Timestamp: 22nd Day of Autumn, 514 A.V.
It was one of those perfect early autumn days, caught perfectly between fading Summer and waxing Winter. The sky was a light, cloudless powder-blue, a flawless bowl over the autumnal bonfire that was Lhavit: every tree ignited by the season into a stand of flame and reflected endlessly by the skyglass spires of the Diamond of Kalea.
Abundant sunlight struck through the banks of windows in Alses’ grand office, flooding the airy chamber with brightness, illuminating her endless endeavours at the desk to which her job often chained her.
Whereas Alses might otherwise have been expected to be stood at the windows, gazing out at the glorious panorama that was the glittering celestial city – and beyond, the picture-perfect wilderness of the Unforgiving – as was, admittedly, her wont on such rare days, such was not the case today.
No, indeed, today the stately Ethaefal was fully absorbed in the task at hand.
Her desk had been entirely cleared of paperwork and clutter, of her hated in-tray and out-tray – now positioned precariously on some of the less-comfortable chairs – of everything, in fact, apart from a sprawling roll of paper, several paperweights and her trusty inkwell and stand.
The chair had been pushed back, the better to gain leverage and control over the paper, and with tongue slightly protruding from the corner of her mouth, Alses was exerting every erg of mental effort on her drawing, the quill pen skating determinedly from one location to the next.
Even the softly diffident knock at the doors – Mercadier being one of the few people Alses had ever met with the ability to make even that sound deferential – didn’t disturb her, as the able Vice-Councillor and Permanent Secretary of the Department ghosted into the room, an immaculately-attired official oozing efficiency from every pore and clasping professionally in one hand a sheaf of documents ready for her to read and sign, all stamped with the rising-sun sigil of the Council.
Which, for the moment, still consisted of just Alses. It was sometimes a little disconcerting, to walk past so many empty floors in the Tower, but in time they would surely fill.
“What are you doing, your grace?” Mercadier’s honeyed tones broke the busy silence as he craned discreetly to see what she was working on, his silent footfalls having carried him across the acres of polished marble and rugs with nary a sound.
“Ah! Mercadier! Just the chap I wanted – come over here, do.” Alses gestured, with a smile, for the blond man to join her behind the desk, beholding the masterpiece that was taking shape.
Mercadier, for his part, in counter to Alses’ proud beam, blinked owlishly at the sprawl of lines and boxes and tiny, neat script.
“It...appears to be a chart,” he observed cautiously, eyes dancing over the paper and ink and facile mind working quickly to integrate its apparent meaning with observations, instructions and the occasional insult that had issued forth from the Councillor's office in recent days.
“I’m on it, and so are you…” He smoothed his hair back distractedly, the discreet golden signet ring on his little finger flashing in the sun.
“Would you care to enlighten me, your grace?”
It was one of those perfect early autumn days, caught perfectly between fading Summer and waxing Winter. The sky was a light, cloudless powder-blue, a flawless bowl over the autumnal bonfire that was Lhavit: every tree ignited by the season into a stand of flame and reflected endlessly by the skyglass spires of the Diamond of Kalea.
Abundant sunlight struck through the banks of windows in Alses’ grand office, flooding the airy chamber with brightness, illuminating her endless endeavours at the desk to which her job often chained her.
Whereas Alses might otherwise have been expected to be stood at the windows, gazing out at the glorious panorama that was the glittering celestial city – and beyond, the picture-perfect wilderness of the Unforgiving – as was, admittedly, her wont on such rare days, such was not the case today.
No, indeed, today the stately Ethaefal was fully absorbed in the task at hand.
Her desk had been entirely cleared of paperwork and clutter, of her hated in-tray and out-tray – now positioned precariously on some of the less-comfortable chairs – of everything, in fact, apart from a sprawling roll of paper, several paperweights and her trusty inkwell and stand.
The chair had been pushed back, the better to gain leverage and control over the paper, and with tongue slightly protruding from the corner of her mouth, Alses was exerting every erg of mental effort on her drawing, the quill pen skating determinedly from one location to the next.
Even the softly diffident knock at the doors – Mercadier being one of the few people Alses had ever met with the ability to make even that sound deferential – didn’t disturb her, as the able Vice-Councillor and Permanent Secretary of the Department ghosted into the room, an immaculately-attired official oozing efficiency from every pore and clasping professionally in one hand a sheaf of documents ready for her to read and sign, all stamped with the rising-sun sigil of the Council.
Which, for the moment, still consisted of just Alses. It was sometimes a little disconcerting, to walk past so many empty floors in the Tower, but in time they would surely fill.
“What are you doing, your grace?” Mercadier’s honeyed tones broke the busy silence as he craned discreetly to see what she was working on, his silent footfalls having carried him across the acres of polished marble and rugs with nary a sound.
“Ah! Mercadier! Just the chap I wanted – come over here, do.” Alses gestured, with a smile, for the blond man to join her behind the desk, beholding the masterpiece that was taking shape.
Mercadier, for his part, in counter to Alses’ proud beam, blinked owlishly at the sprawl of lines and boxes and tiny, neat script.
“It...appears to be a chart,” he observed cautiously, eyes dancing over the paper and ink and facile mind working quickly to integrate its apparent meaning with observations, instructions and the occasional insult that had issued forth from the Councillor's office in recent days.
“I’m on it, and so are you…” He smoothed his hair back distractedly, the discreet golden signet ring on his little finger flashing in the sun.
“Would you care to enlighten me, your grace?”
