The rugged airship continues its way southward, away from the warmth of the tropics, and into the frigid South Sea. Unfortunately, the repairs have not held as well as hoped, but the triple-enveloped craft still presses onward, though requiring daily repairs, as stop-gap measures prove to be only temporary, and there's no port to set into for more permanent repairs.

The engineer has solemnly warned the captain that the ship should not be pushed any faster except in the most dire of emergencies, for with the additional hazards posed by the bitter cold, and emergency patches, it would almost certainly break apart under such strain.

Elijah gnaws on a bit of particularly gristly dried meat. He's probably burning more energy trying to chew on it than he'll ever gain back through digestion, but it helps to know that there is still food to eat. He looks out the window to try and get a glimpse at the water. "It couldn't be a sea serpent. The water is far too cold."

With certainty in her voice, Sukara says, "There is a whole world underneath the waves, teeming with life stranger than anyone would imagine."

The Jupani just mouths "Uh huh" silently, and exchanges a "get a load of her" look with the Khatta.

"It's a shame you didn't choose to be a naturalist, Sukara." The Vartan shoots a glare at the Jupani with his single un-patched eye and then shrugs. "You seem rather interested in living things, although how anything could live in this freezing waters at all amazes me."

"Without life, there is no death, and without death, there is no life," says Sukara in a passive tone. "In any case, I do not claim to know all the secrets that lie beneath the waves. I have only sensed much more beneath the waters in my prayers than the eyes or the ears would tell."

"Yeah? Well, get a load of that. There's actually a bird out there! First one I've seen … in a … in a while!" The wolf points at a speck outside the window, briefly visible in a gap in the clouds.

Elijah leans against the insulated glass, causing the surface to fog up at the touch of his cheek. "I did not mean that as a challenge or an accusation. Only noting that … eh?" He wipes off the window and squints through the glass.

Elijah's keen eyesight is able to make out a bit more, once a wispy cloud sweeps past, making it possible to see the fleck once more. Yes, it most definitely has flapping wings … but it is utterly unlike any sort of bird or other flying creature Elijah has seen before … and he's seen some pretty strange ones. If anything, it looks like an oversized version of a Chronotopian toy bird he saw once … one that would actually "fly" a few meters before bouncing off a wall, or arcing downward and finally hitting the dirt. If his eyesight is telling him correctly, though, this contraption is considerably larger than that – larger than a rakhtor, perhaps – and leaves in its wake a stream of mist.

Hardly a moment after he's had time to focus on the contraption, the alarm sounds, and idle crewmembers shake off the lull of boredom as they come to life and start fumbling to their positions.

The Vartan frowns. "We can't sustain another attack. Whatever that is, I hope it's friendly. Sukara, you should probably go back to the cabin. In case we get boarded, it will make it harder for the enemy to get to you." He rests his hand on the hilt of his gunblade and he starts closing up the folds on his cloak in case he needs to take flight outside.

Sukara bows solemnly, then strides to the stairs leading below-decks. Meanwhile, even though the landing deck is still closed, the Black Lancers get their rakhtors ready – just in case.

Outside, a bright speck of light flashes, illuminating one of the clouds. Then, a point of light sails through the air from the cloud, arcing over the flapping contraption, leaving a trail of blue smoke in its wake. The flapping contraption veers to one side, and the point of light, once it reaches a point level with the contraption, and ahead of the course it was previously on, bursts into a dazzling flash of reddish orange light, which quickly collapses in upon itself, leaving a cloud of blackish smoke.

"Captain, should we go out and meet it, or see if they make the first move? Normally I wouldn't suggest any sort of hostile action, but if it's dangerous, then we need to meet it before it can do damage to the ship. I doubt another attack will do us any good." Elijah buttons up his cowl.

A moment later, the shock wave from the explosion reachesthe ship, resulting in an audible *poom* that rattles the windows, but isn't sufficient to jostle the ship otherwise.

The Captain exclaims, "I say, some sort of hostile action is going on!" He barks orders, and the Vigilance carefully angles its course, limping away from the ornithopter.

Elijah rubs his beak. "That was an awfully flashy shot for battle."

The Captain furrows his brow. "I don't know what that was. Flashy or not, I don't think we can stand one of those hitting our envelopes."

A moment later, the ornithopter swerves to one side, anticipating another streaming speck that this time detonates in a spot not far from where it would have been, had it not changed its course. Just then, a larger airship emerges from the clouds, obviously the source of the points of light. It has a remarkably small envelope, even though it has a fairly small gondola, and the front of it sports an emblem that looks like a stylized sun with a lion-Khatta's face, combined with writing in some unfamiliar tongue.

"Probably best if we go out and investigate, then. If they're hostile, we can keep them busy, and if they're not we can hopefully convince them to wait until we've passed before they continue." The Vartan rustles his wings.

The Captain nods. "I can have the ship move to a 'safe' distance, and then come to an all-stop, and send out scouts."

The ornithopter, meanwhile, weaves its way toward the Vigilance, despite the Captain's attempt to avoid the exchange. Flashes of light come from the craft – a mirrored distress signal. The Captain recognizes this right away, of course, and frowns severely.

Elijah wraps a scarf over his face, muffling his voice slightly. "Do you know who the enemy craft is from? I don't recognize the writing, and I think we're too far south to meet with the Emir's men. It doesn't look like a Savanite ship either."

"No flag I recognize," the Captain admits. "And that's no long range craft. I can't explain how it could have made it here. There are no habitable islands this far south – save for the Sanctuary, and we're not anywhere close to that yet."

The craft with the sun emblem is evidently mechanical as well, as it has a large spinning propeller in the rear, and it leaves little wisps of mist in its wake, just like the ornithopter. The ornithopter has gotten close enough that it can be seen that it sports a strange feature: It looks as if, in its center, there is a large chunk of ice held within its frame.

"We'd best pop out and do something, Captain. I don't like embracing a criminal, and I don't know who the other people are, but I suspect that if we just float around, the little flapper thing is going to buzz us enough times that the larger ship is going to accidentally hit us with one of their missiles, or maybe if we help them capture this fellow, we can get some help with repairs. Either way I'd like a chance to get a bit more information." the Vartan squints at the "ice", trying to see if he can spot a pilot inside.

The Captain sighs, seeing the craft approach. "Good point. I hope they're multilingual, because I can't make out that writing. I don't even recognize it." He shouts out, "Patrol group! Rally up!" Five cold-weather fliers – Tern Wimmers – strut over, and salute with their wings.

As it is, Elijah can't spot anything inside the ice … but he can make out a couple of bulky, hairy figures suspended in the framework of the craft – the pilots, no doubt.

Elijah motions to the Black Lancers. "We'll approach the larger ship. Do you think you can see about convincing the smaller one to stop, or move it onto the landing deck if it's not hostile? We can turn it over to the larger ship and take the pilots into custody if need be."

The wolves salute Elijah, and one speaks for them. "Aye-aye, sir!" Those crewmen not absolutely necessary clear out of the landing deck area, while several strong-backed men crank open the panels on one side … The uneven air pressure causes the craft to list more to port, but it's sufficient to provide an opening for the rakhtor-riders to launch out, while the airship's propellers slow to full-stop … as it's obvious at this point that the Vigilance isn't going to be able to outrun either of these strange craft regardless.

The Vartan's feathers bristle as the cold air hits him. "Alright men, let's go see who and what we're dealing with here." He motions to the Wimmers and pops out of the opening, winging towards the larger ship.

The ornithopter buzzes by, circling the Vigilance. A fiery streak follows it, but explodes well short of coming close to the zeppelin, thank goodness. The ornithopter has succeeded in getting close enough to the zeppelin so that a clear shot isn't likely possible without risking both craft. It remains to be seen whether the larger craft (smaller than the zeppelin, nonetheless) cares.

The Wimmers streak out after the Vartan, forming a lopsided triangle formation with two on his left wing, and three on his right.

"Keep your arms open, and no power-dives or sudden movements. We don't want to look hostile, but if you see one of those shots heading for us, then scatter." The Vartan's wings cut through the icy air and his breath puffs out like a steam engine with every word.

Wing-wiggles from the fliers give Elijah silent acknowledgement of his command. Meanwhile, the larger craft is slowing, though keeping a respectful distance from the zeppelin … perhaps so that the zeppelin does not form a blind spot that the ornithopter can exploit to shoot off in some direction to continue its flight. The larger craft doesn't come to an all-stop, however. Instead, it alters its course, making a circuitous path about the larger vessel. As the fliers come closer, they can see several felines aboard the craft, decked out in bulky winter gear that gives them a hunchbacked appearance.

"AHOY THERE!" Elijah shouts down to the felines once he's close enough to hopefully be heard. "Permission to come aboard?"

As the fliers circle, some of the felines wave their hands about wildly, conferring with each other, then one shouts out, in a very stilted accent, "Hokay! Land, but no fight! You not from here!"

The Vartan lets out a relieved breath. They don't seem hostile, and they understand Standard. "You heard him. No sudden moves." His wings tilt as he tries to angle the "wedge" of fliers towards the ship; he floats to the deck slowly instead of slamming into it.

The Wimmers land with slightly less grace than the Vartan, and huddle together on the deck, their long beaks quirking this way then that as they eye the heavily-bundled felines. The felines hold various simple-looking pole-arms, and a couple of the crew part way as a wisened old cat with long, shaggy fur that has formed a flowing beard – crusted with frost – hobbles up.spoof A glowing red nimbus plays around the aged cat, giving the appearance of leaping ethereal flames atop his crown, and there is no frost atop his head, higher than his beard. The one who spoke earlier bows to the elder cat, receiving a nod in turn. Regarding Elijah through squinted eyes, the bearded cat speaks. "You come from the north, mmm?" His accent is just as thick, though his grammar is much better.

Elijah bows low, his arms hugging across his chest to keep warm. "Yes. I have instructed the knights aboard my ship to try and help bring in the vessel you pursue, but I would like to ask why you pursue it?"

The saber-toothed feline to the old Khatta's side mrowls something in an unfamiliar tongue, but the mage waves it off, then says, "A knave has stolen the king's daughter. It is our duty to return her, or failing that, see to it she is not brought to shame."

"Was she taken against her will?" The Vartan tilts his head slightly.

The mage frowns, contemplating, then nods. "Yes, against her father's will."

Elijah sighs to himself. "I understand, sir. How old is the girl?"

The mage pauses again, then says, "Days short of ten and seven summers by birth, but less than that by action."

"I understand all the more. I fear I have read many romantic stories about a princess being stolen away from a king by a dashing man, but I am also a father and you have acted very honorably towards me and my ship. I see no reason to turn on you." The Vartan glances out at the sky to check on the Lancers' progress at bringing the flier in. "Who are you and your people?"

The Lancers appear to have done a commendable job, as the flier appears to be in the process of being hauled up to the landing deck, though it doesn't fit so neatly as to be wholly enclosed within the undercarriage. "I am Forgekeeper Candeler, and we are the guards of King Ashstone of Promethea."

"I have not heard of him or your lands. Are you newly settled?" He bows again. "My name is Elijah, and although she is not quite my ship, I am with the Eternal Vigilance, an airship in the service of the Knights Templar and the Order of the Bounded Star. Once the flier is settled in, I will return your princess to you, but if it is your power, I would like to ask if you could help us repair our ship in exchange. We were attacked by pirates off the coast of Aeztepa."

"Pirates," the mage hisses, and it's evident this is a word in his vocabulary. "If you return her safely, we shall guide you to Promethea." He looks at the zeppelin. "I do not know how the istalis powers your craft, but we can repair many things."

"As I do not know what you speak of, I must assume that it doesn't." The Vartan smirks and unfolds his wings, gesturing to the Wimmers. "Back to the ship! We'll inform the crew of the situation." He bows to the feline. "Permission to depart, sir."

The mage's brows rise in surprise at Elijah's first sentence, and then he nods, and makes a dismissing gesture with a thick paw. He then mrowls to the other sabertooth felines, and they relax somewhat.

Elijah whistles sharply to the Wimmers and hops off the deckof the ship, winging his way back to the Eternal Vigilance,

The Wimmers fall in line, and they wing their way – unimpeded – back to the zeppelin. When they get back onto the landing deck, they can see the Lancers and a number ofarmed crewmen keeping guard, while a younger version of one of these felines – with almost stubby saberteeth poking out of his mouth – waves his paws around in wild gesticulation, babbling on angrily in the native tongue. A younger female sits in a seat in the craft, slumped and dejected, looking as if she is trying to bury herself and hide in a pile of furs.

"Oh dear… I should have asked if we could bring a translator with us." Elijah squeezes through what space is left by the bulk of the craft and makes room for the rest of the fliers. "This man apparently seduced the daughter of the ruler of these people and meant to run away with her together. Take him into custody, but be gentle about it, please."

The Lancers nod, and one of them tries to do just that. However, "gentle" is hard to manage, as the young cat puts up a fight, and even though he's not a full-grown adult, there's a lot of wiry muscle packed into his frame. In order to do so without harming him, three of theLancers have to apprehend him, with some other crewmen at stand-by. The female lets out a cross between a sob and a sigh.

Elijah walks around to the side of the flying contraption and sticks his head in a little bit. "Ashstone?" he scrawks gently.

The female looks up at Elijah, murring something in that foreign language, and then stops, pausing, and repeating, "Ash … stone … " She frowns, then mrowls, "No go back!" Her ears flatten against her head. "Me grown up! No tell me what do!"

"No," the Vartan replies. "We are taking you back. Would you endanger us and the lives of the people on this ship to escape? If you truly love each other, perhaps you could try and get your father to listen to you instead of running off?"

The girl looks sternly at the Vartan, her eyes showing confusion as she tries to follow his words, but at last she just turns away indignantly, as if repulsed by the sight of him.

Elijah shrugs. "Captain, follow the other vessel. They have offered to effect repairs to our ship, perhaps we're about to discover a new sky island?"

The Captain lets out a relieved breath. "Splendid. A sky island would be a welcome sight right now."

The zeppelin limps along with the Promethean craft as its escort. As the airship heads further north, the scouts spot more icebergs to the north. But there is more than that. These icebergs float above the water. Eventually, Elijah has a chance to see for himself. Sure enough, there are huge chunks of what must surely be ice, though the masses are accompanied by trailing mists, and ice floats in the air like clouds. Occasionally, pieces crack off, and drift upward, away from the larger masses, streaming mists that rise even faster, until the smaller chunks melt away into nothingness.

It is not long after this that a scout calls out "Land ho!" and, sure enough, there is a sky island ahead, dimly seen amongst the clinging mists. There is not just one sky island, though … others can be seen as well. They are tall and thin, at least as it appears from a distance, riveted with artificial structures, and enmeshed by clinging vines.

"Like flying spears. I wonder what keeps it floating? Sifran crystal doesn't float like that." The Vartan stays pressed against his window.

One of the "shards" has a massive tree perched on top of it, sheltering buildings with its boughs. Another shard has what looks like some sort of a palace atop it. A third looks like a city, crowned by plumes of steam and smoke rising from stacks. Other ships can be seen floating about, most of them looking like frameworks with chunks of ice held within them, gliding along without need for an envelope, or else with one of such small size as to hardly support their weight.

The ship with the sun emblem leads the zeppelin toward the shard with the plumes of smoke rising from it, and most of the airships seem to cluster there. It keeps a wide berth of the two other "shards".

"Hmmm, and I thought we'd be heading towards the castle." Elijah wipes off his window again. "I wonder how often someone falls off one of the islands."

No one happens to plummet off the edge while Elijah watches. But, as one of the larger "icebergs" floats by, he notices something odd … He sees people on it. As for what sort of people, they are winged, and very hairy, with thick white fur, and massive hands and upper torsos, but their lower bodies taper into coils, as if they were winged, hairy Nagas. At one of these icebergs, several of these creatures hack away at the ice, until a large crack forms, and a piece floats off, gaining altitude. Several of the semi-serpentine creatures alight to the air, and fasten cords onto edges of the chunk, and haul it along, attaching their ends of the ropes to leathery harnesses that they wear.

At last, as the craft approaches the "shard city", several airships similar to the one escorting the Vigilance break off from their circuits about the island, and join the escort. There are docks much like those at Rephidim built into the side of the shard-island, and there are many of these felines and the serpentine hairy fliers working there. The Captain barks orders, and the crew prepares to dock, which all in all is handled with a minimum of fuss, despite the damaged struts. What takes more fuss, however, is when the two "passengers" are escorted off the ship, but that was not unexpected.

The air is noticeably warmer and less thin once the airship reaches the "envelope" surrounding the sky island. Even though it is a fraction of the size of Rephidim, it evidently sports a similar effect … though it's still far colder than anyone would be used to in the floating city.

As the zeppelin docks, a well-muscled feline with almost feral proportions lumbers on out. He looks as if he could drop to all fours and pass for an oversized beast, and he almost wouldn't look ridiculous doing so, in his regalia of furs and pelts. Still, despite the semi-barbaric look of the people, they obviously have a grasp of craftsmanship and technology, even going so far as to decorate their surroundings with fairly intricate designs. The stonework has a look of being far older than mere generations, though, judging from well-worn relief sculptures cut into the stone of the island.

This regal-looking sabertooth is joined by an entourage of other felines, with a few fliers accompanying them. It looks as if the fliers here serve as a sort of working class, even though evidently they're not bound to the island quite as the felines are without their airships.

The other craft lands, and Forgemaster Candeler joins the entourage that awaits the crew of the Eternal Vigilance. Once all things are as in order as they will be, the Captain goes out with a group to meet the natives, along with Elijah and a couple of the Lancers. Priestess Sukara comes along as well, offering her magical expertise, in case arcane matters come up.

As the two groups meet, the large feline mrowls, "You talk the old north tongue, eh? Eh?" He gestures to the entourage. The captain has, for the moment, appointed Elijah the ship's "emissary", since that is, after all, his purpose for being along, even if these aren't the people in particular he's to converse with.

"My language is Rephidim Standard, yes, although I also speak my own native tongue of Vartan and understand Nagai tolerably well." He bows to the feline. "I am Elijah, this is my Captain, and Priestess Sukara of Babel."

The feline raises his jaw a couple degrees in what might be an inverted nod of acknowledgement, or just a gesture of being pleased at the introduction. "You brought back Princess Windblown. That is good. Promethea welcomes you. We share our hearth with you."

The Forgemaster waves his paws around, chanting something, then says, "May Promethi keep your coals warm, and may your isetis keep you sustained."

"How is it I have never heard of these lands or heard your language before? Do you keep to yourselves here?" Elijah rubs his tongue across the roof of his beak, trying to mimic the accent on the word. "What is isetis?"

The regal feline laughs boisterously, then says, "Many questions you have, foreigner. Bah. It is for a teacher to answer. Here. Let us go in, and share our food and fire with you and yours." He gestures expansively, then mrowls commands to his underlings, and the honor guard shifts to make way for a procession to yet another craft, this one smaller, and sustained by misting chunks of the "ice" at each corner, its frame being little more than a platform with protective rails on each side, and a pulley mechanism rigged up to cords running up the stone face of the island.

Forgemaster Candeler leans over toward Elijah, and says, "We do not often hear from the northern lands. Our isetis melts too quickly in the warmer lands to bear us far. It is what you see about, what makes our skyships fly, and what the yverneti roost upon." He gestures toward the floating "icebergs".

( So the ice rises up from the ocean, and they use it for flight. That's one comfort at least, in knowing that it's all short range and confined to this area. ) The Vartan unbuttons some of his multiple layers of clothing before he overheats. "The Yverneti, are they the ones I saw cutting the ice? Do they work for you?"

The entourage continues along, and the guards stand aside, while the king takes a step up into the platform, and room is made for the Forgemaster, the Captain, Elijah, Sukara, and the two Lancers. The Forgemaster nods. "Yes. We trade with them. They are neutral, and trade with all three Shard Cities, and the other isles, too."

"Neutral? Are you at war with one of the other islands?" The Vartan tilts his head curiously as he follows behind the felines.

Once the group is on board the platform, a guard pulls free a restraint, and the contraption starts gliding upward, held in place by the guide-ropes. A couple of the Yverneti flutter up, and steady the platform as it rises – the stone face, while steep and sheer in some places, is not entirely flat, and they keep it from wobbling too violently.

"We have our differences," Forgemaster Candeler says. "It is a long time since the day when the gods agreed on much of anything. We do not war, as such, but blood is sometimes shed."

Elijah nods. "The man who abducted the King's daughter. Was he of another island?"

Candeler shakes his head. "No. He is a performer. A … ah … " He pauses. "Acrobat."

Sukara leans over the side, peering down, her ears perked up attentively.

"Do you hear something interesting, Sukara?" the Vartan glances over the side. "The Yverneti look interesting. Like a cross between Vartan and Nagai and something else."

Sukara stands back up, then looks to Elijah. "I am simply getting a feel for the elevation and the air pressure. It's a bit light … comparable to being on a mountain top." She swallows a few times. "Plus, I need to get my ears to finish popping."

Elijah nods. "I let you come along to make up for making you go into the cabin at every little bump, but there is always the underlying concern to me that you are still a spy, and I still don't know what to do with you. I think that there is some growing resentment that when we suspected the cook, we locked him into the brig, and you simply get me as an escort everywhere."

Sukara looks to Elijah. "I leave it as your discretion, then, whether you should change your mind." The platform continues climbing, and the captain clumsily tries to convey flattering impressions to the king of the stonework and the designs of the airships … seemingly interested in finding out what he can about how they work, if he can manage. The king, however, seems inclined to nod and smile and flattery, and ignore any questions.

"My decision is not changing. You have helped with our wounded and haven't done anything like try to cut my throat in my sleep or poison my tea. I am telling you of this just to make you aware of it, and to understand why you may find yourself under the heel of resentment for a bit." The Vartan looks up towards the destination of the platform. "A hot meal will be nice, regardless."

Sukara nods silent agreement. The rest of the ride up is fairly quiet … until the platform comes to a stop at another "dock", where several workers quickly secure ropes to keep the platform from drifting up any further. A stone castle of sorts is built into a recess in the side of the stone island, partway carved into the stone, and partway formed of block neatly fitted together. Colorful banners flutter in the breeze that whips around the island, and snow and frost lurk in recesses.

With another honor guard joining up, and the Yverneti staying behind, the entourage proceeds toward the castle. The king beams proudly as his guests get to see the castle for the first time up close.

"It's like something out of a storybook." The Vartan grins as he appraises the castle.

The praise makes the king grin even more proudly. They cross a wooden bridge that crosses a wide gap that passes for what might serve as a moat here, though doubtless one would need to fly to get anywhere close to the castle in the first place. As they pass within the gates, it is noticeably warmer inside, though still within the realm of being chilly. The most obvious benefit is that they are no longer being buffeted by winds.

Elijah's hooves clatter lightly as he crosses the drawbridge. "Sir, if I may ask … do your people have a name? Usually we call races such as yours 'Kattha', but you are not the Emir's people, nor are you like the black ones from Nordika."

The King glances back at Elijah. "We are children of Promethi. In northern tongue, you call us … Prometheans." Inside, the ceiling is high, and the walls steep and severe in the cut of the architecture, the dull gray offset by banners of brilliant colored designs – apparently abstract, but having a unifying suggestion of dancing flame. Stonework often incorporates the "sun-lion face" to decorate capstones over doorway arches.

The Vartan ahhs. "Promethi is your god?"

The King nods. "He is Father, Lord of Forge, giving us light and fire from above." He gestures to the Forgemaster. "Ask him. He can tell you holy words."

There are many statues lining the hall, though many of them are broken, and all of them show signs of great age – none of them apparently being built during this king's reign. The statues, incidentally, show feline beings of the same species as himself, though with elongated, stylized features.

Elijah glances at the Forgemaster. "You are a priest, then?"

The Forgemaster inclines his head. "That would be an adequate translation of my title, yes."

At last, the king passes into his audience chamber, and he climbs a set of stairs up to his throne, which is considerably higher than the chamber. High above him, the ceiling is obscured by the haze of smoke lifting from torch-stands positioned along the walls. There is another throne beside him, but it is empty. Several other felines are about the room, and Elijah at first thinks he sees the daughter, but then realizes that this feline is a bit younger – a sister, no doubt, and with a few other siblings lined up as well.

The guards bringing in the visitors drop to one knee in bows, and the Captain and Lancers follow suit. The Forgemaster, however, only inclines his head in subservience.

Elijah shoots a curious glance at the Forgemaster, wondering if the tension he feels between the King and the "priest" are imagined or not, but he quickly drops to one knee as well. He is a guest and has been treated well; it would only be proper to show respect.

Sukara, noticing the form of genuflection, looks to the priest, then opts for a Babelite bow at the waist, keeping her head low and eyes averted.

The king sniffs, then claps his hands together. He mrowls out orders, and servants scramble about. To his visitors, he says, "I call a feast. Let us toast Promethi!" He grins to the priest. "Even if he did not bring home Princess Windblown this time!"

The Vartan pulls himself back up to his hooves. "I will be happy to toast you, my lord, and the return of your daughter … but I cannot toast to your god, as it would be a sign of disrespect to my own. I apologize if I offend."

At this, the king breaks out in laughter, and waves off the Vartan. "Sit down! Sit down! Ah! You have nowhere to sit!" He claps his hands, and roars commands. Servants rush to drag out chairs. They are all high-backed and not particularly well-suited to winged guests, but not impossible to utilize, either.

Elijah whews. Perhaps he's been around fanatical Babelites and Templars demanding that he genuflect to the First Ones far too long. "I would like to meet with you at a less busy time, Lord Forgemaster, to speak of Promethi."

The Forgemaster's already squinted eyes close as he nods, touching two fingers to his forehead. "I go to lift my prayers to Promethi. May you be refreshed after your long journey." And with that, he shuffles his feet, backing away without turning his back upon the king. The servants and guards, however, do not seem beholden to such a requirement, so perhaps it is just a tradition for the priesthood.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord." The Vartan bows again and looks around. "You seem to have many children. Do you have a wife, my lord?"

The lord frowns, and there's a faint growl from him, and he looks away. "Do not speak of Queen at feast. She was most beautiful of all Promethea. May no more be said."

As the table is set out, the children of the King find seats for themselves. It looks like the order of the day is fish, fish, and more fish, with a few greens thrown in for color, at least. The king does not sit at the table, but servants hold samples on "trays" made of shell for him, and he takes swigs of wine, and tears off hunks of meat at his leisure, before the table is even properly set out.

Meanwhile, servants usher Elijah to a place with a plate and a goblet and utensils that are made for breaking shells and picking meat out of them. Everything here appears to be made of stone, bone, leather and ivory. There is metal here and there, mostly used for pins and bolts, and wood is fairly scarce.

"Forgive me, my lord." Elijah drops his eyes – or eye at least, considering the other one is patched. "Is there a title that you prefer I call you by?"

"King!" the cat lord replies, mouth full, and then he cracks a shell with his teeth and digs the meat out with a sharp claw.

"It's a good thing I like fish." The Vartan gives Sukara a reassuring wink before getting some hunks of fish for himself. "You are blessed with many beautiful daughters, King Ashstone. I have a daughter myself and know full well the joy children bring."

"A blessing from Promethi! Ha ha!" The large cat waves his goblet around, splashing wine, and not looking like he cares the least bit. He then takes a swig. Several others in the court echo his motion, though not with the spilling part.

Sukara nods in response to Elijah, and takes one of the shellfish, skillfully cracking the shell and pulling the meat out. She manages to do it without getting nearly so messy as most of those at the table.

Elijah doesn't fare nearly as well as the Eeee and her delicate touch; his own fingers are thick and large, with his talons getting in the way. Eventually he ends up getting the shell cracked open, but spends quite a bit of time picking bits of crushed shell from the meat inside. "What will happen to the performer and the daughter that tried to run off with him?"

The king frowns, then yells, for more than just Elijah to hear, even if most of the locals don't speak the "Northern Tongue". "Windblown will be kept in room until next birth day, and the knave?" He draws a line across his throat, frowning severely.

The Vartan winces. "It is not my place to tell a king what to do, but as the person who helped rescue her, I would like to ask for mercy or a less harsh sentence for him. If it pleases you, we could take him with us on our ship when we leave."

The king frowns for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. "Heh. You go back north again?"

"We go further south first, but we will not be this way again on our trip back when we do return north." The bird straightens. "If you would reduce his punishment to exile instead of execution, I would be most grateful."

The king laughs, then proclaims, "So be it!" He then fixes a stern look on Elijah, pointing. "But let him NEVER COME BACK!"

"I will do my utmost to insure it, my lord." Elijah bobs his head yet again and relaxes. As much as this looks to be a case of a court entertainer wooing a princess away, he can think of better crimes punishable by death.

The king nods. "No more talk then! Eat! Drink! Laugh!" He claps his hands, spilling more food and drink, and musicians play for the king and his court.

Elijah sighs and swallows his bit of fish. ( I hope the new fellow can cook. Or if he's as feisty as he was earlier, at least the old cook can keep him company in the brig. )