((This is the central zone for nations and groups to meet and interact through diplomats. Access and messages can be cut off, but anything more then a lone assassin is restricted on the island itself.))

Mathias grumbled to himself as he marched down the marble hallways. As ambassador for the King of the Isles his job was far from an easy one. It seemed simple: keep as many trading partners open as possible, and stay impartial. Unfortunately that was nearly impossible in itself. The crafty merchants from back home were always looking for ways to make a profit and making his job difficult. On top of that he had to stay out of any squabbles the other nations got into. He shook his head to get the thoughts out and opened the door to his room.

It was certainly luxurious, extravagantly so. The bed was soft, made of feathers probably, and silk curtains covered the windows. Mathias laughed to himself for a moment, his brown hair waving as he did so.

At least the accommodations were good!

Anthony Grumman was thinking as he stepped out into the bright sunlight of the isles. He was a merchant; a good man, chosen for his ingenuity and business sense, which was rare in a centralized economy such as Rakarskia. But trade had to spread abroard, so this was when men such as Grumman came in. His branch of The Rakarskian metal works was as profitable as any, and so he was ostensibly here just to broker deals. He bought a pie from a passing vendor, thanked the man and kept walking.

But the other reason that he was here was far less honourable. For Anthony Grumman was not just a merchant, but also an inquisitor. He had been in what was known as "deep cover", had been the merchant for years, and had a second mission, also. And that mission had everything to do with trade, but not in terms of buying and selling...

Toran woke from a dreamless sleep, to his spartan accomidations. Slowly he rose from his cot and put on his "ambassadorial robes", which was actually a full military uniform. From there he left the embassy and left to wander around the island.

"Greetings, comrade!" he called, waving cheerily. "What would you be doing today?"

Renold Barlow dawned his dark brown and finely white-embroidered robes inside his room and ran his hand over his balding scalp. He was an old fellow, just over sixty winters in age. He was also a rather wide man, enjoying his life as superbly-paid diplomat. Satisfied with himself, he made his way outside and onto the road.

On the lawn of the embassy was a medium sized pavilion, and inside were samples and small peices from the artisans and exports Kaleo offers. One large table was covered with exotic fruits and vegetables, as well as the farming tools the Kaleon farmers have developed to cultivate these agricultural products. On another table there were ingots of steel, iron, a few of silver, and a few of obsidian. The iron and steel are common from Kaleo, and the silver is found in sparse but large queries across the nation. The obsidian, however, is made by Barlow's granddaughter, Lorne's daughter Avaliss.

Smiling at the ingots, he walked to behind the table and opened a sack at his side, drawing out a few small idols and statues of random animals and trees, all made out of obsidian. There was one of a gallant stallion, neighing/bucking on its hind legs (don't know the word), and another of a panther atop of a boulder, surveying the 'area' regally. The third and final one was of a grand large oak tree, each and every branch and leaf detailed and separate. He placed them next to each other on the opposite side of the table and stood behind along with several aides, taking in trade negotiation paperwork for Barlow and the king to review later.

Toran looked to the man that had spoken to him, and replied in level voice. "Enjoying the scenery."

Mathias exited the building carefully, deciding a walk would do him good. Then he saw several of the other ambassadors standing around. In particular, one was wearing a Sevian uniform, and the other looked like a strange old man, the Rakarskian envoy. He didn't know much about them, but they kept trying to compete with the archipelago's merchants. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to find out more.

"Good day Sir." He said, keeping his voice calm and level. Being happy and overly friendly didn't strike him as a good idea, not with a Sevian.

"Greetings, gentlemen. How are your days coming along?" He asked, trying to remain equally calm.

"How about agriculture?" He asked, looking back at his embassy.

Sir Tunsten sighed as he tugged at the collar of his robe of state. HOW had he gotten himself into this mess? He remembered how... He had missed an important meeting and the other members of the council, in his abscence, had decided that he was the best man for the job. So here he was, far from home, inhabiting a house with a nutty old wizard and a brown-nosing little snip named Tarlyn that acted as his aide, advisor, encyclopedia, and personal pain in the neck. The nobleman had no idea why Sarbryn even bothered to send ambassadors here. At best, he would be ignored. At worst, some big country might be reminded that Sarbryn existed and would invade the city. It would be one hell of a fight, but there was very little doubt in the councilor's mind who would likely win THAT battle.

He walked listlessly along the avenues for a bit, but paused when he saw a few of the other ambassadors talking. Quietly he joined the group and listened in.

Tin, he wanted to sell tin of all things. Apparently they made cans out of it and stored food in them. Well they weren't trying to shove the islanders out of the job, more like they were trying to sell their own goods. And if it really did help food keep fresh they would /certainly/ be useful. Time to shift the conversation, Mathias thought.

"Those pirates will make things difficult as usual." He hazarded, trying to fit it into the conversation. "Fortunately our patrols have been keeping them off our trade routes, and once the navy closes in we won't have a problem."

There had been some complaints by the merchants coming into port. Luckily, however, the Sarbrynese had had a bit less trouble than the other nations had had, as far as he could tell. Many of the Sarbrynese merchant vessels employed wizards to keep the ships safe. Some pirate vessels had been totally incinerated the moment they got close. Others had just turned tail and ran.

"However, our merchant ships will be equipped with some of your Rakarskian cannons soon, I presume, with your factory in our lands.

'A combination of the two is much preferred,' Barlow thought to himself.

"These cannons, how do they work?" He asked quizzically, mentally noting down everything for a report later.

((That was my mistake, by the way. Forgive me.))

"How do you all like art, personally or your citizens as a general whole?" He asked, fumbling with his obsidian pendant momentarily.

"This message is for the king only, make sure it is not opened before then." He said, handing it to the captain.

"Of course Sir."

Toran inched away from the group, Sevia didn't have any art like they think of it. 'Fortresses and magnifient peices of arms and armor is what art is to us.' Toran thought.

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