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🕑 Added 2023-05-31 06:15:25 +0000 UTCACT 963161069-26889.24. (M09.D6)(8647 B.C. Hearthfire (September) Third Moon (Third Week) Terdon (Thursday))-Eve-Smith-Silver Prime
Eve stood on the beach of the new port with Third a half step behind her. Work crews were already moving about surveying the land. The aftermath of the titanic final strike had carved a brand-new piece of property from the grasslands.
“Are the contracts signed?” Eve asked Third as her sunglass-shielded eyes roved over the open waters.
“Signed and sealed. This land and everything around has been purchased to your specifications, Strange Lady.” Third, replied. The Faceless, Third, had shapeshifted her features to match the glasses she wore.
The clang of iron and steel rang out behind both women. Eve didn’t spare a glance backward at the rune-forging machinery. Great behemoths of industry were being rolled in on treaded vehicles. The time of wood and sail was ending, and only the steel ships of the Silver Bank would survive.
“Developing the port will be costly. Shall I open the endeavor up to the Directors?” Third, asked.
Eve waved her hand in dismissal and replied, “Contact the Bear. They will bear the cost in exchange for reasonable accommodations.” Third bowed as Eve continued, “Have we made contact with those who live Below?”
Third adjusted her glasses as she said with a smirk, “Indeed. The demonstration of your power has gained us an audience.”
Eve grinned and used Spatial Step to return them both to the Silver Bank. She decided to keep her bright, vibrant white suit and yellow tie as she glanced at the bank. A shaft of silver moonlight streaked across the cobblestone path leading to the opulent hall of the Silver Bank, a monumental structure glinting with an otherworldly glow. It was an edifice of crystalline elegance, the exterior carved from the iridescent, shimmering hearthstone - a mineral prized by the world's wealthiest and only found in the deepest veins of the Northfang Mountains. Here, in the heart of the city of Braavos, the representatives of the Dwarven clans had journeyed from their subterranean homes deep within the bowels of the earth to meet with the enigmatic Bankers of the Silver Bank.
Eve accepted a leather portfolio from Third detailing the arrangements made.
The dwarven contingent was led by Balgor Ironheart, a grizzled veteran with a long, intricately braided beard that bore the weight of countless gemstones, each symbolizing a victory or milestone of his lineage, one of the finest and most powerful of their clans. With his trusted advisers - Ygrid Flinteye, master of Dwarven economics, and Borgil Runescribe, the preeminent scholar of arcane lore - at his side, Balgor's determination was as unyielding as the very bedrock of the mountains that bore his people.
Eve could tell from the pictures alone, carved of light magic. These were heavyweights. Stretching her senses, she teleported herself and Third to the grand hall. The entire hall was well-designed to showcase luxury and power. Glancing at the entrance, Eve witnessed the dwarves entering.
Upon entering the grand hall, the Dwarves were met with an overwhelming sight. The interior was unlike anything their race had ever crafted, brimming with lofty archways, gleaming pillars, and magical frescoes that seemed to dance and sway. At the end of the hall stood a raised dais where three figures clad in shimmering silver robes awaited their arrival. They were the three elders, representatives of the Silver Bank.
“Who put those stuffy coots in charge of this?” Eve muttered as she promptly removed the three elders with a finger snap. A quick substitution of Eve, Third, and Lyessa replaced the elders.
The dwarves didn’t even blink at the magical shenanigans. Only a slight widening of the Runescribe’s eyes denoted any surprise.
With a stiff bow of acknowledgment from Balgor, the meeting was underway. The echoing hall fell into an uncanny silence, broken only by the occasional metallic clink from the heavy adornments in Balgor's beard. Eve had made sure the chairs were accommodating for the shorter guests.
"We, the dwarves of the Ironheart clan, have traveled far and endured much," Balgor began, his voice rough as gravel yet carrying an undeniable aura of command. "We seek to establish relations with your esteemed institution, the Silver Bank."
Eve watched the spokes-dwarf with a glint in her eyes. Removing her sunglasses, she let them collapse into dust. “Winter is coming.” Waving her hand, she conjured an image that filled the table with a holographic light projection.
“Winter is coming, as above, so below,” Eve said. The holographic images demonstrated surface cities being overrun with dead. “You know, once the surface is lost, the only path forward for them is down.”
Third, who had shifted into an ageless elf with silver hair cascading down her shoulders, smiled serenely. "We are aware of your proposal, Balgor Ironheart. Our scouts have informed us of the vast mithril veins discovered in your territories."
Lyessa, who had shifted into an impeccably dressed gnome with sharp, calculating eyes, leaned forward, resting her chin on steepled fingers. "We always must ensure the safety of our investments. As much as your people are famed for their mining prowess, Dwarves are equally known for their... stubbornness and isolation. We would find it hard to go Below and collect, after all."
A moment of tense silence followed his words. Borgil quickly whispered something in Dwarven to Balgor, whose eyes flashed with irritation. Yet, after a moment, the clan leader gave a terse nod of understanding.
"You have your conditions, and we have ours," Balgor said firmly, eyeing each on the Silver Bank’s side. "We shall respect your traditions if you respect ours. We seek a partnership of resources."
Ygrid stepped forward, spreading a parchment detailing the proposed terms. Eve and the others listened attentively as the dwarven woman discussed the specifics, a heated negotiation ensuing. The talks continued late into the night, filled with sharp arguments, fierce debates, and, occasionally, begrudging agreements.
Eve was not above using the underhanded tactic of alcohol to get her way.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, a compromise was reached. Everyone nodded in agreement, seemingly pleased with the revised terms. The windows of the great hall reflected the invasion of sunlight after the final agreements were forged.
"We believe a mutual understanding has been achieved," stated Eve her calm tone a stark contrast to the heated discussion that had just transpired. "We will accept your terms, Balgor Ironheart, and extend our trust and resources to your people. In exchange, you will help me build a Wall. One that will keep all our people safe from those that walk in winter."
A sigh of relief swept through the Dwarven delegation. Balgor's stern expression softened, and he gave a satisfied nod. "We accept your trust and will honor our agreement."
With the gnome Lyessa’s pen smoothly moving over the parchment, the contract was sealed under the soft, silvery glow of the hall. As the two parties shook hands, the dwarven representatives couldn't help but notice the twinkling eyes of Eve. It was a knowing gaze that held not only the anticipation of wealth but the exciting certainty of success. As much as this agreement was a victory for the Dwarves, it was also a victory for the Silver Bank.
After all, no Builder from the race of Man has the training to do better in this Age. Eve thought to herself.
The meeting was concluded with a rustling of robes and a chorus of formal farewells. The dwarves exited the hall, their footsteps echoing under the archways. As the Silver Bank's grand doors closed behind them, Eve looked down from a window on the higher floors, her eyes reflecting the radiant glow of the hearthstone building. Magical mining was good for something, after all. She had shifted the other two up to watch the dwarves leave.
Eve knew, for the Dwarves, it was not just a new beginning in the economic sense. It was a step towards breaking away from centuries of isolation and a move towards diplomatic growth. The Dwarves of the Ironheart clan and the Silver Bank had not just formed a mere business arrangement; they had created an institution to connect those Above with those Below.
“Do I dare ask what is going on?” Lyessa said, shifting back into her more comfortable half-human-half-elf form. The sound didn't carry far within the Strange Lady, Eve’s private chambers.
“The Mistress was connecting us with an unprecedented wholesaler of magical metal.” Third said, shrugging in her Arch-banker robes. A flicker of willpower shifted the clothing into a three-piece banker’s suit.
Eve nodded as the dwarves vanished within the streets of Braavos. “The dwarves have access to incredible and vast sums of wealth and the industry to work them. Their metalcraft is beyond compare. The problem is, most of their race prefers isolation.”
“Why?” Lyessa asked, confused.
“Would you like to visit Winterhold?” Eve asked as she turned to face the younger woman.
“That place isn’t even a city by Braavosi standards!” Lyessa said with annoyance.
Eve and Third exchanged a knowing glance. “Exactly. That’s precisely what the dwarves think of surface races.”
Lyessa gaped like a floundering fish before she managed to say, “The shorties think we are uncivilized? He had iron charms and gems woven in his beard! His beard!”
“Each marked an enemy defeated, an agreement forged, or an Art mastered,” Eve said seriously. “From what I could see alone, he is a weapon master of at least eight, has forged ten masterwork items, and killed three enemies to extinction.”
“You read that from his beard?!” Lyessa said, her expression still stuck in shock. She didn’t seem to be taking the dwarven beards well.
“Indeed. His very thick, long, hard-woven beard.” Third, said with an eye wiggle.
“The ocean isn’t far from here,” Eve said, raising her fingers in a snap position.
“Ah, look at the time. I need to go balance the accounts.” Third said, dragging Lyessa, who was still mumbling off with her.
Eve let her escape as she looked out the window. Civilization, in all its glorious squalor, moved in the streets below. Turning away from the view, she used Spatial Step to move to the top of a volcanic mountain chain.
A shimmering light flame coalesced into the humanoid figure of R’hllor, the Lord of Light. Eve’s silver eyes studied the figure of mana, comparing it to the Drowned God. There were inescapable similarities between both creatures. They must both come from the same or similar Plane of existence. It would make sense, being they are both bound like me, meaning they are from Outside the world. Eve shelved her musing as she said, “I’ve taken care of the pests. Do you agree with my request for repayment?”
R'hllor blazed with inner light a beacon brighter than the sun, but Eve was undeterred. Finally, the figure of light said, “Seven eggs for Seven pests.”
Eve smiled a wide brilliant smile and replied, “I swear only to harvest their mana, not their lives. Witness?”
“Witnessed by this, Naf.” The Summer Fae said, flickering in and then out of existence.
“Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, I have a proposition more in line with your needs,” Eve said, pulling a seed out of Storage.
R’hllor examined the seed before asking, “Payment?”
Eve grinned widely before pulling a silver-bound leather book into her other hand. “I have here a description of Light from my library. As you are aware, the Drowned God has recently made significant advances…” She didn’t miss the flicker of interest at the name of the Lord of Light’s primary adversary. Just like it was hard for the ocean's depths to invade the land, the same held for the light of the surface to breach the depths.
“All I need do is assist in growth?” R’hllor asked, looking at the seed.
“Indeed. Once it is fully grown, it will take care of itself. If it were planted in Valyrian soil, it would prevent the Fourteen from throwing tantrums.” Eve said, sowing a seed of discord.
R’hllor might get along with the female spirits of fire, but he considered them far beneath his blazing flames. To that end, something that would curb their arrogance was highly desirable.
When both the tome and seed vanished from her hands, Eve bowed low, concealing a smirk. Without further words, she vanished from the volcanic mountains appearing once more in the Silver Bank’s vaults.
“Soon, I will solve the Walking Winter, and then my harvest can begin,” Eve whispered to the surrounding silver-runed bank walls.
