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ax_mainKulan Gath has sent court wizard Nolan Ross to determine what truth there may be to the wild rumors running rampant about these 'Wakandans.'
The royal court of Yorkland hardly knew what to make of the exotic, dark-skinned siblings from some far-off continent. Many wild tales had been told of those hot lands filled with jungle and desert, populated by people as strange as the fantastical beasts that were becoming the fashion as pets in the courts of neighboring kingdoms. These particular youths had come from afar ostensibly to establish a trade route, and brought with them many fine goods for consideration - mostly textiles, rare pelts and beads, though also some rare few gemstones and metals and spices. Their own Kingdom of Wakanda was not so large in reputation as some of their neighbors, and even more resistant to outsiders. Yet their emissaries had proven thus far surprisingly clever for such wild folk, well-educated and well-mannered, altogether intriguing. Perhaps their smaller size would prove them all the more ambitious in their negotiations, and stand to more greatly benefit the Kingdom of Yorkland than would talks with larger, less progressive territories and nomadic merchants.
Supreme Sorceror Kulan Gath had asked several of his own emissaries and merchants who knew of the dark continent what could be said of this Wakanda, and their replies were likely to be as much myth as foggy fact: they were isolationists that had not sought to overtake their neighbors in battle, but any would-be invaders had met horrific ends. They did not have a reputation for wealth, yet here they were with a tantalizing display of goods and a bold proposal. It was said a great black cat made of terrible magic prowled their borders, the size of a dragon, devouring babies and doing all manner of horror to outsiders.
What was needed, Kulan Gath told his advisor on behalf of the city's Guild of Wizards, was the further inquiry of someone who knew the signs of foul magic and artful manipulation. And so it fell to Nolan Ross to engage the elder of the Wakandan youths and determine something of their true nature and intent.
None of which, of course, had been disclosed to the youth in question. But the young man that had introduced himself to the court as 'Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda' expected no less. He appeared entirely unfazed by the staring eyes that plucked at the panther-spot-patterned sash across his torso, the necklace of silver claws hung over his chest, his elegantly-tailored dark robes over the gleam of what looked like black armor but fitted as would fine boots and gloves. He did not squeak and clank through the crowd as they assembled in the royal dining hall, so much as smoothly stride.
Was there any wonder that the court was atwitter with rumors and gossip in his wake?
There was something about having to navigate the court that Nolan never failed to find challenging. A good bit of magic could be as well, of course, but that was an everyday lot, and a solitary occupation (for the most part). Court was something else entirely, and while many courtiers found the solitary wizard to be a bit of an odd duck, he had the ear of the Council, and sometimes even of the Supreme Sorcerer, so they tended to either court his favor or give him a wide berth. Only the particularly ambitious or the particularly stupid ones ever tried to undercut him. His lack of interest in titles and positions, and his lack of family (about whom he gave a damn, or who gave a damn about him), made him a difficult target.
So court had become his element, this past couple of years. But tonight, he wasn't simply here for the feast held in honor of their newly arrived Wakandan guests. The Supreme Sorcerer had given him a task, and so he had remained just outside the hall long enough to cast a spell that would allow him to detect magic, for a short while, before joining the party, stopping to exchange a few words with courtiers of his acquaintance, all the while scanning the crowd for the guests of honor.
The man was easy to spot, with his guards near, and he was not without some magic. The armor, Nolan had expected. He was in a foreign country, on a foreign continent, even, surrounded by strangers. No, Nolan was more intrigued by the beaded bracelet on his wrist, and what kind of spells might make them glow so. Their exact nature was impossible to tell (not without casting over them, specifically, and very noticeably), but Nolan could tell that abjuration and transmutation were involved. Nothing alarming, at least.
As for the sister...
One thing at a time, as the flow of the small crowd gathered tonight brought the half-Elf wizard in proximity to the Wakandan prince. They could not have looked more different, Nolan tall, pale, blonde, dressed in robes of a deep rich blue trimmed with gilded Elvish embroidery (were one to actually read them, they would discover a particularly dirty limerick, rather than any words of power), and the prince, dark-skinned, built, in dark clothes that did so jar from current Yorkish fashion.
"Your Highness," Nolan greeted Prince T'Challa, holding a cup of wine out to him and carrying one for himself. "Ice wine. A local specialty, if you'll try it."
A bald, dark-skinned woman observed the prince from some feet away, her matching bracelet of wide beads showing the same latent magical aura as his own. As she interacted with one of the beads, it cast some manner of what Nolan would recognize to be a spell associated with divination. She studied the vessels that the wizard proferred, and was apparently satisfied by her findings, sharing a discreet look of approval with the prince.
Prince T'Challa accepted the cup and nodded to the lean youth, considering his robes and manner. "Thank you for your hospitality," he brought the wine to his lips.
"Of course," Nolan answered with a small bow, gratified when the cup was deemed safe, and accepted by the prince. "Nolan Ross, advisor to the council. What do you think?" A nod of his head indicated the sweet wine the prince had just tasted.
"It is sweet, but...dry, and delicate." T'Challa spoke slowly in his consideration of the drink, choosing each word deliberately, and he was clearly comfortable in doing so. The wines of this continent were vastly different from the fermentation of fruit, honey, sap, milks and beers that the prince was more familiar with. They tended to be more robust and complex than the fussy, brittle wines favored here.
"What is your area of expertise as an advisor, Nolan Ross?" There was perhaps something wryly formal in this question, when the man was draped in fanciful robes such as wizards favored.
If it weren't for that hint of wryness in the prince's tone, Nolan might have surmised that he did not know enough about their culture to recognize his robes for what they were. But no, he clearly did. "Magic, of course," Nolan answered, and added, dryly, a joke, "and good wines, to some extent."
T'Challa smiled at the quip, and the whole of his demeanor warmed. It wasn't a thin, polite smile, nor a catty one - just genuine good humor. "What would a wizard of Yorkland's royal court like to know about your guests from far-off Wakanda?"
"To be quite honest, anything and everything," Nolan answered, entirely genuine. "I know so little about your country, and your culture." Never mind their magic, but he had a feeling it was the other sibling he ought to ask more specifically about that. "Anything at all would be welcome."
"It would be surprising if your people did know of us," the prince pointed out. "We are a small country, and we are isolationists even amongst the peoples of our own continent. We raise livestock and produce fine textiles for our livelihood." He did not say right out that their neighboring countries saw them as poor but fierce in defense of their borders, ingeniously resourceful but wholly mysterious. There were many rumors about Wakanda in their region, but very few truths that could be told by outsiders.
"And yet here you are, the two royal children of an isolationist country, traveling all the way across the sea to our good kingdom," Nolan remarked. The faint hint of dryness that didn't leave his voice seemed to hint at some humor he found in the situation, or in calling Yorkland such, but without being overt enough about it that he might be called out on it.
"We have done all the trading that is available to us in our homelands," T'Challa told it one way. "We are not such an influential country that we can convince our neighbors to share in our trade enterprises, and we would not invite them to do so."
He sipped from his wine, glancing into his cup, then offered another perspective. "And for all that Wakandans are a reclusive people, we are also intensely curious. We want to learn things, to know things about the world around us. We can not do that and stay at home protecting our small country at the same time." He glanced back at Nolan. "Perhaps that explains why you have a prince and princess in your hall this evening instead of our king."
Nolan nodded in acknowledgment of that last statement, thoughtful as he considered the prince's words. Perhaps that did explain it, but perhaps it was only part of the explanation, too. But that wasn't an avenue of conversation that was truly open to Nolan, and he knew it. So he focused back on the prince's previous words. "That is a difficult line to walk. Curiosity, and reserve. Some might find it somewhat... unbalanced."
T'Challa looked at the man for a beat. How much of what this Nolan Ross had to say were his own words, and how many belonged to his court and king? It would be foolish to dismiss his questions too lightly regardless.
"Do your own people not engage us with both curiosity and reserve at this very moment?" He pointedly looked around them, where the nobles were eager to stare and twitter at the wizard with the foreigner - but only from a distance. "I would tell some people that they could best learn the heart and mind of Wakanda through her actions if they will not hear my diplomatic words."
"Some people," Nolan echoed, after following the prince's gaze over the assembled nobles staring at them. Ah, courtiers. They were certainly a breed of their own. They did supply Nolan with a limitless well of etiquette, standards and traditions to more or less slyly subvert, so he couldn't turn his back on them altogether, especially not when he'd worked his entire life to join them, albeit in his own way.
But there were more ways than one to interpret the prince's words, as was often the case in the highest levels of society, Nolan had found. As if all royals and nobles worth their salt were taught the art of conversational ambiguity and double entendre from a very early age on. It honestly made such conversations welcome challenges. "I've always found there was as much to learn in words as in actions," he went on, with a slightly sardonic smile. "Why shut down any avenue of learning?"
T'Challa returned his attention the young wizard. "I would not shut down a conversation prematurely, no. But deaf hearts cannot tell truth from lies, no matter what is said. And I do get parched," he gestured with his wine glass before having another sip.
"You're in luck, no prince will ever go thirsty at court," Nolan remarked, glancing at the attendants walking among the crowds with their trays and bottles. "Is our wine growing on you?"
"It seems to be an acquired taste." T'Challa could say as much of Yorkland itself. "A taste that I am only beginning to appreciate."
Nolan smiled politely, with a small bow of his head. "That sounds promising." And he was looking forward to seeing the actions that might lend credence to the words. This visit from the Wakandan dignitaries would not, at least, prove at all dull.
The royal court of Yorkland hardly knew what to make of the exotic, dark-skinned siblings from some far-off continent. Many wild tales had been told of those hot lands filled with jungle and desert, populated by people as strange as the fantastical beasts that were becoming the fashion as pets in the courts of neighboring kingdoms. These particular youths had come from afar ostensibly to establish a trade route, and brought with them many fine goods for consideration - mostly textiles, rare pelts and beads, though also some rare few gemstones and metals and spices. Their own Kingdom of Wakanda was not so large in reputation as some of their neighbors, and even more resistant to outsiders. Yet their emissaries had proven thus far surprisingly clever for such wild folk, well-educated and well-mannered, altogether intriguing. Perhaps their smaller size would prove them all the more ambitious in their negotiations, and stand to more greatly benefit the Kingdom of Yorkland than would talks with larger, less progressive territories and nomadic merchants.
Supreme Sorceror Kulan Gath had asked several of his own emissaries and merchants who knew of the dark continent what could be said of this Wakanda, and their replies were likely to be as much myth as foggy fact: they were isolationists that had not sought to overtake their neighbors in battle, but any would-be invaders had met horrific ends. They did not have a reputation for wealth, yet here they were with a tantalizing display of goods and a bold proposal. It was said a great black cat made of terrible magic prowled their borders, the size of a dragon, devouring babies and doing all manner of horror to outsiders.
What was needed, Kulan Gath told his advisor on behalf of the city's Guild of Wizards, was the further inquiry of someone who knew the signs of foul magic and artful manipulation. And so it fell to Nolan Ross to engage the elder of the Wakandan youths and determine something of their true nature and intent.
None of which, of course, had been disclosed to the youth in question. But the young man that had introduced himself to the court as 'Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda' expected no less. He appeared entirely unfazed by the staring eyes that plucked at the panther-spot-patterned sash across his torso, the necklace of silver claws hung over his chest, his elegantly-tailored dark robes over the gleam of what looked like black armor but fitted as would fine boots and gloves. He did not squeak and clank through the crowd as they assembled in the royal dining hall, so much as smoothly stride.
Was there any wonder that the court was atwitter with rumors and gossip in his wake?
There was something about having to navigate the court that Nolan never failed to find challenging. A good bit of magic could be as well, of course, but that was an everyday lot, and a solitary occupation (for the most part). Court was something else entirely, and while many courtiers found the solitary wizard to be a bit of an odd duck, he had the ear of the Council, and sometimes even of the Supreme Sorcerer, so they tended to either court his favor or give him a wide berth. Only the particularly ambitious or the particularly stupid ones ever tried to undercut him. His lack of interest in titles and positions, and his lack of family (about whom he gave a damn, or who gave a damn about him), made him a difficult target.
So court had become his element, this past couple of years. But tonight, he wasn't simply here for the feast held in honor of their newly arrived Wakandan guests. The Supreme Sorcerer had given him a task, and so he had remained just outside the hall long enough to cast a spell that would allow him to detect magic, for a short while, before joining the party, stopping to exchange a few words with courtiers of his acquaintance, all the while scanning the crowd for the guests of honor.
The man was easy to spot, with his guards near, and he was not without some magic. The armor, Nolan had expected. He was in a foreign country, on a foreign continent, even, surrounded by strangers. No, Nolan was more intrigued by the beaded bracelet on his wrist, and what kind of spells might make them glow so. Their exact nature was impossible to tell (not without casting over them, specifically, and very noticeably), but Nolan could tell that abjuration and transmutation were involved. Nothing alarming, at least.
As for the sister...
One thing at a time, as the flow of the small crowd gathered tonight brought the half-Elf wizard in proximity to the Wakandan prince. They could not have looked more different, Nolan tall, pale, blonde, dressed in robes of a deep rich blue trimmed with gilded Elvish embroidery (were one to actually read them, they would discover a particularly dirty limerick, rather than any words of power), and the prince, dark-skinned, built, in dark clothes that did so jar from current Yorkish fashion.
"Your Highness," Nolan greeted Prince T'Challa, holding a cup of wine out to him and carrying one for himself. "Ice wine. A local specialty, if you'll try it."
A bald, dark-skinned woman observed the prince from some feet away, her matching bracelet of wide beads showing the same latent magical aura as his own. As she interacted with one of the beads, it cast some manner of what Nolan would recognize to be a spell associated with divination. She studied the vessels that the wizard proferred, and was apparently satisfied by her findings, sharing a discreet look of approval with the prince.
Prince T'Challa accepted the cup and nodded to the lean youth, considering his robes and manner. "Thank you for your hospitality," he brought the wine to his lips.
"Of course," Nolan answered with a small bow, gratified when the cup was deemed safe, and accepted by the prince. "Nolan Ross, advisor to the council. What do you think?" A nod of his head indicated the sweet wine the prince had just tasted.
"It is sweet, but...dry, and delicate." T'Challa spoke slowly in his consideration of the drink, choosing each word deliberately, and he was clearly comfortable in doing so. The wines of this continent were vastly different from the fermentation of fruit, honey, sap, milks and beers that the prince was more familiar with. They tended to be more robust and complex than the fussy, brittle wines favored here.
"What is your area of expertise as an advisor, Nolan Ross?" There was perhaps something wryly formal in this question, when the man was draped in fanciful robes such as wizards favored.
If it weren't for that hint of wryness in the prince's tone, Nolan might have surmised that he did not know enough about their culture to recognize his robes for what they were. But no, he clearly did. "Magic, of course," Nolan answered, and added, dryly, a joke, "and good wines, to some extent."
T'Challa smiled at the quip, and the whole of his demeanor warmed. It wasn't a thin, polite smile, nor a catty one - just genuine good humor. "What would a wizard of Yorkland's royal court like to know about your guests from far-off Wakanda?"
"To be quite honest, anything and everything," Nolan answered, entirely genuine. "I know so little about your country, and your culture." Never mind their magic, but he had a feeling it was the other sibling he ought to ask more specifically about that. "Anything at all would be welcome."
"It would be surprising if your people did know of us," the prince pointed out. "We are a small country, and we are isolationists even amongst the peoples of our own continent. We raise livestock and produce fine textiles for our livelihood." He did not say right out that their neighboring countries saw them as poor but fierce in defense of their borders, ingeniously resourceful but wholly mysterious. There were many rumors about Wakanda in their region, but very few truths that could be told by outsiders.
"And yet here you are, the two royal children of an isolationist country, traveling all the way across the sea to our good kingdom," Nolan remarked. The faint hint of dryness that didn't leave his voice seemed to hint at some humor he found in the situation, or in calling Yorkland such, but without being overt enough about it that he might be called out on it.
"We have done all the trading that is available to us in our homelands," T'Challa told it one way. "We are not such an influential country that we can convince our neighbors to share in our trade enterprises, and we would not invite them to do so."
He sipped from his wine, glancing into his cup, then offered another perspective. "And for all that Wakandans are a reclusive people, we are also intensely curious. We want to learn things, to know things about the world around us. We can not do that and stay at home protecting our small country at the same time." He glanced back at Nolan. "Perhaps that explains why you have a prince and princess in your hall this evening instead of our king."
Nolan nodded in acknowledgment of that last statement, thoughtful as he considered the prince's words. Perhaps that did explain it, but perhaps it was only part of the explanation, too. But that wasn't an avenue of conversation that was truly open to Nolan, and he knew it. So he focused back on the prince's previous words. "That is a difficult line to walk. Curiosity, and reserve. Some might find it somewhat... unbalanced."
T'Challa looked at the man for a beat. How much of what this Nolan Ross had to say were his own words, and how many belonged to his court and king? It would be foolish to dismiss his questions too lightly regardless.
"Do your own people not engage us with both curiosity and reserve at this very moment?" He pointedly looked around them, where the nobles were eager to stare and twitter at the wizard with the foreigner - but only from a distance. "I would tell some people that they could best learn the heart and mind of Wakanda through her actions if they will not hear my diplomatic words."
"Some people," Nolan echoed, after following the prince's gaze over the assembled nobles staring at them. Ah, courtiers. They were certainly a breed of their own. They did supply Nolan with a limitless well of etiquette, standards and traditions to more or less slyly subvert, so he couldn't turn his back on them altogether, especially not when he'd worked his entire life to join them, albeit in his own way.
But there were more ways than one to interpret the prince's words, as was often the case in the highest levels of society, Nolan had found. As if all royals and nobles worth their salt were taught the art of conversational ambiguity and double entendre from a very early age on. It honestly made such conversations welcome challenges. "I've always found there was as much to learn in words as in actions," he went on, with a slightly sardonic smile. "Why shut down any avenue of learning?"
T'Challa returned his attention the young wizard. "I would not shut down a conversation prematurely, no. But deaf hearts cannot tell truth from lies, no matter what is said. And I do get parched," he gestured with his wine glass before having another sip.
"You're in luck, no prince will ever go thirsty at court," Nolan remarked, glancing at the attendants walking among the crowds with their trays and bottles. "Is our wine growing on you?"
"It seems to be an acquired taste." T'Challa could say as much of Yorkland itself. "A taste that I am only beginning to appreciate."
Nolan smiled politely, with a small bow of his head. "That sounds promising." And he was looking forward to seeing the actions that might lend credence to the words. This visit from the Wakandan dignitaries would not, at least, prove at all dull.
