Lluïsa nods. "Many find themselves short of coin, and those who don't are still mindful that they may be soon. Your oath on Irori that this name of 'Massacre House' is well and truly 'former', if you'll forgive the imposition, and I'll be pleased to have your name to mention. This formula will satisfy: 'I, Thea Iroria, swear on this the symbol of holy Irori, and by holy Irori who works through it and me, safe conduct and honest dealing to those peaceably come seeking lodging at the Abbey of Ashes in Westcrown', though any apposite formula of Irori you may prefer with the same effect will likewise satisfy."

And there it is... but the wording seems safe?  Maybe its a set up to build trust for a later oath

"A moment please" And she spends a full minute in silence working through wording.

"I think a few small additions are in order?  after 'peaceably come seeking lodging' add "and willing to peaceably depart if they cannot abide by the clearly communicated rules".

"Just to cover the scenario of anyone that is peaceable but refuses a few simple rules.  Is that wording acceptable to you?"

Dia gave a small tap of her foot at half a minute to indicate she saw no flaw in the Oath's wording... but then winces when she hears the addition Thea offered.  Someone trying some weird game of peaceable disobedience could be quite troublesome... If Thea hadn't corrected that wording.

"Ah wait, one more correction.  'safe conduct to the best of my abilities'  I will fight anything that threatens a guest of my mine, but I have limits, a pit fiend would overwhelm me and I would fail in protecting them."

Okay, maybe even a simple Oath could be treacherous.  She knew that in theory, but is seeing it in practice for the first time.

Her amusement is entirely internal as she replies "As you will."

She's heard it said that caveats are a devil's doorway. By a devil, teaching a harsh lesson about a mere mortal imitating the drafting style of a devil.

Though it's a pleasant feeling, it's bittersweet, because it's a devilish sort of pleasant.

She gives another half minute considering the oath before finally saying.  She adds one last tweak of wording just in case.

"I, Thea Iroria, swear on this the symbol of holy Irori, and by holy Irori who works through it and me, safe conduct to the best of my abilities and honest dealing from me and mine to those peaceably come seeking lodging and willing to peaceably depart if they cannot abide by the clearly communicated rules at the Abbey of Ashes in Westcrown"

Thea can't see the amusement in Lluïsa.  She had originally planned to issue a veiled threat about ensnaring anyone in contracts and schemes, but she is now too mentally off balance for that and just wants to leave.

Dia isn't sure but thinks she can guess at such amusement?  The lawyer's bluff is better than she first thought.  It's tiny bit more evidence that this is a proper diabolist with a diabolist's enjoyments?  Or it could be a misread...

Thea puts on an obviously (almost deliberately so) fake smile.

"So hopefully I'll being seeing you in four days with a few silvers for your trouble!"

And she stands to leave with Dia following closely after.

"Holy Irori keep you, then," she says, and stands to see them out.

She's not entirely certain what their deal is, but they're probably not recent arrivals from Vudra. She's not not curious, but ultimately has things to draft right now.

Knock knock.

Hat on and straight, no ink dripping anywhere, still haven't had a miraculous mid-30s growth spurt to make this less embarrassing, time to answer the door!

Well, it's once again not a filthy, unlettered, gullible farmer. Lluïsa contemplates deeply the failure of theory of mind that led her to try to attract the illiterate with a written note, but she's all smiles for the rich fellow.

"Welcome, welcome. Old client of the firm, or new client? Either way, please, feel free to step in off the street."

"I believe in my youth my father retained an independent lawyer! Are you re-specializing from soulsale management?" Aniol asks, pulling out his letter of invitation.

"You've guessed it correctly," she agrees as she scans the letter rapidly, drawing herself up to her full, impressively unimpressive height. "Little call for that work now... Convention business, then, is it? I'm always pleased to meet a fellow appointee to that distinguished Body. Please, allow me to show you to a meeting room."

She leads him in, heading to the reception room for clients, which has experienced around eighteen rounds of hasty tidying since last described.

In he strolls, gesturing to an attendant. "It was a popular occupation in its day! I'm hoping the Queen will be eager to entertain proposals about bloodlessly erasing its mark on her subjects. I assume you know all about substitutionary contract revisions?"

Substituting a soul? Under the new regime? That's... kind of an interesting puzzle, honestly.

"There's a pro forma clause for it you'll usually find, it's rather elegant in the original Infernal and the standard Taldane doesn't do it justice... 'an it be adjudged well to the Weal of the Infernal Party, the Agreement be amended such that Payement of Damnation be satisfied by a substitute Soul furnished and guaranteed by the Mortal Party,' &c. &c., though the Infernal language controls, naturally. And every contract is unique. I'd offer you a Turanian red, ordinarily, but shortages, you know, though the water's clean, we've a private well."

"Oh, not thirsty, thank you. I did shop around for a satisfactory substitute when I was a bit younger, but tragically wasn't able to come to an agreement - I feel an anti-Hell government should be eager to loose the ultimate fates of its constituents, though, for any number of reasons - information best kept out of Hell's hands, for instance, and the salutary effect on the culture insofar as they care to bend it toward redemption, and to put paid to any question of divided loyalties in the wizarding and noble classes most susceptible. Do you happen to you know a reliable way to convince a contract-holder to accept a replacement? I'm sure there are ideas I didn't come up with when I was twenty."

"Quite so, quite so. I'd been considering" since a few sentences earlier in this conversation "assembling a committee at the Convention to consider this pressing issue, in fact. It's no doubt of grave concern to her Majesty, that loyal Subjects not be under the power of... a foreign Prince, as it were, and the very foreign Prince lately driven out of her Realm. To say nothing of, as you wisely note, the possibility of dual loyalty to said foreign Prince, and the clouding of titles, and so on."

"Now, the standard clause employs the standard formula" here, a few words of Infernal ", traditionally rendered 'adjudged well to the Weal', which carries the meaning that Hell's jurisprudence, taken broadly, view the substitution as greater in value. The Infernal party to such a clause has an interest in showing personal inflexibility in the interpretation of such terms, which is where many attempts may run aground, the contracted oft attempting in desperation to obtain the soul of some mighty adventurer to not merely satisfy, but oversatisfy foreclosing all refusal by the counterparty, thereby merely hastening his own damnation. But the Infernal party need not be inflexible in other transactions, such as conveying his own part to a broker of Hell, compensated thereto in the coin of Hell, which is business licit to any Infernal denizen. It is possible, then, to draft an agreement with such an Infernal broker, where the broker purchase and annul the original contract, such transaction occurring in the coin of Hell, receiving in consideration that which the mortal counterparty furnishes and guarantees, which need merely be profitable at all."

This is mostly made up on the spot, albeit based on various pieces of real contracts, and she thinks it might work? Devils are, as a rule, wilier than mortals at drafting, however, and certainly wilier than vaguely-plausible scenarios made up on the spot. But how would it look, worded in Infernal...

"Merely a hypothetical example, of course, each case is ultimately unique. Though were it a bulk negotiation, perhaps on behalf of her Majesty, it might draw the interest of a broker more readily."

"I do imagine that it might be easier to refinance a large package of souls than one at a time, yes," he says, with the polite blink of someone who has no idea what most of what she just said meant and definitely won't sign anything till his people look it over. "It seems like a suitable subject of a committee, though as yet I've not found out who-all naturally belongs thereupon."

"Yes, I've been mulling it over," this claim is more straightforwardly true, "how we're to ensure the right people to handle the important questions, I'd thought to propose a rule something like, 'a Committee be chosen by the President, first from those Volunteers who hold themselves forth &c. &c., thereafter if the number not satisfy him from the Membership', and naturally one would inform one's prospective volunteers of one's intent before proposing a committee, though it leaves open the possibility of busybodies on the Convention floor slipping in at the last moment, and perhaps a superior rule is something like 'a Committee be proposed by a Member, who shall give to the President the names of those Members desiring to serve on it for his Assent, &c. &c.'. After all, her Majesty commands and deserves good service of the Convention, and good service is best rendered by the right people, not those with merely frivolous interests."

"That would be the gentleman archmage Cottonet, the 'President'? Is he known to object to the autonomous formation of committees? It seems within the concept of the thing but I've only just heard of it, of course."

Lluïsa nods. "A close confidant of her Majesty, and presumed to speak with her voice. All proceedings, naturally, shall be subject to his review, so I mean to take great care in proposing any rules to him. I don't expect him to be disagreeable, after all, not all of deliberation is suited to open debate among hundreds, not with so many concerns and so few hours in a day, and the hours of an archmage are not to be lightly wasted."

"Well, I should be happy to sit on a committee dedicated to solving the problem where some of us are foreign possessions."

"And you seem the right sort to do so. May I trouble you for an address to send any relevant correspondence to?"

She's speedread the marquis' name and title off his letter earlier; rapid memorization is a vital survival skill. Memorize now, learn later.

"I've been staying at an inn, and if I should move to longer-term lodgings I'll leave the forwarding address with them; ask for the Marquis de Juncosa at the Hickory Branch."