Prince Folen's Missives

Objective of Writing

• Describe the political tensions within the Great Canopy

Writing Itself

Another day, another delay. At least today it was not an outright rejection, but the frustrations were growing. Not within the Prince of Blood and Light. Oh no. Prince Folen had long ago learned to stifle any such rumblings within himself. His court, however, was another matter entirely. With a grim visage the Prince looked up from the letter to his councilors seated around his office.
"A show of force," spoke General Curohil, tall even for elves, he leaned back in his chair. When silence followed his quip, he saw too many eyes looking at him with a mixture of contempt and resignation. Clearing his throat he qualified, "Not against Selv, of course."
"Selv is our loyal march, after all" wheezed Chancellor Imlil. "We could not move against them directly without throwing the Elindavar into chaos...again." Whether the Chancellor was criticizing or cautioning not even Folen could tell. Instead, the Prince of Blood and Light just smiled and turned his gaze to his spymaster, Eron.
"Selv has been having troubles with Valloress for the last few months over trading rights through the Eisen Valley. Both claim exclusive economic control over the Barony of Eisen, and that upstart Baron has been playing both sides quite well. He has not had to pay tribute in a while."
General Curohill said the obvious as if it was the cleverest remark of the day, "We send an arbitrator with a company of knights."
"Or just the company." High Treasurer Nelote had been pouring tea when she spoke.
"Say more, o avarice one" smiled Imlil his breadth now steady.
"The general is correct that we need to remind the whole Canopy that we are not to be trifled with but in such a way that no one is intimidated too much. I propose that we send a small military expedition to the Eisen Valley with some settlers. I am certain that the good baron will find an appropriate place for our people to make a home."
"Allowing us," Prince Folen smiled, "to bequeath the trade of the valley to whomever we wish. Selv will either trade us a princess or not trade much at all. General, how long would it take to raise a few companies?"
Curohil thought for a moment, and the rest of the room wondered if a fire might break out. Words, not smoke came forth, "We would want these companies to stay in the Eisen Valley for a while, and we would not too much trouble out of them. Hmm. The 20th Lances and the 32nd Archers would be glad to do some garrison duty. The settlers would be organized into a militia of sorts. The companies could be ready to leave in days, but where could we get the settlers?"
Nelote broke the silence, "The Mandu Mottos. By now anyone released will just be happy to have a life again." If looks could kill Imlil's glare would have sliced Nelote in two.
Before the chancellor could rebut, Folen ended the discussion. "Emptying the Mandus does solve a number of problems for us. Near the humans even the worst elves will behave. I thank you for your insights." With that the meeting broke up, and Folen was left with his chancellor.
"No good will come from this, sire. We should have released those poor souls years ago. I fear they will not serve."
"You are correct: they won't serve."
"Then why are we sending them?" Imlil''s breathing became heavy again as he gasped the last syllable.
"Selv only needs to be convinced of our strength for a month or two. Our soon to be former slaves - yes, I acknowledge we made our own race property - will be on good enough behavior for a long enough time to convince our enemies that we mean business. Whether the colony works or not isn't important: the threat of it is. Moreover, I will give sealed orders that the soldiers are not to hunt down settlers who 'relocate themselves prematurely to areas outside our jurisdiction.'"
Imlil smiled, "Your father would be proud."
"I imagine he would be. Soon I will have the title he never could get." As the two laughed at the thought of finishing their long project, another mused just outside the door. No mirth passed the treasurer's eyes as she slipped into the shadows.