes looking over each you, "Do meat this V as it were, though I suggest you do not go alone. The cities eyes are on you, so are the spirits. They do not dictate our actions, but they do watch."

"Wise words, Father," Dietrich rumbles, leaning forward and blowing a lock of hair away from his face. "It would seem the night is to be a long one, then." RIsing to his feet, he dips his head, offering a hand for the High Priest to shake. "We are *most* thankful for your counsel, Father. Believe me, like as not we'll be back."

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