Tabula Rasa: Adventures In A New World

Soft music lingers in the air, that subtle and subdued song just a bit quieter than the various buzzing conversations scattered across this expansive, expensively decorated hall.

“Duchess Wanda Wawel of Wawelu.” A hint of displeasure underlines those dour words, spoken over the indistinct and inoffensive sound of stringed instruments being plucked and played. “I had wondered where you could have wandered off to.”

A sickeningly sweet smile finds its way onto that matronly noblewoman’s face, her chin lifting up a little as she turns toward the short and rather stocky woman who just addressed her, a woman at least a decade her junior. “Oh, Eulalia dear, you need not be so formal!” An exaggerated – almost condescendingly so – sigh slips past her rose-red lips. “We only have a scant time left until all those titles and responsibilities bear down on us once more, so do take a moment to relax! Your hair will go grey before mine, at this rate!”

The faintest tinge of tension can be seen in this stern newcomer’s jaw. “Countess.” She turns away from that voluptuous Duchess, dark eyes piercing through Rina’s veil. “You were just outside, yes? Has the Baron of Svaneti arrived yet? Or one of his sons, even?”

“Not that I had seen.” Rina plainly responds, her tone fairly friendly... but not superfluously so. Not like a certain Duchess... “Is there something you wish to discuss with him, Baroness Urszula?”

The dour Baroness doesn’t immediately respond, taking a long second to calmly clasp her hands together over the waist of her comparatively modest dress. Though considering how glamorous these other two rulers are... “My messengers have been unable to contact Svaneti in recent weeks.”

Krvavy’s posture stiffens even further, an icy chill shooting through her veins. She suddenly finds herself paying much closer attention to the conversation that was, just mere moments ago, nothing more than pointlessly pompous prattling.

“I see...” Rina slowly responds, concern creeping into her otherwise composed voice.

“Oh, you should not worry so much, dears!” The Duchess of Wawelu dismissively waves that issue away, letting her gesturing hand loll out to the side... hardly having to hold it there for long before one of her servants passes a fluted crystal goblet into her waiting fingers. “Nicodim is getting on in years, and Svaneti is so far from here! The good Baron is likely just running late. Now,” she takes a sip of the bubbly gold liquid within her glimmering glass, looking down at the shorter noblewoman all the while. Both physically and figuratively. “Have you done something new with your hair, Eulalia? Each strand has a fine sheen to it, like polished coal or a rich black ink.”

The Baroness quite clearly doesn’t appreciate how casually her concerns were tossed aside, and for some dull small-talk about her hair no less. “Have a good day, Lady Wawel. We will speak further when the Council begins in earnest.”

“Tsk.” That matronly Duchess clicks her tongue, watching with narrowed eyes as her more youthful peer turns and all but marches off. “That girl is far too serious for her own good. Do you not think so, Alexa?”

The albino maid standing by Krvavy’s side visibly twitches as that condescending noblewoman dares to address her Lady with such a disrespectfully familiar nickname. Her gloved hands clench into fists... which is enough to make a couple of the Duchess’ guards visibly tense up.

A faintly tinkled jingle can barely be heard as the sole pink-skinned half-Elf here so subtly shakes her head. “There is a time and place for both business and pleasure. For the Baroness, this is the former and not the latter.” The Countess diplomatically responds, before adding one last comment to help placate her matronly conversation partner. “Her position is not as secure as yours or even mine, so do not blame Eulalia for focusing on what she sees as her duties.”

“My, my, my, Alexa~! Always so wise~! This is why you are my favourite~!” The Duchess of Wawelu heartily laughs, her massive breasts bouncing alongside those rather grating sounds, threatening to spill past the very low neckline of her dress.

Krvavy pointedly turns her gaze away.

The Duchess’ laughter abruptly stops, replaced with a bored sigh. “Now, dear, how about we go and find Jaan? I heard that he has recently renovated his estate and expanded his art collection~!”

At first, Krvavy thought that Rina may have exaggerated just how boring all of this would be. After all, the very first thing that they did after arriving at this castle was talk to an excitable archaeologist about some ancient ruins. Which is at least a little interesting.

But the past few hours have done nothing but prove that gorgeous, gothic Moon Elf right...

More than half of that time has just been spent listening to Wanda, that contemptuous and conniving milf of Duchess, talk about useless nonsense. From a distance she doesn’t seem so bad, especially not to the eye, but... Being near her is a different story.

At least there is some entertainment to be found in watching Vera resist the urge to murder that foxy noblewomen whenever she talks down to the Countess...?

The fact that Krvavy is nothing more than a silent observer actually makes all of this a bit more tolerable, oddly enough. She can zone out for the most part, paying just the bare minimum amount of attention in case Rina wants her to do something. Which hasn’t happened yet, but it might at some point... And she doesn’t want to embarrass herself or the Countess by being slow to respond.

“Pardon me Ladies,” yet more polite, pointless words weave their way through the air... blending with the rest of the chitter chatter that can be heard all around them... “But have either of you social butterflies seen Dovoryn anywhere? I wish to have a word with him.”

For the first time in... a couple hours... Krvavy’s full focus returns to the conversation at hand, staring intently at the nobleman who just spoke.

A very faint frown tugs at the corners of Wanda’s rose-red lips, though apparently not because of that interruption. “No, in fact, I have not seen the Duke of Volhynia.” Distaste drips from the Duchess’ voice, that proper title all but spat from her mouth.

Duke Dovoryn Terenti of Volhynia... The man who was to be Thea’s husband, who almost certainly had her kidnapped. The man who caused Krvavy’s first death, who she is determined to get revenge on. Killing his second in command, the lightning wizard ‘Patriarch’ who actually killed Krvavy, is and was not enough to sate the barbarian’s bloody rage... her desire for vengeance.

Krvavy clenches her jaw, armoured fingers tightening around the haft of her enormous axe.

“He is not one for pleasantries and idle chat,” the Countess calmly comments, once again choosing to be diplomatic and neutral. “As he has done before, the Duke most likely chose to skip all but the Council proper.”

To be completely honest, Krvavy still doesn’t know what she’ll do if she sees that Duke. Probably nothing... There are a lot of armed guards around here, so any assassination attempt will be just that. An attempt. Plus, she doesn’t want to ruin things for Rina and Raseyne. Still, she is a little worried that he will recognize her. It’s unlikely, considering that Krvavy was barely a speed bump for him and was hardly worth remembering. But there aren’t many Draklings in these parts, none but Krvavy as far as she can tell, so maybe...

A deep, displeased scowl fills the face of this relatively unremarkable nobleman. “That will hardly do.”

“Oh?” Wanda’s slightly soured mood is immediately lifted as she smells the potential for gossip. “Olev, good man, why not air your grievances here and now? It may help calm your nerves and keep you from doing anything rash during our more ‘important’ talks later on.”

Judging by the look in this nobleman’s eyes, he knows exactly what the Duchess wants. But it doesn’t seem like he particularly cares about her true motive, choosing to instead latch onto the chance to vent his anger. Quite fervently at that. “That bastard is encroaching on my lands! His men have been marching along the border, taking a step further across it each day! I will not stand such an insult!”

“Oh, dear, you must not let him push you around so!” The Duchess excitedly feeds that anger, leaning forwards and nearly spilling her bubbly drink, glittering golden liquid sloshing up to the rim of her frequently refilled goblet. “You should stand up to his bullying and boldly show him your might! Show him that you are not one to be trifled with! Send some parties into his lands under the cover of night to burn and pillage all they come across!”

Rina gently sighs, clearly trying to not sound too disapproving as to not upset Wanda. “That would escalate the situation into all out war. Duke Terenti is not the kind of man to let such provocation go unanswered. Do not forget that his army is larger and far more experienced than your own.”

“I am painfully aware!” The nobleman hisses, pressing a hand against his forehead as he takes a long, deep breath. “Apologies... I am under a great deal of stress and feel like a dog backed into a corner...”

“No offence was taken.” Rina reassures, a somber smile pulling at her painted lips. “You are not in an enviable position, left treading such a thin line. But if you wish to do something, then I would encourage you to have watch towers and relay stations built along the border of your Barony, to better define its boundaries. And to allow for a quick, measured response to any further incidents. Just ensure they are not nearly as provocative as proper forts and encampments would be.”

“Thank you for the advice, Countess.” Though Olev’s tone may be incredibly tired... he doesn’t sound ungrateful for that guidance. “I hope against odds that it will help, though know in my heart of hearts that the fate of my lands is already set. Dovoryn may not have fully turned his gaze my way, but... it is only a matter of time until my people suffer under the rule of that tyrant...”

“Oh, come now, no need to be so dour and depressive!” The Duchess of Wawelu scoffs, waving off this apparent Baron’s worries. As she tends to do. “Have a drink – at Veselin’s expense! – and relax! Stressing over this will change nothing, nor will it make that old soldier show up any sooner!”

Olev stifles a sigh, his expression grim and utterly hopeless. “Have a good day, Countess. Duchess. I await our talks later.” With that, the nobleman abruptly turns and heads off, shoulders slumped and footsteps heavy.

“Tsk. What a bore...” Wanda clicks her tongue, before taking another sip from her crystal cup. “Now, where were we before that interruption? Oh, yes...”

Krvavy stifles a sigh, doing her best to not show even the slightest hint of emotion as this increasingly insufferable noblewoman resumes her vain and pointless prattling. At least the dull, droning buzz that comes from having to listen to that arrogant aristocrat helps to keep any unwanted, worried thoughts from finding purchase in her mind...?

Duke Veselin Zlatan of Vratsa stands at the head of a large and almost egg-shaped table. “Are we all gathered, my guests?” He absently asks, not bothering to hide his impatience as those corpulent hands of his idly drum against the backrest of a nicely cushioned chair. Slowly and purposefully, he sweeps his gaze across the room... beady eyes glancing over the many nobles standing behind their own seats.

Two of which remain empty.

Clnck, clnck, clnck.

The sound of armoured boots clanking across hardwood flooring grows louder as a militaristic man enters the hall, followed by a few knights in dull grey armour.

“And who are you?” Disdain underlines the otherwise warm and motherly tone of Duchess Wanda Wawel of Wawelu... that hint of scornful contempt creeping into her expression, spoiling what would otherwise have been a rather attractive sight.

“Sir Ivan, representing Volhynia.” The modestly decorated officer responds, little more than a silver sash trimmed with black resting atop his breastplate. A simple metal gauntlet encases his left hand, that armoured palm resting atop the pommel of a sword hanging from his belt, its blade safely contained within a dark leather sheath.

“Where is Dovoryn?” Tired hate drips from the voice of Olev, Baron of... Krvavy never actually heard the name of where that noble rules...

Cold grey eyes lock onto that weary and wary Baron. “The Iron Duke is otherwise occupied with more important business.” This soldier sternly states, unbothered by the faintly muttered murmuring that rises at his words. “I am authorized to speak in his place at this council.”

The unremarkable face of Baron Olev pales and goes pallid, his fingers turning white as he so tightly clutches onto the back of his chair. He only seems to grow more tense as that mere officer confidently struts over to one of the empty seats, followed closely by a pair of those fully armoured knights.

“That leaves us only one absence.” A mildly eccentric looking man speaks up, the bright colours of his clothes and the elaborate furred cape draped over his shoulders not quite matching how incredibly bored he sounds of all this.

That would be Jaan, if Krvavy remembers correctly. But where he is actually from... she honestly couldn’t care less.

“Not so.” Sir Ivan plainly replies. “On order of the Duke, I am also authorized to speak for Svaneti.”

“Absolutely not.” Baroness Eulalia Urszula presses her lips into a thin line, glaring quite coldly at that soldier. “You cannot in good conscience claim to represent both your Lord and the people he is aiming to subjugate. And for those of us assembled who do not care if Svaneti is silenced or not, may I remind you that we all have but one voice, yet Duke Terenti aims to speak with two while not even being present.”

“My, one must admire the gall of not only Dovoryn, but also yourself... little soldier~.” A hint of laughter can be heard in the busty Duchess’ voice, her flippant tone just a little too firm for that to be anything more than an act. “I agree with Baroness Urszula. The presence of this ‘Ivan’ in place of his Duke is already an insult, and I will not tolerate any further from the man. Let him speak for Dovoryn if he so wishes, but only for Dovoryn.”

Veselin loudly clears his throat, before any of the other obviously disgruntled nobles can raise their voices. “Do any of us object to what the Duchess has just said?” He sternly asks, sweeping his gaze across those assembled at the table he stands at the head of. “Do any of us object to Svaneti having no voice in place of Volhynia speaking for them?”

No one says a word. Not even this ‘Sir Ivan’.

“Good.” The Duke of Vratsa steps to the side, letting a servant pull his seat back for him. “Then let us begin.”

The men and woman all around the table mirror their host in the following moments. Some, like Baroness Eulalia and the representative of Volhynia, pull out their own chairs. But, for the most part, servants handle that duty.

The Countess of Raseyne, among others, remains silent throughout all of that. She gives her albino maid a thankful nod and takes her seat.

Vera’s modest heels quietly click across the floor, melding together with the sounds of the other servants’ footwear as they all put distance between themselves and that rounded table. Her gloved hands tremble slightly as she finds her place by the wall. This room may not be overly large, but she is still so far from her Lady...

Krvavy’s thick tail slowly curls to the side, moving more by instinct than her will as it often does. The tip of that armoured appendage brushes over Vera’s dress, loosely hooking around the girl’s waist.

The maid grows a little tense as she notices that thing hug onto her. But... she doesn’t immediately shove it off like she usually would. Vera lets the Drakling’s tail lightly hold onto her for a few long seconds before slowly but insistently pushing it down and away.

“Now that we are all seated...” Duke Veselin lazily raises his hand, reaching toward a semi-spherical object embedded in the table. Which flashes as his palm makes contact with it.

A weak pressure slowly builds throughout this room, the air itself growing thick and heavy... almost as if the occupants not important enough to sit alongside those regional rulers – their servants and guards – are all underwater...

Or at least it feels that way until their ears all pop in unison.

Hardly a sound can be heard afterwards, an imperfect silence having descended on all those present, broken only by the occasional deep breath or awkward cough... As well as the soft rustling of the various servants’ clothes and the occasional quiet clack that marks the slight movement of one of the many knights in here.

But whatever is being discussed around that table remains completely and utterly private, not a spoken word heard. Nor can the lips of those no doubt bickering nobles be read, not with the faint mirage-like wobble hanging in the air, that blurring dome reaching more than a step behind each seat.

The corner of Krvavy’s eye twitches.

As bored as she may have been earlier, there was at least some sound and background noise to keep her mind occupied. But now... now she just has her thoughts.

Which is never a good thing.

At least... at least Krvavy doesn’t have to worry about the slim chance that the Duke who had her killed will recognize her...? But that little bit of relief is far overshadowed by her growing worry over whatever is happening with Svaneti.

Thea, her beautiful and bratty fiancée, may still be on the fence about letting her family know that she isn’t dead, but... Krvavy wanted to at least see them. She wanted to meet her little princess’ parents or older brothers. Sure, this isn’t exactly the kind of setting where Krvavy could have actually talked with them, but they certainly would have spoken to Rina. And, at the very least, that would have given Krvavy the chance to form her own opinion and figure out just what Thea’s family is like.

Because that brat isn’t exactly the most reliable. Krvavy loves the girl, she really really does, but... Thea’s view of her brothers is definitely tainted by her feelings of inferiority. As for her parents... Well, they did seem a bit neglectful from what Thea has said... But was that neglect intentional or just a consequence of their busy lives...?

The barbarian’s thoughts trail off as she idly watches one of the nobles rise halfway out of his seat, fist pounding down onto the table. If only she could hear what was going on right in front of her...

How long are these talks supposed to last...? A few hours, going by what Rina told her...

Maybe Krvavy could try contacting one of her girls? That would help pass the time. And she should tell Thea that no one from Svaneti is here... But... No. It wouldn’t be a good idea to do that right now.

If these nobles are keeping their trusted guards and servants from hearing them talk, then there is a good chance that they have some other security measures in place. Krvavy doesn’t want to risk setting off an alarm just because she is bored.

So...

Guess there is nothing for Krvavy to do except silently stand around for who knows how long. What fun...