Editor in Grief, Disbelief

A patron of the Golden Pavilion tells you, "The Matron says to wait at the bar."

You pick up a soaring crane pin.

You reach out and touch a soaring crane pin.

A shimmering fold in reality fades into existence, the world around it compressed as if looking through a convex lens.

Taking a few moments to align yourself with this strange fold in reality out of your peripheral, you stumble this way and that before lurching to the side. Sucked into the fold the moment you touch it, you are presented with a blur of colour and sound as you pass through layers and layers of space before you are spat out, stumbling still, through gilded doors into an enormous underground cavern.

[walking to the bar]

An exquisite, well-stocked bar.
Lining an entire wall, a bar created from burnished silver frames the serving area of this bar. Delicate carvings of various flesh beasts and inhabitants of Fire can be seen beneath the layer of intentional tarnish. Behind the striking bar sit shelves upon shelves of gem and crystal bottles, each containing a different hued liquid. The dizzying amount of bottles seem to house alcohol from every corner of the Basin, with gilded labels noted in calligraphic script. Throughout the rest of the room are types of seating for any sensibility. Overly plush chairs mixed in with piles of cushions and even ornately decorated stools litter the space. Tall tables mingle with short ones, and even gilded trays can be found for those who wish to partake beyond the confines of the bar. Seated comfortably at a stool, Chixieya Ninchi slumps over the bar as she drowns her sorrows in booze.
You see a single exit leading north.

You raise an eyebrow at Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief.

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief sips deeply on a glass of something cold and brown as she stares toward the back of the bar.

You look thoughtful and say, "Not the first person I'd expect to run into here, but certainly not the last, either."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief looks over her shoulder toward you before shrugging, turning back to her drink as she utters, "We all have our favourite joints. This one just has a massage parlour and better whiskey."

You say, "Fair enough. Would you be uncomfortable with an audience? The People hunger for news, and you remain the most pivotal source- if you are not too far off the clock, as it were."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief motions to the stool beside her, raising a hand for the bartender to pour another glass.

You have emoted: Eritheyl seats themself rather stiffly, elbows perched on the edge of the bar as though they are altogether unsure what else to do with their arms.

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief says, "What brings you here of all places?"

You look thoughtful and say, "Excellent question. Taschelin sent a delightfully vague messenger, I am to wait here. As to what for, who can say."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief nods, pointing a finger over her back toward the north. "Hareatho disappeared a few moments before you arrived," she explains, "odd enough for her, I imagine it's something to do with why you were summoned. Her'n'Taschelin will make themselves known when they're ready."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief says, "So, what's your thoughts on all this business? Being Sultan and all, I figure you have some."

You smile impishly and say, "That depends, is this another interview I can expect to see published with egregious half-truths and misinterpretations?"

With a slight grin, Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief says, "Not this time. Off the record, merely trying to get my head around it all."

Side-eyeing their drink, you say, "There is a slight, sad, vicarious sort of joy I find in it. Revelations, for good or ill, serve our people well. To see their passions stoked and angled towards charity of all things does warm my heart...but I regret that others have suffered so long for our ignorance."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief takes a sip - more a continuous gulp really, but who's counting? - of her glass before responding, "An oddly optimistic answer." She sits in silence a moment before asking, "What is revolution, do you think?"

Steepling their claws in thought, you say, "Revolution is a release. A necessity, perhaps, as it concerns people with such unshakable will as those of Gaudiguch. Whether for better or worse depends entirely on the victor, of course."

You say, "I have seen the deified monuments of this city laid low by foreign insurgents, and that was a devastating loss. But would it be so devastating to witness the fury of our own, those who find no other outlet for their passion but to destroy that something better might stand in place? I could hardly blame them, if we have not made ourselves available enough to field other options."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief takes another long sip, emptying her glass before tapping it against the bar twice, each contact giving a heavy THUNK against it. "Balance of power is a difficult thing to get around. We're both old enough to have seen more revolutions than we can count, right? How many of them were grassroots, and how many well-funded?" The bartender comes over and refills the glass once more, side-eyeing your untouched one before moving on. "Destroying what came before so something better might stand... A wonderful ideal, but who is to define better?"

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief says, "It seems almost a contradiction of the One Law, thinking about it. A revolution of the few can force their idea of better onto the masses until the cycle repeats."

You say, "A tricky thing, hm? That is where we can only hope the One Law will fulfill its purpose and safeguard the whole rather than the few malignants that lie in wait. But everyone is the hero of their own story, even those with less than virtuous intentions."

You look undecided and say, "Are we in the right simply because we find ourselves rapidly approaching a need to be on the defensive? Is our way, the current way, really the best way? It is hard to determine when so much remains obfuscated."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief says, "Perhaps. It almost feels, looking at it, that the city is an arena which we all fight in as a proxy for our ideals at times. And then, I suppose, there are those who have no wish to be a hero, whose role is to stand outside watching the fight."

You look skeptical and say, "Many of the latter sort at present, yes. Gawkers."

Chixieya Ninchi, Editor in Grief slams back her glass in one thorough movement, draining the refilled contents like a fresh Collegium graduate on their first visit to the Palace. "Did you ever ask Taschelin what this place was meant to be? Why she returned to the city when it returned from stasis?" she asks.

You have emoted: Reaching at last for their glass, Eritheyl taps out an arrhythmic staccato with the tips of their claws against its side. "Ah, no. I was a bit less inquisitive when all that business with the Shibchoyi and whoever else brought the city swarming here like madflies," they confess.

You say, "Besides, the good Matron is nothing if not elusive with any would-be truths about her own person. I have never considered it worth the time to pry."

"You should ask. The answer is worth an entire edition of the Gossip on its own." The newsie stares into the bottom of her glass, swirling the ice absently around it. Heavy footsteps echo from behind you, the sound of thick-soled boots striking against solid ground. "It seems our time is up. Best of luck." Chixieya taps her glass against the bar a few times as a weathered voice echoes from behind you, "Sultan. I am surprised to see you alone and without a gaggle behind you. Ready?"

Rising to their feet, you say, "I am. But I am also certain the gaggle would neither be out of the question nor far behind, if the Matron would allow a broader audience?"

Face shrouded by tattered strips of blackened leather, an elder dracnari woman nearly blends into her surroundings.

Hareatho Schoro says, "Of course, but we only have one copy. You will have to share."

You murmur, "Copy...a moment, then."

Hareatho Schoro chuckles slightly, nodding toward you. "She is in her normal place when you have gathered. I will remain here, I haven't had enough booze lately." she affirms, glancing toward the north with a nod.

(Gaudiguch): You say, "The Matron of the Golden Pavilion has something to share in regards to our recent happenings. If any would like to attend, you may teleport to me or find the rift south of the grand plaza."