"So it shall be. You may inform others that you are to meet the Quarass on matters of gods, but not that Reim has joined the negotiations. Will you be able to depart tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, your majesty."

The escort that comes to meet him the next day consists of a man and woman in ceremonial armor, and a third in a coat and sash, who introduces himself as a [Diplomat] to help Blai navigate Ger.

"I don't expect us to get in any trouble, but for things like etiquette and ceremonies, if you're trying to figure out polite responses to an invitation, or if you've inadvertently given offense, I'm at your service."

"Thank you. Within the scope of what we're definitely expecting to encounter, what do I need to know?"

They can get on the flying carpet while they talk. It looks inordinately expensive separate from the fact that it's magic, embroidered with beautiful patterns of color on the rim and with a semi-abstract depiction of a mountain above desert. It's fifteen feet by twenty feet, more than large enough to seat four comfortably.

"How to correctly refer to the Quarass, first of all—it's just 'Quarass', or 'Honored Quarass' or 'Great Quarass' or so on if you wish to particularly signal obeisance, although it is not conventionally used by her own subjects; I'd just leave it."

And he can describe some other particulars, when to bow, what to expect from the servants...

All very important to know and soothing to have enumerated.

When the flying carpet rises into the air, there's no sense of acceleration. It's as if the world is moving around them, not the opposite. And when it starts moving, and speeds up as it clears the top of the buildings, it's fast. The arid plains seem to glide past them; they must be moving more than a mile a minute. Yet there's barely any wind to be felt, only a gentle breeze.

Oh that's weird and makes him dizzy. He closes his eyes.

Then from the perspective of the narrative, he will be there very quickly! From his subjective perspective it takes slightly under two hours, though. Still, not a full day's travel by any means.

"We're coming up on Ger—the capital of Germina—but you don't have open your eyes if you don't want to."

He can peek real quick to get a look at it.

It's a fine city. Colorful, even from the air, and in the seconds as they descend it becomes clear it's the murals painted on the buildings, each a work of art trying to outdo the next—but art built to last, in bold strokes that weather sand and storm, and of hardy absorbent paints meant to be renewed or painted atop of through centuries.

There are signs of battle outside the walls, in blood and ash and steel, and the remnants of enemy camps. The city has held, though, and what lies inside the walls is whole. The populace that points and looks at the flying carpet looks hale, if not very hearty.

The location they're flying for is a large earthy structure marked by its structural grandeur but not material or ornamentation. It's painted, as well, with fine colours and precision, but in simple, iterative motifs, broken only in notable places by detailed murals by different styles and hands. It would not be an unreasonable guess that it is the palace, or the equivalent for this nation.

Okay, they like painting stuff here, good to know probably. Eyes closed again.

Because of the momentum-cancelling effect, it's not very obvious when they come to a stop, but he gets a tap on the shoulder and a, "We're here."

They alight near the end of a grand avenue before the palace(?). A guard comes up to confirm their identity, which the [Diplomat] handles with documents and a short exchange, then they can get going.

Follow follow follow.

There's not much of a reception. Someone lets them into the palace, and they're asked to wait in an antechamber until the Quarass asks for them. The staff has a harried look to them, and the guards they pass look on high alert. Apparently not too concerned about them, however; as soon as their party is situated, there's only a nominal presence to keep an eye on them.

The walls of the waiting hall are carved with low reliefs that stretch all the way around the room. They're terribly detailed, and divided into panels, some clearly older and more worn than others, and with evolving styles... there seems to be an order as you go around the room. The domed ceiling is also carved, depicting a scene of a woman in flowing robes facing down a great black-scaled dragon, diverting a blast of dragonfire with a bronze kite shield.

Blai looks at all the reliefs. In order, once he notices they're in order, are they disjoint adventures over a long career or a single story?

A woman features in all of them, and they're all clearly coded to be the same person—similar attire and bearing, same shield, same ceremonial jewelry where there's jewelry, similar stylistic representation of the facial features—but the ages jump around from panel to panel. There's not obvious connection between the different panels?

• The probable first panel shows the woman leading an army to war against more dragons.
• Next one is of... a peace conference? Diplomatic conference? Many important-looking people signing a pact, anyway.
• There's her directing people to sow fields and build walls.
• Her repelling invaders from multiple directions—multiple origins, by the difference in presentation.
• Making peace with... elves? Pointy-eared and nature-themed people.
• Her again leading people fighting hordes of undead, from zombies to bone giants. Crops withering to dust.
• Lots of people dying of sickness in the foreground and background, and the woman giving them medicines.
• An endless army of stitch-people, denoted by exaggerated stitching in their skin, marching on a city's walls, the woman calling down meteors on the enemy from atop it. In the distance is a different, evil-looking woman posed atop a throne.
• A panel of the sky cracking apart in brilliant colors, and an image of the woman looming over a city and holding a shield over it, cradling a blue wisp with her other hand in its shadow.
• Peace with stitch-people?
• The woman riding at the head of an army, against a fortress built against a mountainside. Red light streams out of the apertures of the fortress.
• Fighting against invading armies of Nagas and Lizardfolk, with some kind of whirling black crystal in the background of the invaders.
• Defending against an assault of horrible, armored many-legged worm-bugs that vary from small to larger than buildings.
• Storms and flooding, cities and farms destroyed, and the woman standing atop a tower with a hand held up repelling a bolt of thunder.
• A desert, salted riverbeds, a sun that burns large, red and ominous in the background, and the woman nurturing a seedling in the shade with drops from a vial of water. The plant looks like its specific botanic features are exaggerated for recognizability, but it's not one Blai knows.

There are two uncarved panels at the end.

Well, if she's immortal, maybe it's in a way that periodically restores her youth, so her age would jump around, and if she's been around a long time there would be a lot of once-in-a-century crises to document.

They're going to be kept waiting for about half an hour, and then the doors swing open—

—this person comes out at a casual stalk, gives Blai a considering glance, but doesn't stop or slow on her way out.

...Blai's not actually sure he can tell members of that species apart, so he will also not do anything about this encounter.

She's also not going to do anything about this encounter! The other Kheltians are surprised but not distressed by her appearance. An attendant trails her out at a distance, looking slightly nervous, and once she's gone, tells Blai's party that the Quarass will see them now.

In Blai et al go, then.

The Quarass doesn't look very much like the pictures outside, even considering attire, but the headgear and jewelry and makeup—eyeliner and contouring, nothing outlandish—are enough for a match. She looks maybe thirty years old, and very... cold. She's not happy with how her last audience went and isn't expecting much better from this one, her face says, visible even for non-Chelish. She's garmented in silks and sipping from a silver glass, and doesn't look like she's enjoying it.

Once they have performed the relevant ceremonies of greeting, she says, "Rise."

Up he gets.