Tyvia
Establishing Nation
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ARKANTOS
7/25/12, the Boar; white on black – wreath ascendant
The smell of wine lingered even after the Magistrate's departure, Koteas noted, a faint undercurrent of sweet fermented ginger hanging in the humid evening air. The locals here, both the poor and the affluent, favored a fortified beverage made of ground ginger and sweetened with raisins; and though Koteas himself couldn't stomach the stuff, the folk of Arkantos drank it by the gallon.
“That ought to make your work easier,” his benefactor had said, offering that smug grin of his to Koteas when he'd told him of that. Yet there was little truth to those words, Koteas mused. The Arkantoans were like to discuss business but for ten minutes, up until the third cup of that damn wine reached their lips, and then all talk of terms disappeared. It was frustrating, to be sure, made even moreso by the fact that none in the House of Tydeus would meet with him – even after Magistrate Nestoriakis had put in a request.
“They've stationed troops in the valley, you know,” the magistrate had told him, his fat features wrinkled with worry. He consumed a date on the spot when he'd arrived, devouring several more as he relayed the details of his meeting to Koteas. “They're determined to keep Ephalaea out of this, almost everyone in the upper house deciding such.”
Yet there was no money for reconstruction, no money for aid, and now there were troops in the Helicoan. Nestoriakis was right to fret, for the public reaction to this could not be gauged. He might have lost some wealth or lands to the storm, but he would lose all in a true uprising – and no one in the Diadochi States, Koteas imagined, wished for a repeat of the Alynthoan Rebellion.
But what was there to do? Always late, always last, but forever proud was Arkantos. Though help was needed, they refused it – though time was short, they denied it. Ephalaea, as was its duty, was willing to provide funds, and yet this money was stubbornly refused.
The strategoi, Nestoriakis suggested, speaking of Philip Theanatos, might help them. “Appeal to the general,” he'd said, between sips of that damnable wine. “He's not a bureaucrat, and no true patriot,” the corpulent magistrate explained, “he'll listen to you, and he can help.” It was true, Koteas knew, but he'd be damned if he played that game, even if through his pudgy friend. To acknowledge the military politically in such a manner would break an unspoken taboo, and likely earn him more opponents than friends. The situation was grim, but to overstep the House via the military was unacceptable – and he doubted even his friends in Ephalaea would approve.
It was not a step Koteas would take, for it'd earn the ire of all the other cities just as much as Arkantos. Refusing the magistrate's offer, he sent him on his way, noting briefly that the back of his trousers had turned a shade darker and a great deal damper since he'd sat down.
There were other options available, certain less obvious methods one could use so as to force a proper decision. It would take work, but the dark-skinned bureaucrat, the tall and thin Koteas, had known that the moment he'd been sent east. The Helicoan was an opportunity, and though the military couldn't be acknowledged directly, it could be made to be a problem.
With a phone in hand, Georgios Koteas set out to implement his plan, words his only weapon. Arkantos would not willingly submit, but it could yet be forced to do so.