Araille Dockyards

Captain Caleth of the Virtue kept a steady hand on the wheel as she steered her ship into the Capuan port of Araille. “We’ll make landfall in fifteen minutes,” she called over her shoulder to her first mate. “Tell the crew to keep patient and stay aboard until further orders, and get Reelior up here on deck. He’ll come ashore with me.”

“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, giving her the Erynnen salute and heading off, shouting orders to the crew. Caleth turned back towards the docks, surveying the ships. Not much in the way of quality. They’re functional, all right, but they have a lot to learn. Still, they are dwarves, so I suppose I should cut them some slack.

At slightly over five feet, Caleth was not an imposing person. With dark hair cut boyishly short, and a slender figure to match, she looked almost like one of the ship’s boys of the fleet. Still, she was a clever negotiator, and a good choice to be sent away from the Isles for an indeterminate period of time: she was notorious for her lustful nature, and there were more than a few captains at each other’s throats because of it.

Reelior joined her at the wheel as she carefully maneuvered past an outgoing freighter. The shipwright was an older elf, barely taller than Caleth herself, with silvery hair halfway down his back. He surveyed the port with clear eyes, and scoffed. “Dwarven shipping. Pathetic. A child could make a better boat given a few dead trees and two hours.”

“Try not to show that attitude when you’re talking to the leaders of the Marine Nationale,” said Caleth, steadying the wheel. “I’m sure that they’re very proud of their ships.”

“One Erynnen ship could sink the lot of them,” said Reelior confidently, walking towards the rail. “I suppose that’s what Ciltesse wants me to fix.”

“We are being paid a great deal for this,” said Caleth. Even if I am to be cut off from the rest of society for a few months, at the least. Ah well. I’m sure that my crew will enjoy the chance to stay on land for awhile. “Besides, Ciltesse wants to establish good relations with these people.” He had been very insistent about that, and had repeated it several times throughout their conversation. Of course, this was probably more due to Caleth’s lack of paying attention than anything else: she had been more concerned with studying Ciltesse’s chest than hearing about her mission. A nice chest, too…

Reelior chuckled as he noticed Caleth’s dreamy expression. “Thinking about the young High Captain, then? An attractive young man, to be sure. Found your way into his bed yet?”

Caleth scowled at him. “Why is it any of your business?”

“I see that you haven’t,” said Reelior wisely, “or you wouldn’t be so touchy about the subject. But I suppose that it is an inappropriate topic for conversation, especially when you should be concentrating on not ramming that ship ahead of us.”

“Ah, right,” said Caleth quickly veering the wheel to starboard. There was an empty dock at the far end of the harbor, and by the Capuan banners and waiting officials, she assumed it was the dock the Virtue should be bound for. Steering carefully, she brought the boat in to the dock. Her crew stood at the rails, ready to put down the gangplank, but she waved them off. This was politics, and they wouldn’t come ashore until they had been asked to. It wasn’t the way things were done.

"Greetings, sailors of Serasse!" an official called, his volume ceremonial. "We invite you to come ashore!"

As the gangplank was lowered, Admiral Maximilian took note of exactly who was joining his country's less-than-magnificent navy. But hopefully, the people on that boat were here to change all that. The strategic meaning of this was obvious enough; his ships could challenge the Solarians, or any other country, on the high seas, once this was all dealt with, and for that he was willing to deal with any funny-walking, tall-standing foreigner he had to.

Caleth sauntered down the gangplank, her first and second mates flanking her. Reelior and four of his apprentices followed close behind. As they reached the dock, Caleth bared her chest and throat. Her subordinates did likewise, and waited to see how the dwarves would react.

Though Maximilian recognized Caleth's... interesting gesture as a typical salute on the part of these people, his men, most of them having all the diplomatic experience of your average kobold and cultural sensitivity of a circus sideshow executive, recognized it somewhat differently.

Instantly the Admiral, and the guards who had their wits about them, exchanged some awkward looks with the guards who did not have their wits about them, who were silently persuaded to shut the fuck up and get back to standing stoically. Diplomatic incident safely avoided, the Admiral returned to his end of business, trying as hard as he could to avoid looking down. He began to speak.

"Welcome to the Republic, friends," he began, genial. "And greetings from Kuat Yards."

"Greetings from the Isles," replied Caleth, nodding to the dwarf emissary. She stepped aside, allowing Reelior to step forward. "This is our exert shipwright, Reelior, who will be teaching you how to build proper ships."

Reelior nodded to the Admiral, but did not salute. "So you're the commander of the Marine Nationale? You have a lot to learn, son, and I don't intend to stand around talking while we could be getting work done. If you have a place prepared for me and my apprentices, have one of your men show us there so we can begin setting up and leave the pleasantries to Caleth."

Maximilian had expected this Elf to be an old codger, from the tone of Antony's letter. For a moment he considered protest, but, judging that Antony wouldn't approve of it--especially given this condescending roach's strategic value--he had another plan. Sometimes, in politics, you had to bend over backwards. This was one of those times.

"I'm sure we do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. If you're so eager to get down to business, I'll show you to your lodgings," he said, seemingly not annoyed. "Part of the Admiralty Building has been converted for your use."

As the guards moved towards the Admiralty building with Reelior and his apprentices, Caleth drew Maximilian back to talk to him. "I must apologize for the shipwright: he is not accustomed to obeying orders from anyone, even the High Captain. Ciltesse has been far too lax with his authority, and attitudes like Reelior's are the result."

Since her subordinates were safely out of earshot, she had no qualms about venting her frustrations with Ciltesse's rule. It wasn't that he was a bad politician: it was merely that he could use his power better than he currently was, and she knew it.