- [<] Status Log - created:: 2022-05-06 - status-updated:: 2022-05-06 * afterword [[2022.05.18a Weird taxes pressure public policy]] The coronation ceremony of an agonarch was a grueling funeral and bittersweet coming of age, but at least Varpen had one advisor he could trust: his ship, living wood imbued with the immortalised soul of his grandfather. Family legend held the ship came courtesy of Grandfather's torrid affair with a Voldshee shaman, and that she'd given up her own chance at immortality, for love of a seafaring prince. Varpen cared only that his grandfather's wisdom, and motives, could be trusted. "We're an island, my father never should have allowed so many mages to emigrate to Tal," he said the moment the last of the coronation celebrants finally stumbled back onto dry land. "I don't care how good their Collegium is." "If you try to ban them from leaving, they'll flee just for fear of losing the chance." Grandfather's words emanated from the drums nestled beneath the bow. Varpen showed his teeth as he smiled. "I don't plan to ban anything, at least for now. But a tax for every crewman with an aura and double for every passenger ought to stem the tide long enough to let us develop a shaman school of our own, don't you think?" "I think taxmen breed smugglers like barnacles," the old ship rumbled. Varpen smirked. "When have I ever flinched from scraping barnacles?"