Privy Court, December 22, 5008 (April 23, 2007)

[Vargo] Sala, Serai es-Fanar

The main hall of the Serai es-Fanar - the Place of the Lighthouse - is an airy, vaulted room, fully three stories tall with a high, arched ceiling and a domed roof. A line of horseshoe arches have been cut into the walls a floor up, providing a tiny glimpse into a shaded gallery walk. The sala is the northernmost point of the triangle that is the Serai: corridors lead southwest and southeast to domed halls like this one which are in turn linked by another corridor running east to west. All three wings surround a central garden courtyard, from which rises the impressive, opalescent height of the Lighthouse for which this palace is named.

The sala is the public face of the palace, with smooth marble walls and crystal skylights covered entirely with delicate wooden screens, each one made of a thousand-thousand sayings carved from expensive woods. Potted plants in huge terracotta urns dot the floor of the sala, and a long red carpet leads from the vaulted Moorish arch of the entrance to its opposite twin that gives entrance to the gardens beyond.

Set in the center of the hall is a small dais, and upon it a simple rosewood chair, carved with stars and running ships - a place for the lord of the manor to preside, and hear the words and thoughts of his people. The chair is shadowed, though the night sky can be barely glimpsed through the skylights set strategically in the ceiling far above.

Through the skylights, it's foggy and cold.

Contents:
A whole lot of people.

A chair has been set up next to the main dais. Devante is not the lord of this manor and is the the right hand of the Protector, as such he does not take the main chair. However, his location is where most of the business of the Triumvirate gets done.

Stepping out of a side hall, Devante pauses as a pair of Triumvirate Armsmen rap the butts of their halberds on the marble floor, producing an echoing call to order. Lords Lieutenants circulate, making sure the petitioners have things in order, documents or other issues. This is not a 'pleasure' court, but instead the nuts and bolts of the way a domain is run.

"Lords, Ladies, Gentlefolk, please come to order. The Lord Privy Seal presiding, let this court of the Triumvirate come to order in the Name of Emperor Alexius I." Says one of the leading Lord Lieutenant's.

Godfrey is dressed formally for this event. Over his cassock, he wears a silk ferraiuolo of episcopal burgundy, and on his head is his biretta and zuchetto. The Monsignor's arms are crossed over his chest as he stands out of the way, a quasi-official church observer to today's court.

Marika has divested of a heavy mantle cloak when she arrives, the young woman with the badge of a Phoenix Knight makes her way through the crowd towards the fringes where she can see things a bit better - being short is hardly a blessing in times like this.

The Lord Privy Seal comes to his seat then, settling down with a pause. A Lord-Lieutenant approaches with a small sheaf of papers that are handed to Devante. "Thank you, Sir Garand." He says to the vargan noble. "What is first on the docket tonight?"

Owens lurks in the back of the Sala. He seems to be spending most of his time looking at something in his hands, and the sounds of his scribbling occasionally can be heard by those close to him in the moments of silence. His head occasionally pokes up, watching the proceedings.

Godfrey watches quietly, looking to see who will be the first to approach the second in command of the Triumverate. The priest's pale eyes sweep the room, looking at each of the assembled petitioners.

"Sir." Says the LL... "First on the docket is the matter of Veser of Dorpat against McClure of Dorpat in a contest of.. Pasture land."

Devante nods, gesturing for the two landholders to come forward. Both of them vargan, one male and younger, one older and female. "Master Veser." Says the Lord Privy. "In simple terms, explain the situation."

"Yes, Your excellency." Says the Vargan, his accent clear even after nearly a decade as part of the Triumvirate. "THe border of my lands and those of Mistress McClure is stated in our charters, as to be a specific tributary of the main river that runs through Dorpat. However, in the summer, this tributary shifts its banks erratically, and for the last 3 summers it has eroded further and further in to my lands, limiting the ability of my cattle to graze while enriching my esteemed colleague with more lands, allowing her herd to grow beyond what her lands once could support. I seek redress of this imbalance in the form of 10 head and a redistricting of our lands."

The Lord Privy nods, thinking that over. He then gestures to Mistress McClure... "And, in equally simple terms, what is your response?"

"Your excellency..." Her Urthish is much better, almost unaccented in its fluidity. She curtsies as she speaks.. "The charter our lands is clear. The stream is the boundary. It does not state that should the stream shift course that it should be changed. It says the stream. As such, the Pancreator has gifted me and my family with abundance. Is it my concern that this man, despite his complaints, I am blessed? I say his complaints are hogwash and ask that he recompense me for my time and travel here to have this case heard."

Godfrey steps forward, interjecting, "M'lord, if I may, the Dialects of Polycarpus speak of these sort of riparian disputes. Changes in nature are of the Pancreator's design - He giveth, and taketh away, as is His whim, for the movement was, according to these goodmen, not of the making of man." The Monsignor, however, then adds, "However, in His wisdom, the Pancreator also made the nobility to be lords of men, and gave them conscience in which to make just decisions to see to the care of His people."

Devante turns his attention to the Monsignor, giving the cleric full attention while he speaks. "Thank you, Monsignor De Bourgogne... your council in matters of the Empyrean and the Natural are always welcome in my court." Offering a nod of his head, he then turns back to the Vargans. "And this tributary. How wide and deep is this at its average?"

Master Veser speaks first. "Lord Privy Seal, it stands at 5 paces across at its average width, with some where about the calf in depth. The soil is loose and rocky, keeping it from cutting too deeply."

The Woman nods, affirming that testimony.

Exhaling, Devante spies Captain Owens Rockwell in the farness of the room. "Captain Rockwell! Could you step forward please?" Asks the Lord Privy, raising a hand.

Owens takes a moment to notice his name was called. He tucks something into his pocket, before standing and striding forward to the center of the room.

Devante gestures to the pair of Vargan landholders... "Captain Owens. This pair of worthies has a dispute. It's a dispute to which I think there is a simple enough answer. Are you willing to serve the court in a small fashion?"

Owens looks between the two landholders. He clearly had other things on his mind not more then a few seconds ago, and his tone indicates he is loathe to give them up. "...Of course, your excellency."

Devante settles back in his chair then. "They have a simple enough geological dispute. Streams wander, as to men's eyes." A bit of a chuckle as he straightens up. "Take this pair back to their lands.. and take with you a Fine Prospector or other man skilled in how to see the lay and slope of land. This man is to plot the possible course of this tributary and then lay a -new- land boundary at the midpoint of that possible variance." A pause as he looks back to the Vargans.

"Matters of compensation will be re-heard when we just who has lost what, in terms of land, when the report is done."

The Lord Privy Seal then adds... "The cost of this survey and travel will be born in one part each, by the Master, the Mistress, and the appropriate local administrator."

Owens humms. At this point he knows more then enough of the local Agora merchants to likely find just the right man. Or at least someone who can't be bribed too easily. "...That should pose few problems, your excellency."

Devante nods then. "This matter is stayed until the findings of the Prospector Guild then. Thank you, Captain Rockwell, Master, Mistress." He then gestures to the Lord-LT... "Lets have the next one, if you please."

"Sir Byron Hapsburg Hawkood!" calls out the seneschal as a gruff, heavyset man steps forward. Byron is a man built out of chiseled stone by a sculptor working on a schedule. He has unfinished look about him, stoic but also ogreish all at once. The hair on his head is cut to a military trim, his shoulders broad, his chest distinctly barrel like, and his arms thick. The military broadsword he wears at his belt is hardly suitable for court and one might wonder if he is trying to make a statement. The bow he gives is cursory are best.

"...defendent in a claim of land rights called by Josefine McTavish, Legate of Caerdraya!" finishes the seneschal. It is said that the meek shall inherit the Urth, and if that is the case than Josefine hardly needs to worry about land rights. The woman, maybe in her early thirties, looks distinctly out of place here. Unlike Sir Byron, however, it is done more by accident than intent. Her dress is distinctly provincial, with seams that look hand sewn, and the material seems to be hardly the finest. The best that can be said for her appearance is that it is conservative.

Like most local Vargens, she has that distinctly peasant look about her- her defining features seem to be a hardiness and fullness to her cheeks which are barely brushed with blush, and she carries herself without the gravitas of those used to command. Her red hair is tied up in a tight bun atop her head, made to seem more prominent as her eyes seem to prefer to study the floor in front of her.
Owens introduces himself briefly to the two claimants, then retires to the back of the room, where he resumes his scrawling.

"My lord Privy Seal," Byron begins, his voice fitting his form. "This matter is not worth troubling your time with. It is clearly a matter for the court of Lord Caius Cato, as the dispute occurs in the Taramoor province."

"But..." the Legate Josefine begins, a moment of anger showing on her normally mollified expression. It fades quick enough, as her anger was directed at Sir Byron and it quickly dawns on her that that is not who she is supposed to be speaking to. Awkwardly she gives a curtsy to Devante. "Lord Privy Seal, if...if I may?"

Godfrey merely nods, folding his hands over his chest again, making quiet note. He continues to listen quietly. Leaning a bit closer to a young Canon accompanying him, he murmurs, "McTavish... isn't that one of the local 'noble' families?" The quotes are audible.

Devante glances to Lord Byron. He does not yet speak to the Vargan, addressing the Noble first. "Lord Byron. I appreciate your council... But I can only assume this is a matter of some interest and import for you to have traveled so far from Taramor. I am -curious- as to the matter."

With that, The Lord Privy turns his attention to Ms. McTavish. "Legate McTavish... As you are the complainant, I will hear your words first."

"If I take the issue to Lord Caius Cato -Hawkwood-..." Josefine makes the last name stand out. "...then I've already lost the issue. Rush has always been in Neuvaire province. If I admit the land and its people are in Taramoor, then the matter is already settled in 'Sir' Bryon's favor." It's clear she has no love for the man. "He -invaded- my lands, my lord. Him and his soldiers."

Devante flicks a nod to Sir Garon, one of the L-L... Sir Garon then backs away three paces before turning about and heading in to another room. He will return in a few moments with as close to offical maps as he can discover.

"I see." Says Devante, looking then to Lord Byron. "And how does the Lord Hawkwood respond to these claims?"

"Lord Keeper, this woman," If the legate dislikes the Hawkwood, Sir Byron is openly contemptuous of the legate. "'Legate', or whatever the peasants are calling themselves, had no nobleman ruling Rush. No knights, no baronets. When my men and I came upon the town, we found the manor house empty. Being used to house -cattle-. Chickens." His features warp into a short lived sneer. "They were headed by a town council, and a peasant who called himself the 'elected mayor'." A beat as the square man fixes the keeper with a look. "This smelled of Republicanism to me, and I did my duty as a man of noble birth and took charge of these wayward people, that they might know proper law and order. I did my duty as nobleman by taking them under the wing of House Hawkwood's rule."

Court is underway, with a Hawkwood lord of some distempered demeanor (Armed no less) standing before the Lord Privy in opposition of a Vargan 'landholder'. The matter seems to be a border dispute. In such that the Hawkwood lord is accused of ignoring borders and taking the Vargans land.

The Lord Privy seal exhales. Republicanism, Vargan 'aristocracy' and House Hawkwood. Ain't this a lovely combination.. "Legate McTavish." Asks the Lord Privy Seal... "Have you addressed this with the appropriate local nobility of the Province to which you claim your land is located?"

Aysel drifts into the theatrical space of the Sala, seemingly in no particularly hurry as she takes stock of the attendance. A nod here, a smile there. She keeps moving and keeps busy.

Godfrey curls his lip in a sneer at the mention of Republicanism, but he does no slightly and look frostily at the Hawkwood noble. His hands tap against his opposite bicep.

"Er...yes milord," the woman replies, and she motions behind her. Another woman, possibly Josefine's sister by the look of her, steps forward with a rolled up parchment. It is passed to a guard, who passes it to the Privy Seal. "The Lieutenant Governor of Keneally has written me this affadavit, stating that he supports my claim to the land."

Marika has been doing her best to stay unassuming as she watches. The shorter woman seems to be doing a good job at it too. She is looking around the room some, taking note of those who seem to be important.
Devante gestures for another Lord LT to take the paper. The man does so, offering the woman a nod as he does so.

Returning it to Devante, it is set on the arm of his chair. The Lord Privy Seal takes a moment to remove a set of reading glasses from jacket pocket... Fixing those on his features, he turns to the paper then, giving it a read over.

Owens is stashed away in a back corner, slumped back, working on a small sketch pad. Whatever it is, it appears to be important to him.

"Triumvirate appointee supporting his peasant mob," Sir Byron mutters, rolling his eyes. "I hadn't imagined the Lord Southern Reaches would need be bothered with a -request- to stamp out republicanism." It's an offhand comment that seems to have a hint of backhandedness to it.

Speaking up now, Devante coughs. "Lord Byron, I will have -respect- for the Triumvirate in a Court of.. The Triumvirate. Is that clear?" He does not actually -look- at Byron to do this, instead, continuing to read the paper.

Devante pauses as Galon brings a map for the Lord Privy. There is a moment of conference between the Lord Privy and his man. "Good work." murmurs the Hazat as he stands up. "The matter of jurisdiction is settled. The affadavit from the Lt-Governor of Keneally.. an appointee of Lord Caius Cato -Hawkwood-... Is valid. Further, the maps of Vargo affirm that this woman's lands are infact, in Neuvarie Province, though close to the border. Now that Jurisdiction is clear... I am interested in hearing why Lord Byrons troops crossed the border in the first place. Why, pray tell, was Lord Byron violating an accepted border?"

Aysel comes to stand close by Marika's position to look on. "Neauvaire," she muses softly. "Some of that is Kavenau holdings, isn't it?" She rocks up on her toes trying to squint over the bodies ahead to focus on the map.

"Rumors of Republicanism," Sir Byron replies dryly. It's clear that he's lying- he doesn't really bother hiding it- but at the same time he appears to believe such a justification is warranted by the facts.

Devante hrms quietly, one hand stroking the goatee he's currently sporting. Very fashionable, goatees in the winter. "I see. And this, My Lord Byron, was cause for you to violate the borders of the legally recognized lord of those lands sovereignty?"

Devante then stands, moving to pace. "Don't." He says holding up a hand. "I have a more important question." He turns to McTavish... "Legate. Where were your men at arms who would have repulsed this aggression?"

Marika looks over at Aysel, having just as much of a problem seeing - if not more of one with no heels and below average height to begin with. She examines the woman and then says, "I'm not sure, really. Vargen geography still eludes me."

Godfrey is about to comment again, but, well, doesn't. Instead, his hands just tighten on his bicep. He turns sharply to the young Canon and says, sotto voce, "This talk of 'election' is abominable - the Omega Gospels counsel against republicanism, and it could not be more clearly found."

Devante flickers his eyes to Godfrey, a slight tightness coming to his lips. He says nothing however, awaiting the Legates response.

"Er...well, I only have the report from my people who fled," Josefine replies defensively. "They weren't expecting this knight's men to be hostile, so they didn't put up any fight. The guards...well, when Sir Byron's men did take action they were already in a position to capture our men. They were welcomed in," she explains. "How were we to know they meant conquest?"

Devante nods then when the response does come. "You were attacked then, after you gave welcome and hospitality?" A tsk comes from his lips, the gaze turning then to Lord Byron. "Lord Byron. Is this true?"

"Hospitality by whom?" Sir Byron puts the question to Devante. "By an elected mayor? In his hovel? Perhaps you'll explain to me, my lord, when noblemen are to be expected to accept the largesse of peasants?" A glance around. "Though I admit, the question might be best put to the Lord Protector's Royal Family. They likely have more experience with it."

Owens ears perk up at that, his pencil still on his piece of paper. "Oooh." He then slowly slides down a little on the wall his back rests against.

"My good Sir -knight-..." A clear tone of derision in his voice. "I know that with Caius Cato evicting the lords of Donnegal from their lands and installing Vargan nobility in their place as part of his peace accords with the Vargans of Rionnach you must be -very- frustrated... Warlords can take land only when there is war to be had but Caius seems to have buttoned up all the available power for himself. Most tragic." A pause...

"Speaking of land, -SIR- Byron... Land is a very important concept. You stand now in the Lord Protectors Court, before his Lord Privy Seal. It is not wise nor councilable to cast askance gazes upon the Al Malik. I council you again, for respect. I will not do so a third time." Devante returns to his chair then. "Do you understand?"

Aysel cultivates a sharp, mercenary little smile as the issue wears on. The courtesan begins to edge forward, so that she can come closer to the front of the gallery, and further from the immediate forward press of petitioners.

"Very well, my lord," Sir Byron replies blandly. "As you wish. Though the question stands- How am I to accept hospitality from an elected peasant? What rules of etiquette bind me? I assure you, I know of none."

Devante nods. "On that... I do not doubt your word."

Devante then continues, exhaling. "Legate McTavish... Step forward and answer me in truth. Who is the hereditary lord of your lands?"

You sense: Aysel can be observed almost laughing at that last comment from the Lord Privy Seal. Her hands press together, as though golf-clapping.

The woman steps forward, and replies after a moment's thought. "Me, my lord. My family, that is. We've always been handling affairs in Caerdraya and the other towns."

Godfrey reaches up with one hand to rub the bridge of his nose. He looks between the woman and the Hawkwood lord, and then mutters, again under his breath, "The Prophet wept..."
Devante nods slowly. "And do you have republican sentiments? Do you infact, have an elected council that runs your lands? I know no true noble, no child of the one True Church of the Pancreator... would have such leanings... but tell me truthfully..."

"Truthfully," Josefine replies. "...I do not have republican sentiments. Rush has always been handled this way. It is a small town, and I visit it often so a local council seemed to not harm anyone."
Tamara has arrived.

Devante nods. "So you have a circle of trusted freemen who manage your lands for you? Much as the Hazat have the Estansia? Men of good character, chosen for loyalty to the Lord of the lands and serving your interests?"

The question seems to confuse Josefine, who doesn't seem to really understand what the Estancia are until Devante gives a rough outline. "Something like that, my lord? Yes."

Devante nods then, standing up again to his full hight of 6'6... He cracks his neck, lookingto the crowd then to the particpents. "Then I will issue my judgment. Will you accept it, Legate McTavish, Sir Byron?"

Porter has arrived.

Godfrey pays attention now, looking up at the Lord Privy seal, and waiting to hear the judgment.
"Yes Milord," Josefine replies humbly. Sir Byron gives Devante an appraising look. "I'll hear it."

Tamara has arrived in a strane way quietly. Without fanfare after all she is a guilder not a noble. However she is very visibly dressed to be seen her beautiful body adorned in an exquisite dress of cream silk. She sits at a close enough distance from the front of the audience to still see. while not being up among the nobility.

Owens is trying to split his attention between his writing project and the decree.

Devante flicks his eyes to the crowd again, drawing in a breath. "I have here, Lord Byron, A writ of the Emperor. Alexius Hawkwood I. I have been looking for a proper time to reveal it. The Lord Protector has given me a vast honor in allowing me that decision. That Writ, of the Emperor, is clear. Those of the Vargan Aristocracy, those who are hereditary rulers of their lands in the manner of Nobles, who are -accepted- by the Triumvirate and swear fealty to the Emperor directly or through vassalage to a great house.. Are to be accorded all honors as Nobles of the Phoenix Throne." A pause...

"As such... The Mctavish are so -deemed to be noble-. She is the rightful ruler of her lands in the Name of the Emperor. AS such... the misunderstanding about geography has been rectified. The Lands are held by a noble of proper standing in the Triumvirates eyes."

A further pause... "Sir Byron, you are to remove your men immediately. I will dispatch a flitter of Triumvirate Armsmen from Seren to ensure this is tone in a sensible and honorable fashion. Further, I will call upon the Bishopric of Seren to dispatch to Caerdraya -suitable- spiritual guidance for the population to ensure that any hint of republicanism is surely just a rumor."

"FURTHER... Given the Peerage and the lack of those who speak for Sir Byron... and the clear endorsement of Lt. Governor of Keneally... I call this matter -closed-."

Devante says "Ergo: Baronet McTavish -outranks- Sir Byron."

Legate Josefine is much more thankful, bowing once, then twice. "Thank you my lord. Thank you."

Porter just watches the nobles gather together and speak slowly and stuff. There's a judgement which he pays some attention to, and then there's people whispering and gossiping. He turns his attention to Owens then, whom he seems to sidle up next to. "I don' get it? I mean a beer at the Gannock would'a solved this easier an' faster, no?"

Aysel seems to note in particular the lack of deference from the departing Byron with a frown. "Third time's the charm, some say," she comments.

Owens is currently hunched over a drawing pad, sketching something that looks rather fiendish with a mechanical pencil on a cheap pad of paper. He's clearly working out some small detail of the sketch. "...Eh. Drama's good. Keeps people entertained." He doesn't really look up.

"I am sure that His Excellency the Bishop of Seren would be glad to see that the parish is properly orthodox in belief." Godfrey says. He keeps his voice level, inclining his head slightly.

Devante turns then to Godfrey. "Thank you, Monsignor... That was my hope. Republicanism is a disease that needs be cleared... but to be truthful... I saw only a mans ambition. I cannot fault him for it, given Lord Cato's movements, but I must rule in defense of the Triumvirate, and so I did. But, to ensure, I will donate, personally, to fund to construct them a proper chapel and be ministered to by a proper cleric."

Tamara turns her head a moment lifting a hand slightly to get the attenton of somone without in any way distracting from the court. Her hands then fold in her lap once mre as she shifts part of her attention back to Devante.

Aysel continues on from the northernmost edge of the throngs, intending some other location between petitions. Aysel passes into the salon through the southeast corridor.

Godfrey bows politely, "Your Excellency is most generous." Godfrey then takes a step backwards and turns, preparing to leave. He walks towards the door.