Within the walls of the Verdant Manor, one could almost be mistaken in thinking that the world outside had not just been turned brutally upside down. Here, one could still here the soft cascade of water falling from the strategically placed fountains around the large, sociable gardens that wound their way leisurely up to the soft, curving stone face of the manor. One could still promenade aimlessly through the carefully arranged flower garden, or take a picnic under the shade of a great (imported) oak tree. The gardens, however, were empty of anyone but a lonely gardener tending the hedgerows, and Nasharia gazed out at them longingly through the window. Behind her sat a gaggle of noblewomen around a cast iron table. 

The table was draped with a teal tablecloth, and upon it sat a curious brass instrument that one of more cultured manners would recognise as a teapot used for pouring the slightly bitter but highly invigorating nettle tea that Nasharia had made popular amongst the upper classes of Dara - originally a hill tribe delicacy, The Green Woman had taken some pleasure in introducing it as a natural and healthy alternative to other beverages to the often haughty social elite of the city. The chatter at the table was not as excitable nor joyous as usual, and a few of the women were clutching handkerchiefs and periodically dabbing their eyes. 

The attack on the Guardians had been brutal, and it had taken with them some of the sons of these women, who had been serving as was required. The ladies had all flocked to Nasharia like frightened hens as soon as the news broke, coming to her with a thousand questions that she could not truly answer. After that, they had kept returning nearly every day, the herbalist and magistrate having unwittingly found herself at the centre of a sort of impromptu support group. Not that Nasharia was complaining - it would do good to keep the women under a watchful eye; they were not as politically adept as many of their husbands, and if one of them was to know something of import about what had truly happened to the guardians, then surely their grief would be as good a social lubricant as any other.

Alas, nothing had as of yet been revealed that would give Nasharia a clue as to the circumstances of the Guardians' demise, and she had been largely unsurprised when she was given the opportunity to fill one of their still warm and blood-soaked seats. In a way it was extraordinarily sad; she had expected one day to be offered the seat of a Guardian, but not under such brutal circumstances, and Nasharia had made friends amongst the slain Guardians and had began to cultivate them to her pleasure. Their deaths represented the waste of years of hard work.

.."-and Lataia's son too... he was such a good boy, and so strong," The chubbiest of the women was saying morbidly, shaking her head sadly. Nasharia remembered her to be called Jalia of Karinas, and knew from experience that she thought Lataia of Ryr's son Kalid was 'an oaf of the highest degree', and had refused the hand of her daughter Maera to him on the basis of his having too large a nose. Nasharia nodded pleasantly.

"We must focus on the rebuild now, my ladies. I trust you are all aware of my new appointment," The Green Woman said seriously. The ladies all nodded in careful unison and a quiet chorus of approval sounded for a moment; "the only lady... no better candidate... represents the interests,". Nasharia raised a hand to silence them. "Pleasure, my ladies, you shall make me blush. I want to assure you all that I shall do my utmost to represent the Daran spirit amongst my new fellows,"

"You shall need to," Quipped the eldest of the women, a tall, hawk-like woman with silver hair called Araine of Haskaji. "Amongst the vigilantes, halflings, barbarians..." She gave a short chuckle, and the other women all joined the derisive laughter. 

Nasharia was in the middle of thinking of a reply when there was a knock on the door. One of her stewards entered, bowed deeply, and then spoke: "Madam, there is a meeting of the Guardians about to come to session. They request your immediate presence,"

She let out a sigh as if to indicate that it was a chore to attend to the matters of state rather than the idle chatting of the women, but inside she was secretly delighted to be shaking off these newly found sycophants. "Very well, my ladies, I must beg your leave. Please stay as long as you will like - my servants will provide you with whatever you should desire," She said apologetically, smoothing down her robe, and then left briskly.

Outside of the door she met her newly appointed lictors. Many of them were just adolescents, and Nasharia knew many by name and by family - she made a mental note to send all of the families gifts of some sort. She must keep those families on her side; it would only take one bribe to have one of her 'loyal' guardians slip a knife between her ribs. Nasharia purposefully eschewed her usual carriage in order to walk to the chambers of the Guardians - it was both a symbol of apparent defiance to whomever had slain her predecessors and also an opportunity for her new public to see their newest Guardian. 

It was fortuitous that the official colouration of the Guardians was green, for Nasharia's wardrobe consisted almost exclusively of the colour, and on this day she had opted for a regal green robe that wrapped thrice around her waist, over her breast and then looped over her shoulder. It was somewhat restrictive, but relatively functional. The robe was trimmed with golden lace and studded at both wrists by shimmering rubies. Her hair was worn up in an elaborate style, held in place by several golden broaches studded with small emeralds. She had erred on the side of austerity, and wore no more jewellery apart from the beaten golden bracelet that she had been given all those years ago by her mother. 

The streets were quiet, and as Nasharia made her progress through them she worried for the state of trade. It would, surely, be the second most important issue at the Guardians' table. Those who passed her progressing entourage seemed to pause for a moment, examining her critically, or else hurried past with heads low, keen to avoid the new authorities or - the thought struck Nasharia with a short pang of fear - scared to associate with them for fear of incurring the wrath of that or whom which had so brutalised their predecessors.

The ceremony that had enshrined Nasharia as a guardian had, at times, felt more a human sacrifice, the generally incomprehensible blessings of Anu and the unfamiliar rituals having dragged on for what felt like days at a time. At the end, a shaman from the hills had stepped up - barefoot, dressed in ragged robes with a circlet of sandstone around his aged and sun-spotted head, he had blessed Nasharia in the voice of her ancestors, sprinkling sand over her bowed hand and burning acrid smelling desert herbs - all of which, Nasharia reminded herself proudly, she had been able to identify This too seemed to drag on for an age, the old man relating the story of the great emerald city's demise as what felt to be a cautionary tale, but somewhere in the long and droning confines of his speech, Nasharia had felt the cold tendrils of something other reaching for her. It was the first time that she had been reminded of that fateful fight, the way that the icy tendrils of cold magic had wound their way like blood in water to find her, and the way that the damaged bracelet at her wrist had blazed with hot fire. She shook of the hard memories with a barely visible shudder.

The hall of the Guardians finally loomed into view, its great edifice marred by the black scorches that, like Dara's whole demeanour, reminded Nasharia of why exactly it was that she found herself at the city's helm. Leaving her retainers behind with kind words and grateful smiles that made more than one of them blush boyishly, she entered, sweeping past the servants and giving nary a glance to the general state of disrepair. 

Nasharia took a seat, gazing around at her new co-rulers, all of whom she remembered and some of whom she had worked with for years. There was The Raven - as rough and as barbarous as he seemed, Nasharia was fully aware of Kanros' capabilities as a diplomat and, indeed, as a potential politician. There was The Blood Rider, too, who Nasharia had known as a trade partner and also a dealer of valuable information over the years. She was especially mindful of him and the ten thousand eyes that he employed to keep an eye on the city's inhabitants. Leytan, too, was present - a good friend to Nasharia for many years, she nonetheless worried that the monk was not the governing sort.

At first, The Green Woman listened placidly and calmly to the discussions taking place, making mental notes of what was said and nodding ever so slightly when she heard something that resonated with her. She had no intention of being one of the first to talk, in fact, but when Ephraim had spoken she seized the tense atmosphere to interject some words of her own. The chamber could not be allowed to explode into violent disagreement in the first minutes of its opening, after all.

When she spoke, it was stern but not unkind, and measured carefully. "My fellows. Kanros speaks justly - our first order of business must be to discover what it was that murdered our predecessors, and why. But in the meantime we must not let this city fall into chaos and disrepute; there is a tension in the air, even within this chamber, and if trade begins to falter and goods stop making their way through these streets I fear it could turn to outright panic and rioting,"

"Ephraim is right, of course, on one account; this was no corporeal beast. Between us we must have over fifty thousand paid eyes in every corner of this city," She said, casting a brief and playful glance at Landar. "It would seem correct to surmise that which caused these brutal scenes was not so natural as a beast," Nasharia paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully for a moment. 

"But I must urge temperance, my fellows, on matters of the occult. We are all, I am sure, aware that we have differing opinions on matters of magic and its so-called outlets, but I cannot stand by and let this council descend into petty arguments and - moreover - death threats," She said, her voice becoming more steely, shaking her head disapprovingly at Ephraim. "We must stand together, for we all know that if we do not, then this city shall not stay together either, and we could meet the same fate as our predecessors in a matter of weeks. Our first priority is to maintain the stability of this city,"

"That does not involve starting a moral panic," She concluded, once again looking to Ephraim.