The person who WANTS power, should never be allowed near it. The person who does not wish for power, but is able to think clearly and is fair, those are the leaders we need. -- Anon Guest
Berthora Marcatrude Aregund Lunjevica, Seventh Matroness of the Eastmount Olikents was right about one thing. They actually did have a noble-born sweeping the streets. Well. Courtyard. Wraithvine had been watching the fellow in Whitekeep livery for some time. Trying to judge the situation on available information.
She had said that Whitekeep "just let those filthy Hellkin wander about unfettered," and claimed that the entire mountain was overrun with them. Certainly, they were more likely to turn up in a crowd, and certainly nobody was chained according to the first laws of the realm... but it was merely a case of the normally reviled being permitted to live. They were considered lucky by the majority of the population, here.
The fellow under Wraithvine's scrutiny was wearing red velvet and crisp, white linen. There was fine hose and gleaming shoes in the ensemble. As well as, attached to his upright horns, a headpiece of gold and gemstones. Fixed there by clever artifice, not burned in like the wedding band. The broom was nothing special. It was like any other broom in any household anywhere in Alfarell. Except this one was piloted meditatively by a blue devil made flesh. He wore his hair in Elven braids that denoted his happy marriage, three children, and perhaps a nod to his station.
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