<div class="floatleft">(https://pro2-bar-s3-cdn-cf6.myportfolio.com/acfc487f628999a8d795fd4e0bac95b4/7144f155-86a7-460e-be3c-29249aa92920_rw_1920.jpg?h=751cf9fdab3ea959a3579c38026e854e)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Valerian Izyumov  (http://url=https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324631.msg15584949#msg15584949)<br/><strong>Timeline:</strong>Week six to seven<br/><strong>Where:</strong>Petitioner’s Wing<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Round 7: story post and future plans.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Shanira Treyan (mentioned), various NPCs.<br/><hr/><br/>Under the leadership of King Fred, there had been vibrant springs and glorious, brazens summers. Now, the palace was slipping into a figurative autumn beneath Princess Red’s indifferent neglect. There was still life, and there was still glory, but their lingering grace was a mere holdout borrowed from more prosperous seasons. When one looked upon the fading vitality that filled the palace, they too were reminded that a season of hardship was looming just around the corner, its chill hints already in the air.<br/><br/>With measured steps and watchful eyes, Valerian stalked his way through the Petitioner’s Wing of the palace district. The cavernous hall was simultaneously open and claustrophobic in the way of an sprawling forest, with towering columns of marble that rose to the distant ceiling like ancient oaks. There were long corridors of vision between the evenly-spaced monoliths, but it was also impossible to see what was hiding between and behind their imposing bulk. The senses strained, tuned for the slightest clue of what was waiting behind each blind corner. Maybe it would be his quarry. Maybe it would be a predator.<br/><br/>Dappled light fell through the immense stained glass windows, creating the illusion of sunlight on a canopy. Sheafs of paper drifted lazily through the air, or crunched underfoot like autumnal leaves; far above, some clerks were frantically rifling through the archives, carelessly throwing unwanted records over the balcony to the main hall below. A nearby drinking fountain offered the suggestion of sanctuary, and Valerian saw wanderers of all types gathered around its babbling rivulets: weary petitioners awaiting an audience, palace staff seeking a moment’s respite, exhausted stragglers drawn to it by simple thirst. Like any water source, it garnered predators too. A pickpocket circled around between the columns, looking for careless prey gathered by the fountain. A pair of burly guards cornered random visitors to ensure they had filled out all the proper paperwork to visit the Petitioner’s Wing.<br/><br/>The former gave Valerian a silent nod, one prowling fox to another. The latter never got the chance to make eye contact, as Valerian quietly slipped away. Unlike others, he wasn't welcome in the Palace district.<br/><br/>Patience was a powerful tool for both hunter and quarry. An expensive one, given that time was precious to all mortal animals, but worthwhile nonetheless. Valerian knew that his target would be safe in its lair – namely the cloistered office with yet more guards at the door – but he also knew that any creature alive had to venture from its burrow now and then. Valerian waited, and watched. It didn’t take too long for his target to appear. A dishevelled elf was a rare sight indeed, but even at a glance, it was clear that the minister was highly strung. No amount of delicate powder could hide the bags under the minister’s eyes, and the tall-tale lump of a hipflask in the minister’s waistcoat wasn’t nearly as discreet as its owner had hoped. The minister smelled of weakness, which was dangerous in any environment.<br/><br/>The elf surreptitiously slipped down a side corridor, hoping to use an quiet access stairway for a moment of privacy. He was halfway through a long gulp from his hipflask when Valerian drifted up behind him, and loudly cleared his throat.<br/><br/>“Minister Atronis,” Valerian said, speaking over the startled minister’s spluttering. “I have proposal for you to sign. It will recall army, restore order to city. I already have legalist-friend draft up necessary paperwork. You will sign and stamp… today. Now.”<br/><br/>Valerian shoved the document in question into the minister’s hands. Under different circumstances, the elf might’ve refused him point-blank, but Valerian had timed his attack well. Reeling, caught off guard, and cornered, the minister fumbled with the document and, if only to stall for time, ran his eyes over the fine print.<br/><br/>“W-wait a moment. This is… You’re talking about martial law. Martial law! Here! Gods preserve us, this is Hexville! Glorious, whimsical Hexville, not some second-rate dictatorship like Tyrantown!”<br/>“Glorious city is falling apart,” Valerian countered, his tone grim. “This proposal might set things right… or at least, give groundwork to<em>start</em>setting things right.”<br/>“This… this is too much, sir. And besides, the town guard is doing quite well. Have you heard of Officer Treyan? Just the other day, she…”<br/>“There is also Officer Roux, who now answers to freelance privateers instead of legal government. Meanwhile in slums, you have guards defecting to church of Aros. Things are not under control, minister.”<br/>“Well, I… L-look here, I’ll give your suggestion some thought, and after a week or two of due consideration, I’ll think about signing it, but until then…”<br/>“There is nothing to think about! Palace government is bleeding out. Civil unrest spreads like miasma through city. Other day, giant lizard thug try to devour my friends in broad daylight.”<br/>“Erm… sorry, I got the first two metaphors, but I didn’t quite grasp the last one. Does the giant lizard represents financial hardship, or…?”<br/>“What? No! Actual lizard man, named Saurus! Real, non-metaphorical attempted murder in middle of street!”<br/>“Oh. W-well, uh, I can see that it must’ve been a bit unsettling, sir. Even so, I'm sure you and your friends are accustomed to a bit of danger. Besides, I have the interests of an entire city to consider…”<br/>“Minister. Do I need to tell people you are drinking on job?”<br/><br/><hr/>There were gardens beyond the Petitioner’s Wing, but they felt oddly sterile by comparison. Things were slipping inside the palace, with people’s animal nature starting to show… but, paradoxically, the outdoor grounds were simpler to tame. It only took a pair of shears to keep everything squared away, after all. Valerian stomped through the gardens, his expression more weary and resigned than triumphant. He loved his home. He hated that his gambit had even been necessary, and the notion of martial law was no less bitter just because he himself was a soldier.<br/><br/>One of his minions, Vala, was waiting for him at the appointed time and place. She’d been in the process of liberally applying some kind of ointment to her skin as Valerian approached, but she quickly set the bottle aside as he approached.<br/><br/>“Well? Did it work?”<br/>“Document is signed. It will take time for declaration to be passed, and even then it will just be a few small patrols to start off, but… Okay, I have to ask. What are you doing? Is that… sun lotion?”<br/>“What this? No, it elder swamp-toad poison. Don’t worry, it’s only dangerous when ingested.”<br/>“Why on earth are you…”<br/>“In case that damn Saurus tries to eat me again. If I’m going to die in that monster’s gut, I want to take him down with me.”<br/><br/>A reptile on the hunt; prey exuding poison in retaliation. The latter’s cold nihilism sent a shiver ran down Valerian’s spine. Perhaps the palace grounds weren’t such a sterile zone after all. Perhaps, for all the polished marble and perfectly squared hedges that surrounded them, no civilisation ever dragged itself free of the primordial jungle.<br/>