Martina the Mistress of Coin

Before entering politics in the capital she lived in the south, far away from the winds and snowstorms that shrouded the main city and the mountain ridge stretching from east to west across the kingdom of Ashenfell. Aunt Iona told her tales of monsters hiding among humans when she was younger, yet somehow Martina hadn't expected them to be quite so... well, humanlike. As Martina spent more and more time with her aunt, it became more clear that she belonged at the court, not in the provincial residence. What began as a temporary visit of her aunt quickly turned into both Martina and her mother departing to the capital. Since that day she began learning the intricacies of administration, economics, trade, intrigue, finance - a whole myriad of subjects that occupied her mind during waking hours. She observed with interest as Iona maneuvered between nobles and merchants, managing to get exactly what she wanted each time while letting everyone believe they got what they asked for in return. That kind of subtlety fascinated her. Now Iona was gone. It was difficult for Martina to comprehend such a sudden loss. One day everything was fine, the next Iona had perished before the healers could diagnose her condition. Martina still remembered the confusion in her mind as if it was yesterday. Of course, such abrupt changes could barely be a coincidence. From the other side...this was the Ashenfell's plight, was it not? Tragedy following tragedy, sorrow following sorrow - that seemed to be their fate. Martina let out a sigh that sounded more like a hiss, rubbing her temples. She was alone in the office, surrounded by numerous ledgers full of accounts and numbers. No matter what happened in the royal court, numbers never changed. That was comforting to her, their solidity and immutability. Everything else in this cursed place seemed like sand shifting under one's feet. "Send word to lord Harald that my answer is 'no'. As well as to count Garett. It should've been done earlier," Martina addressed a maid who stood by the door. "Then make sure my private chambers are prepared tonight."

Among all the nobles, both from the capital and out of its walls, there were little that rivaled in ambition the House of Tremaine. Martina wondered at times if Lady Tremaine considered every opportunity missed an insult. Perhaps she did. Considering her aspirations towards elevating her sons into the highest circles of power and marrying off her daughters in the most blatant ways possible, it certainly appeared likely. And though Martina couldn't blame the woman - who would not want to improve one's position? - Lady Tremaine's methods often left Martina very much annoyed. There were only so many times a noblewoman could inquire about a certain someone's preferences before it turned repetitive, tiresome and outright exhausting. Especially when said certain someone already informed Lady Tremaine that they weren't interested in a match with either of her sons. And no, prince Aldric had no intentions of joining forces with House Tremaine through a union either. Martina sipped on her wine glass and frowned, listening to a merchant, who described in vivid details the latest trends of fur trading with Valkorion empire. That was far more interesting than enduring another futile attempt at subtle matchmaking. The merchant continued, gesticulating wildly with his arms, and for a second Martina was wary he would accidentally knock down one of her vases. Yet no disaster occurred, thankfully. "Very well, master Nallum," she said finally. "I appreciate your insight. Leave the full report with my servant and I will look into the matter in more detail later on." The merchant smiled, clearly pleased, then bowed, murmuring his thanks on the way out of the receiving room. For a moment, silence reigned, allowing Martina to peek into the hall when he opened the door. Not too crowded, fortunately, and perhaps in another twenty minutes or so she'd be free. As expected, it happened sooner rather than later. The line of guests outside her office began thinning and by the time two servants appeared to light the candles, Martina found herself alone.

Inventors and engineers were a peculiar sort of folk in these lands, a rare breed to find amongst commoners or even nobility. Well, rare in a sense that there were many who knew such crafts as stonemasonry, architecture, armory, smithing or jewelry making - yet, few who possessed skills and knowledge needed to create more intricate mechanisms, devices that defied logic or made life easier with their existence alone. A few years ago when the borders of Hastovia Kingdoms were still open, Martina had a diplomatic visit to one of their southern provinces. A rich and fertile region it was, renowned for its lush green landscapes and beautiful orchards growing along rivers and valleys. Amongst common houses constructed of simple wood and stone stood towers and mansions adorned with delicate metal latticework in patterns akin to flowers or birds in flight; ones which seemed alive due to ingenious clockwork figures moving on platforms or balconies. Martina observed the mechanisms with interest and curiosity that evening during a feast held in honor of her visit. Steam power wasn't something that could be seen in Ashenfell, magitech had never really took root within their lands. Thus her mind remained awake during that night in Hastovia province, drawing up blueprints and notes of her observations. The idea began forming - what if some of the mechanisms could be implemented in Ashenfell for use in mines? It would mean more wealth for the kingdom, less risk for workers, an improvement in general. She made inquiries later on upon returning home to find out more about inventors willing to travel far northwards to make use of their knowledge. Ashenfell offered generous incentives and rewards for such services. And then Hastovia closed their borders due to the civil war, cutting off communication channels and trade routes. For a time it seemed that the dream had to be buried deep in the archives of her mind. That was until yesterday when Martina received an unexpected letter. Her network of informants had caught word of an engineer who somehow managed to cross the border undetected and found themselves stranded in Ashenfell lands. Martina tapped her ink pen against the desk thoughtfully as she pondered the information. Was it worth taking a chance? What did she have to lose? She wrote down a brief message to Captain Mordecai, sealed it with wax. Within an hour, she received a response - yes, the captain would send out scouts to track down the person in question. And bring them to Martina.