The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

Illyana had not expected things to be easy when she got to Sentinel, but she hadn't expected the process of meeting Archchancellor Velasco to be such a chore either. Days blended into each other as she was given correspondences, and meetings with a myriad of middle men who all smiled politely, shrugged, and informed her in a number of different ways that Velasco was simply far too busy to meet her in person.

This is a multiversal experience shared among anyone who has ever had to deal with government servants for any reason, ever, across the entire breadth of time and space.

But Illyana was a determined woman. Stubbornness was a common trait among elves, after all. And she met with these middle men, continuing to push and request meetings, ignoring any attempts to placate her.

The frustration was hardly pleasant to endure. Particularly when the civil servants would smile and say she was simply mistaken whenever she tried to spin her tale of smart goblins. It strained Illyana's patience to the breaking point, resisting the urge to beat anyone who tried to tell her she was imagining things to a pulp.

In the evenings, to support herself, she did security work at the local taverns and smokehouses. It did little to boost her Adventurer's Guild rank, but it was better than nothing.

She stalked the stark white corridors of the Obelisk, adorned in a long red coat, black trousers, and riding boots. She had gotten her armour repaired soon after arriving in Sentinel, but wearing full plate to these meetings was not the... done thing. At least humans and elves were alike in their sense of proper decorum.

By now, a few of the workers were familiar with Illyana's presence. Many of them gave her a wide berth, fearful to even meet her eyes. But a few, at least, tried to greet her in passing.

"Ah, Lady Illyana," one man, a slim and dark-skinned man with faint points on the top of his ears greeted. "Here for another meeting, I suppose?"

"Naturally," Illyana replied, giving him a curt nod, stopping briefly beside a ceremonial suit of armour.

He winced, glancing up and down the corridor. "I admire your resolve but... this isn't going to work. With how busy Archchancellor Velasco is? I don't give you good odds of ever getting a meeting. Least of all with the... subject matter you're trying to broach to him."

She gave him a flat stare, the steel of her gaze making him cringe away from her. "Unlike some people, I'm not willing to bury my head in the sand about this."

"Y-yes well, be careful," he replied, taking a cautious step back as Illyana strode away from him. "I don't think the archchancellor would appreciate any rabble rousing."

Illyana smiled, her back to the man. "Good to know," she replied. Varis was currently hard at work speaking to refugees who had arrived in Sentinel after goblin attacks. One by one, she was assembling a crowd of people who understood exactly the kind of threat lurking in the shadow of Arcadia.

If rabble rousing was what it took, she'd raise so much rabble that even the ancestor spirits would have to listen.

The elf wound her way up several flights of stairs, passing several guards who watched her warily. They too were familiar with her by now, but held their tongues in her presence. The elf wasn't just some ordinarily civilian who could be pushed around without consequence. Even without her sword and armour, she radiated power and confidence.

Her path brought her to an office on the fifth level of the tower, where many civil servants had their own offices, tending to concerns and queries as they came in from citizens, and politicians from Sentinel and beyond. Her route was only briefly interrupted by the sight of a gorilla in a finely tailored cloak getting into a heated argument with a cringing worker.

Sentinel was an odd place.

The office of Garland Auldflower was rife with the pungent smell of herbal smoke, and the gnome was idly puffing on an ornate ivory pipe as Illyana entered. Another woman stood beside her, adorned in sleek white robes and a veil that concealed the bottom half of her face. A healer, Illyana instantly knew.

"Fine morning to you, Lady Illyana," Garland murmured, flicking a braid of silver hair off her right shoulder. Dressed sharply, the elderly gnome carried herself with more confidence than other civil servants. He puffed at her pipe, watching the elf with sparkling green eyes. "It's been a few days."

"Yes, so it has. And you could have spared yourself another meeting if you simply gave me a direct meeting with Velasco." She took a seat across from the gnome, who scoffed and tilted her head.

"Honestly. You come in here with your fanciful tales of smart goblins, and expect to simply be brought directly to the leader of the kingdom? I can commend you for your drive, but your arrogance is truly..." She raised the pipe from her lips and idly twirled it around. "... elvish."

Illyana narrowed her eyes. "I should hope you're not letting ancient racial tensions dictate your actions." Gnomes had nowhere near the long lifespan of elves, where eighty years was ancient by gnomish standards. Yet they could hold grudges that lasted centuries, and spanned several generations.

"Perish the thought!" Garland replied, chortling. "Here in Arcadia, we're all human after a fashion. At least, so long as we're in a human country."

She took another puff, but something seemed to make her lurch in her seat. She wheezed, sagged forward, and began vigorously coughing. Illyana recoiled into her own chair at the sight of darkened blood oozing from the corners of her mouth. The healer, at that moment, pressed a hand to her back. A warm white glow enveloped the two, bathing the room in its radiance, and Garland was breathing easy again by the time the healer withdrew.

"Languorweed. You really should give that stuff up. Does dreadful things to your lungs," Illyana noted.

Grunting, Garland set her pipe on the table. "Yes, well, we all have our vices. Yours appears to be an obsession with being a public nuisance."

"Well, I can spare you the nuisance part if you simply... do your duty and push forward a meeting with Velasco."

"Do you honestly think Archchancellor Velasco has nothing better to do than sit there, and listen to your flights of fancy?" Garland asked. Her healer shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"If he keeps pretending the problem doesn't exist, then he'll soon be a very busy man indeed. I was there at Glain. I saw what those creatures are capable of."

Garland waved her off, the wood of her chair creaking under her modest weight from the movement. "An aberration, I assure you. Goblins who ended up being equipped by another criminal gang."

"And the fact that one of the goblins spoke to me? And plainly telling me the intentions of his kin?" Illyana asked.

"A hallucination on your part, I'd reckon. Goblins don't speak common. They can scarcely speak their own gutter language for that matter."

Illyana clenched her jaw tight. As if her own ears had betrayed her. "What are you people so afraid of? That you'll catch fire if you admit the truth?"

"We live in a tense time, Lady Illyana." Garland propped her elbows on the desk and netted her wrinkled finger together. "Crime is rampant in the rural regions, we have mounting tension with Eldergard... To say nothing of the Brotherhoood remnants trying to undermine Velasco. So, being frank, we don't need people riling the citizens up with tall tales of smart goblins."

Illyana sneered and leaned forward. "Oh if you think people are riled up now, see what happens if you ignore the problem."

"You can't ignore a problem that doesn't exist," she replied, smiling smugly. "All you're doing is wasting my time and yours. So I'd advise you to develop some common sense and-"

Illyana grabbed her by the collar in an instant, lifting her from her seat. Garland gasped, stunted legs kicking futilely at thin air. "You forget yourself, my good woman," the elf growled. She darted a glance to the healer, who was fretting and fidgeting, too scared to move from where she stood. "You're a good healer, I take it?" she asked.

"I-... Y-yes, a trained disciple of the Goddess."

"Ah. Good. Then you'll be able to help Lady Auldflower if I snap her bones one by one."

The gnome paled. "Y-you wouldn't dare!" she gasped, continuing to writhe and wriggle in Illyana's unyielding grasp.

Illyana wouldn't, normally, threaten a person who couldn't really defend themselves. But she had hit her limit when it came to snide civil servants at this point. It was one thing for them to shrug helplessly and say there was nothing they could do. It was another thing entirely to have the audacity to mock her when a crisis was lurking in the shadows. She'd spent enough time being looked down on by her family, but she'd be damned if she let a stranger get away with it.

Maybe she'd feel bad about it later, but that thought was dim and distant in the back of her mind.

"If we're talking common sense, my friend, then I'd advise you to think twice before mocking someone who had a fistfight with an ogre and won earlier this month." She dropped Garland unceremoniously into her chair, nearly bowling over over in the process. Hurting her wouldn't accomplish anything. But putting the fear of death into her did give Illyana some satisfaction.

"And if you're unwilling to do your job and help me... fine. I'm going to get Velasco to take notice of the situation one way or another..." She spun on her heel and strode to the door. "Even if that means causing some ruffled feathers in doing so. Just you wait."

She heard the gnome hissing and cursing after her by the time she passed through the doorframe. "You wretched Bleakborn knife-eared bitch! So help me, if I ever see you in my office again, I'll have you sent straight to the chopping block! Don't think I won't!"

And then she tumbled into a lengthy fit of coughing.