The running and shouts of Clove's servants and workers as they attempted to prepare the palace for their visitors was soothing in a way, and equally infuriating. It reminded her that she still had power, and her authority allowed her to command everyone that she could see at that moment. However, the fact that she had not agreed to these visitors, spoke of the undercurrent of authority that she tried not to think about too often. Despite, in theory, being the governor of this planet, Cloves had been informed only one standard hour ago that her home and palace was to play host to a minor diplomatic summit. Minor by the standards of her supposed patron, although Cloves would have more accurately called them conquerors. It had been like this for almost 10 years by this point, where their world had been invaded, and taken over, and her allegiance coerced.
The men who had come to their planet hadn't been soldiers, but instead pirates from distant stars that Cloves did not know of. They had arrived with weapons far superior to anything her people had and had given her an ultimatum. Either she surrenders and serves the "Bloodied Crown" as the pirates seem to call themselves, or she would be killed, along with her family, and everyone else in the capital city. Then any of her people who remained would be hunted down and Either killed or converted into what she was informed were called servitors. She had seen some of those creations and they were horrifying. She would not wish that fate of living death on anyone, no matter their transgression. Unfortunately, she had been forced to allow it to happen far more than she wanted to admit.
Now she was the ruler of the planet in title only. The pirate crews would come by and make demands of her, and she would have almost no choice in the matter but to oblige. Vast amounts of wealth, food, and even people have been shipped off the planet with nothing more than a message acknowledging her contribution in response. She had to put down uprisings by her people, who considered the possibility of destruction to be an acceptable risk if it meant the chance of throwing off their conquerors. Cloves didn't have that option anymore. Shortly after the pirate had shown up, her sister Cassandra had taken deathly ill. Cloves had called for every healer and priest that she could find on the planet to try to provide some relief to her sister's condition, but if anything their ministration seemed to only worsen her condition. The closest she got to a clear answer was from, a man who had been part of the pirate's crew, who claimed that in a previous life, he had been a medic in the imperial guard. His prognosis was grim, but at least clear on the matter. Multiple of her organs and internal systems were failing. And none of the medicines that her people held would provide any kind of relief. The former medic had claimed that due to being a feudal world, he doubted that they could even treat most of the symptoms she was going to experience if they managed to prolong her life. Her only salvation would come in the form of the leader of the pirate faction that held sway over her world. He claimed his name was Adept, although, if that was true, she had no way of verifying. He was a horrifying monstrosity of metal and grading flesh, wrapped in robes that either attempted to hide his bleeding, or he had ripped off of other people. His stooped posture would've suggested age, but Cloves wasn't even sure if such a being could age anymore. Did ideas such as time and biological death, even matter to somebody who had replaced so much of their body with iron?
He made her a rather simple offer, even if she could see the caltrops hidden in the metaphorical grains. Adapt offered to use their own people's knowledge to heal her sister, in exchange for an oath of her continued cooperation. And so Cloves had a choice between her people, numbering 58 million souls or one, her sister. She chose her sister.
When her sister was finally released from what he claimed was a med bay, but Cloves thought more resembled a butcher shop, he had not healed her damaged pieces as he had claimed that he would do. Instead, her eyes have been replaced by black orbs in which gold, pupils danced in a parody of her youthful gaze. Her mouth held two bolts on each side, connecting the constructed jaw that had been fixed to her face. Even her arms were gone, replaced with ringed metal creations that resembled them, at least in the abstract. She asked this man to save her sister the only way he knew how to do so was by carving out pieces of her.
These augments, as he called them, came with another method of control, beyond the obvious prospect that Adept could in someway manipulate them. While they stopped the degradation of her body, such procedures had to be maintained regularly, or more of her organs would suffer decay and damage. Cloves knew Cassandra was essentially a hostage, both to the disease that was slowly destroying her from within, and the metal pirate, who held the only means of saving her.
When she received a message that some group called the protectorate, wished to negotiate with the Crown, or at least a faction of it, she had also been asked if her world could serve as the meeting point. As much as it had been worded as a request, Cassandra knew that it was an order and that people would need to prepare to receive these delegations. The fact that she didn't know anything about this group that was meeting with her overlords rankled her considerably. She didn't know if they were humans like her, or more metal monstrosities like Adept or even Xenos, like the ones her grandmother used to tell her stories about. She had never met one of them before, and neither had anyone she had ever had a pleasant conversation with.
Still, she had followed the ancient protocols as well as she could. She had gathered a full honour guard from her household troops, including ceremonial, gifts and banners, dressed them in their Grey and green uniforms, and even carried the badge of her office, what Adept had referred to as a Power Scythe. Still, her family had always referred to it by the name Dusk Cleaver. It was an ancient weapon, but one that she and her ancestors had wielded far enough back that there were paintings of at least 100 members of her family holding this very tool.
She even went the extra mile of ensuring that the troops she was presenting were amongst her best. They were the ones equipped with what the Pirates referred to as Autoguns. Unlike the most advanced tools they had had before the Pirate's arrival, these could fire multiple metal slugs without having to be reloaded. These couldn't be built by her people, required ammunition which could not be easily made on the planet and parts that couldn't be created on their world, but it helped with Battles where her soldiers were severely outnumbered.
Those have been quite common overall as she had been forced to use the thousand or so soldiers in what one of the more militaristic pirates had referred to as the 1st Northambria Rifle Regiment, to put down local rebelling lords. For some reason that name had sparked something in him, and she had heard rumours that he had left the group shortly after. The rumours she had heard of him from the other Pirates told of him, seeming to have regained a great deal of faith in the God-Emperor afterwards, and him stealing away into the night when the rest of his crewmates were off drinking. Cassandra had come into her office. The next day holding would appear to be a strange flag, she claimed she had sewn for their new regiment. Cassandra had never been able to sew before in her life, and the loss of dexterity that the augmentic fingers had taken ensured that she would never have been able to pick up the skill. The fact that the flag had shown her family sigil; a prancing deer atop a shield with crossed scythes emblazoned on it, made it very clear that even if she had sewn it, or would have had any way of knowing what a regimental flag looked like, she had been involved in its creation.
As she so often did when she was informed that one of the Crown's minions was coming to her world, she had cleared out the courtyard and called up her guard to prepare the traditional welcoming formations. She was not blind to her role in what would be a fairly brutal, diplomatic summit. Whoever was coming, was being conquered by the crown, and she was supposed to make it clear that this was not the first time they conquered the world, and that whoever this was happening, to would be wiser to simply accept the inevitable and rollover for their new overlords. It was a business, but at some level, she understood that it was perhaps, for the best, even if the prospect made her guts want to leap out of her throat.
When she spotted the vessel, arriving from the sky, the frantic movements of her honour guard became almost pathologically desperate. A stage that she had commissioned was rapidly moved out, covered in white and green cloth to hide its wooden construction. She stood on it, hoping that the additional height would provide a much more intimidating visage for the visitors. A pair of troopers rapidly sprinted out to take up positions on her left and right, although the one on the right was probably a new recruit, as they had opted for the polarized lenses and the deep green cloth face mask that came with their uniform. A lot of the new recruits did this so that they didn't end up showing just how much they despised the pirates that they were so often required for this ceremony. Still, the two were equipped in their dark grey flak armour, with the black helmets and new model rifles, all cleaned and polished to perfection. Each of those pieces had to have been purchased from the pirates themselves, but they were both an effective status symbol for her guard and, quite effective weapons against her regiment that ended up fighting so often.
It was descending rapidly now, far more so than the pirate vessels usually did. It was also considerably more stable and direct, moving with a grace that Cloves had never seen before. It was like watching a veteran on parade, versus a new recruit who had just been given their uniform and told to get out Into formation. Even as it entered the range in which she could start making out details, the difference between the normal ships and this one was striking. Where, as normally she saw ships that carried any number of icons and markings to denote kills or who owned it, this one was simply ordained, with the only major markings being a circle, divided into four sections. The vessel itself landed in the courtyard with sublime grace. Whereas normally there was always a concern that it would strike either one of the walls or crush one of the people, this vessel landed with such precision that it almost seemed to have been designed for such a wing craft. The massive canons on the front suggested that this was a well-used vessel for war, and Cloves had to wonder whether it had flown alone, or if there was an escort that they had not seen.
The landing gear touched her palace's ancient stone, almost gently, with the ship moving down on its suspensions. Normally, Cassandra and Cloves would hear objecting metal and scraping pieces as a poorly maintained system struggled against its neglect. This one, however, had none of those telltale sounds. Instead, each piece of the craft seemed to be maintained and tended to with obscene care. Before, she had assumed that all space vessels had that level of wear and destruction on their components. However, after seeing this almost pristine example, it made her wonder about whether or not the Pirates were really all that capable. After all, if the Crown couldn't maintain their vessels, while these people who were coming to the negotiating table could, didn't that suggest that they were much more capable? After all, the crown laid a lot of dirt clean to Authority on their technological superiority and ability to maintain these weapons. and yet this group of envoys that she was expecting already seemed to have equipment that was better maintained than anything she had seen the crown use. Was this a fluke? Perhaps they were only showing their most well-maintained equipment to gain a political advantage. But if so wouldn't the crown have done the exact same?
Her musings on the subject were broken as the only visible door of the vessel gave out a hiss, as the air rushed in or out as the vehicle depressurized, and its drawbridge descended, allowing its passengers to disembark. It was a procedure she had seen done a hundred times before, and so for the most part Cloves believed that she was well equipped to handle any eventuality that may come from this little dance of protocols. After getting her first look at them, however, the governor was no longer convinced that she had been properly prepared or briefed for this situation.
Her first impressions of these delegates were that of stunned confusion. Standing at the front stood something that she could only identify as human in the sense that it held human shape. It was taller than almost any she had ever seen, with only one exception. The town square of Yarbrook, where she used to play, had a larger statue, although not by much. It was made of a strange sort of metal that no one could identify and had been standing in that square since before anybody could remember. Coloured in white and green, with the words, Dawnbringer written on one of its pauldrons, it wielded a large scythe, which had inspired her own badge of office, passed down through generations. The fact that she was now meeting such a large figure, wielding axes instead of a scythe, and wearing the armour of white and blue, as opposed to white and green, stunned the young governor. It was as if a story character from her childhood had walked through the front door and waved to her. The figure seemed to scan the entirety of the courtyard, where their vessel had landed before the entourage hidden behind its bulk, seemed to begin moving forward as one.
They were a confused group of people, wielding tools that Cloves had never seen before. She had seen enough of the pirate crews to recognize a las weapon when she saw one, but this year's prevalence of them within the entourage spoke of them. Only the sergeants of the pirates seemed to wield those, and yet every single guard that disembarked from the massive transport carried at least one across their chest. Even the quality seemed to be far greater than that she had seen in the pirate's hands. Where, before they had struck her with their simplicity and ruggedness, the one she had seen before now all seemed quaint and poorly maintained, compared to the examples seemingly carried by those she was here to greet.
Then there was their stature. While there was a core group in the centre, that seemed to be largely regular human-sized, everyone else seemed to be exceptionally tall, even not counting what she figured, was extra height added by the armour. Compared to her honour guard, it seemed as if everybody she was here to greet was at least a head taller than their counterparts, with even more noticeable height being added by the metal boots and helmets that they wore. They wore plates of deep red, enclosed helmets with visors that glowed orange, and full armour sets of materials she could not identify. In her mind, the comparison between her soldiers, imported "flak" armour, that they had been given by the Crown, and these men's heavy suits seemed laughable. If anything, they more resembled the towering figure of that armoured statue, whose shadow she used to play under.
At the centre of their possession, came a number of much more human-sized individuals. A few wore dark grey robes, like a more professional version of what Adept wore. However, even though she could see some of them had large amounts of metallic pieces added to them, these people also seemed significantly more human. Their metallics were smooth and well-maintained, as opposed to the frequently jagged and discoloured ones that her benefactor and enslaver used. Some had no visible metal, as was the case of one member, who seemed to take particular interest in the ceremonial gift, held by the First officer in the line.
In their planet's ancient past, supposedly when visitors came an offering, or tithe was supposed to be given to those who requested it. The ceremony said the entire tithe was not required to be presented at once, but instead, a representation was to be offered to those who came to request it. This had not happened in an official sense in millennia, but the tradition still held for diplomatic functions. She had just ordered them to pick something that represented the world, not expecting it to be of any interest to whatever delegation arrived. Instead, this man had stopped, at the first member of the honour guard, and was enthusiastically, examining the large bundle of wheat held in the guard's arms.
The Tithe Bearer as was his official title, was clearly a bit confused, and his sudden prominence in the ceremony, and was choosing to express this by adamantly, refusing to move, or acknowledge the growing audience for the stocks of grains in his hands. The robed figure had been joined shortly after by some role members in similar robes, which now that she had a chance to observe them slightly closer, each seemed to have blue and red leaves sewn onto the sleeves, and even a pair of the guards, who seem to both take some level of interest in the grains, as well as wanting to maintain some kind of security detail around what we're clearly high ranking officials, even if they were being quite clearly distracted by a bundle of wheat.
Another member of the entourage was clearly a soldier of some variety, with a flat cap that bore that circle cut into fourths, which seemed to ordain much of the delegations robes or items, suggesting it was perhaps a piece of heraldry, which they all wore as a sign of loyalty. Where the other soldiers wore heavy suits of armour, this one and his small entourage wore what would appear to be manufactured cloth, in a similar hue of red to the armour, but cut in a way that suggested that it was in some way more formal or event attire, like some of the dresses that she possessed. Notably, a few members of his entourage also wore armbands, with the colours of the sigil being stretched across it. Likely, these were some kind of ceremonial representatives. Not actually fighters, despite quite impressive muscles, but diplomats or minor nobles who had to wear something similar to their warrior class to show off their status and ancestry.
Speaking of such individuals, a trio of them were also part of the group, easily distinguishable by their deep blue robes, and various expressions of diplomatic or academic curiosity. Not one of them seemed to be any kind of threat, their thin forms were made all the more noticeable by the fact that the armband soldiers seemed to make every attempt to stand next to them, or around them. That marked them out as some sort of administrative class in her mind. Likely many of them had never been outside of whatever palace or library, that they had spent much of their life squirrelled away in and even if the soldiers in the cloth uniforms were very much ceremonial Guards, they seemed to want to make sure that the almost universally speckled clerks didn't wander off and get hurt somewhere. One of them, the one furthest on the right, seemed more distracted than the others, watching the sky, as if he was attempting to read something in the clouds, or maybe even beyond that, as he seemed almost transfixed upon something beyond what any of them could see.
Finally, there were a number of women that, had this been one of the Crown's visits, she would've assumed were mistresses of whichever captain was there to claim her people's resources. The amount of silk and exposed skin suggested that if the guard's armour was made for rugged practicality, these outfits were as well, although for a different kind of warfare. Cloves could only hope that Cassandra wasn't anywhere nearby, or she'd be dealing with another of her sister's "Love at first sight" moments. After her last girlfriend broke up with her, she had been beside herself and Cloves didn't want her sister to become attached to one of these women. She had always had terrible taste in girlfriends, and her sickness hadn't made her any better at choosing them. Especially as she figured that they were here for manipulation as their primary goal. Despite her desire to dismiss these women out of hand as mere political tools, the fact that no one in the delegation seemed to stare or regard them scornfully suggested that their position was just as official as anyone else in the group. Even if they did seem to be trading annoyed looks with the handful of men in blue robes, the rest of the entourage was showing clear respect and deference to me.
An attitude that, unfortunately, her own guards were categorically failing to mirror. Many of the guards were attempting to hide the fact that their gaze was firmly planted on the women, hoping that their visors would hide their gaze. The fact they weren't polarized had apparently not occurred to most of them. The guard on her right seemed especially to have taken note of a particularly tall member of their group, wearing a short, yellow dress, and black stockings, with near-white blonde hair and a silver feathered scarf around her neck. This guard at least had a set of polarized lenses, so it wasn't obvious that they were staring. Unfortunately, the fact that their head movement seemed firmly fixed on her, was a very good indicator of the matter. And the fact their rifle had gone from across the chest to near parallel to the ground was also an indication that they were smitten. Oh well, Something to have them chewed out over later.
As the last of the delegation's members stepped off the ramp, as signalled by the ramp retracting into the vessel's body, the honour guard from her household troops made to perform their ceremonial salute. As her honour guard made to move their rifles across their chest, the barrel pointing up towards the left past the shoulder, the tall figure seemed to mirror the action. moving his own weapon, a great axe with spiked teeth running along it, across his chest and towards his opposing shoulder. It took her a moment, but Cloves realized that he wasn't mirroring it, rather he was responding to it. This was not a guessed action, but rather the response of a practised maneuver. Whoever this was, they were familiar with how her people saluted. Which should've been impossible, if being such as these had ever visited her people's world surely they would've recorded it in some way.
The delegation arrived at her raised pedestal, which, even though it added considerable height to her, still made her slightly shorter than the leader of the delegation. The rest had to look slightly up at her, but it did not have the intimidating effect she was hoping for.
"My name is Governor Cloves of Northambria. I welcome you to my world, and into my hospitality."
The armoured giant nodded at her and for the first time, she heard it speak. Its voice was strong and powerful, with a confidence that suggested its wielder did not expect any difficulty, and was completely sure that their objective would be achieved. She had heard people speaking through speakers before, even if she had no idea how they worked, but this one seemed almost too clear, as if her exposure to the ones that failed to operate, as efficiently had made this example of its well-maintained, counterpart and unnatural occurrence. "Well met Governor. I am Hektor of the 12th Legion. We are honoured by your hospitality and your of show honour towards us. It is good to see that there are still remnants of the Dusk Raiders traditions to be found within the galaxy. It does my heart good to know that such things are not forgotten."
Cloves had absolutely no idea what that meant, who the 12th Legion were or who the Dusk Raiders were. But it seemed to be a good thing, and that seemed to make the giant happy with her. No need to look too deeply into that bit of good luck. It might be a good idea to take advantage of that to get a bit more information about what was going on, considering that her overlords had not bothered to explain what was happening, beyond the fact that they were co-opting large portions of her palace for this meeting.
"Thank you, Honoured One." Probably not an appropriate thing to call him, but it's what they called the statue in her hometown, and for some reason, it just seems to stick in her mind as a title for him as well. "Are you the leader of the group the Crown is negotiating with?" The giant shook his head, before gesturing back towards the group of regularly sized people at the centre of their column. " I am not. Almost anyone in this group would have a better claim to such a title. I merely lead the security detail for this mission. The Liberator himself will not be able to join us, but we will have the appropriate equipment set up so he may communicate. "
Whoever this Liberator was, he clearly had the right idea. The Crown would be quite willing to try any trick they thought they could get away with, to seize control of the situation more thoroughly, and gain even further concessions from these people. His decision to simply not be present was quite wise even if it did rather raise the question of why everyone else had to be there in person. Why are these people so loyal that they were willing to sacrifice themselves for this man even when he wasn't present?
Hektor continued, "But I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to introduce the formal delegation for this matter; this is Biologis Dufreyen, head of our delegation from the Bringers of Renewed Greatness." Hector pointed to one of the grey-cloaked figures that had by now seemed to grow bored of poking at the bushel of wheat, and had made their way back to the rest of the group. For somebody who is supposed to theoretically be leading such a group, he seemed remarkably willing to just carry on with his own interest until he was satisfied. Then again, the fact that nobody had bothered trying to stop him from doing so, even to the point where members of their honor guard were prepared to wait on his curiosity suggested that this was not a new act for him, and they had all simply adapted to it. Not as a possibility, but as an eventuality.
"Over here we have Richard Simon of the administration. He handles most of our matters of logistics, political structures, and organization." Just as skinny as the rest of his cohort, his robes had a noticeable maroon accent to the corners, with the bulk on his left leg suggesting the presence of a rather substantial combat knife hidden underneath his robes. The massive burn on the left side of his face suggested that whatever his previous vocation had been, somebody had found an issue with it and chosen to express it in a rather harsh way. Now that she was paying attention, Cloves could also see that the right side of his face was partially synthetic, with the metal painted to look like flesh. It appeared that the burns were actually the original, and most of what she was seeing was an outer layer that had been added Afterwards.
"The Lady Liana Sunny of the Handmaidens of Emili." the Giant's hand moved minutely towards a tall woman in a beautifully made purple dress, with her hair dyed in various shades of blue. Her attendents all seemed to follow in her footsteps but unlike the rest, none of them wore anything even resembling a uniform. Each one seemed to have their own styles and choice of clothing, despite clearly all belonging to a singular group. Despite looking nothing like the soldiers or administrators around them, even from how they were standing it was clear that there was a certain degree of discipline to the group, as well as a clear chain of command with the woman indicated being the obvious leader.
"Representing the USA, I present Brigadier Genera Don Doyalson." With this, he gestured towards one of the men in the military-style, cloth uniforms, although not the one that she would have guessed. Out of the entire contingent he was one of the smallest members wearing red and seemed rather uncomfortable in the clothing. Even as she had watched them make their way over to the stage she noticed that he had gravitated towards the administrators more than the armed guards. Still, relatively healthy albeit thin and a curled moustache that he wore alongside his immaculate and relatively undecorated uniform, suggested a great deal of care being put into personal appearance, even if it looked terrible from Clove's perspective.
"Finally, Leading our security contingent, Colonel Sarge." His hand finished its small rotation to point towards the leading member of the security detail, Who now that she had a chance to examine him more closely, realized he was not holding an oversized Lasrifle as she had first assumed that they all did, but instead, he was carrying a weapon that she had only ever heard about before now, a melta. she had never even seen one of these weapons before, but the sheer destructive power that they held was legendary even amongst her limited interactions with the galaxy. This man was walking around with an anti-armour weapon capable of blowing holes in her castle walls, and he walked around like it was nothing serious. Despite how alarming that was, her first thought was instead on his rank.
"I'm sorry sir, but is your rank Colonel, Sargent or Colonel Sargent? I've never heard of it before." He seemed to take the question well enough, chuckling to himself, which revealed his voice to be significantly aged, but also holding a distinctly rural drawl to it. " None taken. My rank is Colonel, of the First Liberator Guard, while my name is Sarge. It's a bit of a family tradition. My great-grandfather was named Miller at birth, my grandfather was named Tanner and my father was named Weaver. My dad wanted me to live up to high expectations, and I have to say I like to think I exceeded them." For whatever reason he ended that little story with a chuckle as well.
Okay then. No time to figure out if he's being serious or not, Back on mission.
"I'm honoured by having so many of your group leaders in one place." This caused the leader of the Handmaidens to smile, not quite condescendingly, but approaching it. "None of us are actually the leaders of the Liberation Council. We're just the representatives, and those needed in the event that these negotiations are being conducted in good faith.". Her voice was cultured and smooth with the sound of one who had practiced this sort of speech for years. This was news to Cloves. As far as she was aware, she was supposed to be hosting the leaders of the Protectorate as it was called, with every indication that they were here to surrender. So if they want to hear that means that this entire event was a waste of time? What was going on?
Richard, for the most part, looked as if he felt some kind of sympathy for her situation, even if his voice carried the same pedantic and mildly enthused tone of somebody who is merely reciting facts, instead of stating an opinion. " It was determined that in the event that this was merely an attempt to ambush our delegation, it would probably be wise if all of the major leaders of liberation counsel were simply not present to risk losing. We can communicate with them easily enough if this is in good faith, and we've all been invested with the legal authority to sign any treaty that is agreed upon. Subject to full ratification by the Liberation Council, of course."
Cloves wanted to imagine that she looked shocked by this lack of trust, but honestly, it all sounded pretty smart overall. Still, as theoretically loyal underling, she did have to at least look like she was backing up her theoretical side. "I'm going to guess that our overlords have not inspired a great deal of confidence in their trustworthiness so far. But do you think they would go so far as to attack you at a peace summit?". That might've been the wrong thing to say, considering that the leaders of each of the groups all seem to share a single look between each other, before answering together.
"Yes."
All right, not exactly encouraging if their immediate response to that question was a united confirmation. The Colonel seemed to see that she was a little bit taken aback by that statement and decided to offer just a bit more insight. "It wouldn't be the first time one of the warlords tried this, and it probably won't be the last. Hell, it wouldn't even be the first time this guy specifically, has done it."
"I'm sorry when you say warlords, are you still talking about the Crown?"
"Oh yeah, we are. It's just that almost none of the territory it claims is controlled directly by the bloody crown itself. A bunch of captains or underlings have their own little Fiefdoms carved out of the larger territories, and yours is one of them. Whoever you've been dealing with that identifies themselves as a representative of the Bloodied Crown, they're most likely a lieutenant of somebody much higher up that basically just carved out their own little section of territory. They don't actually have all the power of the entire cartel at their disposal, and they're most certainly relying on your system for much of their power and resources."
"Hence why we're here as opposed to rocking up on one of their space stations and introducing them to the concept of Vaccum." the Colonel remarked, which was answered a moment later by a warning look from the Brigadier General. For such a diminutive man, comparatively, his glare held no small amount of anger and warning. Despite this clear physical superiority, the colonel seemed to take the message to heart and quieted down.
For the first time, a traitorous thought began to emerge in her mind. She had assumed that she was to act as a primer on why they should surrender, as opposed to continuing to fight. However, even from what she had seen so far, these people didn't seem to be here for a conference marking their capitulation. They seemed to exude a confidence that suggested that they were here with a well-earned sense of Triumph. Perhaps they were not here to surrender to the crown. Perhaps the crown or at least part of it was surrendering to them.
Unfortunately, that didn't help her case all that much. If they won, then in the traditional warfare, it was likely that her people would simply be transferred under the ownership of the victors, in which case she was now looking at her new overlords. Alternatively, she might not be transferred over, in which case, she would remain under the authority of the crown. in practical terms, whatever happened there was not going to be any benefit for her or her people. Still, she had an obligation to at least play the pardon, it cost her nothing to be polite.
She bowed her head at the no doubt, empty, platitude, and gesture towards the head maid of the household. " I imagine you must all be tired from your trip, we have prepared accommodations within the palace. Wanda, the chamber mistress, will direct you to them. Have a pleasant day and a profitable negotiation." It was all accurate and all formal, but also the verbal equivalent of telling someone to leave because you didn't want to deal with them anymore. It was nice to be able to say that to them, considering that she was now significantly less confident she would've been able to force the issue if they wanted to turn it into a matter of martial prowess. The towering figure nodded, and they began moving past her toward the open gates that led to the interior of the palace.
As the rest of the delegation began moving out of the courtyard, with the guard on her right side, still tracking the grey and yellow-clad woman near religiously with her eyes, One of the men in the dark grey cloaks, the first who examined the grain stopped and stared at the guard for a moment, before centring himself in front of her and staring even more intently. This time he wasn't joined by any other members of his group, but the entire column seemed to halt nearly as one, with a series of soft clicks, passing in between each of the members. The stop was so abrupt that the maid leading the group was still unaware they had stopped and was now actually exiting out of the courtyard, without her tail of guests. If Cloves had been unable to hear the silence, she would've assumed a vast argument was taking apart between the various members, one in which the grey-cloaked leader was either winning, or losing, and simply refusing to acknowledge anybody else's opinions on the matter. The silence was broken when he stepped forward, towards Cloves, and then completely ignored her to address the guard.
"Excuse me? I know this might be a bit impolite to ask after having only met you roughly a minute ago, but are you aware that you have been repeatedly poisoned?"
"What?"
The confused guard asked, except that voice didn't sound like any of her soldiers, that sounded like Cassandra's voice! That soldier was Cassandra! Dammit! She'd already gotten fixated on that tall woman in the delegation! That was going to be all kinds of hell to deal with!
…Wait, Poisoned?
"What do you mean she's been poisoned!?" Cloves found herself yelling, the decorum and dignity she had been carefully attempting to falsify completely evaporating. For some reason, the delegation didn't seem to be in any way shocked by this declaration by one of their members. Instead, they seemed almost annoyed, or exasperated.
"Quite obviously she's been poisoned, looks to be a neurotoxin by my guess."
Taking a step forward that Cloves now regarded as completely breaching any kind of social protocols. She was somewhat aware that had this been just one of the guards, she probably wouldn't have even registered it. He continued after staring at her left shoulder for a moment.
"And if you wouldn't mind me giving my best guess for a moment, I would bet my next grant and all the Libra in my pockets, that it was an off-world poison. Ingested orally and given in a microdose within the last three hours. It appears quite potent, especially considering that I'm willing to bet your other augments were due to the same poison being administered. Whoever gave you these upgrades was trying to hide it, but it's already causing minor muscle spasms in the left shoulder." He narrowed his eyes for a moment, before finishing, "The internal gyroscope seems to be doing a pretty good job of covering for it, but it can only do so much. I can't tell much more from here, unfortunately."
With his words, delivered in an almost cheery tone, it seemed as if the entire world seemed to lose colour for a moment. Her sister's sickness was back, and it wasn't a sickness, but an attempt by somebody to kill her, and whoever was involved, the Adept was complicit. The very machines that she had sold her soul to help to ensure that her sister lived, or hiding the true extent of her ailment and all of this was only revealed because one man thought that that was an appropriate subject to just announce in the middle of her courtyard. Hektor seemed to register her discomfort and the thousand-yard stare that was undoubtedly developing on her face.
"Biologis DuFreyne, I believe you have given the governor and her sister enough bad news for one moment. If you could present your full findings to them, I believe they would prefer if you did so in private as opposed to in the middle of the courtyard."
That seemed to spark something of a realization in the biologist's eyes, as if it only now occurred to him how horrible what he was saying was, and the amount of emotional distress it was likely causing. Backing up towards his group, his face was a mask of horror and delayed sympathy. "If you want to talk about that, you'll probably know where I am. I'm sorry." And with that admittedly, rather lame apology, he rushed to rejoin his associates, as they began moving at a quick walk out of the governor's presence.
Despite the honour guard that was still present, not having been dismissed yet, Cloves looked at her sister. The mounting horror of her situation made her feel more alone than she had in years.
(3 Days of Editing. Never my strong suit. Have at it.)