Citadel.

[Erik Mortis]

Caleb Fehn watched the tall foreigner approach up the steps to the government building used for such affairs. Another outsider from the 'Empire' to make demands no doubt. Even in his mind the word was in quotations. It wasn't his empire, nor that of his forebears. It was someone else's empire. All those wars, thrones, conflicts and feuds. Always the problem of someone else. Oh, it wasn't that an army wouldn't try to breach the city from time to time. It wasn't that they weren't required to pay tribute to this empire. It was just that no army had ever taken the city, not the real city at least, and the tribute was never paid. Yet, for some reason, this man was here, surely to demand tribute, or some other foolishness. The man made the top step, short of breath due to the thinness of air at this height.

"Beautiful city you have here good sir. I am Lars Mercador, Special Representative of House Mortis, and his Lord the Duke Mortis." The man waited for a responce....

...When none was offered he continued, slightly unbalanced. "..ah..I am here on the behest of my Lord Duke to enter into negotiations with your city for its eventual incorporation into House Mortis. As you know, in the decades since the fall of Goldenbrook, no noble of note has claimed these lands, once held by my lord's family. "

Caleb spoke slowly. "I am aware of the claims made Your Lord. And I am aware of the history of the surrounding regions. But you should be aware that we have no interest in the wishes of your house, nor of the claims it makes upon our city. " Words came out calm and monotone, yet had an icy bite to them.

"...ahhh. Yes. " Lars was not expecting such blatant refusal to accept the rule of House Mortis. It was unthinkable! To him. "Perhaps I have not made myself understand, I am sorry. The Duke has instructed me to look to the incorporation of Caverden into the lands of House Mortis, to be developed and opened to the interests of the House. We have already secured the cooperation of the county at large. Being the old capital of this region, it would be most beneficial for all that your city cooperate in the coming times. "

"Representative Mercador, I am well aware of the intentions of your House, and of its so called negotiations with the lesser cities of Caverden, and we deign to have no part in any of it. Frankly, we have no interest in the affairs of your House, and of the Empire it is part of. "

"You are in this empire too..." Lars broke in.

"So you may claim. But I will not trifle with you on this matter. Return to your lord, tell him we will not bow to his demands, or his requests, as we have never bowed to any before him. Now leave this city. This conversation is over." At this Caleb simply walked away. Lars made to continue the conversation and moved to pursue the man, but was blocked by a guards hard stare. And the glistening sword didn't help matters either.

Before he entered the building and exited sight of Lars, Caleb turned and addressed the man. "You may claim Caverden, but you will never claim this city. Even should you bring an army to this mountain, or crush these building to rubble, this city and it's people will remain unattainable to you." Lars was confused and enraged.

Caleb hated dealing with outsiders, they always left a foul taste in his mouth. It tasted of cold biting air, thin and meaningless. Yet, what should one expect from those that were so young, and lived such short, meaningless lives.

Besides, what could they do to his people, few outsiders knew the true strength of Citadel. Few outsiders knew that the true city of Citadel was not actually on top of this mountain...but below it.

[Erik Mortis]

Caleb Fehn looked up, Marcel Alisandre entered the room, his dark robe billowed slightly, revealing the hint of a thin man's skin, and the glint of metal. Marcel was one of the few 'tall' inhabitants of Citadel, not that most outside the city would consider him tall at only 5 foot 11 inches. But this was to the people of Citadel the mark of a tall man by several inches. Many attributed his height to the fact his family did not originate from the first colonists of the city. People who colonized the mountain before the time of even Raynor, when the mighty Chaz Modan Empire ruled the coasts and islands far to the south.

"The last sled of the evening is leaving soon Caleb. Are you coming down tonight?" Marcel's voice was calm, with an almost tin-like quality to it. It was not the voice of a child by any respect, it had the deep baritones of a man's voice, but there was always the reminder of the sound of a recording that had been digitized, with the upper frequencies artificially lowered.

"Oh, yes. I was just finishing up my report to the council concerning my meeting today with the House Representative. You know how they like both accuracy and precision in their reports." He set his pen down next to the ink well on his desk. "Finished. Let us depart."

The two men left through a side door into a passage under the street, most proper exits from buildings were of this manner in Citadel. They walked along the bustling passage until they reached the sled station. A woman's voice announced the loading of the final sled for the evening down into the old city.
Marcel and Caleb walked to the end of a platform and walking into a metal cabin, devoid of windows. The passengers were standing in rows of cubicles, strapping themselves in. Attendants would come round and assist where needed, and when all passengers were situationed, themselves strapped in. With a ding a red light came on overhead and the passengers found themselves lifted off the ground and rotated to face the floor at a slight angle. None complained, or found this the least bit strange. This was transit.
With a second light and soft chime, a voice broke over the intercom. "The sled is now in motion, please enjoy your journey with us this evening, and thank you for traveling with us." With a blue light now, the sled was now in motion, at first slowly as the brake began to release, then free-fall. The passengers, pushed by the force of one G, relaxed into their cubicles. Many chatted with each other, a few read books and magazines they had with them. Caleb closed his eyes and day-dreamed, as was his habit. He always wished he could have a personal sled down to the lower city, but those were reserved for council members and a few other important officials.

After several minutes, a yellow light came on, and there was the distinct feeling of deceleration, the passengers felt themselves being pulled toward the floor, ever so slightly, and the cubicles righted themselves. As the gravity sled came to a halt, the red lights went off and were replaced with a green one. An announcement pronounced their arrival in the south Sled Station of old Citadel. Marcel and Caleb disembarked with the other passengers.

[Kaiser B'caw I]

(*Approves greatly of underground cities*)