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[Iituem]

Helga gives Falsktnafn a long, clearly sceptical look.

"Right, well.  I honestly can't say how much of that I believe, but it is an... intriguing story.  One that might play well at the alehouses.  So.  You have a truly dangerous weapon, a... divine mandate, and your looks.  If you were forging a kingdom, that might be enough.  Inheriting one has an extra requirement.  What you lack is a pedigree, and like any good dog you need that to have your day.  I'm going to be blunt with you; I have an intricate knowledge of the genealogy of the three kingdoms, who wedded who, who birthed who, and whose bastards are whom.  You aren't in it, but you could be.

"I will, for you, craft what we in the nobility like to call an outright lie.  A falsehood.  A fabrication.  Papers will appear within the next few days that will prove that your father - or mother, perhaps - was the recognised bastard of one of the baronies of Risstan, one connected through two degrees of marriage and blood to the line of Harmondale.  Close enough to matter, but far enough away to be utterly impractical to check.  Your official place in the succession will be laughably low - but it will place you on it, and you and your magic sword can do the rest.

"If you can stomach this forgery and you accept my offer, you will not owe me a favour - I don't believe in favours, they're easily forgotten.  My price is that you will put me on a seat on your council, where my voice can be heard.  I might not even turn up much, I might send an easily swayed proxy, but that's the offer I make.  An extra edge to get you on the throne, for a chair nearby.

"You are, of course, free to get offended and walk away.  I won't mind."

[Iituem]

Mavi soon finds himself at the door of the side room. He eyes up the bodyguards appreciatively.
"I'm expected?"

Orzo nods with familiarity to Mavi, old hands in this game.  "The Rose is busy right now.  She'll call you in."  He grabs a passing serving boy.  "Get the man some wine.  Pork haunch, too."  He straightens back up, folding his arms and leaning back into a more comfortable position to wait.

[Tack]

The serving boy looks over at Mavi as he gives a surreptitious shake of his head and a shooing motion with his fingers, before settling in across from Orzo

[NUKE9.13]

"The Deceiver Shall Aid You Thrice"

Falsktnafn nods slowly.

"A deception in service to the truth is at times a regrettable necessity. Though I imagine there will be suspicion regarding the convenience, it will at least provide an excuse to support me. I accept your offer, madam, and look forwards to working with you when I become king."

The last words he speaks not with conviction of one who truly believes in something- no, he speaks them the way one might mention the sky is blue, with the neutral tone of someone stating a fact.

"I trust you have no further business with me? I have a busy day ahead."

((Assuming not. And even if there are a few small items, time magic allows things to happen simultaneously))
"Beware The Chief Servant, For He Serves No Master"

The Swordholder exits the room, nodding politely to Orzo. His gaze falls upon Mavi. He stops, holding up a finger to forestall an attempt at conversation, whilst he thinks.

"Would you be... Master Diventrade, by any chance?"

[Tack]

Mavi gives an easy grin, a eyes twinkling. "And you would be Boy With Sword?"

[NUKE9.13]

"I suppose I fit that description, yes. You want to talk to me."

((Should we do this on Discord?))

[Tack]

Mavi gives an apologetic smile. "Sorry friend, I'm actually here for Helga. Much as I would love to see what makes you special, that will likely have to wait for another time and a different audience. The walls have ears, after all."
He beams pointedly at Orzo.
"If I may impose upon you to meet me near the kitchens in say, half a bell?"

[Iituem]

"Of course.  Take some time to make yourself known.  Leave the details to me.  I should have something for you in a day or two."  Helga tilts her head and takes a draught of wine, tapping a finger thrice against the goblet.  The door opens and Orzo shows the Swordbearer out.

Helga takes a couple of moments to begin planning a heritage.  Yes... perhaps the Baronet of Holfstatten?  That one did always enjoy his serving wenches...  But, back to business.  "Do come in, Mavi, dear," she calls out, giving a head tilt of actual respect to her longstanding rival and allowing herself a wry smile.  She filled Mavi a goblet herself from the wine jug.  "Have some of the repast here.  Falkstnafn there already had a bit, but we've all had others' leavings in our time and the candied bacon flitch is actually palatable."

Intrigue? Action: Forge a bloodline for Falkstnafn in the form of 'secret love letters' and a 'small grant of land for our little union's future' to make a case for Falkstnafn's father to be a certain licentious baronet, giving him a tenuous claim to being part of the lineage of Harmondale.  Just close enough to count as a possible legitimate successor, but far enough away to be hard to disprove.

[Tack]

"Ah, the sweet rime rose of the north."
Mavi plops himself into a chair, taking a goblet and toasting the lady. "You still refusing to marry me, you old woman?"

Spoiler: Log (click to show/hide)

"You suddenly acquired a title and a vast expanse of lands, you cross-fingered cur?"
[7:08 PM] Tack: Mavi laughs "So very close, my dear. Every night your bed grows colder and your half-brother's second son grows a little smarter."
[7:10 PM] Iituem: "Well, if you can swindle him into marrying you first, then maybe we'll talk.  I've always wondered what it would be like to be a four-times widow."  Helga chuckles, then exhales, shaking her head.  "Three days, Mavi.  Luowin would never have fucked about this much.  Although if he had, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with."
[7:14 PM] Tack: "Luowin didn't have much in the way of competition. Plenty of us making sure of that. You see a good ruler and you hold tight." He sighs, staring into his barely-touched goblet. "Got water?"
[7:17 PM] Iituem: Helga produces a small, wax-sealed jug from under the table and passes it, unopened, to Mavi.  "Always thinking of you, my love.  Who would manage the castle paranoia without you?  Serious contenders are starting to show up, finally.  No doubt you had a word or two with my latest meeting.  Orzo tells me we're expecting an archmage and a grandmaster to throw their hat in as well?"
[7:19 PM] Tack: Mavi coughs "If the grandmaster ran for king, we'd all be burned. Having an Archmage sit the throne would already be a lot of power in one pocket."
[7:22 PM] Tack: Mavi runs his thumb around the rim of the seal, inspects it, digs a thumbnail into the wax and unseals it. Pops the cork, gives it a cursory sniff before pouring some water over one hand.
He inspects it with a critical eye before wiping it on his trousers, brings the bottle to his lips and meets Helga's eyes.
"I'm not paranoid".
[7:23 PM] Iituem: With a glint in her eye, Helga nods to the wine and says "Shame. The antidote is not bad tasting either."
[7:25 PM] Iituem: "But casual assassination of my friends notwithstanding, neither of those options are particularly... satisfying to members of the old guard such as ourselves.  The boy with the blade seems to have had Constantine's ear, perhaps."
[7:26 PM] Tack: "Hmm. I saw them walking in together. Didn't take him for anything other than a squire at the time."
[7:27 PM] Tack: "So I guess the question is, do you like him because he's special, or because he's controllable?"
[7:29 PM] Iituem: Helga taps her fingers on the table.  "I'm not sure I do like him, entirely.  He's a wildcard.  The blade's real, if you were wondering.  Haven't seen a runeblade that intricate or intact since Luowin's greatfather.  But you might have heard about his mission.  Could be as bad as the grandmaster if it went wrong, classical 'bring the kingdom back to the days of holy righteousness' angle."
[7:30 PM] Iituem: "He's passing a fable about the blade being a divine gift.  My thought is, heirloom.  I reckon he's a by-blow, or a by-blow's son, and that pretty little letter opener is a legacy weapon, passed down until he ended up with it - but the mystic origin plays better."
[7:36 PM] Tack: "If the blade isn't real then we're in less trouble. Not hard to see who Pyoraxis would choose between his own Archmage and a stranger with a sword and a big lie."
"If the sword and the story are rock solid, then the church will be forced to follow him, and that's a great sell for the masses. Uncertainty... that could be a problem."
[7:40 PM] Iituem: "Short of a solid candidate from the nobility showing up, the boy might still be our best bet.  Both the archmage and grandmaster risk bringing outside influence into the court in a way that will tilt power away from the kingdom.  The outsider only has the alliances we can offer him, putting him solidly in our debt if he takes the throne.  We should still consider other candidates; if you and I actually managed to align on something for once, this race might well be fixed to a stable outcome."
[7:50 PM] Tack: "The Archmage is landed at least... he knows politics, if for the wrong reasons. The commoner... I'd be surprised he knows the first thing about the court. Chances are he will say the wrong thing to the right lord and be dead within a month." Mavi looks dejected.
"Other candidates? Not a promising avenue. Young Falbrand would be a wonderful pick, if we wanted war with Rittan. That and the boy won't move until everyone else has laid down their hand, which could be too late."
"Silfverstolpe, if he ever makes it here... well, his excesses are pretty widely known. I hate to say it, but unless one of the far counts decides to poke their head in, we might be at an impasse."
[7:55 PM] Iituem: "I could handle a carouser, if Silfverstolpe turned up.  He'd certainly have the best claim, and so long as we kept him busy with boys, women and wine we could actually get things done.  Falbrand would need a lot to make him desireable.  I would need more incentive to build that case, but it's not out of consideration.  It's a bad hand, you old cur."
[7:57 PM] Iituem: "Well, enough moping.  The swordbearer is currently a soft first in my eyes.  Silfverstolpe is a soft second, since he hasn't actually declared for himself.  I need a damn good reason to suport Falbrand beyond him just being a competent ruler - he lacks the clout of a landed ruler and the aura of romance of sword boy.  I think we can both agree that Luwald is our least favourite choice."
[7:58 PM] Iituem: "So that's... four horses worthy of note in the race."
[8:10 PM] Tack: "And just by betting we change the odds. Grand." Mavi stands, stretching his back. "I should go before someone wanders in and catches me seated in your presence like some highborn."
He gives a smile "Oh, and please don't go breaking the arms on my serving boys. Kids these days will try anything to weasel their way out of work."
[8:11 PM] Iituem: "Me?  I haven't broken a single arm.  Orzo just likes the sound of snapping.  Well, enjoy the rest of your day.  I'm sure we both have plenty to do."
[8:13 PM] Tack: Mavi gives a rueful look "Don't we both. I'm off to have a word with sword boy. If I come back spouting some bullshit about Ilos, you have my express permission to kill me in my sleep."
[8:15 PM] Tack: Mavi meanders outside, pushing a goblet of wine to Orzo outside the door. "Finish that off for me, would you?"
[8:15 PM] Iituem: Orzo nods, takes the wine, and then calmly empties it into a nearby plant pot before returning to his duty.

Just outside the door, Mavi is greeted by a huffing guard reporting something about a northerner demanding entry to the castle. He calls over a nearby servant and informs them,with a despairing look at Orzo, of the need to replace one of the potted plants.
Then, with a belaboured roll of his eyes, he trots off to the gate.

[Ghazkull]

The Northerner at the gate had been trotting up and down before the guards like a caged tiger, his restless wandering making even them nervous. Relief painted their faces when their master arrived.

Domnall stopped immediately once the newcomer arrived and fixed him with an appraising look.
Yer the one in charge?

[Tack]

Mavi steps outside, flanked by another two guards gathered from somewhere within.
"Of this lot? Apparently. We're working out the details. You are seeking entry?"

[Ghazkull]

Dimissing the guards as unimportant folks Domnall now fixes his gaze entirely upon Mavi.

Aye, i am looking for a man. A man with a peculiar sword, about yay high

at this he holds out his hand and indicates the exact same size of the man known as Falsknafn

He might go by an assumed name, i've been tracking the feller for the past gods know how many months.

[Tack]

"Rumor is he's here, if the sword is as peculiar as you say."
He sits on a step to the side, the guards still not yet lowering their spears. "Cheese?"

[Ghazkull]

The man looks at the cheese suspiciously for a moment.

Thanks.

then he takes the offered cheese and begins eating it. For a northern babarian his "table manners" are suprisingly sophisticated.
Taking a Knife from his belt he carefully starts cutting away the crust, making a neat little heap before starting to work on the cheese which he cuts into bite-sized squares.
Only then does he begin to eat, making sure to not speak with a full mouth.

Assuming the man is here, i presume he would have wasted no time showing off said sword?

Saying that he pulls a flask of something from his belt and offers it to Mavi.

[Tack]

Mavi, holding a chunk of cheese in the other hand and eating it far less delicately takes the flask, gives it a sniff, and raises an eyebrow "That I know little of. A southern Knight might have seen it, possibly a northern countess. Is it dangerous?"
It's not clear whether he's speaking of the sword or the drink.