For those who knew the workings of the House well, from inside access or outside observation or whatever mix of the two, two things became clear over time. The first, which came almost immediately, was that Alain DeMuer was a difficult man to find -- constantly on the move, with numerous holdings to look after and nothing resembling a House office, as his organization was in a way very decentralized. Second came the realization that if you asked for him at Greyshott Place, he was bound to show up, and sooner rather than later. One had to question if the front door was the only way in...

Early in the evening, a typical scene unfolded in the Greyshott Place courtyard. Four of the House 'lackeys' were laughing and gossiping over a game of bocce, tossing the wooden bocce balls across the brick courtyard, and yet one of them always kept an eye on the gate. All were armed, all with physically and magickally concealed weapons.

All it took was a fine tuned nose to sniff out her prey, and of course some spies in the guise of a harmless bird of which flew high on over head. The approach to the gate came with a slow and cumbersome saunter, where each footstep released the distinct sound of solid unbreakable glass striking a hard surface. So he is always here, huh? Well, most of the time. As usual, he was a hard man to track and pin down, but she always got her man in the end.

An uncommon sight would meet the lackeys, for suddenly, as if it had appeared out of nowhere, a seven foot tall behemoth stood before the gate, heavily drenched in thick cloaks that deluded all to the material beneath. But that helm? That massive spiked helm of pure purple crystal, with a singular large oval visor occupied where one would assume a face to be, could have been as heavy as the creature inside of it.

The laughter began to fade but never stopped; one of them recognized the aesthetic and said something to the others, and went to greet the figure at the gate while her friends continued their game. She spotted a familiar symbol that confirmed her suspicions and quirked a toothy grin to Ms. Doom and Gloom -- she was another of the House's many "halfbreeds," with beautiful light blue skin and midnight blue hair, brilliant red eyes, subtle fangs, and ears that were not only pointed but hooked forward at the tip. "Renna sent you?" Her long-nailed fingers wrapped around one of the bars in the gate, just above the handle.

The nod of the head from the behemoth slid together unseen with the crystalline plates of the pauldron like two slabs of granite moving past each other. It chose not to speak, and for whatever reason that may be, it might not be best to kill the trend and have it speak some secret password. It did not look like the conversing type.

The woman slipped one hand inside her leather jacket, grinning and shaking her head as she pulled the gate open to let the behemoth in. "The Boss'll be out to see you soon... and watch your head." She shut the gate after him/her/it, wheeled around and hurried inside.

The others continued their game, and their conversation and laughter, though they looked over their shoulders every so often at the strange visitor...

It entered with a very low dip of the body. The last thing it wanted was to have a bill sent to fix a gate it inadvertently sliced to shreds with its head. Besides, the prospect of killing those guards provided an all the more tempting desire to resist. It slipped further into the courtyard, more pointedly, far away from those colourful characters.

It took just over eight minutes for Alain to emerge from the townhouse, preceded by the blue-skinned guard, who moved off to one side as the young House leader approached. As usual his attention was hard at work, taking in all the little details quickly and, whenever possible, subtly. His eyes narrowed just a little at the corners as he smiled faintly: "Sorry for the wait."

"You?re lucky I ate this morning," Renna?s voice combined with a crystalline synthesiser rumbled out from the helm, "Your guards look quite delicious." The massive helm turned towards Alain, with the body following suit soon after. A wicked chuckle came the armoured behemoth, and slowly from the folds of the cloak came a crystalline claw large enough to hold a child in, to point a long sharp finger out towards him, "But then again so do you. "

Alain's smile grew to a slow grin, and he dipped his head to light a cigar. After a pointed look up from it, everyone - even the trio playing bocce - vacated the courtyard as if commanded. And really, they were. "Never thought I was that appetizing... but that would explain a lot, wouldn't it." He drifted over to a black wrought iron table and took up a lean. "What can I do for you, Renna."

"Correction," the hand slipped back into the river of black and purple folds of fabric, "I think I can do something for you." Renna, in her armoured glory that resembled a walking tank rather than a basic suit of armour, stepped forward towards him. Although it was so that she could see better, the single step alone looked quite intimidating. "Recently a large quantity of ore and gems has come into neutral territory. I have no use for it." Somehow, you could tell she was smirking under that helm. "If you are willing to make some of it, consider it a gift."

"I don't see how," Alain said after a long drag, his expression carefully mastered. The step did not seem to intimidate him... but this was ground Renna had tested before, after all. "We don't do much mining outside the Barony, and I've got no way into your territory. The deal's always been, I bring the goods into RhyDin, and you bring it into 'Arkangel.' "

A chuckle filled out of the helm, "Don?t worry about getting to my territory. I will provide you with a way." Turning a little a way from him, the helm turned to look elsewhere. But who knows where her gaze really was at. "I shall construct a gateway half a mile from the site, and bridge it to wherever you wish."

Alain had to chew on that for a moment. Expanding his holdings to other realms, after all, was on his to-do list, and progress in Vrashne was slow... "Tell me about the real estate. Nice neighborhood, blue-ribbon schools...?"

"It is a Wasteland. Consider it a smouldering desert of dust. It does have some teething problems in that the rebels to love to hide out in the dust storms, but those are only to the far north. This is quite in the south, but still located right in the middle of nowhere." She held out a claw to one side, laughing, "But I wouldn?t worry about the rebels. They?re just pathetic in terms of organisation. You could say they are quite the nomads."

"How's the saying go... one man's nomads are another man's nightmare?" He chuckled smokily and said to her, suddenly much cooler, "Let me make it plain, I want to know everything about what I'm getting into... and frankly, I'd like to get as close to those resources as possible. Maybe ring a little kasbah around the whole thing, hunker down, and shoot anything ill-tempered that looks at us the wrong way -- like armed rebels. Tell me more about these rebels... and how this new gate might change our trading arrangements."

"You can consider this location our hub between each other. A trade post, as well as your own little facility. However, you will not expand further than that. Not unless I approve, and you give me a valid reason as to why you want to. I will move the gate as close as possible to the area, as long it does not collapse from the interference the ore may cause." She silenced herself for a moment. The rebels. Must he know everything? "Basic weapons. Hack and slash. Quite fanatical, and ruthless warriors."

"Magick? And explain the ore to me. I'm not too keen on moving volatile resources through my holdings if I can't keep control over them."

"Perhaps Magick. Though I can almost assure you, you may not come across an army of them anymore. I made sure to that." The helm turned to him, "The ore is hard to refine, but, if the Lysandrian armour has anything to go by, it is quite the sturdy material. Light, flexible, hard to melt once set. I suppose you could make some decent firearms out of it. Either that or sell it to the highest bidder. I recommend not trying to use explosives. Anything with enough punch might set off their unique little perk."

"The ore itself is explosive?" Alain had to consider this, with a subtle turn of his lips one might call thoughtful.

"Not quite. They radiate a kind of energy? Something that knocks out electrical systems. I think you know what that is. EMP? The Bloodstones use the ore in catapults against the more developed Empires, who can use electricity in their war machines. Bigger the rock, bigger the effect."

"Are they radioactive?" and he offered a follow-up explanation, after a moment. "Does it leave burns on people exposed to it?"

"I?ve seen a few people become burnt, but only because a large quantity of it was set off at quite close proximity." She paused for a beat, "I heard Mana makes it quite the more potent, but I would not fully know. Bloodstone secrets are well kept. Even to famous former pets like myself."

Alain ashed his cigar; there was another silent, presumably thoughtful, pause. "I can see how that would be handy... especially if it stays our dirty little secret." He eyed her. "What's the ore called?"

"Our dirty little secret? Why, you make it sound like we?re doing something illegal." The eying - if seen or not - was not responded to. In fact she barely moved at all. "I am not a Geologist. I can suppose the different races will call it something else, but for the moment, I shall call it an annoyance."

The House leader grinned: "Okay, I'll bring a geologist." He chuckled out aromatic smoke. "Anyway... if you build the gate on your side, we can take care of everything else. Our gate, the fort, the mine, and enough trucks running through my Barony into the outpost to keep you constantly supplied with any supplies you need. Which reminds me -- I have a wide range of high-end medical supplies sitting in a Star's End warehouse with your name on it."

"Do what you want with it. I?m sure such ore will be more useful to you than it is to me. I?m sure it will give you a little bit of an exotic edge for your own personal endeavours." She turned towards him, the helm tilted downwards so that the visor was filled with nothing but his reflection. "I appreciate that. I will send a few of my men to pick it up and to deliver it to my hospital in the West End." A long single crystal claw lifted, "There is a few things I need to make clear, first, before I allow you access to my home planet."


"I thought you might."

"Do not consider this a threat, but you must understand I am putting an ounce of trust in you by letting you take ore out of my home planet for your own ends. The continent this will all occur on is well within my jurisdiction - and my birthright to rule however I see fit. If, I see one smidge of something fishy, I won?t hesitate in taking lethal action against the people stationed there. Oh, and one more thing," She bent a little forward, "Make sure you take some very heavy firepower, as insurance."

"I have no interest in empires," Alain replied, unperturbed by her threats. Then he nodded to her -- "Not one rebel will make it over our walls. We'll see to it."

"It is not the rebels I worry about. I am sure they will not even make the wall, considering what I may suspect you will be packing. What I mean is, to be careful. Although I very much doubt it ever happening, you may need your men to be ready to take some serious damage from foreign Empires." She chuckled, and curled that finger back into the fist of crystal, "But don?t worry. If that ever happens, I?ll be prepared to help you."

"We have our ways," Alain answered simply, but he nodded again. "Think you can take care of convoys to the outpost and back? It'll be easier for my people to stay completely out of your affairs if they stick to the fortress and the mine."

"Of course. I will have my daughter personally see to it that it all goes as smooth as possible for your convoys." The helm gave a single downwards nod, "I will also offer security while the construction of your outpost is underway, so I won?t worry about protection during that time. If you happen to personally arrive at the outpost, I would more than be happy to grant you access to my city's finest rooms."

Alain grinned and shook his head. "Don't think there's going to be a personal visit anytime soon, unfortunately. Too much keeping me here. You know Roland Gravois, one of my knights?"

"Of course. Wouldn?t want you to become too involved with my wife?s Priestesses, anyway. Considering your sordid reputation amongst the women. Or so I hear?" The behemoth of crystal shook its head. "Names. I?m terrible with names. I?m sure I?ve smelt the man before."

He chuckled at the remark about his reputation, but again, said nothing to it. "A Captain in the Holy Order of Saint Ouen, and a very capable military leader. I feel very confident he'll get the job done."

"Holy Order, huh?" She chuckled, "Then, I suppose, you are their Saint?" The laughter that came from the helm was a twisted synthesis that could have orginated from a true Daemon?s lips. "Ah, yes, I am sure he will get the job done by the sounds of it." Renna turned then, "I suppose, this talk is over with? That is of couse unless you want to chit chat about some other things that are on your mind?"

He shook his head. "Unless you wanted to talk about the weather. I'm sure we'll be in touch very soon."

"The weather sucks, in this realm." She mused before turning back towards him, "Pleasure as always. I think I?m beginning to like you, Alain. Please excuse me, but I think I?ll take the quicker way out. Have a good evening." The cloth, the crystal - even Renna inside melted away into a thick black gloop, that just seemingly vaporized into thin air upon touching the ground, leaving but a few petals of dark grey and black feathers behind.

Alain watched quietly as she disappeared, and stood there for a while to finish his cigar. When he was done, he returned inside, and the four 'lackeys' returned to their game of bocce.

(Uh ohz! Adapted from live play. ^_~)

The morning of Thursday the 16th of March

The Cove House in the seaside village of Sainte-Ouen (not to be confused with the larger Barony of Sainte-Ouen which it belonged to, nor the Holy Order of Saint Ouen) was a sprawling and normally very quiet and empty house. It was built from strong grey wood, sturdy enough to withstand the windstorms that swept up the coast with the coming of autumn, and it still held the aroma of fresh carpentry after less than a year of gentle use. The broad wraparound porch accomodated a pair of swings, a number of small tables perfect for breakfast with a waterfront view, and five comfortable rocking chairs hand-carved by the skilled elven carpenters of Westridge.

The south side of the building housed the ballroom and a beautiful garden to the west, and tall windows let in plenty of warm sunlight, enough to give a golden glow to the place where the peace talks were set to happen.

"Reynard!" Today the Cove House was far from empty and not at all quiet. The last of the guests had arrived late last night, and the brand new, contract-appointed house staff had only begun preparations in earnest on Tuesday morning. "Reynard," said a thin man in a tuxedo with tails, "what are you doing? Why are you all alone, and why are you moving the silverware out onto the tables?"

Half of the tables on the porch now had silverware sets laid out on them; everything else, including the rest of the silverware, plates, glasses, and all the food platters were in the ballroom, where long tables had been brought in from the Councillors' Hall for the conference.

"Monsieur," Reynard mumbled, "monsieur, one of the knights delivered a message that we are to serve brunch out on the porch."

"Never mind, we shall just have to -- wait, WHAT?!" The thin man, Charles, did a spit-take.

"We were going to have it inside, monsieur, in the ballroom because of the weather, but now the weather has turned, monsieur, and -- "

"Why does no one tell me these things," Charles muttered, and stormed off to the ballroom to scream at people until he felt better, and hopefully move everything from the ballroom before brunch began.

The plan for the peace conference was to begin brunch every morning at nine thirty and let the parties present initiate the talks at their own pace. At noon they would break to have lunch at their leisure, freshen up, discuss amongst themselves as necessary, and then reconvene at two for further talks, which would end at six for dinner.

It would continue in this pattern each day until, hopefully, the parties involved reached a peaceful resolution... or until someone became frustrated enough to walk out. With any luck, the first diplomatic conference the Barony hosted would be a success.

Thursday the 16th of March - 11:00 p.m.

It was very late, and after hours of hushed but intense conversations following dinner, the 'diplomats' finally dispersed - Ivae and the Captain of the Black Militia moved off in their own direction, and the representatives from Lysander retired to their rooms for the evening, clearly up at a much later hour than they were accustomed to.

Baron DeMuer and Sir Roland lingered on the porch, each of them enjoying a cigar; the Baron appeared relaxed in his lean, while Sir Roland was more restless, gesturing often and speaking frequently but quietly. Charles watched them out of the corner of his eye, then heaved a sigh... It had been a long day.

Inexperienced as the man was with politics, he had to wonder if the Baron had overplayed his hand, or played it too early - he had offered a solution that seemed to make both sides think, but while Lysander contemplated their move, the Captain had spoken out of turn and nearly derailed the whole conference. The arguments continued for hours until cooler heads prevailed, and the Baron lent his ear to both sides during the cocktail hour (and the hours that followed), relaying information in his own subtle way.

As everyone retired, it seemed the conference might still stand a chance, but there was no disputing it had come dangerously close to ruin.

The position of the Baron was to give Lysander a suitable island, and from what even Charles could gather, Ivae had such an island in mind once it was suggested; let them rebuild into a sustainable society, and selectively provide mates from among them who would be guaranteed good treatment. It was an unusual deal... but one that seemed likely to satisfy both sides, if they could be convinced to set their righteous anger aside.