Tense Negotiations

Tense Negotiations
Date of Scene:	12 January 2013
Location:	Cleyra
Synopsis:	Faruja Senra, representing the Church of Glabados, negotiates and investigates the tensions arising between Cleyra and Burmecia. It proves more dire than anticipated.
Thanks to:	Garland, for being an awesome gm, RPing everyone but Faruja, and stirring the pot!
Cast of Characters:	Faruja Senra, King of Burmecia, High Priest of Cleyra, Old Man

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Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja never thought he would be standing in front of the doors to the Cleyran High Priest's office, pondering the value of a war upon Alexandria. Dressed in his robes, and even free of armor and weapon, he's otherwise dressed in his best. Today, the Temple Knight is investigator rather than warrior. Tail lashing behind him in irritation, he lays claw to the wooden doors, engraved with religious symbols of the Cleyran people; ones not too far off from that of his own, and several other religions. Normally, such would be comforting. Today, all is does is remind him of the schism amongst his people! Where would they go, if the Cleyrans tossed them out?

"Temple Knight Faruja Senra, requesting admittance." He calls out to whatever number of 'guards' or retainers of the pacifistic people might be listening.

Claws scratch at the wood of the great tree, arms behind his back as he politely awaits an answer.

Garland has posed:
The doors of the high priest's chamber swing open; a powerful, gentle voice declares "enter", and Faruja is escorted within by two of the High Priest's retainers. The sweeping wooden ceilings are worked beautifully into the tree itself, showing the most glorious and respectful love for the great plant, and elicting a natural, earthen beauty. The Cleyrans are a peaceful and gentle people, who have never had cause for war.

The Burmecians, on the other hand...

Within the chamber are three men of importance; the others are mere servitors and servants, tending to the needs of the high priest. On the throne itself is the High Priest, a world-weary older ratfolk woman decked out in robes and an authoritative hat. She offers Faruja a gentle, understanding smile, but it is a strained one, no doubt from the duress placed upon her by her two guests.

Her guests, of course, being the King of Burmecia himself - the regal-looking rat who rules over the broken people - and the Old Man.

As Faruja enters, the conversation dies down; the King had, from the sound of it and the look on the High Priest's face, been attempting to convince the other woman of the necessity of going to war with Alexandria. He smiles at Faruja proudly, throwing open his arms. "One of Burmecia's most honored sons returns home. Welcome back, my boy! News of your bravery has reached us even here, and gladdens the hearts of our people so."

"Welcome, Faruja Senra," The High Priest offers, injecting a cheer into her voice as strained as her smile. "I am honored by your visit. You undoubtedly know your king; may I have the..."

"...pleasure," the High Priest decides, her voice nearly cracking at the word, "Of introducing the Old Man, the honored" again, that cracking voice, "guest of your people."

The Old Man has been staring silently at Faruja ever since he walked in. Those eyes are unnatural...not in the filled-with-vile-evil sort of unnatural, simply strange and wrong, not quite belonging. He turns, placing a hand over his chest, and bows in the manner of an old scholar and knight, but says nothing.

Faruja Senra has posed:
To the servants that lead him in, Faruja offers chest-crossings and bows of respect, not willing to risk insult of anyone in such a tense situation. When he lays eye upon those in the room, the young nezumi stiffens. A familiar face. His home's ruler, and to the Burmecian, one of the country's worst cowards. It takes a monumental effort to now scowl, and the smile he offers to those in the room names as probably the second most concerned about all of this, behind the good High Priestess.

The Templar hasn't forgotten his manners. Upon spying his King, he sets to one knee, arm across his chest; a Knight's salute to his ruler, even if he's not directly under the man's employ.

"Hardly, my Lord, am I worthy of such praise. I am but a humble Knight of the Lord, and He bids me work for the good of our people, and all of His Children. May He in Heaven grant you wisdom, and your reign long."

Standing, the High Priest is offered a deep bow of respect, followed by a crossing of his chest. /This/ woman, as much as he doesn't agree with pacifism, he can truly respect. A religious leader, seeking peace, and who offered his people shelter. "Well met, M'Lady High Priest. 'Tis an honor, and indeed, a pleasure. May you spread His Word to all whom would listen, that they may be saved from the ravages of these dark times. And I must thank our brother and sister Cleyrans as a whole, for the kindness given, with our home usurped by dark powers."

Straightening, he finally turns to the man of the hour. The mysterious man who seems to act as his people's benefactor. Who would give them the tools to strike back at their enemies who took their homes. Faruja's single red eye studies the man, those eyes of the scholarly human sending a shiver down his spine. It was all a little too convenient, and already, it was causing the nezumi as a whole strife.

"Well met, Ser." Overall, the rat's tone is suspicious as he peers over the man.

The Burmecian falls briefly silent, before launching into an ice breaker with attention on him as it is. "My Lord, M'Lady High Priest, how fare our people?" Intentionally, he leaves the question on whether he was speaking of Cleyrans or Burmecians unanswered.

Garland has posed:
The Old Man says nothing as the King and the Priest exchange looks. There's a sort of odd apathy to the Old Man; he's tall, he's clad in armor and robes, and he simply stares at Faruja like he's looking directly through him - like he's gazing through that single red window into Faruja's soul and taking measure of the ratfolk himself. Though he certainly looks like a scholar of the magical arts, there is nonetheless something frighteningly...cold...about the man, a distance, like he is worlds removed from the events going on around him.

The King and Priest answer at exactly the same time, talking over each other fiercely. It is, in fact, likely going to be difficult for Faruja to understand them.

"Never have we been better since the war began," the King answers, "For now we have a fighting chance against the Alexandrian devils. If we keep this up, our people may be able to rally the other races, and we'll be able to strike back against them and show them that they cannot simply do as they like."

"Never have we been more troubled," the High Priest answers, "For your people turn to violence and bloodlust at the behest of a man whose words are coated in honey but sting like vinegar, who urges you to march to war for righteousness. There is no righteousness in war, no matter how glorified you may paint it."

"Nonsense!" The King practically spits, "The Burmecian people will not roll over and die because of some pacifistic philosophy! It may not be glorious - it is bloody and terrible, and I cannot say otherwise - but for the first time since the Alexandrian war machine began its march, we have a fighting chance again, no matter how slim. People /will/ see the rightness of us in this!"

"There is no rightness-" The High Priest declares. The Old Man cuts her off; ...did something go whirr? No, probably just Faruja's imagination.

"Especially if the Church of Glabados can be convinced to stand with the Burmecian people," the Old Man observes. "As an envoy between both, you could convince them to aid in our defense."

"/Our/ defense?!" The High Priest nearly spits, outrage growing across her face. "You are not one of us, Ser! Whatever contributions you have made to the Burmecian addiction to violence and blood, you are not of our people, no matter how you may wish to be so! Nor are you a benefactor - I am not fooled for a minute into believing that your intentions are just and honorable, that all you seek is rightness and justice! I have suffered your presence in my court for long enough - please leave!"

The Old Man turns to the High Priest. His eyes do not narrow; in fact, that is the worst part of it, the emotionless void on his face as he speaks, the lack of any sort of motion in those wrinkled old eyes, like he's just going through the motions of the day. "Will you ask the Alexandrians to please leave when they break through your barrier, High Priest? Your pacifism will not hold up as the blood of your people runs in the streets to satisfy their greed. Nevertheless, I take my leave. Lessons are to soon begin regardless." He bows to the High Priest, the King, and Faruja, then strides out, the doors closing behind him.

"God's Mercy, but that man taxes me," The High Priest murmurs.

Faruja Senra has posed:
It's worse than Faruja could have imagined. Two ragged ears tilt backwards slightly as the pair of leaders talk over one another, the Templar straining to make sense of them both. That apathetic, cold, almost unfeeling look of the Old Man doesn't help. The ratling gets enough to be increasingly worried.

Still, Faruja is a Burmecian and Knight. His King's argument certainly touches his heart. The mere name of that country reminds him of the dying screams of his comrades, friends, and the family he lost in the conflict. Fear, anger, hate threatens to fill him. His body tenses, then relaxes. As the Old Man speaks, the Templar responds evenly.

"I serve as the Lord wills." Faruja keeps the proverbial cards close to his chest.

Then, the Old Man leaves. Faruja lets out a small breath he hadn't realized he'd held. The poor, poor Priestess.

And the woman certainly has a point. It all comes down to, for the Burmecian, the Old Man.

He clears his throat gently.

"My Liege, Honored High Priest, I pray no insult but I shall speak bluntly. I have heard naught but rumor. Yet it seems much of it is true." With the Old Man gone, his tone is less even, and filled with open concern.

His gaze turns to the High Priest. "I am a Knight, Honored High Priestess, and before that a soldier. No doubt we disagree on many things, most of all your policy of pacifism. More to the point, 'tis not my place to argue with you on the matter. That said, what I desire is the prosperity of both Burmecians and Cleyrans alike. If naught else, shall we all agree to this single, simple point, my fellow nezumi?" Silently, the rat prays, a hand clutching the cross about his neck. If /anything/ was to happen here, there had to be some common ground. Were things strained even beyond that point already?

Garland has posed:
"I may desire prosperity for all of our kind, but I have no desire to see that prosperity spawned from bloodshed and despair," the Priestess rebukes gently. That was, after all, the crux of the issue - they had common ground, they just couldn't agree on how to *arrive* at it. Yes, everyone wanted what was best for everyone, everyone wanted peace and prosperity and happiness...but it was hard for the Burmecians to look the Cleyrans in the eye and listen to a people unravaged by war preach about how great pacifism was. Grumblings in the city - grumblings Faruja himself had heard on his way up - spoke of that discontent, that hypocrisy. A few of the angrier ratfolk, the ones in the Old Man's training, had even been discussing how much easier it would be if Cleyra or another nation was attacked by Baron - at least then the Cleyrans would learn that there was something worth fighting for.

But the woman has had a hard time lately. The lines of age show more clearly on her face; her fur grows a little greyer despite her relatively young age, her eyes a bit more haggard. It cannot be easy for the High Priest to preach pacifism when suffering lays all around her, but if not her, then who will?

"Alexandria will come," the King points out after a moment to the High Priest. "They will not be stopped by your barrier, nor will they be so kind as to listen to your pleas of pacifism. They will fight, and they will kill us if we are not prepared."

"What would you have me do, then?" The High Priest nearly snaps. "Would you have me take up arms, tell my people that the beliefs of peace and kindness we have held since we split from you have been /wrong/? That all that we have held dear to us, that all we have ever loved and cared for is a lie, because evil exists in the world? No, I will not do that. I will not permit that."

"Begging your pardon, High Priest, but what you permit means very little to me compared to the lives of those in my care." The King turns back to Faruja and frowns; he, too, is showing signs of early aging, signs he's been showing since the bloody destruction Alexandria cut through his people. "Ser Knight, I...agree with the Old Man. The backing of the Church of Glabados would spur righteousness to rise; they are a holy organization, they would attract many to our banner. We could form a proper army, with their help, and stock it and arm it and train it with theirs and the Old Man's-"

"You hang on that man's word like it is gospel," the Priestess notes, somewhat surprisingly acidically, "Has it occured to you that his goals may not coincide with your own?"

"Of course it's occured to me. Has it occured to you that, when you sit in Hell with the Devil's heel upon you, any hand up will do - even if it belongs to another devil?"

"Do you think my lands so Hellish, then?" The Priest asks, her tone not...dark, but sad. The King shakes his head.

"You have never experienced a war, my lady. God willing you never will be forced to. But the state of my people is terrible. If I am shaking the hand of a monster, at least he is a monster I can use, can reason with. The Alexandrians will give us no such courtesy; desperate times call for desperate measures."

"I hope, Ser," the Priest observes at Faruja, "That you do not call for war as openly as the others. Has God's mercy not tempered your heart, even as a soldier?"

Faruja Senra has posed:
Well, at least they agree on one thing. Slowly, as the pair continue to argue, the Burmecian's muzzle dips in a frown as the severity of the divide being worked deeper in an already divided, and now battered, vulnerable people. Some small, dark part of him urges the Templar to find the Old Man, and toss him off of the Cleyran tree. But knowing his luck, the old knight-scholar knows teleport.

As the pair wind down, and he himself is questioned, he shakes his head. "'Tis a thin line that I walk, between Heaven and the Abyss, Honored High Priest. I must know mercy well, and at times am forced whenever I draw a blade to judge those whom would oppose me. Should it lead me to Hell, then so be it, so long as the souls and lives of innocent people such as those of Cleyra be saved." Faruja's voice grows calm, confident, and grave; a voice of a Templar. Maybe the rat was cut out for this after all.

"Were I to think war necessary to secure the peace and prosperity of our fractured people, I would be already working to gather the allies necessary to pursue such an action. Indeed, I would beat down High Priest Funebris' chamber doors if I thought it would help!"

Slowly, his gaze turns to his King. "And if I thought peace the answer, I would offer even that black-hearted dog of a Queen, whose soldiers and her vile demons not only stole friend, comrades, strangers, but my entire family and left naught even their bodies to be properly buried a path to penance. Whatever my feelings, whatever my desire as a son, as a Burmecian, as a soldier, I would gladly throw such away if it meant Cleyran and Burmecian both acting together as a people for the good of all!"

Slowly, he relaxes, and spreads his hands towards the two imploringly. Making a slight show of it, he breathes out, as if as tired and growing old as the two leaders. "I have come here to assess the situation, and offer what aid I may. Many rumors, and whispers as I traveled here have greeted my ears. What I see here, now, in this chamber? Worries me most of all. Two fine, outstanding leaders ready to, physically or metaphorically, tear the throat out from the other. And why? Indeed, our peoples have been divided for some time. Conflict and disagreement is inevitable. But /this/? Frankly, honored rulers, is it all not suspicious?"

Pausing, both to catch a breath and gather his thoughts, the ratling continues, tail and un-bandaged hand gesturing while the other is held behind his back.

"Burmecia, burned and set upon by a greedy Queen, her soldiers, and as I can personally attest, demons most foul that consumed all before them! Then, the fall of our world into this 'World of Ruin'. Alexandria, mysteriously, survives. The Burmecian people are so kindly given shelter by our long-lost fellows. Alexandria gains allies, and fights alongside them. A growing power, and threat, and their twin rulers work to sew chaos and even contribute to the fall of Manhattan. Now, a man appears, while the attention of Baron and Alexandria both are turned away from us, both proving the threat that they are as well as offering the means to strike, work against them, and wield...power, against them."

He shakes his head. "Conflicting directly against the very people whom offered Burmecia shelter. Why, even driving some to consider tossing a desperate and enraged people out, rightly or wrongly, thus further sinking in the idea that there is naught left for the sons and daughters of His Highness than to seek war upon Alexandria. All alongside a man of unknown quality, from Lord knows where, and offering both arms and armor as well as powers that, if the rumors are true, are far, far from the Lord's Light. That, from what I have gathered today, is the current situation. Truly, from the perspective of a general and a ruler of a people so steeped in war, truly a time to strike. Even a young, inexperienced fool of a knight can see that much. A touch too perfect, is it not, my liege? 'Artificial', as a human friend of mine would say."

The rat continues still. "Who is this man, that would not even offer us his name? Where is he from? What is the nature of the powers he would teach us? What does he gain from all of this? Is he an agent of a nation, seeking to cause a war and twist it to their own ends? What if this is all an elaborate ruse? Could he be under the employ of Baron, or even Alexandria? Wishing to lure us into a trap and have an excuse to annihilate us all? Or worse. What if this man is an agent of the Shadow Lords, whose goal seems to kill without purpose?"

Though he had been addressing them both, his attention finally settles mostly on the King. "I do not trust that man. The Lady High Priestess is worried rightly. But, I admit, I am ignorant. Know you anything at all, my Liege, of him? I must know all there is to tell."

Then, to the High Priest. "However, both His Highness and this...gentleman...are correct. Not only is Alexandria's and Baron's greed unbounded utterly, but there are horrors beyond telling that you cannot possibly imagine, respectfully, M'Lady. This barrier will not avail you when the enemy both possesses airships and creatures that can strike from nowhere. They employ /Heartless/. None are safe. I understand, and indeed, respect that you would hold so tight to your beliefs. But there must be some defense beyond a simple barrier, no matter how powerful. And there are those, nations, adventurers, soldiers, mages, of many races whom would give their lives for this place, even though many of whom have never even set foot here. Is there no possible way, even if it is not within the city itself, that some defense in case Alexandria and Baron, or the Heartless come to destroy your beautiful, God-knowing people can be made? Any way at all? Your Honored High Priestess, lives and souls are at stake. By the Lord, I beg you, give me a way to work for the safety and security of all of these wonderful, kind people, Cleyran and Burmecian both and I shall not rest until I see it enacted!"

Garland has posed:
The King looks a bit uncomfortable at that. "It was his condition that we demand nothing of his name. In exchange, he has taught those who would fight how to hold a sword, given us strong and well-crafted weapons ready to drink Alexandrian blood at a moment's notice, and taught us powerful magic-"

"Dark Magic," the Priest interrupts, a frown crossing her face as she stares at the King. He fidgets a bit, the truth of the statement slapping him across the face as physically as any words possibly could have. "The Old Man has taught them dark magics, meant only to hurt and destroy."

"He has...shared with us several healing secrets as well," the king points out after a moment, "As well as medicine and aid..."

The Priestess frowns, then turns back to Faruja. "Fortunately, I made no deal with him, so I had the...foresight...to do a bit of research. He is an ancient thing, this Old Man - he appears in legends of not only our people, but others, throughout the world. Always the same - a tall, silent, stoic old scholar of magic without name or identity, who offers those in need power when they need it most for no cost to themselves. The kingdoms that accept his aid always find success; those that reject him...were already in circumstances too dire to pull forth from without it." She rubs her arm, looking just as uncomfortable as the King does at this admission. "They are sketchy legends, ancient and dust-covered, but they match the man we know of now. How any human could be so old is beyond my knowledge; certainly he is ingrained in our world's lore, not this strange half-world we find ourselves in, older than the threat of the Heartless by far. If these rumors are true..."

"...then it simply proves my point," the King replies, sounding just a bit smug. "He may be a devil, but by God, he is a devil we can use! Listen, my boy." He turns back to Faruja, setting his hands on the other rat's shoulders and staring into his eye, a smile across his face.

"I agree with you. I do. I have been careful; I am not so foolish as to rush into a contract with a man I know nothing of. But our people...they want to fight, my boy. You can see it in the eye of every Burmecian in this place - it would not take the powers and weapons he's given us to make us rise up and take arms. Our blood may spill across the battlefield, but our people's sacrifice would inspire thousands of others to do the same. That may not sound like a victory to you, but if it would protect even just the Cleyrans from the fate Alexandria has in store, I would give my life gladly. And there are so many who agree."

"We would fight with or without his help. You know that. The Old Man has offered us a chance to do what we would have done anyway - but now we stand a chance of beating them back instead of simply being crushed beneath their heel."

The High Priestess coughs into her hand gently, looking embarassed at Faruja's assessment. "...the barrier is not capable of being strengthened, and I will not permit the Cleyran people to spill blood to defend this city. A city is just a thing, Ser Knight - it is the people that make a city, and if we too must become refugees for our beliefs, so be it. We have escape routes, ways out of the city...Cleyra will persevere, no matter the circumstance." Her voice becomes a bit harder, the stress of wartime leader coming through once more. "Please, Ser Knight. Do not assume we are lambs to be slaughtered just because we are pacifists; we have our ways to survive."

"As beggars and refugees in lands that can hardly take us," the Burmecian king replies, a little more acidly than he probably intended.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja had hoped to grab some control of the situation. But the more the two talk, the Burmecian realizes just how far things have already spun out of the hands of all but seemingly those looking for war, and most importantly, the Old Man.

The ratling finds himself nodding to the High Priest. "As a Knight of the Holy Church, I cannot condone the use of such dark magics, my Liege. 'Tis a path that may yet lead one astray from the Lord, and onto a path of Heresy. A devil indeed, my Liege. Humans who live that long may not quite be as they seem." Could the old man be a demon of some kind?

Suddenly he's faced with the much taller King. For a moment, he sees the reason why he once loved the man so. Slowly, he smiles. "Certainly not, my Liege. I would not insinuate that you were in any way a fool, never would I have taken up blade in your name otherwise. I do believe the term 'preaching to the choir' fits here. These Alexandrian fiends must be brought to justice. I owe my family, and those who saved my own life during the battle for our home that. However, it is the long term that worries me. A noble goal indeed, sacrificing ourselves for our dear, long lost brothers and sisters. However, would it not be better pursued from our homeland, my liege?" He pauses, gently removing himself from his King's grasp.

"I have met a group of adventurers, known as the Shard Seekers; a motly and somewhat undisciplined lot of young people and misfits, but they are brave, strong, and of good heart." Minus Priel.

"They have begun to construct a device that will be capable of detecting world shards, my Liege. With such a device, we may yet be able to find our lost home and take it back from the Darkness brought on by the Alexandrians. From there, we would be able to strengthen ourselves, rebuild, gather allies, and then strike at them properly. All without spilling blood upon Cleyran soil." He pauses, looking meaningfully at the pair.

"I must ask you both to not spread news of this, the Shard Seekers are dear friends. Especially to the ears of that man."

"Martyrdom is all well and good, hardly can a Temple Knight say otherwise. But we must ensure that 'tis done at a proper time and place. Please take my words into consideration, my Liege. We are an honorable and disciplined people."

Turning back to the High Priest fully, the rat nods and smiles. "I could not agree more. A building is nothing to your lives, no matter how beautiful. However, let us not be overconfident. It takes time to evacuate a city. I nearly lost my life when Alexandria fell upon Burmecia, and that was with warning. We were all once the same people, and I know well that you would not roll over and die for some pack of human brigands. However, you underestimate the magical and physical prowess that Baron has supplied to Alexandria, nor the demon-mages and heartless they make use of. Currently, this city is isolated. It has very, very few friends. If I may be so bold as to suggest, 'twould do this city well to make them. Those whom would watch Alexandria's movements, and should the worst come, move in to expel them from your borders. Or, failing that, be willing to assist in giving your people shelter and to assist you in doing so. As envoy between both Burmecia and Cleyra to the Church, I would be willing to bend ears as necessary to ensure that, within the Church and without."

A waved hand. "Furthermore, one must have eyes without the barrier that defends you. Personally, I would dot these lands with training camps for the Church's squires, however, that may yet stretch Cleyran morals a touch thin for comfort, correct? Alternatively, would a few missionary outposts be acceptable? Priests, nuns, scholars, that sort of thing? Only enough blades to defend them, should it come to that? More importantly, such outposts would be able to give you early warning of any threats to the city, and hasten evacuation. Mayhap even impart knowledge of time magic to your more gifted people, to assist in fleeing?"

Garland has posed:
"Would the Glabados Church be willing to ally itself with Cleyra?" The High Priest inquires. It is truth that Cleyra is an isolated location, far from any friends; the Priestess's face twists, her nose twitching a bit as she hears his offer. "You understand, of course, that I do not much...approve...of the Glabados faith. That which I have heard paint it as little different from our own, but full of the same bloodshed we have tried so hard to avoid. However, I cannot deny the wisdom of having more friends. If you believe you can convince the Glabados Church to aid us, then so be it; I will not...frown upon the assistance of nuns and priests, even if bloodshed I will not condone."

The King frowns as well. "You will, of course, forgive me, my boy, but placing my trust in a group of adventurers who have /begun/ constructing a device that /may/ eventually be capable of recovering our world is not something I am willing to do, given the time frame we have available to us. As much as I may agree with your sentiment, you simply are not being realistic. Your eyes are being clouded by friendship to these humans."

"Not that I mean to imply that they are not worth our trust or our friendship, of course," The King adds after a moment, tilting his head off to the side, "But you are asking me to put my faith in an experimental device that sounds entirely too much like wishful thinking and I simply do not have the time available to me with both Baron and Alexandria moving. The Old Man may be a demon indeed, but if he is, I cannot bring myself to turn away such a useful aid on the word of a temple knight and a pacifistic priest, and especially not for the vague hope that a band of undisciplined misfits and young people will construct a magical device to lead us all home."

"No, I will not put my faith in them and their device, though if they wish to help aid our cause, I will not deny them. But you need to realize, my boy - if you've already heard the rumors of us gathering strength, how soon before Alexandria and Baron do?"

The King sighs, both hands rubbing against his cheeks; again, that world-weary look on his face surfaces, that feeling of a man who has been forced to make compromises again and again and again for the sake of his people and is finally beng pushed to the end of his willingness to continue making such compromises. "I am sorry, my boy. This situation wears on my heavily. I will consider what you have said; I will also speak at length with the Old Man, and find out if there isn't perhaps some other means of fighting he knows of that won't threaten the souls of our people. Still...you should see them training. The...Dark Knights, I mean. Any one of them will be worth ten, maybe even a hundred of Alexandria's troops. When it finally comes, they'll surely be surprised by our teeth, at least."

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja tends towards honesty, and he gives it to the High Priest. "A formal alliance would entirely be up to those far wiser than I, honored High Priest. However, neither would we allow fellow Lord-fearing people to flap in the breeze, as the humans say. Building missionary outposts, healing houses, and that sort of thing are hardly matters of politics. 'Tis our duty to help those who have fallen upon dark times, and to assist them."

A tiny shrug, and the rat goes on. "I shall communicate your willingness, honored Lady. Mayhap even escort one of your retainers directly to Mullonde? I do believe a view of the outside world through the eyes of one of your own trusted servants rather than through the outside view of a biased Burmecian Temple Knight would be most enlightening, would it not, and ease any difficulties in negotiations? Whatever our differences, I believe we may learn much from one another." The Templar attempts to placate.

Well, it was worth a shot. Faruja can't blame the man. "Indeed, M'Lord, 'tis a thin hope. I shall bring it up to my friends, purely as a private matter. Should there be any significant advancements, or should we discover Burmecia proper, you shall be the first to know my Liege. Such pursuits are better left to foolhardy and young adventurers at any rate."

An ear perks. "I fully intend to do so. 'Tis part of why I have come. These Alexandrians were fools to underestimate Burmecia. Whatever is to come, I know that the Lord shall grant us all Justice."

Finally, he turns to address the pair. "I do believe, however, that I have taken up more than my fair share of your time, honored leaders. Surely talk of wars and strife grates on all of our ears. Thank you, I am slowly coming to an understanding of the situation as a whole, and shall relate all that has been said to my superiors for advisement. I shall stay in communication with you both, if it pleases, and continue to work towards the betterment of all. Both of your prayers would be appreciated. We are a troubled people, and now more so than ever. However, I believe both Cleyra and Burmecia has the strength to weather the storm. May the Lord guide all of us." He bows, before waiting to be dismissed.