[Suzerain of Sheol]

ASTRA: Knowledge (History) 1d20+18 = 24

The Vale of Myrshal looked absolutely nothing like she'd imagined it would.

Weeks on the southern sea had conditioned Astra to whipping winds lacing her skin with brine, the sun in its endlessly-cloudless vigil somehow at once chill and oppressive in the way it rendered her hair to tinder. A miracle that Cecily hadn't burned her bald with an errant spark before they'd reached port. She'd requested the girl wait on deck during the interview, for reasons that would be obvious to anyone who'd ever met the excitable mage. Not that she wasn't questioning her choice of escort as it was...

Dannaphine of the Evanescent Wood - which no one besides Astra ever called her - was an odd sight even back home in Ferian Dranse, where elves were hardly a rare sight on any given market morning, but here in Myrshal the woman toward near a foot over the locals, only the tallest men even coming level with Astra's eyes near six inches lower.

They drew stares from everyone they passed, though there seemed to be some reservation in them - keeping distance, averting their eyes when she'd glance their way - that the comandress dearly hoped wasn't fear. She'd be putting weapons in those cautious hands on the morrow, assuming the interview went well. Peasant conscripts were one thing, but terrified pacifists weren't exactly going to conquer a continent, no matter how brilliant her strategies might be.

ASTRA: Knowledge (Engineering) 1d20+5 = 6. Critical Failure.

It truly was beautiful here, though, the lush grass stretching across the rolling hills leading up to the keep, the countryside adorned with weeping cherry trees stirred in the afternoon breeze. No salt clogging her pores, here.

Running an idle hand through her hair to test if her most recent wash had restored any life to it, Astra found herself uncharacteristically daydreaming, lost in thought as they reach the outer rampart, only coming back to her senses when a robed figure emerged from the keep to escort them.

When was the last time I even ate...? Focus, damn it, at least for a little while longer.

"You're finally here," the robed man announced. My lord has thought of little else since he sent for you. I am Karamas, his diviner. Please, follow me."

His hair is so shiny... maybe I can ask where he buys his oil from. That would definitely help.

Led at a brisk pace, Astra barely had any chance to take in the keep's furnishings; she was impressed, though, by how clean everything was, the dark wood of the stairs they climbed polished to a smooth sheen.

At the top, Karamas led them into a wide audience room where their host was sat on a stately, yet modest, throne, flanked on his right by a glowering beard of a man in segmented armor, and his left a massive, dark-haired woman whose fierce gaze fixed the commandress the moment she entered the hall, perhaps the first soul on these shores not to look away.

ASTRA: Sense Motive 1d20+21 = 30
LORD NOSYA: Bluff 1d20+12 = 28

Lord Nosya was a slight man, effeminate in violet gowns held together by a magnificent silken sash. She could read a keen interest in his eyes, for all he attempted to maintain an air of lordly stoicism. The commandress flashed him a slight smile as she bowed at Karamas' introduction, sweeping her rapier's scabbard aside in perfect decorum and flourishing ever-so-slightly.

"Well, my lord," she said as she straightened. "We're here."