Mirrored from Sythyry.
Jagraton and Wentalilla are a semi-matched pair of Rassimel. Jagraton is male, tall, and very dark-furred — he uses a sort of blue-black fur dye, according to Phaniet’s nose. Wentalilla is squirrel-styled. They both wear black leather armor, carry a tiny arsenal of weaponry (rapier, parrying dagger, throwing knives, buckler, staff) and of bound spells (heavy on the Cure the Awful Wound and Spirit Reunion end of things), and a few actual enchanted items (a wand that creates walls of wood, a device to teleport someone to a safe place).
They affect an aura of menace. When they speak, the very tone of their words hints that they are inexorable powers, more important than you and far more dangerous. This would work much better if we hadn’t spent so much of the last few months dealing with pirates, gods, Locador demons, wizards, accountants, evil high priests, nendrai, and other such dangers.
I disliked them instantly.
Jagraton: “Captain Sythyry. We’re Jagraton and Wentalilla, bodyguards to Prince Rastomil. We’re here to improve your security arrangements.”
Me: “Ah, excellent. The lightning spirits should go over there; the hurler of small mountains in the left spire; the incendiary disintegrator in the right. The force field generator should be placed by the bridge, where I can install it myself.” They had not brought any such things, of course.
Jagraton: “We’re not here for nonsense.”
Me: “Can you be sure of that? Would you know if you were?”
Jagraton: “Let’s start again. You are captain of this skyboat, are you not?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sure that any of the blue-feathered Zi Ri you see around could do that job.”
Jagraton: “If you are not Captain Sythyry, please be so efficient as to direct me to zir.”
Me: “Zi Ri are not generally concerned with efficiency, especially where busybody minions are concerned.”
Jagraton: “Fine. We’ll take it as read that you are Sythyry. Now, for the prince’s quarters, we’re going to need your largest suite of rooms, of course.”
Me: “Oh, dearie. My largest suite? Really?”
Jagraton: “This is the prince of Barency we’re talking about.”
Me: “It’s the sixth-from-the-top prince. Pretty minor.”
Jagraton: “He is the prince. Further considerations are irrelevant. He outranks everyone aboard the vessel.”
Me: “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘outranks’ exactly. Still, he can have the largest suite, if he wants it. Are you planning to bring the whole population of Barency along?”
Jagraton: “Whole population…? What? We’ll have no more of your nonsense!”
Me: “My nonsense is more sensible than your sense. My biggest suite could adequately house several tens of thousands of people. Strayway is an extremely large skyboat, on the inside. Is that the suite you want? You’re welcome to it.”
Jagraton: “… We’ll take your best suite for a dozen people.”
Me: “You’ll take the third suite off that corridor. Or one that’s two miles off yonder, if you keep annoying me. Your call.”
Jagraton: “There had better be only one door into it, or we’ll have to block off all but one, for better safety…”
Me: “Just precisely what are you worried about? The nendrai? The Locador demon? The Mircannis angels? Me? And which of these do you think will be stopped by the bulkheads of Strayway, which, while elegant and well-carved and modestly magical, are not in the slightest designed for defense?”
Jagraton: “No monster will be permitted to trouble the Prince.”
Me: “Well, nothing short of city walls will keep the nendrai out if she wants in — and even city walls will only do so much. I don’t have any good way to keep the Locador demon out if he wants in, even including city walls.”
Jagraton: “That is not acceptable!”
Me: “If you don’t like the Strayway for him, he can stay home. I don’t actually need to bring your silly little prince along. “
Prince Rastomil:[coming around the corridor] “I’m a silly little prince, then?”
Awkwardness ensued — a short but intense awkwardness, rather full of apologies, after which I flew off with an unbecoming alacrity.