( Starting Cambot Listing MaxChar

In the center of the courtyard of the palace, there is once more a palace. Or at least good progress on one that is yet incomplete. A framework of stone rises up from the tiled pathways in the heart of the circular court wall. Already, a few hemispherical balconies jut out from higher levels, and the incomplete Five Towers rise up like a hand reaching for the sky. But little more than the Great Audience Chamber and the basics of personal quarters have reached near-completion.

While trellises and temporary frameworks and ramps display more traditional means of construction being employed, a great deal of the palace owes its form to the arcane – especially the workings of the masters of the Sphere of Earth among the mages. Fortunately, the sphere of Earth is one that is not all that uncommon among tribal shamans, so their number has been bolstered by the best that the scattered 'wild Savanites' can offer.

Today, the new Priest-King (or Queen, depending upon your translation) holds audience in her court. Among her visitors are some foreign dignitaries, though the Temple delegation and most of those there for the week-long Coronation have left already.

Unlike many throne rooms, the visitors are not expected to stand before the throne. While the chamber is perhaps uncomfortably large for many species, with many stone relief faces that look down with empty eyes upon those present, there are cushions set out for the visitors of the Priest-King to sit upon.

Jezebel, also known as Third-Eye, reclines in a throne that is raised only perhaps an inch above a platform, crafted from a glassy black volcanic stone in forms that suggest liquid movement, like an evening mist. She wears her full regalia as she nods at the arrival of her latest 'audience'.

At the outer edge of the audience, a white-winged alien sits under one of the looming statues. Occasionally, she looks around at the all of the construction with a sense of unease, having found the previous incarnation of the Palace – gruesome as it was – to have at least felt a bit more familiar.

A small group of Savanites in simple beige garb file into the royal chamber, led by a slender figure in heavy robes, hooded cloak, and gloves, such that nothing of the person underneath can be seen. The cowl frames a long, smooth mask of a light wood, with the eyes carved to suggest mirth. The masked personage goes to one knee, looking up only to sign, "Your Highness."

Brishen reclines carefully, in Roman fashion, her wings curved in gentle arcs behind her. Her eyes, wide and dark, show only a little of the fatigue of a rapid, confusing journey. She smiles, sighing faintly. At least she's here.

The present construction of the palace bears some resemblance to what Envoy might have been able to discern of the old – at least in terms of general layout and floor plan. However, the stylistic concerns are distinctly different. For example, there are no screaming faces half-embedded in stone, pulsating glassy veins, or structures that suggest that the palace might be alive and organic. Many would think this a good thing.

Jezebel nods and makes hand signs to Brishen. A semi-reptilian/semi-mammalian creature who looks remotely like Envoy (but without wings, and of more of a brown-cream color than white) translates in an imitation of Eeee, though several octaves lower than the traditional vocalization: "Welcome, Ambassador Brishen Kara, representative of High Prince Boghaz of the Ashdod Territories. We are glad you and your entourage have arrived without mishap."

A few members of Brishen's entourage look slightly nervous about the whole situation. A couple of Eeee girls – Sunrise and Snow-Ivy – distract themselves by taking interest in some of the nearby statuary, while Brishen's mousey assistant, Degarde, pays close attention to the Priest-King's hand-signs, as if he actually understood them.

The cloaked delegate's back stiffens. (Brishen… ?)

Brishen casts a quick glance to Degarde, then fixes her eyes on Jezebel, her smile warm as she nods. "As am I. It is good to be here, to see a nation born."

Jezebel smiles, then turns from Brishen just long enough to nod to the masked one who enters. She signs to the masked one, but there is no verbal translation, leaving those without knowledge of Sign at a disadvantage. "Greetings, Wooden Shekel of the Dusty Tear Plainsmen. It is a pleasure to have your tribe at the City of Hands."

Envoy blinks at the revelation of the masked figure's identity.

Some Shigai scuttle up to Brishen and her entourage, bearing trays and cups. There is a selection of wine and unfermented fruit drinks from berries native to the Xenean region, as well as a wide selection of bugs prepared in various ways. The Savan, after all, has no shortage of bugs, least of all in the jungle.

It doesn't look like it's quite up to Babelite standards, but it look as if Brishen's Savanite hosts have put a good deal of effort into their research.

The young Eeee's ears flick slightly. In Rephidim, Degarde may be forced to follow in her wake, but in uncertain territory she finds it comforting that he's about. The insects prove too much of a distraction, though, and she avoids querying him about the untranslated sign.

(Well, I guess that fuff'nar's out of the bag.) The Wooden Shekel puts a paw to his face, and slides the mask from it, letting it hang around his neck like a second visage growing from his throat. His paws come together again to speak. "It is an honor to be present, O Priest-King(Queen). We of the Tear have been watching with great interest the goings of the past week. It holds some hope for us, which is why we requested this audience… "

Some more trays are borne out to the Wooden Shekel and his own entourage. A great wooden bowl of honey-fried locusts are set before the Shiga by a Savanite attendant who bears a wide grin on his face and a slight wiggle in his ears.

To her credit, Brishen doesn't choke on her six-legged snack. A hand goes up to politely cover her mouth, and she turns to smile at Sunrise. "Admiring the statues?" the young ambassador whispers.

Sunrise jolts visibly, but at least doesn't make a noise. "Uhm … yes … yes, quite … lovely. Never thought I would have seen a statue of a SAV … Uhm." Her ears blush. "Yes," she whispers.

The Shiga can't help but smile back. He crooks his fingers by his head where ears would be on a mammal, before signing, "I see word of one of my weaknesses leaked out… well, perhaps I won't get too heavy if I let it be exploited just this once… "

The statues are adorned in robes and ceremonial armor that look much inspired by the regalia of the Temple … and entirely unlike the costuming depicted on the murals seen in older parts of the City. Many of the statues, in fact, wear helmets. At least one of them is a dead ringer for one of the strangely attired functionaries who was present at the Coronation.

Jezebel smiles at the Wooden Shekel, then allows her gaze to wander … until it sets upon the distantly-seated alien. Her smile doesn't look quite so wide upon seeing the Exile, but she signs to the winged one, as the Kiriga translator vocalizes, "And welcome to you as well, Envoy of Lothrhyn. What questions do you have today?"

The Wooden Shekel hides his discomfort at the sight of the Templarish statues by helping himself to some locusts, and sitting crosslegged in his designated spot. He peeks out a little from beneath his cowl to try to make eye contact with the eeee ambassador.

"Degarde, what are they saying?" Brishen whispers to her aide in quiet, colloquial Eeee. Then, she blinks as she catches another familiar name. Is she following me? I'm being punished for something; I just know it.

Envoy jerks upright at being noticed, and even blushes. She signs, "I wish to make formal apologies to Your Highness, for any difficulties I may have caused by divulging the secret of the City in moments of… weakness."

Jezebel is visibly surprised by this … though to the Eeee, all that can be seen is a cheetah surprised for no apparent reason (though sensitive Eeee ears can still pick up the movement of arms from behind). In response, the Priest-King regains her composure, adopting a more serious expression. She signs, and it is translated, "Before I accept the apology, I must know the details of the offense. Speak, Envoy of Lothrhyn, friend and guest of Emerald-Eyes, my youngest sister."

Envoy takes a deep breath, even though she won't be speaking, and begins her confession. "Twice I have told the Temple about the City, under torture and threat of execution. Once, I revealed some of the secrets in hope of gaining favor with the Temple. I offered my memories of Emerald-Eyes' laying to rest of the previous Priest King to the Mage Isstan, and under the influence of his magic allowed an outside entity to extract all that I knew about the City as well."

Degarde leans slightly toward Brishen and says, in a quiet but high-pitched whisper, "I believe some sort of apology is taking place involving matters beyond my comprehension. Something about the divulging of secrets to the Temple under torture."

Degarde gives Brishen an apologetic look. "My Silent Sign is a bit rusty. They're moving too fast for me, and it really strains my neck to look back at the Exile."

Every time I see her, there's some sort of trou – Okay, at least she's consistent. "That's fine, Degarde. Just tell me what you can," Brishen whispers.

Jezebel looks soberly at Envoy. She signs again, and – again – it is translated out loud. "Though we have chosen for the City of Hands to be revealed, you have kept our secrets badly before that decision. That you chose to trade our secrets speaks poorly of your discretion. Do you now plead for our mercy?"

The Shiga makes a small… noise in his throat. That his fingers are occupied holding locust snacks might be on purpose. He exchanges worried glances with a particularly scrawny member of his entourage.

Envoy blinks, and looks up at Jezebel again. Finally, she signs, "I have learned not to expect mercy or forgiveness on this world. I tell you these things now in case they are important to your security. The Temple of Rephidim seemed less concerned of the City of Hands' existence than of losing control of the knowledge of it. I do not know what the entity I now believe to be the legendary Necropolis wanted with the knowledge, but thought it important that you know. I did not have a chance to tell you before you left Rephidim."

The Priest-King sits back in her throne. The reply is translated, "We are aware of the situation and will deal with it as we see fit. Your apology is accepted. You are free to leave unhindered."

The Exile signs her thanks, and lets her hands drop into her lap.

Brishen's eyes glitter faintly as she glances towards the Shiga. I wonder where he fits into all of this. No one is really what they appear to be anymore.

An unfamiliar sign flashes past the Wooden Shekel's view as he looks back and forth in the tennis-like exchanges. He sounds it out softly to himself. "'Neh-crah-poh-liss'. Hmm. Wonder what that is… "

The Shiga's concerned expression flits away from his Savanite second to Jezebel. Can't anyone else tell what she's feeling? A small smile at Brishen only partially alleviates the worry lines creasing the scaly folds on his face.

Degarde leans over toward Brishen, whispering, "The Exile is mentioning something about a 'Necropolis'. City of the Dead. But I think the sign is referring to a specific individual, so I'm having trouble following it."

"How can it refer to both," Brishen squeaks, her voice so quiet that even Sunrise and Snow-Ivy, seated behind her, would barely hear. "Wait. Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

Degarde opens his mouth, then quickly closes it again at Brishen's aborted question.

Jezebel takes a deep breath, then signs, repeated in verbal translation, "The day grows late. Is there any more business to put before the Crown?"

"If I may borrow a speck of your precious time, Your Highness, I do have a matter to bring before the throne." This comes from the Wooden Shekel, who has carefully removed any traces of locust from his fingerpads. "It may be a concern of a touchy nature, however… it would be best if it were under a secure environment." He tilts his head slightly at the winged aeolun.

Jezebel nods to the Wooden Shekel, and makes a move as if to rise from her throne. She pauses, signing (and again accompanied by translation), "Thank you for your honored presence here, Ambassador Brishen Kara. Please give my warmest regards to the High Prince and his wife. I shall retire now, but please feel free to enjoy the hospitality of the court for the remainder of your visit."

Brishen turns to look at Jezebel, straightening slightly as she smiles. "Thank you." She pauses, then, "If possible, I would like to request an audience with you as well, at your convenience."

The Wooden Shekel gets to his feet, and glances around carefully. With a quick and practiced motion, he scoots the three remaining honey-fried locusts into a pocket of his cloak, and licks his fingers self-consciously.

Jezebel nods. "It shall be arranged," the resulting sign is translated, and then the Priest-King rises and strides out of the chamber. Attendants move toward the Wooden Shekel to escort him to the private audience.

The Shiga and his group move along with them, and are soon gone.

Envoy stands up, and watches the construction for awhile. She seems to be singing something just under her breath.

Several more Savanite attendants bow to the remaining dignitaries, and begin clearing away the dishes. Silently, of course.

Brishen's nose wiggles slightly. Honey-fried grasshoppers. An ear cants backwards slightly, towards Envoy, though her attention is focused more on her entourage. "There should be some time for us to talk, Degarde, before I see the Priest-Queen. And we do need to talk."

Degarde bows his head to Brishen. "Of course, Ambassador. What would you like to talk about?" His eyes glance nervously over the attendants.

To sensitive Eeee hearing, the white Exile's song is clear, if the meaning obscure. It seems to be some sort of repetitive chant, using the words "Happy birthday to me" over and over again.

Brishen's wings dip slightly. "This would be better when we're alone." Her voice picks up a little, and she smiles as she looks at Sunrise and Snow-Ivy. "Besides, these two need to rest from all their sightseeing."

A Savanite attendant passes by Envoy without comment, on his way to tidy the cushions and stack them off to the side.

Degarde nods. "Of course. One can never be sure how good… " He glances toward the Savanites and then flits an ear. "Others' hearings might be. Perhaps back in your quarters?" he murmurs to Brishen.

Envoy smiles to the attendant, then makes her way outwards towards the courtyard, and the Vine Gate leading back into the City.

Brishen nods. "That'd be the best place." She can't help but turn to watch the Exile leave. And one of these days, I'll sit Envoy down and have a good, long talk with her. That girl is carrying a whole lot of weight on her shoulders. Dark brown eyes widen a little, and Bree shakes her head. How do I get myself into these things?