The Port of Zuldazar’s usual hum of activity was somewhat calming to the Diplomat, the voices of Horde and Zandalari alike working towards a common goal (even if it was one he vehemently opposed). It was less comforting to his wife, who clung to his arm as the Featherguard escorted them along their route, with the couple stopping to look at various stalls run by assorted denizens of Azeroth.
Marilla, Zas’s ever faithful right hand, followed behind the pair, her sharp eyes darting about for any threat, her face resting in a cold demeanor as it always did. She kept an especially close eyes on the Trolls, as she knew that they made Lady Silvenheim the most uneasy. As her eyes rode the waves of colorful garments, she gave a subtle gesture to the Featherguard, which caused Zas and his wife to stop. Her eyes were locked forward on elven sailors, clad in blue and silver, as Zas turned to her.
“What is it Marilla? A threat?” He inquires as she steps foward.
“No My Lord. Sapherians.” She replies as his gaze follows hers, spotting the silverclad Elves.
The word Sapherian’s perked Hetaira’s interest. She remembered hearing of her Husband’s exwife, and of her mysterious homeland, though he often didn’t speak of it. She gave his arm a squeeze, and drew his attention.
“My Love, You know those sailors?” She asks, her eyes seeking out his as he looked down at her.
“Not them personally, but I know the land they serve.” He states, the barest hint of a smile hidden in his words, “Perhaps, they are the answer to our conundrum.”
She knew full well what he meant. With the war back in full swing, the Horde and Alliance at eachother’s throats yet again, Zasalemel had grown more irritable in the last few months. It was no exaggeration to say that the entirety of the Silvenheim Manor had been abuzz with anger at the Warchief’s actions, and the Alliance’s retaliation.
“What do you mean my dear?” She inquires, as Zas begins to lead the group, heading with confidence towards the Sailors.
“Sapheria, despite being founded by members of the Sin’dorei nobility, has always maintained neutrality during the various wars and conflicts of Azeroth.” He begins, “They, as a people, believed that their efforts would be in vain, as there always seems to be a conflict to be involved in. Father even knew the first technical Queen of Sapheria, and attempted to convince her to stay in Silvermoon before she and her family departed.”
Hetaira nods, somewhat enjoying the quick history lesson, “I see... It almost sounds as if you wish you could’ve joined them when they left.”
Zas can’t help but chuckle at this statement, “Well... a younger me, would’ve agreed with that. Though, I wouldn’t have quite the diplomatic career under my belt if I had. Lianalla’s family was more concerned with Trade than politics. I was hoping to save the world from itself, but Sapheria chose to save itself, from the world.”
Approaching the sailors, it was clear that the crew was primarily Elven, with the odd Troll or Orc tossed in. A young looking elf stepped forward to meet the group whilst the rest worked, his uniform just the slightest bit more decorated than the rest. “Good Evening, Folks.” The sailor proclaims, looking eyes with Zas, “How can we help you?”
The Elf was dressed in a rather subdued uniform, with the navy blue cloth decorated at key stitches with an almost snow white embroidery. The Uniform consisted of a frock coat, with gleaming silver buttons, a shirt, vest and tie, of blues and silvers. His right epaulet bore a gleaming silver sun, while the left bore a pair of crossed sabers.
“Good Evening, You must be the Master-At-Arms, if I’m not mistaken.” Zasalemel states as he holds himself with an almost military bearing, mirroring the Elf before him.
“Aye sir, Lieutenant Mirthpath, of the Guiding Winds.” The Sailor replied as he offered out a hand. “We have no stake in your war, but we’d be happy to assist you if you wished to trade.”
“No, no... I’m Lord Silvenheim, Diplomat of the Horde.” Zasalemel replies, the Sailor’s jaw dropping in shock.
“... Lord Silvenheim... I... I understand sir. Are you wishing to book passage? I’m sure the Queen would be interested in speaking with you.” He stammers, as the rest of the men stop their work and snap to attention.
“If you have the room, I would be happy to take my wife and a small contingent of my guard. I’d very much like to discuss things with your Queen regarding the current world state.”
Lieutenant Mirthpath nodded, and executed an about face. “Men! Snap to it. I’m bringing Lord Silvenheim and his entourage aboard to speak to Captain Cale. I want this gear loaded, and preparations to weigh anchor underway. We set sail for Home soon.”
Zas grins as he places a hand on his wife’s shoulder, “We’ll have a solution for our conundrum, soon enough.”
(With Mentions of @hetairasilvenheim and @housesilvenheimstaff)
*** Sunday, April 01 ***
6:00–8:00 p.m.
MacLean Ballroom, 112 S. Michigan Ave.
Graduating students from SAIC's Bachelor of Fine Arts in Writing program present their work in an exciting evening that includes texts generated in traditional as well as hybrid and experimental forms. Come and experience fiction, nonfiction, poetry, scripts, electronic media, and performance as you've never heard, or seen, before.
