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<blockquote data-quote="Rhialto" data-source="post: 2407564" data-attributes="member: 630"><p><strong>Caradoc Nuttall</strong></p><p>It was the last day of the Syran Inspector's visit, and the Nuttall's were bending themselves over backward to impress the man. The most sumptious breakfast they could afford was spread out before him, and the entire family was doing its utmost to try and seem interested in his conversation.</p><p></p><p>"--So really, you'll benefit from this," said Inspector Melse, his mild voice barely rising above the clank of silverware. "Oh, true there's that slight fee on spirits you'll have to pay, but you owe us <em>less</em> in taxes now, under the new codes." The half-elf was calmly buttering his toast--the only part of the meal he was partaking of. His eyes occasionally strayed to the pomengrate Cador had placed before him, but he never seemed able to get himself to commit.</p><p></p><p>"Very generous," muttered Cador, slightly baffled. Caradoc's father was trying to follow Melse's speech but it tended to rely on the details of obscure laws that the Pyrees man had never heard of, and didn't care about.</p><p></p><p>"Not generous, Mr. Nuttall--merely practical," said Melse with a slight laugh, finally screwing up his courage and picking up a blood orange. "You see, the old laws were poorly designed. Why, do you realize--" And here the Inspector's speech shifted into a mass of technicalities and mathematics, while Melse nibbled on a blood orange.</p><p></p><p>Caradoc sighed. Inspector Melse seemed to eat, breathe and sleep tax laws. He'd been hoping to ask him about affairs in Syra--how had Emperor Gereint solved the succession dispute that he'd been involved in when Caradoc had left Syra? What were the latest fashions? What was happening in the world at large?--things he didn't hear much of in an out of the way place like Poins. But it seemed Melse was more interested in getting his job done than talking about affairs back in the Empire proper. Oh, well. Truth be told, the entire family was hoping to see the man go. While Cador had hoped to improve his standing in the Small Council by being useful, mostly the Nuttalls seemed to have gathered a great deal of resentment as "Syran pets". Plus, his constant comments on tax codes was getting nerve-wracking.</p><p></p><p>"--which is another way the new laws are an improvement," said Melse with a slight laugh. "Delicious bit of fruit by the way. I'll have to take a few with me on the road if you don't mind. Madame?" Elise Nuttall gave a slightly nervous nod, as Melse deftly grabbed a few blood oranges, and placed them in one of his belt pouches. "So, as I was saying these new laws will make everyone's life easier." The Inspector flashed a smile. "That should make up for the soldiers, I think."</p><p></p><p>There was stunned silence for a moment. "What did you say?" asked Cador quietly.</p><p></p><p>"It'll make up for the soldiers the Emperor's sending," noted Melse good-humoredly. "A garrison, to man that ruined old Azerai fortress up there." The Inspector shrugged. "For your own good, really--the damn Hierarch is getting grabby these days--but still I know how you rural folk tend to feel about soldiers..."</p><p></p><p><strong>Graevel Kerd</strong></p><p>The talk in <em>The Bearded Flea</em>, Poins's only inn and only tavern--probably the only fact that kept it in business--was getting unpleasant. </p><p></p><p>"--And all I'm saying is the way things have turned out, maybe we should have stuck with the Arch," muttered Goodman Brown acidly. "I hear up in Fell the Emperor's sent troops. They're turnin' the town all out of sorts."</p><p></p><p>"But tain't that where the next Reevemeet's gonna happen?" asked Sully Whyte quietly, his mug of ale untouched--something of a miracle for the man.</p><p></p><p>"Aye," noted Brown, "and you can guess what'll go down there when it does." He took a long hard draught off his cup. "In chains to face a tickling, and maybe a stickling, and then it's back to the bad old times..."</p><p></p><p>"What I can't stand is the new ale tax Inspector Melse's been prattling about," Lejah Doris, the <em>Flea</em>'s curvaceous barkeep, cook, and proprieter said frowning. "A silver for the Emperor on every barrel I buy? What's it his business to be poking his hand into mine?"</p><p></p><p>"It's the damn furiners," said Moran Gull, the tavern's oldest resident. "We should close up the mountains to the Arch, to the Syrans, and to every other damn one of the bastards. Outsiders never brought nothin' but trouble to us." He glanced over and raised his glass. "Present comp'ny ax-septed, course. As hobs go, Graev, yer a peach."</p><p></p><p>Graeval raised his mug in reply and sighed. They were a good people here, in their way, but a closed-minded one as well. While he'd earned a measure of their trust, he was never sure what would happen if they found out the <em>entire</em> truth about him...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rhialto, post: 2407564, member: 630"] [b]Caradoc Nuttall[/b] It was the last day of the Syran Inspector's visit, and the Nuttall's were bending themselves over backward to impress the man. The most sumptious breakfast they could afford was spread out before him, and the entire family was doing its utmost to try and seem interested in his conversation. "--So really, you'll benefit from this," said Inspector Melse, his mild voice barely rising above the clank of silverware. "Oh, true there's that slight fee on spirits you'll have to pay, but you owe us [i]less[/i] in taxes now, under the new codes." The half-elf was calmly buttering his toast--the only part of the meal he was partaking of. His eyes occasionally strayed to the pomengrate Cador had placed before him, but he never seemed able to get himself to commit. "Very generous," muttered Cador, slightly baffled. Caradoc's father was trying to follow Melse's speech but it tended to rely on the details of obscure laws that the Pyrees man had never heard of, and didn't care about. "Not generous, Mr. Nuttall--merely practical," said Melse with a slight laugh, finally screwing up his courage and picking up a blood orange. "You see, the old laws were poorly designed. Why, do you realize--" And here the Inspector's speech shifted into a mass of technicalities and mathematics, while Melse nibbled on a blood orange. Caradoc sighed. Inspector Melse seemed to eat, breathe and sleep tax laws. He'd been hoping to ask him about affairs in Syra--how had Emperor Gereint solved the succession dispute that he'd been involved in when Caradoc had left Syra? What were the latest fashions? What was happening in the world at large?--things he didn't hear much of in an out of the way place like Poins. But it seemed Melse was more interested in getting his job done than talking about affairs back in the Empire proper. Oh, well. Truth be told, the entire family was hoping to see the man go. While Cador had hoped to improve his standing in the Small Council by being useful, mostly the Nuttalls seemed to have gathered a great deal of resentment as "Syran pets". Plus, his constant comments on tax codes was getting nerve-wracking. "--which is another way the new laws are an improvement," said Melse with a slight laugh. "Delicious bit of fruit by the way. I'll have to take a few with me on the road if you don't mind. Madame?" Elise Nuttall gave a slightly nervous nod, as Melse deftly grabbed a few blood oranges, and placed them in one of his belt pouches. "So, as I was saying these new laws will make everyone's life easier." The Inspector flashed a smile. "That should make up for the soldiers, I think." There was stunned silence for a moment. "What did you say?" asked Cador quietly. "It'll make up for the soldiers the Emperor's sending," noted Melse good-humoredly. "A garrison, to man that ruined old Azerai fortress up there." The Inspector shrugged. "For your own good, really--the damn Hierarch is getting grabby these days--but still I know how you rural folk tend to feel about soldiers..." [b]Graevel Kerd[/b] The talk in [i]The Bearded Flea[/i], Poins's only inn and only tavern--probably the only fact that kept it in business--was getting unpleasant. "--And all I'm saying is the way things have turned out, maybe we should have stuck with the Arch," muttered Goodman Brown acidly. "I hear up in Fell the Emperor's sent troops. They're turnin' the town all out of sorts." "But tain't that where the next Reevemeet's gonna happen?" asked Sully Whyte quietly, his mug of ale untouched--something of a miracle for the man. "Aye," noted Brown, "and you can guess what'll go down there when it does." He took a long hard draught off his cup. "In chains to face a tickling, and maybe a stickling, and then it's back to the bad old times..." "What I can't stand is the new ale tax Inspector Melse's been prattling about," Lejah Doris, the [i]Flea[/i]'s curvaceous barkeep, cook, and proprieter said frowning. "A silver for the Emperor on every barrel I buy? What's it his business to be poking his hand into mine?" "It's the damn furiners," said Moran Gull, the tavern's oldest resident. "We should close up the mountains to the Arch, to the Syrans, and to every other damn one of the bastards. Outsiders never brought nothin' but trouble to us." He glanced over and raised his glass. "Present comp'ny ax-septed, course. As hobs go, Graev, yer a peach." Graeval raised his mug in reply and sighed. They were a good people here, in their way, but a closed-minded one as well. While he'd earned a measure of their trust, he was never sure what would happen if they found out the [i]entire[/i] truth about him... [/QUOTE]
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