---

---

The clouds that seemed to cling to the towers of Ersand'Enise by night usually disappeared during the early hours of Shune but, this time, they did not. The day dawned cool and cloudy. A slick, smothering wetness hung dank and limp in the the sky, somewhere between rain and a heavy mist. From multiple points within the city, liveried carriages and solemn processions - rendered more so by Ahn-Oraff's mourning - wound their way towards Arc en Ciel Hall.

Of course, the students of this storied place did not live in a bubble. They knew very well what was to take place today and, despite their youth, had at least some idea of its importance. There was a nervous anticipation to the day's gossip as they attended their classes, and it was announced by their first period instructors that all and any were invited to attend the conclusion of the Conclave of the Five Thrones in the area of the gallery that had been reserved for students. Seats, however, were limited.

Perhaps it was unsurprising, then, that they had trouble focusing on their classes. Indeed, some of the more academically inclined among the faculty grumbled about the holding of the Conclave in the city every fifth cohort. There were other disturbances afoot, however. Rumours flew about that many students had woken up the previous morning to find aberrations on their nightstands. Even worse was the fact that some had almost certainly absorbed them. The rest had since been dealt with, by what means, the Academy was tight-lipped. They claimed that they were hard at work getting to the bottom of the matter and that the knowledge was kept privileged for the youths' safety.

---

---

Those students who chose not to take the school up on its offer to attend the evening session of the conclave would've found the campus and, indeed, the city eerily quiet and empty. It was theirs to wander and do as they pleased, though what there was to do comprised a fairly short list.

For those who attended, however, they hurried to pack their dinners into half an hour. Some simply lived with the hunger, wary of not getting a seat. In any case, they thronged into the enormous theatre, clamouring for space just as the dinner entertainment came to an end. The chamber quartet bowed and the audience clapped as the students shuffled in. If some of the smaller girls shared seats and a couple perched awkwardly on armrests and steps, nobody scolded them for it today, a breach in the school's normally-rigid discipline temporarily permitted. The balconies positively bulged with human life.

The heads of state of the current holders of the Five Thrones sat on five large chairs onstage, each painted so as to denote what they were. Behind them sat the six Arch-Zenos of Ersand'Enise, the Paradigm, and the Zenith herself in a large semicircle. Other dignitaries and world leaders were gathered in front in what was usually the orchestra pit. The clouds had cleared somewhat and the sun's light filtered in through the massive stained glass windows, its beams reaching across the seats and one, in particular, striking the pipe organ at just the right angle to make its steel pipes gleam faintly.

Zenith Upta rose and gave a brief recommencement address. Her bearing was as dignified and professional as ever, but one couldn't help but sense a hint of tiredness at this point in the daylong proceedings. The leaders' speeches had already been given, including those who did not hold one of the thrones. Those few students who'd had a fourth period spare had been able to catch some of what had been said as well as getting up to speed on what had taken place earlier. They now endeavoured to catch their fellow students up. While it was inconceivable that either Revidia or Perrence could lose its throne (indeed, the latter had never lost it), and highly unlikely that Torragon or Belzagg would be in any danger, Eskand appeared much as it had for the last couple hundred years: weak.

It looked as if Rouis of Perrence had recognized this too. Indeed, he and Horik had been at it for most of the day: a powdered little man in gold-embroidered clothes and cape and a great grumpy bear who made, in turns, exasperated and threatening noises. Then, however, it was time to vote, and as the leaders and the Arch-Zenos walked up one by one to slip their ballots into the simple wooden box, a hum of conversation raced through the audience. Truly, there wasn't much to talk about. It was Perrence first. Eskand would come second to last and there were rumours that Queen Silke of Kerremand was in line to take Horik's place. That she could for once depend on the support of her longtime enemy, Rouis, was almost comically evident.

Then, it was Roderick's moment. The crier's voice had recovered admirably from three days prior and was crisp and clean. "Our opening matter is that of the Crystal Throne," he announced, his voice kinetically enhanced and carrying an air of dignified disinterest. "The first vote confirms Perrence." He placed a paper in a small tray on the table marked with the Fleur de Lis of that country.

"The second vote proposes Kerremand." A titter worked its way through the audience. That would be Horik's spite vote. The mammoth of a man grinned, self-satisfied. The paper was duly dropped into a tray marked with the dragon that was a symbol of that country. "The third vote confirms Perrence." So did the fourth. People began speculating on whether Revidia, next, would receive any spite votes against it. "The fifth vote confirms Perrennce." Rouis certainly wouldn't be above spite voting.

Then, however, something happened. "The sixth vote proposes Kerremand." Surprised murmurs rippled through those gathered. Horik's smile grew large and toothy. He leaned over in his chair, the overburdened piece groaning, and looked right at Rouis, who appeared annoyed. Prospero Malatesta steepled his fingers, stonefaced. "The seventh vote proposes Kerremand." The murmurs became exclamations. There was a concerted effort to gain Kerremand the throne, at the expense of mighty Perrence!

"Votes for the Crystal Throne stand four in favour of Perrence, three in favour of Kerremand. There are six votes remaining." Perrench observers and students, in particular, began to speak in more than just whispers. Roderick unfolded the next ballot. "The eighth vote proposes Kerremand." Rouis leaned forward. His eyes darted about. There was a genuine play being made here. The danger was real!

"The ninth vote confirms Perrence." The king sat back in his chair, stroking his goatee nervously. "The tenth vote confirms Perrence." The ship seemed to have been righted: one more vote. Yet, it came for Kerremand. Eyes turned to Queen Silke. She was calm, poised. "The twelfth vote proposes Kerremand." An electric silence prevailed. "Votes for the Crystal Throne stand six in favour of Perrence, six in favour of Kerremand. There is one vote remaining."

Roderick's face gave it away before he read it, but his voice remained measured and professional. "The thirteenth vote proposes Kerremand." He paused. "The motion for Kerremand to replace Perrence as holder of the Crystal Throne is carried."

What followed was chaos. There was no amount of kinetic amplification that Roderick could've done to prevent it. He must've known as much, because he didn't even try. Silke began her walk up the few steps. Stiffly, stunned, Rouis rose from his seat. He looked out across the audience, an unreadable look crossing his face. Was it fury? Apology? Determination? Regret? That this was a bald-faced ploy of politics and bribery was clear to all. The Five Thrones were supposed to belong to the five greatest nations of the twin continents and Perrence was arguably the greatest of them all. It was, quite frankly, ridiculous for them not to be there. The king paused for a moment, and then something happened. One Perrench girl stood up. Perhaps she had used Sound Enhancement, for her voice rang loud and clear: "I have heard of a place - have you? - it is written, it is said." People craned their necks to look her way. She continued, and a handful of voices joined her. "Where every woman has her wine and every man his daily bread." The Perrench began standing.

"The streets are paved in stone," they sung,
"The fields green, the lords are good.
I would live in such place.
Yes I would. Yes I would." There were hundreds of them. They rose. They added their voices.

"Green Perrence, motherland, you have raised me up from new.
Under Oraff's watchful gaze, you have shaped me strong and true.

Your forests filled with game,
Your shoppes are stocked with finest goods.
I would live in such a place.
Yes I would. Yes I would." Rouis' hand was over his heart. He sung the song of his people.

"I see your fields stained with blood, shed to keep me safe and free,
Where the poppies grow up thick, but I would give my life for thee.

My children: they will live here.
They will prosper by your hand.
Green Perrence: my home forever.
Green Perrence: motherland."

Over a thousand strong, their voices reverberated for a moment after they finished, filling the cavernous interior of Arc en Ciel. Solemnly, King Rouis removed the hat from his head and bowed before his subjects. They bowed in return and when he straightened, he seemed taller than he had moments before, more certain. With an almost sinuous grace, he bowed deeply and deferentially before Queen Silke and motioned her towards her new chair, yet she seemed marginally less inclined to gloat than she had mere moments before. That Rouis had glanced in the direction of the Doge of Revidia and nodded respectfully was noticed by many as well and they took it as a sign that l'Anguilla, true to his name, had been up to his slippery tricks once again. Rouis had saved some face here, but it was still a master stroke.

The next two series of votes almost didn't matter. Revidia was confirmed, as was Torragon. Sancho gazed out over the crowd, face unreadable, but he was uneasy. It wasn't a stretch to imagine. A few more Zenos had surreptitiously filtered into the hall, just in case they were needed, but Rouis XI seemed disinclined to make any sort of trouble. Briskly, he made his way out a side entrance, escorted by the dauphin, also Rouis, and his royal guard. Those of his people who wanted to follow him were judiciously held up at the doors and filtered through slowly enough that they would not be a problem. The second prince, however, who'd been in attendance, was not among them. He remained seated in the front row. Arcel, some may have remembered.

Now that Perrence had been felled and Kerremand had its seat, the anticipation for Eskand's reckoning had faded to a low ebb. There were no more monarchs present and Horik, traditionally the neutral vote among the five, had seemingly aligned himself solidly now with the Doge and Revidia. The first two votes went as expected, but then the attendees found themselves in for their second big shock of the day. A vote came in for... Joru, and then a second. Horik's fat face grew pink and his cheeks puffed out as he turned to glare at Silke, Sancho, and Prospero. The first did not give him the satisfaction of her attention and neither did the last, but the Torragonese ruler looked at him and nodded solemnly, almost as if in apology. It was nine to four - for Joru, and President Atundo Yibozo stood. So did Horik. A hulking mountain of man, he glowered at the rulers and the Zenos who had betrayed him. "Eskand will have blood," he warned, turning to face the incoming president. "Enjoy your poisoned throne, king of the Joru." He leaned in and Yibozo was forced to take a step backward, but he did not flinch. He regarded Horik steadily. "I have no desire to rule as a king. My power comes from my people, and the throne we make shall be there for all to sit on should they choose."

"Hah!" laughed Horik, "we'll see how long that lasts." He stalked away. That the rulers were speaking amongst themselves, inaudible to the crowd, which had once again erupted in conversation, was clear to any who would care to look their way. Great Jobanzaggah, now alone without his allies, had clearly made a play to keep Belzagg's position on the council, and he managed it in a close vote, but what he'd had to suffer was unknown to all but the other people on that stage.

When the dust had settled and students filtered home into the warm, ripe night, the political order of their world was vastly different than it had been that morning. If they imagined, for even a single, naive moment, that they would remain untouched, then they were sorely mistaken.

---

---

Place(s): The Castle(Commons Dormitory) → The Academy → The Castle(Commons Dormitory)
Time: Pandes, Vardes 29, Dami-Zept 54 | Late HI(Dawn) → HD(Nighttime)
Interaction(s): Jomurr Ikon III(Without dialogue)

---

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Before Class
The day was to be a big day. The conclave will happen later in the evening, right within the academy grounds. Nervous energies can be found all around the city and beyond, with people from all walks of life wondering and speculating on what might or might not occur later. Eun-Ji herself had in her mind to attend the conclave out of a thought that it might provide useful insights on things related to her missions, both the personal ones and the one assigned to her by the emperor, but that thought that since been put out of her mind. Earlier at dawn, she had found a message that was slipped through the bottom of the window of her room. It was a message from her handler, and written in it was simple and very clear instruction telling her not to attend the conclave. The implication was clear: The emperor had other, more politically inclined agents than a fledgling Sentry like her to attend to such matters. And so, Eun-Ji planned instead to use the likely-to-be very peaceful evening to continue studying her books; among other things, she needed to start shoring up her knowledge of Binding and Blood Magic to get ready for the class in Lepdes.

One thing did bother her. The message made no mention of the aberrations that had appeared the day before, even though the rumors that had been flying around campus made it very clear to her that she was not an isolated case. She had no illusion that her handler wouldn't know of the matter, though she can at least held to the hope that he probably didn't know of her own particular accident with it.

Conversion with Sienna Afraval
As with the Sensing & Drawing class the day before, there wasn't much yet to learn in the Conversion class in this day. They didn't even get to actually do any conversion. In any case, Eun-Ji had humbly rated herself a five our of ten; in reality lower than what she was really capable of. She had drew mostly from ambient heat and sound, unsurprisingly her most comfortable sources for drawing. And that was that.

Mathematics with Luria Colloy
It's math. Eun-Ji had always been average at math, and she actually kind of didn't like it. She never had a lot of use for math, be it in the farm or the Sentry. Regardless, she hid her dislike of the subject, did the test, and then wondered why the Zeno had given them the elementary problem to take home. After all, Eun-Ji thought as she left the class, Seven. Everyone here should be able to solve it immediately in seconds.

Athletics with Zander Mozaru
After an uneventful lunch, it was then athletics class. Eun-Ji took little interest in the arrogant little prat that asked why the class wasn't divided by gender (Of course, the arrogant little prat was Jomurr, but she didn't really know him). Then, the Zeno addressed his 'concern' by making a competition between the girls and the boys. An obstacle course, one that was grueling but nowhere near as merciless as the ones she had to went through daily back then as a trainee of the Lotus Sentries.

Turned out, it seems, that nobody else in the class was brutally trained as a governmental secret agent slash assassin slash enforcer where life and death was separated by a very slim margin every single day. The girls had won that competition, and Eun-Ji was top even among the girls. At the end of the class Eun-Ji walked past the arrogant little prat, locked eyes with him by accident, and gave him a brief pitying look as she continued walking. It was out of sympathy and without ill will, but that might or might not be what it looked like to Jomurr himself.

Natural Sciences with Randan Kedd
The last class of the day was fun, both because the Zeno had cleverly used a little trick to uplift the mood of everyone in the class and because Eun-Ji herself was quite fond of the subject (unlike math, these were well used in both the farm and the Lotus Sentries). For a first attempt, she and her group did well enough with the skeleton. Mistakes were made, but it was still a result Eun-Ji was quite content with.

After Class
As she had planned beforehand, Eun-Ji spent the rest of the day mostly in her own room in the Castle. With the amount of time available, she learned quite a lot from the books she had bought the day before, making her more ready for the Lepdes class while also giving her a deeper understanding of the histories and facts surrounding the Aberrations. She was yet oblivious of the great turmoil that had happened during and as a result of the big upsets of the conclave, but she will learn of those soon enough whether she wanted to or not. This day, after all, was likely the calm before the storm.

Onarr had found himself infested with a tick.

A large, furry tick. The tick hung onto him relentlessly. It had caused him no end of pain throughout this Pandes as he tried to work his way through the unceasing amount of assignments and tasks his tutors gave him. Having a furry critter that constantly clawed and have its tail swaying in front of you whilst trying to draw out voltage or cook a souffle wasn’t the most conducive for focusing. The tick was stuck to him like a barnacle. Attempts to leave it within his dorm were unsuccessful as the tick somehow managed to stay glued to his cloak without his knowledge.

Such was life in Ersand’Enise. Especially when you had a feral kitten for a pet.

As Onarr dove into his luncheon, the kitten sought to lift out its paw through his visor and take a swab of the lamb chop. He batted away the hand as if it was an errant fly before conceding to his pet’s demands and shoving a small piece of meat through his helmet much to its delight and his classmate’s confusion.

Well, at least, there was the Conclave to look forward to.

Nothing could possibly happen.

---

“ Alainiye Iore!” Onarr swore as he exited into a wide fence of hedges, trying to part from the bustle of students who were filtering out of the Arboretum. His fists swung by his side furiously as he went under the shade of the many great oak trees that cloistered the arboretum with their leafy curtains. “Alainiye lore! I knew there was something fishy but dragging me into all of this? ”

Out of frustration, the Joruban kicked the roots of the great oak, expecting the bark to split under his heel. He quickly regretted it as pain shot up his foot, causing him to fall back and sending one very frustrated kitten toppling off his shoulders.

“ MEOW!” The kitten yowled out before giving him the stink-eye and briefly batting his helmet with a dainty paw. Its complaints ceased once Onarr began scratching its back where it began to curl up and purr.

“ Reneging on his promises,” Onarr snorted. “ Of course, the neo-revisionists in the Stresian Order were right about us. It took the better part of a century but by Shune’s saggy tits, did our President pick a better time to wield executive powers.” Palming his helmet for a moment, Onarr thought briefly of Anesin. How in Shune’s grace was he supposed to look her in the face now? The Eskandish had been booted off the Conclave like the last Yoruban blood mages and Yibozo acted as if his political ascendance was the will of the people.

Then again, the scholar in him wanted to believe those naive propagandist tales of the antiquated nations of the world picking up Joru's model of impeccable governance and forward-thinking philosophies. After all, you couldn't achieve progress without greasing the gears with blood and cruelty. Perhaps, this was for the good of Joru after all and for him and people like his brother.

But, that sure by Shune didn't mean he was going to turn a blind eye to it all.

“ Spitting on the face of Eskand at a time like this…aren’t we supposed to be a nation of thinkers?," Onarr asked no one in particular, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.

“ Meow,” The kitten blithely replied back.

Onarr’s hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that he’d been putting off his mind for the last couple of hours. A sour expression scrunched up his face as he read it. He began to let current flood into the paper, the edges beginning to smoke as the corners lit on fire. The flames burnt inwards, turning the ink into flaky ashes that flew away on the evening winds into the black cosmos above.

“ Well, I suppose I should worry about more important things.” Onarr sarcastically commented as he picked up his kitten by the scruff of its neck. “ Like getting you a name.”

It was then that Onarr realised that picking up cats that way was a sure method towards suicide.

“ MEOW!”

“ Ow! Do you realise you scratched heirloom - OW!”

---

Penny had tried so hard not to yawn during introductions. She'd been up most of the night doing... things. At least being remembered as the 'sleepy girl' was better than being remembered as 'the cripple', so she'd take what she could get, she supposed.

The script had woken her up. Their Zeno seemed like the type to be aggressively indifferent to decorum and etiquette. It was... jarring, but not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, so maybe Penny wasn't too surprised at having the script more or less thrown at her. It was only when she'd stopped to read it that her eyes widened and she felt herself yanked into a stae of unwilling but undeniable wakefulness. She blinked a couple of times. It was... hilarious. Truly, abominably hilarious.

She was part of a troupe with four others: Linah (thankfully), a Segonese girl in a revealing dress who's name she'd already forgotten, and an annoying Eskandishwoman named Marlijn who was busy swooning over their final member: Leon Solaire. He was handsome. By Ipte, he is beautiful, Penny thought, trying not to steal any more glances. Have some self-respect, she scolded herself. What are you going to do? Throw yourself at him in the hopes that he might bed you? Her cheeks flushed with shame, but there he still was, with an easy, natural grace about his manner and... a body and... that million couronne smile. Immediately, she found herself handing the script to him. "I-it's really something," she stammered, annoyed at her voice. "A true masterpiece."

Marlijn leaned in close to Leon, inviting herself into his space, and she was pretty. By Ipte, she was a beauty that Penny couldn't hope to compete with. She giggled. "Well, I guess we know who'll be the Prince."

Well that much is obvious, Penny thought, trying not to roll her eyes. She glanced surreptitiously at Linah to see what her sometimes roommate might be thinking, but then Marlijn continued."Me," Marlijn chirped. "You've already got your shirt off. Mermen don't wear shirts." There was a twinkle in her eyes and she looked up at him expectantly.

Leon noticed the lack of guys in the classroom. It was a shame more didn't see the value in drama and performance. Not that he minded either way. He was in pleasant enough company and he enjoyed the attention.

He thanked Penny when she handed him the script to look over it himself. Leon was overcome with the urge to cross off parts and add in others, if only he had a pen. The story wasn't irrecoverable but it was awful as is. For a moment he doubted whether he would be able to make it very entertaining. Of course he was going to be the prince, but he does little but swoon over the mermaid the whole time.

Marlijn's suggestion caught him off guard. It was not something he had considered, but it was certainly an idea he liked. Leon made direct eye contact with a smile. "I think you read my mind. You would make a fantastic Prince-ess Charming. Certainly that would be the shake up we need to make this script redeemable." he joked.

Penny hid a sour face. She was literally kind of shaped like a mermaid and had assumed the role would be hers, but that wasn't actually the issue. In truth, she had no desire to be front and centre. It was much safer in the chorus. She'd mainly taken this class for the comedy. She regularly used it to help set people at ease. No, the truth was that Penny was annoyed because Leon Solaire was right there, in front of her, and this little Eskandish - Keep it classy - had thought of an idea that he liked instead of her. Now Marlijn had nabbed the role opposite him and she was leaning in strategically, practically resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Oh Gawds," the redhead giggled, "It's soooo bad. I say we play it as a satire on gender roles. I should be like a muscle princess." She took a step back and flexed the wet noodles she had for arms. "You can like... I dunno. What would you do? What's like... a mermaid stereotype?"

Penny blinked. "Seashells as clothing!" she blurted, "and a lovely singing voice." She forced herself to take a step in. "Also, a singing dancing crab companion who regularly dispenses profound wisdom in an accessible and charmingly homespun way." She leaned over Leon's other shoulder and spoke with a mock earnestness. "I can be that crab for you."

This was certainly a change of pace from the mornings events. With the abberations on his mind and his dicussion with Carmila, Leon almost forgot this was a school after all. He didn't have a good concept of what a school was, but he always imagined it would involve study like this. Well, almost like this.

Leon gave a out a chuckle in reaction to his company, even for him they were coming off a bit strong. He did want to study after all and if he let them carry on like this, he would find himself too easily distracted.

"Well, as much as a muscle princess would be surpising. I don't think you have the muscle part quite there yet." He chuckled a bit. "Unless you have some sort of illusion magic, I would play to the finer features you have. But don't let me stop you from showing off your titanic strength if you wish to do so." He joked in a pleasant manner.

Leon drew his attention to Penny keeping a welcoming demeanor. "Well I would say you carry yourself with too much grace to be a crab. But if such a role compells you, go for it. It will be a challenge to show off your acting skills to the Zeno."

"As for me, I don't see this role taking me out of my comfort zone at all. I'm not sure whether I should take that as an insult." He joked to the group and left a pause. "I assume everyone is decided on roles? Perhaps we take a few rehearsal rounds."

For her part, Linah seemed quite eager to play the villain, even though it was a truly awful role in this script. Seriana fairly threw herself onto a chair and sighed about how this humid weather was just dreadful for her complexion and how she would never make the Hundrian order's highest tiers with bad skin. Marlijn, for her part, threw herself into the role of Princess Charming. It was, of course, brilliantly ironic. The group had a redhead with a lovely singing voice and another girl who... rather looked like an actual mermaid. Yet, it was to be Leon who played the role. Perhaps that was the only way to prevent the two girls from coming into conflict. It was also a brilliant excuse to watch a half-clothed Leon Solaire strut about the stage - not an image that the Eskandishwoman minded in the least.

For her part, Penny yawned and sat on a chair. She was dangerously low on sleep after last night's skullduggery, but she hoped that things would do go plan, whatever that plan was. Father was much smarter than people gave him credit for, but Arcel was a wildcard and - simply put - Doge Prospero scared her. The fate of nations is about to be decided and here I am swooning over Leon Solaire and ready o be petty with some Eskandish girl, she scolded herself. The definitely-not-a-princess stifled a yawn, blinked, and sat up straighter. When it was her turn for the musical number, she stood.

"I know I'm just a seahorse," she began, "oh prince of the sea."
"But I've lived a long time; might you listen to me?" Her singing voice wasn't great, she supposed, but she was a seahorse and seahorses were probably not known for their singing.
"The land: it is pretty. I know it is green,"
"But the sea's still the best place that I've ever seen."

"I want to be home in the sea!
That's the best place for me!" She singsonged. "And you," she added, sweeping away from him.

"Up top, when you walk, your shoes may get muddy.
Down here? No way! You can always stay clean!
On the surface you have to take time to fetch water.
Down here? Look around you and see what I mean!"

"You know you want to be home in the sea.
That's the best place to be!" Penny shimmied back and forth on the ball and heel of her foot, twirling her crutch like a baton and ignoring a dozen aches for the sake of performance.

"The land is all dusty; the sea, she is wet." Penny wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, feeling like the dumbest thing in all of Sipenta.
"And think of the colours: The best you can get!" She pushed off and did a little spin, her dress and hair swirling around her. "I know the girl, she is pretty, my prince, yes I do.
But there are many fine ladies that live here just for yoooouuu." Penny had thought of finishing with a slide onto her knee, facing the audience, arms spread, but that ran her about a fifty-fifty for tripping up and then just being a sad fallen cripple, more likely to draw gasps than applause. Besides, she already felt more than goofy enough. She let her arms fall to her sides. "So... that was something I never thought I'd do with a straight face," she managed, forcing a smile and feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. "Any changes anyone would make?"

In the event, there were none. All of them decided that the best approach was to make this into a clever, ironic, and absurdly goofy social commentary. Long story short, it went swimmingly.

For most of the student body, the fallout from the Conclave was not immediate. It was a subject of gossip that evening. Letters were sent home to family members. The Perrench and Eskandish were fired up. The Jorubans were uneasy and the Kerremans were proud. Yet, the majority of students continued about their business, settling into the beginnings of a routine.

The same could not be said for those with real power. Horik was fuming. The Zenos of Ersand'Enise scarce had time to offer him an honour guard before he stormed out of the city, galloping north towards what had been a safe port in Revidia when he'd first arrived. The Zenos had given him an honour guard that included many young Eskandish from well-known families, such as Anesin of Bjelke and Marlijn and Owen of Vaanse, in addition to foreign escorts from friendly nations such as Paggon and Rettan.

Scarce had the last refrain of 'Green Perrence' finished echoing through the cavernous Arc-en-Ciel Hall than Rouis was off into the night, stepping into his coach and being whisked away south, towards the friendly territory of Perrence. One did not get the sense that he was angry so much as stunned. An honour guard of ten Perrench students and two Zenos rode with him, the strongest - Penny Pellegrin and Jean Lascand - in his very coach.

Jobanzaggah had cut some sort of Eshiran's bargain to not be toppled himself and his displeasure was clear. Prudently, he had paid the onerous port fees of Ersand'Enise to have his personal ship moored at the city's docks. He made for it immediately following the night's proceedings, accompanied by a small guard notable for the presence of Jomurr III of House Ikon.

Meanwhile, the city's small community of Jorubans gathered at the Hyena's Laugh - the only Joruban-owned tavern in the city - both celebrating and discussing over drinks the move that had just been made, their country's new status, and President Yibozo's personal boldness. The rational revolution was to spread and this was good news for most, though some had their misgivings. These, they discussed with varying degrees of openness. The president's personal friends and allies were among them, after all. They would not want to offend. Yet, there were some, who strolled out into the night and made their way towards the Arboretum, who were more openly worried and, within this group, they spoke candidly of their discomfort, the seeds of rebellion fomenting in their minds and slogans forming on their lips. It seemed, from their rhetoric, that one was either with them or against them.

The Kerremans, however, did not share their northern allies' restraint. They gathered in bierhauses around the city in raucous debauchery. It was noted that the kronprinz was in attendance at one. Prinzessin Lina was at another. Their celebrations lasted well into the night, ample quantities of beer - both cheap and fine - being consumed in the process. There were - at most - only a handful among their number who did not join in. Manfred Hohenfelter was not one of these. He knew that appearances needed to be kept up, but he had grave misgivings which he smothered with a beer stein, a false smile, and a forced laugh.

For others, the takeaway was more nuanced. Leon Solaire, a young performer beloved across much of the twin continents but with known ties to the Doge of Revidia, found himself facing the interesting choice of whether to party or not to party and, if so, who to party with. Some Revidians were celebrating their coup, but not all that many. It was simply politics and they were more interested in business. The Perrench were sullen and hostile. The Jorubans were excited in their oft-intellectual way, but the sounds of Ziggurat-spitting competitions and Joruban folk songs could nonetheless be heard sporadically. Not all seemed jubilant, however, a sentiment certainly shared by the many Belzaggic students who gathered to confer and conspire in hushed tones. They stood in solidarity with their Perrench allies.

The Torragonese, in true Torragonese fashion, did not personally gloat, but many of them liked to let loose and had joined the most raucous party of all: the Kerremans were utterly out of control. Drink flowed freely, copious amounts of pretzels, sausages, and sauerkraut were consumed, fußball games occupied the plazas, parks, and streets, and music pumped out into the night. There were impromptu dancing circles, arm wrestling competitions, and fisticuffs. Magusjaegers held increasingly convoluted target-shooting contests. There were dozens of beer pong tables and one beer hall had even set up a teufelsrad. People coupled up. Youths ran around wearing flags like capes, shouting patriotic slogans, and singing traditional Kerreman songs, for their nation was on the rise. It had earned its place in the sun and they were certain that great things lay ahead.

The same could be said for Torragon, yet their king had sent a subtle message through his speech and body language today that celebrations were to be somewhat muted. One did not bait the bull unless he was certain that he could slay it. Evidently, King Sancho was not. Yet, he had taken personal steps, and two students, in particular, Selio Taraves and Linah Aranda, had received personal summons from him. To what end, they did not yet know.

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Father was a master actor and the trick to it, Penny supposed, was that he had only partially been acting. Perrence had been removed from that meaningless council and all it had done was make a mockery of the notion that the Five Thrones indeed went to the five greatest nations in the land. Everybody knew it, too. In truth, King Rouis had not been blindsided. He had planned for this moment for years and, by warning Horik of the Doge's treachery last night, had revealed himself to the Eskandish Emperor as a good-faith actor. Their enmity had been only half-falsified; the two did not like each other, but they now found themselves in the same position and how unexpected it would be for two ancient rivals like Perrence and Eskand to ally.

Penny, seated across from father and Jean Lascand, as was only proper for the only woman in the carriage, leaned over and peered out the window. Jean could be trusted, she had been told, but he did not know the truth of her relationship to the king and matters were still best kept that way. It was awkward enough that Carmille, Yvette, and Madeleine were along. Carmille, in particular, was ever so sweet, but she was sharp too: she noticed things. Penny had made a joke of it: that eight-plus RAS level of hers was paying dividends! She could practically feel them wondering, though, and she had honestly begun to wonder - herself - how long she could keep this up. She could see them outside. She practiced her royal wave when one caught her eyes, stifling a giggle, but it was all an act. Gods, even that Tan-Keoulean girl is here, and she hates me, Penny thought, I know it.

"Your majesty," Jean began, and Penny's attention was pulled in his direction. "I hope it is not imprudent of me, but I had thought to ask -"

She didn't even feel the buildup of energy, but the gunshot was starkly audible. "Your highness, get down!" the girl shouted, but the bullet was not meant for him. It took a moment, but the carriage lurched to the side precipitously. Horses squealed and reared up. Immediately, Jean threw open the carriage door and Penny could feel him draw energy to himself. A split second later, and he leapt over to where the coachman sat. To Penny's shock, a dead body rolled off of it and was immediately trampled by the carriage as Jean struggled to get control. From the forest came more gunshots: Magusjaegers, the girl thought, but there were dark-clad figures as well: leaping out of trees, emerging from the roadside brush, and... With a crackling groan, a massive tree fell across the road up ahead.

Jean struggled to deflect the two shots aimed for him as they arced and curved around his barriers. "You!" he shouted at the trio of Carmille, Yvette, and Madeleine, "One of you take the reins. I'm needed in the fight!"

Then, Penny felt it: father drawing energy to himself. "Papa, no! You're too valuable!" But he leapt out of the coach and into the action. Father was a leadvein, she knew, and he was using those abilities presently. He slammed into a black-clad figure with fantastic force and absolutely shattered it. Shots came for him, but he was already on the move. Not all were so skilled or so fortunate. She saw two guards go down. Jean took a bullet in the shoulder and let out a yelp, struggling with the reins. The carriage was still going quickly. The horses were spooked. It was going to crash!

Penny gathered her crutch and dove out, softening her landing with a kinetic self-draw. Sellswords poured out of the woods and one came straight for her. She put all of the kinetic energy she had drawn into a shove and sent him reeling, fighting down panic all the way. There were still the assassins, she knew. They hid their energy so well. They were quick. She grabbed a sword from the roadside and flung it at one in a kinetic grasp, certain she'd scored a hit, but it seemed to go right through him. She blinked, nonplussed, but another volley of shots rang out. Penny drew in every ounce of energy that she could from her surroundings. She filled herself with it and let out a colossal burst. Trees swayed violently. Some cracked and fell. A maelstrom of rocks, sticks, and debris hurtled into the forest. This was unreal! She could die! Father could die! Yvette, Carmille, and Madeleine could die!

When she looked again, however, she saw the Tan Keoulean girl. She saw her at work and she realized that her own skills paled in comparison. "Sons and daughters of Perrence!" She shouted, "around your king!" If they could protect Rouis, then Eun-Ji, Jean's uncle (Zeno Lascand), and the trained soldiers would be free to attack. The next thirty seconds could decide everything.

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A day that had started with meeting Leon Solaire could very end up being Marlijn's last day alive. It had happened so quickly: they'd been riding along in the warm glow of camaraderie - the Eskandish, at least - singing war songs and talking in indignant, excited voices. Aside from the presence of some foreign allies among their escorts (she recognized Yimu in the baggage train and Karim on horseback), it had felt like those stories of the old days, and Marlijn - for all that she was no warrior, had grown up on them nonetheless. Lady Anesin rode beside the King and, though he was not Marlijn's king, she was nonetheless awed in his presence. A mountain of a man, he had sat astride a mighty thunderhoof, belting out choruses under the light of four moons.

Then, the first bullet had struck and Kejser Horik had been thrown from his mount. A half-dozen others had been either struck or thrown. With a splitting crack and a tortured groan, a great tree had plunged to the ground ahead, blocking the Godsroad. Cobalt was a well-trained horse, though, and he did not panic like some of the others. Marlijn brought him around and scanned the trees. Shouts of alarm and anger went up from the group and one runaway carriage seemed beyond help. One of the foreigners had pulled a weapon and was ready for what came next, as was Owain and Marlijn's heart pounded with relief that her brother was alright. As for the king... He rose and dusted his clothes off. From across his back, he pulled a pair of mighty broadswords, each meant to be two-handed but wielded one to a hand by the massive figure. Lady Anesin, too, dismounted, and Marlijn could feel a colossal intake of energy from her direction... or was it the king's!? Black-clad figures poured out of the trees.

King Horik launched himself at the enemy with a truly ferocious speed that caught even Marlijn off guard. "Death for the Death God!" he roared, and behind him rose a chorus of battles cries from the sons and daughters of Eskand.

---

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Place(s): Near the southern border of Ersand'Enise
Time: Pandes, Vardes 29, Dami-Zept 54, 1:30 HD - 3:30 HD
Interaction(s): Many, yet none particularly directly

---

The Absence of Fear in Her Eyes wasn't Bravery

Eun-Ji sighed softly. Evidently, the night wasn't going to be like the rather idyllic last few. In hindsight, she should have expected it; why else would Avrael ordered her to accept the position of being one of King Rouis' honor guards? The Volto Bianco must have known that something will happen. She wondered if this was a test. She didn't know much about him, probably nobody did. But one thing she did know was that Avrael loved this kind of test. So there she was now, along with the others, guarding the carriages. She knew at least one of the other guards, Penny Pellegrin, the girl who had noticed when Eun-Ji were taking a peek at her course registry. It didn't seem like Penny nor the others have noticed the figures lurking in the shadows though. Eun-Ji didn't exactly blame them; it usually took an assassin to notice other assassins. And Eun-Ji wasn't just a typical run-off-the-mill assassin, she was extensively trained for this kind of thing. Regardless, the fact didn't make her feel any better about it; thus why she sighed.

Blood will be inevitably shed tonight. Likely quite a bit of it. She was not looking forward to it, but she had been given a task and she will fulfill it to the best of her abilities. For a Lotus Sentry, any mission must be tackled on with the utmost effort no matter the cost. It had been hammered deep into her that her life was worth less than the successful completion of the mission.

Thus, as her ruminations were done, Eun-Ji calmly steeled herself.

The thing about battle between magic users was that the RAS was not the only thing that mattered. Experience mattered. Skills mattered. Raw physical capabilities mattered. The mental capacity to not hesitate mattered. And the ability to seize the momentum also mattered. The first shot had barely been fired when Eun-Ji made her move. She already knew what was about to happen: the chaos that always followed the opening act, and it was this chaos that she must make use of as efficiently as she can. Immediately, she dismounted and kept low while drawing from the loud noises and the chaotic momentum of movements all around her. Then, using both the chaos and her rather smaller stature as advantages, she made as sure as she can that she attracted as little attention as possible. Next, she bolted for the treeline, using both her heritage as a Skyborn and some Kinetic magic to move as fast as she can. There was little need to hide the noise she herself was making; the chaos of the battle already did that for her.

Then she proceeded to the counteroffensive. The defense can be handled by the other guards. With a target as important as King Rouis, the assassins' attention and their fierce attacks will be focused on taking him and any other priority targets down as fast as they can. They were unlikely to expect an unknown factor like her to flank them. And not a flanking maneuver from the back at that. The thing about most people were that they tend not to look upward. Thus as soon as she had reached the trees, Eun-Ji once more used her heritage as a Skyborn to good use, seamlessly propelling herself upward far above the top of the trees. Thus the trees themselves became a wall of barriers for her, providing even more cover from sight and possible attack. But this was not the only reason why she had launched herself up to the sky.

It was such a shame. Such a beautiful night. She stared briefly at the stars above. For that brief moment, she felt sorrow. The stars reminded her of the fireworks she had seen during her first night in Ersand'Enise. Like those fireworks, the stars were majestic and beautiful. And just like the fireworks, the stars were not eternal. Nothing was, in the end, as even the brightest of stars will be extinguished with the passage of time. Why did they have to die? She still didn't have an answer to that. Thus, she can only accept the inevitability of it, no matter how much she wished for it to not be the truth of the world.

I'm sorry that they have to die.

Then the sorrow completely disappeared. It was time to fulfill the other reason of why she had taken to the sky. She looked back down to the trees below. And she sensed them. She had seen some of them earlier, the Magusjaegers, but the eyes were easily fooled. Telltale aura of Illusion magic, not so much. Two. Her eyes were fixed on two different signatures, two of the gun-wielding attackers masking their own presence using Arcane magic. Without further delay, she changed direction midair using her Skyborn ability again, her head facing the direction of the signatures. Then she launched herself at them.

Toward one of the signatures, she threw a dagger propelled with Kinetic energy, making it a far more lethal projectile aimed straight at the target's head from above. Toward the other, the weapon was herself. She enhanced her own right hand with as much Kinetic magic as she can and then pulled the hand back. Then, like a human-shaped cannonball, she performed a bone pulverizing palm strike at the target's head right at the moment of impact; the act both a powerful offense and also a way to break her own fall using her enhanced right hand.

And thus was concluded the first part of her counteroffensive.

---

Things have gotten very interesting for Karim. Well, the world has gotten more interesting, for the worst. Here he is in the honor guard of King Horik after finding out that Revidia has betrayed the Eskandish and is now marching towards war. With King Horik vowing that blood with be spilled for this.

It is something escorting a king that he does not follow but is inclined to do this since Eskand is allied with his home nation. So Karim feels like he has to do this, and does this mean that his countrymen are going to war also? In defense of their ally of Eskand? He wonders how does his family feels about this and what they will do. They are just merchants, but even war affects trade and the fortunes of those caught in the middle.

They will think of something Karim hopes but still. He is just the son of a merchant and though a mage. He does not consider himself a warrior. He is more of a scholar, and he has not even considered having to fight. But, who knows what will happen.

Karim took a moment while riding his horse to look around, and he could see some familiar faces. But, as he looked at the king was when he heard the shot and Kejser Horik falling down from his horse. Then some more would be fallen and for the moment. He was still alive and with the shouts of anger and alarm. Karim's heart beated even faster, this is it, an ambush. Quickly looking back at the king and it amazed him that not that Horik could duel wield two board swords. A gift given his size and strength. Then his speed as he ran towards their attackers. It was truly a sight to see, but now it is his turn to act. While he wondered where that massive intake of energy was coming from. Was it from the king or the attackers?

Though feeling scared, Karim does not want to be a coward and simply hide while the others fight. So after a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and dismounted and joined the defenders. He is still scared, but, again, he is no coward, and he will fight. Now time to see if this will be his last day.

---

Earlier that day

Leon was one of the first to leave Mathematics class. But instead of heading to lunch immediately, Leon waited at the door watching the exiting students go by. It seems he was looking for someone specific. Once Carmilla had crossed his path, he moved to politely pull her aside.

"Carmilla, if I could have a moment of your time. I was hoping that we could have lunch together. Just you and me." Leon took a pause before realising what he had said. "Unfortunately, I'm not asking you on a date. I believe we have some important things to discuss that could use some... privacy." He was glad he cleared that up. If she had thought it was a date and found it was something else, well, Leon didn't think she would take it well. Carmilla was so nice after all.

"It would be a pleasure to have lunch with you," she responded.

In truth, it was not a pleasure. As a result of maintaining appearances, Carmillia was still experiencing fatigue from Conversion class with Zeno Afraval. Her below-average capacity combined with her unique usage of magic that did not require much energy meant she was not particularly gifted in drawing much energy.

Though Zeno Afraval had specified to stop drawing at the slightest effects of fatigue from capacity drawing, Carmillia had continued past that in order to match up to the results of her peers.

"Do you have any place in mind for us to have this discussion?" she asked.

Experience from meeting fans had keyed Leon in on a few skills. Carmilla had some minor tension in her shoulders. It was obvious this was nervousness from being alone with a star such as himself. But she had no need to worry, Leon would try to set her mind at ease. "Please, it is nothing so special. Just a simple talk between friends. Although the subject matter won't be so savoury I'm afriad."Leon made eye contact with her and gave a reassuring smile. "But as it so happens, I do have a place in mind."

Despite her attempt to conceal it, it seemed that Leon had noticed her fatigue and consequently formed a misunderstanding. Carmillia rolled her eyes inwardly but let the matter rest.

"Please show the way," she said.

Leon lead Carmilla outside into the small grassy area outside of the Academy building they were in. He settled beneath a large tree providing plenty of shade from the dour weather. "I hope you don't mind us talking outdoors. I am particularly comfortable in the open, but I am happy to go back inside if you so wish."

"I'm happy with our current environment," she responded. It would be a hassle to head back into the school and search for a private spot. All she wanted at the moment was to catch a breather and focus on what Leon wanted to talk about.

"But onto the matter at hand, I wanted to talk to you about Jomurr" Leon explained. his typical showman expression fading to a more serious Leon. "I think you already know what I'm referring to."

"I do," she responded.

Given both of them had an abberation appear on their respective nightstands, it only made sense if one did appear for Jomurr as well. The only link between her and Leon was that they were fellow Biros and that also applied to Jomurr.

"It's possible he thought he was the only one to receive an abberation. It must have caught him off guard when you brought it up," she said. "I doubt he has any links to the Traveler and simply wanted to improve his own magic capacity."

She paused.

"It's possible Zeno Fades-in-Moonlight is already aware of this."

"Yes, I had initially considered the Traveller. Considering our lack of noble blood, it would be likely the Traveller would leave Jomurr out of the oppurtunity. However, I don't know if you have kept up with the rumours from yesterday and this morning, but it wasn't just us. Plenty of students woke up to an abberation yesterday morning. Some others kept quiet in any discussion about it. Should these rumours be true, perhaps every student could have received the offer."

Such rumors had indeed been spreading. The morning lessons were filled with hush discussions from other students regarding abberations. Carmillia nodded.

Leon leaned back and gave a drawn out exhale. "My apologies, that was quite a mouthful. I would be lying if I said that this whole thing hadn't been weighing on my mind all morning." With a chuckle, he pulled out an apple and started eating.

"As for Zeno Luna, I have not considered her involvement. Whats your impression of her?"

"I doubt she was involved in placing the abberations, if that's what you're asking," she answered. "That said, she probably knows much more about it than she's letting up on. It's likely there's a relation to the assasination attempt."

The persona that Leon Solaire often displayed did not strike her as one to possess intrigue towards such matters. She had suspicions before but her opinion of him was starting to consolidate around the fact he was no mere charlatan.

"Do you perhaps know something as well?" she asked.

Leon took a pause considering whether he should disclose more information to Carmilla. He had no reason to doubt her. In fact, considering she didn't touch her abberation, he was inclined to trust the girl.

"You know I have been questioning whether the attack at the plaza is all there was. Having our memories wiped is some powerful magic for it to just be defused. No one was caught and nothing notably bad happened. That is strange to me."

"I doubt this has much connection to the abberations but it is a scary thought none the less. Two strange dangerous events happening within less than a day is not a good sign."

Leon took a good pause to let that sink in. "I trust you Carmilla. I trust that this conversation doesn't spread further than us two until we find others with the same goals."

It looked like Leon had placed the pieces together as well. As far as Carmillia could tell, most of the students had not noticed anything, given she had heard no rumors about the matter.

"Your trust is in good hands," she reassured him.

Although Carmillia most definitely did not possess the same goals as the performer, this was an oppurtunity to get more involved with events that were conspiring in Ersand'Enise. For all the previous oppurtunities that Leon had nipped in the bud for her, he was now presenting her with a new one. The Sunblessed taketh and the Sunblessed giveth, she thought.

"It's clear that we should do something. Do you perhaps already have something planned in mind?" she asked.

Leon took a noticable pause to ponder what Carmilla had asked him. He had plenty planned was the obvious and honest answer. But it was questionable whether he should tell another student considering it involved the Doge. Even then, Leon was only following his orders to get some information out of the Arch Zeno's tower. As far as the rest of the events, he was in the dark and helpless as anybody else.

"Am I supposed to have anything planned? I came here to learn magic not topple some great magical conspiricy. I mean lets say one of the Arch Zeno's is in kahoots with the Traveller and he plans to erase the five rulers. What are we going to do, sprinkling colourful lights in his face?" Leon joked with a laugh at the end.

"To answer your question, I have nothing planned for now. I just wish to define a circle of trust. Maybe with enough of us, we stand a chance of against what's to come. If the abberations and assassinations are anything to go by, there could be danger on the horizon."

Is he truly just trying to play at being a hero? She pondered. It was possible to see shadows of his real personality when he had his guard down but that in itself was a problem. It meant if Leon was focused on lying, there were no telltale signs. It was probably a result of years of experience as a performer.

"I see. Yes, there is strength and safety in numbers," she responded.

"I'm glad you agree. This could be the start of a good partnership. I'll be thinking up group names should this circle start expanding." Leon joked as he stood up from the conversation. "With that, I would say were are just about out of time. I wish you good luck in your next classes."

Carmilia nodded courteously.

"See you soon, Leon."

---

“ Isn't it a little late for you to be drinking Danzagg, my boy?”

The proprietor of the Hyena’s Laugh looked at Onarr worryingly as the midget poured his fifth cup of fermented black Danzagg down his helmet. Unlike normal Danzig, Danzagg had been stored within an oaken barrel for over a period of five moons. Onarr had mistaken it once for real Danzig and had drunk an entire cup when he was 10 years old. By the time he was seeing wyrms emerging from his skin and his hair being lit on fire, he realized he’d made a horrible mistake.

“ What are you talking ‘bout?” Onarr belched out a gassy burp. “ It’s never too late to drink Danzagg! Another one!”

The proprietor of the bar shook his head as he refilled Onarr’s glass. Onarr’s reddened complexion was hidden under his helmet, the kitten huddling underneath his coat. Sounds of loud partying and riotous celebration drowned out any chance of peace in his helm as the alcohol burnt in his gullet. His thumb flicked against the spoon that was buried into his now cold plate of beef stew like a flagpole.

Others around him were buried in the throes of discussion, speculation about the future of Joru and what Yibozo’s new position meant for the future of their country. Unbridled optimism and nationalism suffused the air around him like the inside of a fishwive’s tent, its aroma blinding and intoxicating. Onarr could hear the tenets of Joruban rationality being exchanged around endlessly between his folk like conkers whilst manic whispers of more extreme plans wormed around, waiting for the right time to strike.

So, was he the mad one here? If every Joruban around him was excited, why didn’t he feel victorious? Wasn’t Joruban rationality what he had been aspiring to for his entire life? Or was another man’s rationality just another man’s insanity?

“ Hail to Yibozo, brother!”

Onarr turned his head around to see a classmate, an older one by the looks of it. He’d somehow manage to accomplish what looked like a Joruban salute, even in his drunken state. Onarr returned it in kind but with two fingers behind his back.

“ Hail to Yibozo, brother.”

---

Location: The northern border of Ersand'Enise

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Interactions: Karim Nazeri @Theyra, Pan Yimu @TheMushroomLord, Anesin Bjelke @Noxious, and everyone else @Force and Fury

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Desmond had spent these past few days trying to catch up to everything that has been happening around him so far. The large celebration at the beginning wasn't one that he had fancied, it wasn't much he didn't like celebrations, it was the fact that he didn't like celebrations that made such a big note of him. He wished to have been much more low profile during this time, yet he was put at the center of attention, which was something that quickly drained him of his energy. Yet was a good thing to go through as it did allow him to know those he was going to with this year, many of which were high profile characters he would like to keep an eye on in case he can make a decent impression on, and a few others he remembers hearing about.

However it seemed he lost the time as they were already moving along to the introductory speeches as it went off well enough, Desmond was bored through most of it as it seemed nothing of note happened. It was just some basic introductions and speeches from people who they will be with. As they moved on to the more important stuff, meeting the group of students Desmond would be with for his time here. The people were interesting enough, but nothing that really interested Desmond though, as most people rarely do.

After that their group met with their master who would be in charge of them. Desmond has been quite hopeful that this person would be agreeable, and or like a good joke/prank. This was one of the few ways Desmond finds fun out of something other than his other pursuits. Here Desmond was shown his room, which he took quickly to make all his own, throwing up a Banner, starting to set up his desk, and such stuff. During this time his Master came back around and came to talk to him about the courses he wished to take up. Upon a quick time of thought Desmond had decided his courses:
Specializations:
- (Primary) Chemical School of Magic [MF104]
- (Secondary) Kinetic School of Magic [MF105]

Electives:
- Fundamentals of Geography & Cartography in Magical Practice [AC103]
- Athletics, Agility, Physical Fitness & Sporting Activities [SK104]
- Business, Negotiations & Money Management [SK106]
- Introduction to literature, Rhetoric & the Written Word in Eskandish [LN105]

After choosing his courses, Desmond relaxed as he began checking his weapons before heading off to bed. As the morning after was quite strange, it was on his nightstand he had an aberration sitting there, right above where he kept his handgun. Desmond spent less than a moment thinking about what this was before he went and grabbed his gun and touched the aberration with it. As when he did he was no longer able to see his gun and knew that this was an aberration. As he began to move slowly away from the aberration as he didn't know what it would do, but he knows it means nothing good. As he left his room as he began to put his gun away in his belt line as talked to his Master about this, and was told not to touch it.

As they were told to head off to classes after that, where many made fun of the idea of the aberrations and some people whispering about absorbing them. Some were getting information out of others, and it seems as most believe that it is dangerous, but those who have absorbed the aberration say that it can increase your RAS score while giving you some small side effects. Desmond was not one to believe in such a thing, after all, some say taking in QuickSilver can give you some health benefits, but like any snake oil, it will normally be some bullshit made up about something that does nothing or can silently kill you. Desmond did not wish to play with something with such little knowledge on it, also with the Master's watch, even his curiosity would not be able to even go and play with it without getting into trouble. So he moved along through his day until he made it back to his dorm to see the aberration had disappeared.

Yet the next day held something truly marvelous, or worrisome for Desmond, the Conclave is going to take place. Desmond was worried about the outcome of the Conclave, as he knew oftentimes wars can be sparked from meetings like these. War meant jobs for Desmond and his kind, but war also meant that he could not see his 'family' for some time. No matter the skill, if a military wishes, they can sometimes leave mercenaries to die for personal victory, or even use them in a bid to save themselves. This was a worry Desmond had multiple times, but he made it through, often either them figuring a way to do something else, or even them fighting their way out of the bad situation. It seemed Desmond's thoughts came to pass during the Conclave, as it seemed not only Perrence, but also Eskand were both set away from the table. Desmond knew this was going to be war, honor was tarnished, pride was hurt, and King Horik promised blood. Desmond and his group had worked for Eskand quite a few times, often finding themselves in full-blown combat. So Desmond knows of the nature of the Noble people speak of their ruler, Horik the Lean, but the one he knows more from the battlefield is, Horik the Berserker King.

However, these things seem to not matter as much as he finds himself now acting a part of Kejser Horik's Honor guard. Desmond was one of the few asked to do this, as a sellsword hailing from Enth, he has done work countless times within the nation of Eskand. Desmond became quite well known in his line of work and those who care because of his exceptional skills. Desmond going as part of the Guard wasn't something he was exactly thrilled with doing, honestly, he was slightly upset, after all, they weren't being paid for the time. Sure they paid for the meals, but Desmond literally did this as a job, he knows his damn worth. However, this did at least allow him to get closer to some prominent figures, so this could be an opportunity. Well, it would be if he was allowed to be near them, no he had to ride in the back because they saw him more fit as the rear guard. Something more akin to someone who was not of much need, after all his Eskandish was only working at best.

---

There seemed to have been this glow that occurred from everyone during this time. A glow of camaraderie as they sang songs of war, of glory, and of battle. Desmond was one to sing along to himself as they went along. Desmond felt slightly light-hearted at the moment, war meant work and good work at that. He's just worried about his 'family' as they were going to be brought in as sellswords, and he was here learning rather than being with them. Either way, he was here, so he was going to make the most of the feelings here, more light-hearted at the moment. Something akin to soldiers off to war, fresh-faced and hopeful. It was a feeling Desmond knows well, he's seen it a hundred times, however, it is a feeling that seems almost infectious. Well, the songs normally are, and Desmond always loved to hear music and sing.

Desmond was able to watch the back of everyone, as he saw the mountain of a man Eskand called a king. As he moved atop his horse, he made those nearest to him look like actual children. His presence seemed to have almost dwarfed the others around him, they seemed to almost cower among the might of the man as his very presence blotted out the four moons. The air group was light and cheerful as they went, but to Desmond, the air began becoming heavy, like a veil was slowly falling upon them. Desmond began a slow scan of the area, as of right when he spotted something, he saw the flash in the night and knew what it was, Magusjaegers. Desmond dropped his body to the side of the horse, allowing himself to hang by his leg and hanging on the saddle of the horse as the gunfire rang out. Blackthorn was a horse that was well trained for this maneuver, it was once used in war, and the horse was used to gunfire flying around it and even coming from the top of it. Bullets went flying and hitting people and horses indiscriminately, as when one flew and hit the King, Desmond was nervous, the King could have just died on the spot, however, it seemed he was able to stand after that shot and even stood up like the worst that happened was his clothing getting dirty.

Desmond was in slight awe, as the man even on foot was still giant, and got up from the gunshot and even just decided it was time to fight. No hesitation, Desmond knew what that meant though, as the King grabbed 2 large blades from his back, Desmond already prepared his own weapon and was ready to fight. As a large intake of energy occurred, the king almost seemed to boom at the emergence of enemies, as he rushed forward to meet the opposition with the other students. Desmond was more prepared to take care of the other Magusjaegers, as they would take them out before they noticed. These Magusjaegers were good, they weren't some armatures who used magic with guns, they hid their presence very well. Today was the day to see who was the better shot, Desmond or them.

Place(s): Near the southern border of Ersand'Enise
Time: Pandes, Vardes 29, Dami-Zept 54, 3:30 HD
Interactions: Seung Eun-Ji @Medili, Penny Pellegrin and Various @Force and Fury

---

"One of you take the reins. I'm needed in the fight!"

Next to Carmillia, Yvette and Madeleine shrieked at the horror of the current events.

Carmillia felt like rolling her eyes. Though both of them possessed a high RAS, they both led relatively cushioned lives of the merchant caste. Combat was a foreign concept to them. That said, things were looking grim and Carmillia was not capable in combat. She needed them.

"Yvette, take the reins."

Yvette had the lower RAS of the two and specialized in binding. She wouldn't be of much help if she joined the fray. Though that could be said of Carmillia herself, she wanted to have control of the situation and taking care of panicked horses didn't exactly fit her concept of control.

"M-me? I can't!" she squealed.

"Yvette, calm down. You can do this. I believe in you."

It was a load of hogwash but Carmillia funneled her magic into the panicking adolescent. This, combined with her charisma, calmed her down to a certain extent. It also helped that Yvette picked up on the fact that handling the horses put her out of direct combat. The girl clumsily clambered over to the front of the carriage. With her on the reigns, it would allow Zeno Lascand to aid the king.

Carmillia watched as King Rouis charged off the carriage. One might consider the act foolish but Carmillia felt a modicum of respect for the man. Him joining the fray would serve as a boost of morale and cause the rest to rally to him. Though the situation was chaotic, Carmillia didn't miss the fact that Penny had called after him as Papa. She always knew that was more to Penelope Pellegrin.

The carriage was slowing. The road up ahead was blocked by a fallen tree and Yvette was managing to calm the horses down.

"Sons and daughters of Perrence!" Penny shouted, "around your king!"

The honor guard flocked to King Rouis who was in midst of snapping an unfortunate black-clad man in two.

Carmillia assessed the battlefield. The number of enemies were unknown but judging from their initial attack, they had Maegusjaegers. The fact that there were black-clad individuals revealing themselves meant some of them specialized in close combat. A standard combination that allowed them to fight up close with ranged back up. On the Perrench side, the notable ones would be Zeno Giroux, Zeno Lascand as well as King Rouis himself, who was battering aside people as a mass of muscle and kinetic force. One other that stood out was the Biro from Zeno Zemana's group. The Tan Keoulian girl was in swooping about in the air, clearly no stranger to violence. Other than these few, they had the ten students that formed the honor guard and the half dozen trained guards, few of whom had already fallen.

"Madeleine."

"Y-yes?"

"You're still carrying those vials? Hand them over."

Madeleine was prominant in wielding fire and specialized in arcane and external chemical magic. She often carried around vials of petrochemicals to use as fuel for her magic. Carmillia quickly grabbed the vials from her and after kinetically enhancing herself, tossed them towards the surrounding trees, smashing the vials in the process.

"Fire."

The merchant girl looked confused at first but quickly caught on. Using her magics, she lit up the trees and amplified the flames. The fire quickly spread, lighting up the battlefield.

The fire had multiple benefits. The enemies taking advantage of the cover of night and Carmillia wanted to erase that advantage. The smoke would hamper the vision of snipers in the distance and the flames and the light that came with them would flush nearby enemies out. The flames would also serve as a source of heat energy. Though said energy could be drawn on by both sides, Carmillia wagered that enemies who specialized in covert operations would not specialize in offensive arcane magic.

All that was left to do was to stay with King Rouis and stop him from getting killed. Fortunately for her, King Rouis seemed to belong firmly to the side that did the killing.


Moments earlier...

Flavius Cueller was cursing his luck.

Today was supposed to be his off day and he had very well intended to spend it perusing the pleasure houses of Mudville. Then the Conclave happened and the Perrench got dropped and Carmillia got roped into the King Rouis's Honor Guard and Berny had ordered to follow after Carmillia.

He understood why; the young lady may have been a force to be reckoned with but not in combat and he was the de facto stealther of the group. Only he could follow after King Rouis's entourage without being detected. He still considered it bad luck nontheless. It was one thing if he could actually spend time with the young lady but he was instead trudging after her from a distance.

Flavius had following after Carmillia on horseback. The black steed he rode was a capable 'bush horse'. All it took to remain undetected was to follow after them off the trail and a little bit of sound nullification.

It was supposed to be a simple if not tedious and monotonous task.

That was... until the attacked happened.

In the present...

Flavius whistled to himself within his sound bubble as he watched the Tan Keoulian girl whisk through the air. Seung Eun-Ji, she was one of the students that the young lady had interacted with, albeit briefly. Bernhard had made them all keep track of whom the young lady had met. Watching her move, it was clear she was not your regular everyday student. She was trained.

Flavius felt his groins tingle. He had a thing for women who could hold their own which was why he served the young lady.

As Eun-Ji was in the midst of taking down another attacker, Flavius caught sight of a Maegusjaeger taking aim at the girl. He had remained hidden up in the trees til this point. One of Ol' Berny's instructions were to remain hidden unless it was completely necessary to intervene. The young lady did not want any attention drawn to The Crimson Hand. He wasn't to make a move unless the Honor Guard seriously needed it.

Nevertheless, Flavius considered the act of lending aid to a pretty woman a necessity.

Whipping out a dagger, he launched it and propelled it with kinetic energy. Since he was completely hidden in his sound bubble, the Maegusjaeger never saw it coming. He fell with a soft thud. Though no one was there to see him, he gave a theatrical bow towards Eun-Ji.

While the battlefield was chaotic and it was unlikely for his assasination to be noticed, Flavius quickly swapped his location, hopping silently away atop the foliage of the trees, seeking another vantage point. Since he was committed at this point, Flavius was on the lookout for oppurtunities to take out any enemies while remaining unnoticed.

Nothing that had happened sat well with Jomurr as he dawdled back from the docks - nothing at all. That the enemies of Belzagg were acting so brazenly was a sign that they felt powerful: overwhelmingly so. Mighty Jobanzaggah had managed to cut some kind of deal to stay on the council, but he would not say what, even to Jomurr, and the future duke was certain that it has been an Eshiran's Bargain.

The last of the sun's rays had faded from the sky, pulling curtains of tangerine, magenta, and indigo closed behind them. The nighttime fog, he knew, was soon to roll in and cover the city in its ethereal blanket. It was nothing like the vast, dry savannah of home, with its termite mounds, islands of acacia trees and roars of lions in the dimness. To be honest, it still unnerved him and perhaps always would.

There was something else about this night, though... As one would expect of a youth of his station, Jomurr had always been possessed of strong instincts. Walking through the disgusting streets and hovels of this slum called Mudville, he wrinkled his nose, but it was as much in distaste for the situation as the place. Then, however, he felt it. The second son of House Ikon blinked and reached out with his senses. His head snapped about, eyes gazing intently out across the water. An intake of energy - a massive one. It was coming from the direction of the Indomitable Lion - the King's ship. Then, another. Something was wrong. He glances around, checking if anybody else felt it, but it was distant and the people around here were weak. They would not feel it. The boy's heart hammered in his chest. He should tell somebody. No, he should investigate. If he took the time to tell someone, it might already be too late. Indecisiveness was not a trait a future duke should cultivate.

Jomurr pushed off with his feet, sprinting for the ocean, pulling, with each step, from the fires and the lights around him, from the pounding, churning waves as they bashed against the promontory at the mouth of the harbour. He felt the power fill him, lift him, propel him. Still, he drew more, until he felt warm and light-headed. His arteries bulged with magical energies as they had scarcely ever done before. Don't foul this up, Second Son. He breathed deeply, the wind beating against his face, pulling the wetness from his eyes. The sparse gatherings of people about at this hour turned to watch, and they would've seen a human-shaped blur plunge over the edge of the cliffs, but Jomurr did not fall. He pushed all of that kinetic energy out, hammering against the forces of gravity, launching himself through the sky.

He was flying.

Unbidden, he let out a bark of laughter, and got a mouthful of dry wind for it that puffed out his cheeks and made him cough. His dreadlocks whipped against his neck, back, and shoulders, but he scarcely paid them any attention, continuing to draw from the waves and expel, trying to maintain his height. Gravity pulled at him and he drew from it, effectively reversing it. This was what mages called the 'gravity loop' and he'd done it before, of course, but never like this. It was... joyful, freeing, empowering, and inn a way that all of his worldly wealth and command.

But then Jomurr was sobered, his wings clipped. Up ahead, he saw the Indomitable Lion, and it was indeed under attack. There were fire and flashes onboard and the youth, streaking in like a comet, steeled himself for combat. He would earn his spurs or he would die defending his king, for such was the highest duty and honour of one of his station. His mouth became a grim, determined line. He drew copiously from his momentum, slowing and dropping, trying to stick the landing.

Figures resolved themselves on deck: black-clad and masked. Rezaindians! How had they gotten there!? The Royal Guard was heavily engaged. Some of their number were down, along with some of the attackers. But the King himself stood like a mighty predator, laying waste to all who approached him with Arcane Lances and Kinetic Sledgehammers. Jomurr picked a target - a Rezaindian who'd cornered an injured Royal Guard - and converted the last of his kinetic momentum into a powerful Arcane Lance. The beam impaled the attacker through the chest, leaving a smoking hole where once he'd had a heart and lungs. Jomurr dropped to the deck and landed in a crouch, casting about for danger.

It found him before he could find it, however. A trio of throwing knives hurtled toward him in the darkness, slowing and dropping maybe a foot from his head and chest. The youth scrabbled backwards and Jobanzaggah himself was there. "Brave," he snapped, "but foolish. You should not be here, boy."

"I would die for my King."

The monarch's face shifted for a moment and seemed to soften in what Jomurr wanted to think of as respect, but it became hard again quickly. "You may very well get your wish." Then, he was gone, leaping from the forecastle to the stern in a single bound to bring the fight to the enemy.

This was his King: a mighty lion of a man whom his family served with unswerving loyalty. It had brought them power and wealth and suzerainty over one of the Empire's most powerful duchies, but when Jomurr was challenged, he did not take it lying down. Spreading his arms, he pulled with everything he had. His body crackled with energy. His eyes flashed with it. The air around him burned and froze in turn. The waves went eerily still and the ships tattered sails slack. As could only someone trained from early childhood, the Second Son reached into the very heart of the matter around him and ruptured it. Colossal flashes of power brightened the night sky and filled him to bursting. He turned to face a tall, robed figure who perched on the forecastle, directing the other attackers and unleashed hellfire. He pulled and released, pulled and released, and the enemy was erased before him.

Inn a haze of power and bloodlust, Jomurr scarcely recognized that the figure he had been pursuing had escaped - evaporated as if it had not even been there. He scarcely felt the pull of the King's grateful energy. Then, Jobanzaggah disappeared, an apparition himself, but the air hummed with his massive power. The youth staggered and blinked. The deck was awash in flames, the masts destroyed and sails burnt to cinders. The ship was slowly sinking. Only a handful of guards remained, but every single assassin was dead, save the leader. Jomurr reached out for energies and could feel him and the king moving even though invisible. The power! It was fantastic - mind numbing. It actually made his head hurt. Then, there was an explosion in the water. The youth darted over to the side railing as the robed figure was hurled mercilessly into the ocean. Jobanzaggah dove in after him, relentless, merciless, pummeling.

Yet, the water boiled and ruptured, glowing orange and bursting open. The Lion of Belzagg was thrown backward, catching himself nimbly against the side of the ship and backflipping to land on its deck.

The robed figure was a woman - she bolted in so quickly that Jomurr did not get much of a look at her. He felt his mind burning and recognized chemical magic. Desperate, he reversed his polarities and she backed away, staggered.

The Second Son slumped against the deck, blinking to clear his head, but the king took advantage of his counter and went on the offensive again. The Kinetic force was incredible. He plowed into her, knee first. Like a ragdoll, she smashed through three decks. Jobanzaggah rose into the sky, eyes burning gold and orange, opened his mouth, and belched pure flame. A heaven's lance of Eshiran-Zept, it caught her on the arm as she was shooting out of the way, propelled by a kinetic draw, and erased the limb from existence. She howled and stumbled, glaring at the king with bloodshot eyes, and Jomurr could feel a powerful chemical attack building.

"Not so fast, rabble!" he shouted, more to distract her than anything else, but she began glowing with chemical fury and the King groaned and grabbed his head, fighting off the internal attack. Jomurr scowled. Time to put you down, he snarled inwardly. Gathering up his energy, he unleashed it upon her: Wyvern's Breath. Consumed by fire, she thrashed and screamed, and the youth counseled himself not flinch away from the sight. "He's coming for you," she wailed, "You'll see! Your time is up. He's -"

Impassively, Jobanzaggah wrenched her head around, snapping her beck, and the attacker went silent. "We show mercy to the doomed," he said, bowing his head slightly, and Jomurr followed his lead. This woman had been strong - unnaturally so. It had taken both he and his king, working in concert, to defeat her, and both were among the strongest on the continent, at least in terms of raw RAS level. "It was an honour, my King." Jomurr bowed immediately and deeply. "We have won the day."

The great king's head reflected the light of the four moons and the fires flickering across his ship. With a great, freezing wind, he swept them out. "Good men and women have died, serving me. I would not call this a victory, young count. This was survival." His face was pinched, his tone pained, and Jomurr furrowed his brow, apologizing instantly, having learned that the mandate of a king was to care for and protect his people. "Come now, let us tend to the wounded."

The two of them made it no more than a handful of steps. At the bow of the ship, a small flame flickered to life, illuminating the tattered remains of a sail that fluttered behind it. Into relief it cast a shadow: a lone, tall lean figure.

Jomurr felt a pressure begin in his head. The wind disappeared and the very air seemed to still. For as far as he could see, the sea flattened like glass. Flames flickered and the sky darkened. A cold, electric pulse traveled up and down the boy's spine and even the mighty king seemed to hesitate. The pressure built: burning cold, crushingly heavy, oppressing Jomurr and driving him to his knees. A man in a mask. He tilted his head to one side.

"To your feet, boy!" Jobanzaggah commanded.

"My king: I will fight with you."

But the monarch's face was haunted, as if he had peered into the eyes of Eshiran himself. "Don't be a fool. That is..." He regarded the figure perched almost mockingly on the bow. "A monster among monsters."

The pressure built and Jomurr fell back to his knees. Such power: it was unimaginable. This is what a 9-plus draw feels like, he realized, with pained clarity. The figure began walking towards them, his voice sepulchral, dripping with a deep, cold disdain. "A pity that did you did not rise. You will die as you lived your life, then: on your knees."

Who was this monster!? What was he!? Jomurr knew terror then like he had never known it before, but he knew defiance, too. The weight of this man's energy was crushing, but he forced himself to his feet, blood trickling from his nose and ears. "I will live!" he grated, "on my feet!" he roared, but that was the last he spoke.

The king's shove caught him off-guard, and he sailed from the dying ship and hit the surface of the water with a cold splash. He could feel himself moving - he knew not to where - then, darkness claimed him.

---

---

---

Perhaps the assassins had underestimated King Rouis and his retinue. Perhaps the students and guards defending him were just that strong and resourceful but, whatever the case, they seemed to have turned the tides against those who wold assassinate the King of the Perrench.

Rouis himself was plowing through sellswords like a battering ram, Fleur-de-lis cloak fluttering behind him, long, wavy hair whipping each time he changed direction, but he was handful for his own side too: the king's eagerness in battle forced them to throw themselves to his defense, desperately blocking bullets with defensive magic. Penny Pellegrin, the printer's daughter with the missing leg, was a revelation in particular: disintegrating projectiles in midair, spreading flames, and tossing bodies around like ragdolls. She was not the only one: Carmillia Carbonneau, a hesitant fighter at best, displayed a different skillset, marshaling the students among the honour guard, sending one to stop the carriage and commanding another - Madeleine Marchand - to light the trees on fire. What dividends the act paid! The forest was ablaze and enemies were pouring out of it, coughing and staggering. How shortsighted of them to hide in a place so flammable. Zenos Lascand and Giroux employed their master-level Chemical magics to render these threats unconscious for later questioning. Muttering about the folly of war, the former bustled about the battlefield patching the wounded up, including his own nephew.

It had become a mop-up action, the attempt on Rouis' life thwarted through brave and decisive action. The king thrust his sword into the air. "Vive la Perrence!" He shouted, towering above a handful of bound and gagged captives. "Vive la peuple Perrencais!" A cheer rose up around the clearing, and he returned his sword to its sheath with a flourish. "I promise you this, my people and our loyal friends: Perrence will repay your efforts. We will not go gently as our enemies wish us to. Why, even now, as Doge l'Anguilla believes that he has our nation in his nefarious trap, it is he who has fallen into ours. That is a matter for a day soon to come," he amended. He cleared his throat. "For the time being, I wish to recognize the bravery and ingenuity of those who have won this day." His eyes beamed with pride, taking in his fellow Perrenchmen and Perrenchwomen. "Miss Carmille Carbonneau," he announced, "though a mere girl of seventeen, your level head, cunning, and command of others has not gone unnoticed and shall not go unrewarded. Please step forward..."

Yet, not so very far away, there was still some deadly intrigue left to play out. For her part, the Tan Keoulean, Seung Eun-Ji, had swept the perimeter clean, making sport of most of her targets. One had his head cleaved open with a knife, Another's had been smashed to a pulp. It was a clean, precise sort of brutality, but utterly brutal nonetheless. When she'd gone in for her most recent attack, however, Eun-Ji's target - a nondescript-looking magusjaeger - had simply disappeared as if he had not existed in the first place. This, she knew, was a powerful enemy. She had not even sensed more than basic illusory magic out of him - the sort commonly employed by those of his skillset for camouflage. The ability to make oneself invisible and project an illusion, all while masking the true extent of one's magic... that was academy-level skill. She was not far from the main struggle. She could likely retreat, but would it be wise to let such an adversary escape? Did he even want to escape? Was it worth risking her life against someone of this caliber, for some foreign king? Eun-Ji reached out with her magic senses and, all around her in the forest were the little spots glowing with energy that denoted the presence of living things. They were not as clear as they could've been, however. The fire drowned many of them out, its thermal and chemical energy radiating across the area, making it difficult to detect those who wished to remain undetected. To be fair... that was something that she, herself, could use.

Meanwhile, for his part, Flavius continued to monitor the battlefield from his treetop perch. Stealth had always come naturally to him and he considered himself rather a master of it. The fact that he had not detected Eun-Ji's hidden opponent beforehand was alarming. This guy was good. He reached out with his senses, looking for all of the usual tricks, but was having trouble -

"The next time you see her," said a voice, and Flavius was immediate in his evasive action. "Tell your lady that she is on the wrong side." The speaker perched almost... delicately atop a nearby branch, no more than a handful of yards distant, hands clasped behind his back. A featureless white mask covered his face, but Flavius could sense amusement in his voice, maybe even a smile. The depth of the skill gulf between them was immediately evident. The youth was plenty good enough to know when he was profoundly outmatched, though that did not happen often. "Also," said the white-masked man, his voice a rich Revidian roll, "you may want to watch your footing." As he spoke, the branch beneath Flavius disappeared as if it had never even existed, as did the speaker. Not even a trace.

---

---

---

Few were the people who knew of King Horik's true nature, for had more known, perhaps they would not have called him 'Horik the Lean' quite so mockingly. Indeed, the gargantuan figure tore through the common sellswords, foaming at the mouth and roaring like a beast. Even blows that were blocked broke the arms of those who blocked them. People were thrown dozens of meters through the air and you could tell which had the Gift and which didn't by how they landed.

Whoever was commanding these people was smart, however, because, after less than a minute of this unholy massacre, they regrouped wordlessly and changed tactics. The skirmishers closed in close to the King's men, leaving little opportunity for him to attack without harming his own people. The magusjaegers remained hidden in the trees, but they shifted their fire from the behemoth of a man who'd been deflecting their bullets back, using them to find the assassins. Instead, they focused on his honour guard, and a couple of figures dropped immediately.

One of their first targets was Marlijn Vaanse, but she was not there for long. Heart thudding in her chest, the youth grabbed a hold of the light and vanished from view. Normally, moving quickly and trying to maintain invisibility was impossible for her, but the darkness and chaos helped. She didn't need to be too precise. Instead, she made for her brother's position, letting her veil of shadows fall away and drawing all of the heat and metabolic energy from a dying horse. She knew the animals. She knew when they were suffering, and this one was finished. She took the gift of its life and turned it into death, unleashing Wyvern's Breath on the nearest two enemies and Owain. Of course, her brother wasn't stupid. He drew from her fire, creating a freezing aura around himself and launched his own fireball. A roiling ball of orange, it roared into the trees and set them ablaze. "Let's see you hide now!" he bellowed, stoking the flames, spreading them. Oraff-Zept, forgive us, Marlijn prayed in her head. It is to preserve life that we take it.

Desmond, called 'Catulus' ('Young Wolf' in Avincian) in lieu of a last name, was one of the few who had stayed mounted, wheeling his horse about with the practiced hand of a sellsword. He exchanged fire with the enemies in the trees, bullets arcing, jumping, and zipping, but had little success. He was fundamentally at a disadvantage in the open, while they fired from cover. Then, he noticed Owain's fireball. It hit the trees and gave him an idea. As the Eskandishman stoked the flames, so did he, pausing his gunfire. It was not long before this tactic paid dividends. Most magusjaegers were about stealth above all else and, robbed of that, were easy targets. As they poured out from the burning forest, he took out one, then a second, and then a third in succession. Their bodies thumped as they hit the ground. He winged a fourth, who screamed. Desmond grimaced, resighted the enemy, and put her down for good. Then, the easy part was over. Those with RAS levels high enough for illusion magic in the dark began to fade. So a shadow game it was to be. He would find them before they could find any of his allies. Lives depended on it.

More importantly, Desmond needed to find whoever was coordinating them, doing such a good job wordlessly moving them around like pieces on a chessboard. His experience told him that it was likely an internal chemical mage, and those were very dangerous targets. As he started to reach out with his senses, looking for the telltale agglomerations of energy that denoted magic users, things took a turn for the worse. A Tan-Zeno, overwhelmed by bullets from multiple directions, let one through and fell. The sellsword could see Anesin Bjelke, with whom he'd shared a class or two, rush over in an attempt to heal him, but then there were other problems. A freezing wind whooshed across the trees, quelling the flames and deadening the smoke. Someone or something hurled King Horik backward, unafraid of his immense power. Desmond was a practical man. He knew that he couldn't tangle with whatever monster was capable of doing that, but there was a subtler figure at work here, equally as dangerous, and something needed to be done about them... quickly.

This was something that the convoy's lone Paggonian, Karim Nazeri, a youth who looked like he'd seen combat once or twice before, agreed with. In truth, his appearance didn't make him a soldier, but one would've been hard pressed to recognize that based on his skilled deflection of the new volleys of bullets and knives that came his way. Everything metallic that approached him went careening away and, slowly but surely, he built up a charge that people around him on the battlefield could tangibly feel. The air hummed with electricity and it arced and leapt from his fingertips. Karim was no killer by any stretch of the imagination. He was a plain, good old-fashioned Paggonian merchant's son, but mortal danger tends to make moral danger fade to the back of one's mind. Desperately, a pair of sword-wielding figures hurtled towards him, their movements enhanced by kinetic energy, trying to stop what they knew was coming.

They were too slow.

As if he were some Thunder God of yore, bolts of lightning leapt from Karim's fingertips and pounded the attackers. They screamed and writhed, their bodies going stiff and burnt, and dropped - smoking - to the ground. Next, he turned his attention to an area of the trees where he'd noticed a lot of fire coming from. Stalking forward, gathering energy, he brushed off the sting of a bullet graze, grunting in pain, and unleashed a second torrent. Electrical power, scorching, arcing, peeled off of him in waves, sweeping through the nearby forest. Invisibility doesn't help when there is nowhere to run. Assassins tumbled from branches, convulsing and shrieking, and Karim had held back. He wasn't a killer. He was a protector and these men might live were they wise enough to stay down and surrender. He opened his mouth to give them a warning, still fairly charged up and ready to unleash should he have to, but that was when King Horik was hurled like a ragdoll. He noticed Desmond looking too, and then Marlijn Vaanse was there, materializing seemingly out of nowhere.

"Gentlemen," she panted, looking haggard and exhausted, "I hope you're not thinking we should join that fight. We'd be worse than useless. We'd be a liability." Her eyes darted between them, and then she winced and focused, calling up a stone from the ground to deflect a bullet. "There is someone else here: a controller of some sort. We need to reach him. We need to stop him."

But it would all be for nothing if the King didn't win his personal duel. Anesin, scion of House Bjelke from the deep spine of Eskand, had remained by her King's side. She had done so, openly, as a Blood Mage and received no reproach. She had pulled from living beings - pulled the life and existence from them to fuel her magic, and unleashed hellfire that nearly matched the King's own. Yet, still Horik's power was greater. She had felt it at the start and felt it now. He must be a mooncaster, she realized, but whoever this was who'd appeared before him, who'd caught him off-guard and flung him aside like trash... this woman is inhuman. Even standing near her was draining. There was... an aura, one could almost call it. It was heavy and oppressive. It drained Anesin of energy and will. It made her head pound and body ache. Internal Chemical Magic. Her movements felt sluggish. They cost more energy and had less effect. Offensive Kinetic Drawing.

Dressed in a white and blue cloak, with an owl mask covering her face, she dodged King Horik's murderous attacks with a nimble, mocking ease. In return, she bashed him telekinetic shoves. She uprooted rocks and trees from the ground and hurled them at him in a growing maelstrom. Horik roared in challenge and frustration and Anesin could feel a massive intake of energy. The air grew colder. The sky seemed momentarily to dim even further. It took her a moment to realize what he was about to do and, drawing a wrecked carriage to nothing, she filled herself with energy and bolted away.

"Everybody back!" She screamed, grasping a couple of the injured with threads of energy and pulling them along with her. Then, the sky exploded. The force of the shockwave knocked her clean off of her feet, singeing her hair and skin, and she used the Gift to keep herself from burning alive. Debris, plants, and corpses pitched and tumbled back from the epicenter and she blinked, flash-blinded and deafened, as a towering mushroom-shaped cloud rose hundreds of meters into the sky. King Horik... she thought, guts turning to ash. He had sacrificed himself for his people, to take out that... blue woman, whoever she was, or had been, for surely no human could've survived such a blast.

Anesin stumbled to her feet, a dull, numb thing. Her hands were burnt and shaking. She would need to heal herself, and others too, she knew. She blinked furiously and her eyes watered. Dirt and ash rained from the heavens and the massive cloud grew still, blotting out the light of the moons. Then, she felt it, unmistakably: energy - massive, abominable energy. The sheer force of it was like nothing she had ever experienced. In the center of an enormous crater stood Horik Vinderborg of Oleften, Berserker King of Eskand. Dirt was still falling from the sky and the air around him glowed with energy. His great beard was seared and singed, still smoking. His clothes were a tatters, his massive chest and the runic tattoos across them exposed as he stalked forward. Anesin's heart leapt.

And then, it stopped.

It lasted only a second. She felt something grip her inside and she knew fear. The pain was barely recognized before it was over.

Volto Azzuro, the one they called Triste, cast the girl's body aside, body language and voice alike disinterested. She turned her gaze upon the King of the Eskandish. He was more powerful than they'd told her. This was a real fight, but the child had gotten in the way and, sadly, the only way to get her out of it was to end her young life. "You didn't think a parlor trick like that would really work," she sneered, "did you?"

King Horik's eyes went to the body of his countrywoman. She'd been brave and capable, young and beautiful. Too brave, though, he thought somberly. In time, but for the eagerness and foolishness of youth, she might've grown into someone great. Now, because of this blue witch, she and a half-dozen others would be nothing. "You will suffer for what you have done here," he growled, drawing from the power of the four moons. Had the fifth been up, he would've cast her aside like the dirt that she was. "By the Old Gods and the New, I will break you slowly. The Poets will pen tales of your suffering." In one fell swoop, he drew everything from the smoke, the ash, and the residual heat of his mighty blast. It burned inside of him, he drew in a great gulp of air, opened his mouth almost inhumanly wide, and breathed fiery death.

---

---

---

Prospero Malatesta was a cautious man but, paradoxically, a risk taker. If anything, his strongest characteristic had always been knowing precisely when and how to leap. Today, he had made such a leap and, in the strictest sense, it had paid off for him. Even now, his enemies were fleeing the city, tails between their figurative legs. Jobanzaggah, he had allowed to stay on the council, simply because he had no further partners who were both reliable and credible and because it would leave the Belzaggic emperor in his debt. Of course, he didn't expect the Thunder King to honour any sort of formal agreement, so he had merely asked for an exchange of favours.

Giving up Horik had hurt, but President Yibozo was a definitive upgrade. The Eskandish king had provided ample reminder mere hours ago of what a hotheaded fool he truly was. "There will be blood," he had threatened. Prospero had nearly rolled his eyes. The only blood shed would be Horik's, most likely when his people rebelled against the costly and foolish war he was sure to try to call.

Yet, despite the completeness of his victory and the humiliation of his enemies, an uneasy feeling sat atop Prospero's stomach as he listened to updates from his spy chiefs. Rouis had had a moment there, as Perrence had been ousted from the council. It had been a powerful one - the sort that spread, as news, on the tongues of people who made stories. The Doge knew that he needed to nip it in the bud.

That was not the only thing bothering him, though. The poise of Rouis... he'd always been a hothead. That song the girl had started: The Doge had had his people scout her after the fact. She was to be in the king's carriage tonight as part of his guard. Her father - a printer - had ties to Rouis. It was not an ironclad fact that the entire thing had been planned, but it was a possibility and Prospero didn't like possibilities when they weren't ones that he could control or that wouldn't benefit him.

There were many moving pieces on the board now and, as always, having some idea of what they were and who was moving them would give him a better understanding of why they were being moved and where they might go next. He had pieces of his own, of course, and they were doing his work - the work needed to drag this world out of its feudal ignorance and into an age of enlightenment, science, and reason. Of course, people tend to resist changes so fundamental, and it was inevitable that blood would have to be -

It cut into his thoughts: a cracking boom, distant but massive, and Prospero l'Anguilla turned to gaze out the balcony of his villa. It was on a small, semi-forested hill and, when he glanced down, he could see that a few people in the streets below had taken notice as well. He furrowed his brow, casting about, and reached out with the Gift, searching for any sign of what had caused such an explosion.

"My Doge!" It was Maurizio, stepping out with alarm on his face, ever protective. Prospero smiled reassuringly. "Don't fear, my friend. I am quite well." The look of relief on his guard chief's face was palpable. Prospero stepped further out onto the balcony and craned his neck, certain that the noise had come from that direction.

An enormous mushroom-shaped cloud rose into the sky and the usually impossible to ruffle Doge of Revidia blinked in surprise. What in Eshiran's name!? he wondered, instinctively reaching out for familiar energy signatures. Eight. He counted them. All six Arch Zenos, the Zenith, and the Paradigm were accounted for. There were other strong signatures too: some of the Zenos, Tans, and even students. He noticed Maurizio staring off in awe at the explosion with him. "Whoever's responsible for that, they're not from the school." That was... due North, Prospero noted, and he wondered. There were four moons up in the sky tonight. He'd heard rumours, of course, but he hadn't been able to confirm them, much to his annoyance. Still, what could've been dangerous enough to make him reveal his true power? The Doge shuddered at the thought.

"Milord," Maurizio prodded. "What shall I do?"

Prospero's eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands behind his back and pivoted to face his oldest and most loyal confidante. "Have the Tethered reach out and confirm those energies." He nodded. "And have our people who can move with the Gift dispatched due north and south down the Godsroad, nearly to the borders." He paused. "Have another out to sea, in the direction His Majesty, the Emperor of Belzagg, departed. They are only to witness and report, not to engage."

Maurizio bowed slightly at waist, hands pressed against his sides. "Very good, sir."

"And Solaire, the performer, request his audience here on the morrow."

Maurizio nodded. "It shall be done."

Prospero smiled tightly. "That is..." As he spoke, he reached out with the Gift, deadening the air outside of his immediate surroundings to sound. The enemy were at the gates - the true enemy. He could feel them, and his gaze turned in their direction, even though they had rendered themselves beyond sight. "... not all," he amended.

"Yes, milord?"

"Send for the girl. Send for Ismette."

---

Dropping off the tray into the Arch Zeno tower meant Leon’s task for the Doge had been completed. Stepping out into the night air, he found things were anything but peaceful. The commotion was coming from every corner of the city and it was not immediately obvious whether this was the good or bad kind. A deep unease took to Leon’s stomach. Just what exactly went down at the conclave? Considering the string of bad events, Leon didn’t imagine it would have been anything good.

Luckily, a drunken man happened to be passing who was more than willing to update him on the details. It was clear from the accent and spiteful tone in his voice that the man was Perrench. The odd cursing was something he could go without, but it made for a very clear conclusion. Leon was quite the enemy in the eyes of this Perrench drunkard, and there would be plenty more like him.

Leon disengaged from the conversation as soon as he could in search of a more quiet place to think. He strolled the quieter alleys of Mudville while he pondered on his next move. The winds of conflict had risen far earlier than he had expected. It was only a matter of time before Ersand'Ernise turned to violence, if it hadn't already started.

Sure he could flirt around with every party wearing the many masks of Leon. Shedding a tear for the Perrench, having a drink with the Kerremands, and of course having a ball with his ‘fellow Revidians’. Such a thing would be easy for him to do. But it didn’t feel right.

By taking the Doge’s offer to enter Ersand’Ernise, he had taken a side in all this. He couldn’t just play for all parties like before, any support he gave one side would draw stares from another. Frankly, he had no idea how to progress. Leon was a child born and raised in peace. He grew up calling all places his home. Now that war was just about inevitable, what could he really do?

Maybe it would mean more if he didn’t make an appearance tonight. Who knows, maybe the oncoming tide of war would inspire a new song.

Leon swayed his way through the quiet alleys of Mudville, plucking on his lute as he went. Once he reached the Castle, he planned to practice in the mess hall for the rest of the night.

---

Place(s): Near the southern border of Ersand'Enise
Interactions: Seung Eun-Ji @Medili, Various @Force and Fury

Carmillia took in the praise of the Perrench King unabashed. Given how things have been going since he enrollment, she was almost surprised something had went her way for once. The attack was ultimately an opportunity for her to flaunt her skillset.

“… Please step forward,” he said.

“You honor me, my king,” she responded.

As King Rouis continued his ramblings, Carmillia stole a glance at Penny. Though she was trying to appear calm, Carmillia could sense her unease. She must have realized her earlier folly by now. Had the king realized too and was playing the fool? Or had he been too focused on battle to hear Penny’s earlier call?

Penelope de Perrence… or is your first name false too? pondered Carmillia.

She had now obtained a powerful card that could serve multiple purposes as long as she played it right. All that was left to do was to tie up the loose ends. Fortunately for her, the others present at the time had been those two.

Yvette Chamonix was currently a mess despite the fact she never directly contributed to the battle, she was currently doing her best to reign in her sobbing. It was a possibility she had already forgotten but it was clear she was not currently thinking anything of the fact that Penny had called King Rouis papa.

Maddeleine Marchand on the other hand… was failing superbly at concealing the fact she was glancing between the King Rouis and Penny. They would need to have a talk.

Though things had initially looked grim, the battle took a turn for the better when the fire started. Flavius had not seen it first hand but he had an inkling it was the handy work of the young lady.

He was currently situated some distance away from King Rouis and his entourage. The Tan Keoulian girl which had been the catalyst to his participation had strayed further and further away during the battle, targeting those lurking in the back. Seeing as the Honor Guard had been doing fine, he had followed after her in order to lend his aid if it was necessary. It had not been. In the end, Flavius’s final contributions to the battle was a total of two men but it was likely the result would not have changed even if he had chose not to step in. The battle was over now and whatever remnants of the enemy were already scattering.

What caught his interest was the magusjaeger that the Tan Keoulian girl had just attempted to fight. He had vanished. It was nothing more than a simple illusion; a conjured projection and likely invisibility that concealed him. However, it had been performed at such a high degree of skill that he had been unable to discern it until the illusion was released.

Again? thought Flavius.

It was not an easy feat to elude his senses. And yet he seemed to be encountering such people repeatedly recently. The numerous men who had snatched away the Rettanese girl—Illanaq Sigmundottir and now this maegusjaeger.

Flavius clenched his teeth. Normally, such matters did not bother him but his pride was acting up. He needed to prove himself by-

"The next time you see her-“

Flavius whipped around and took defensive action, drawing his dagger and leaping back off his perch onto another one.

"-tell your lady that she is on the wrong side."

The maegusjaeger was one thing—he had been at a distance. For someone to so casually sneak up on Flavius while he was on guard was unthinkable. It was a man in a white mask standing atop a tiny branch a short distance away from him. The men that had wounded his pride were of similar skill to his. The man before him was not. This… this man was an another level.

“Also,” he continued. "You may want to watch your footing."

Flavius fell.

His perch had disintegrated into nothing. The man in the mask had disappeared without a trace. Revidian? He had not concealed his accent. It was possible the accent was a ruse but Flavius couldn’t imagine someone of such strength relying on such petty tricks.

Normally he would have been able to recover mid-air from such a trivial thing but perhaps it was the shock or Flavius wanting a more… physical wake up call. He let himself crash into the ground below with a loud thud.

---

A collab post with @Force and Fury

---

Dorothea was walking around with her journal in hand, looking over all that she had learned these past few days. It made her rather annoyed how little of substance it was although that’s usually how the year starts. All this reading left her thirsty for a good old refreshing beer.

Most inns all serve beer with barely any craftsmanship, or at least that is what Dorothea thinks. Only the alcohol from her homeland of Feska scratches that itch and the only people that come close to it…. regrettably, are the Kerreman.

“Oh, are you perhaps also from Kerreman? What province are you from, I don’t recognize your dialect.” Why does she always have to be confused with them? “I sound nothing like those Kerries… Do I?” Not that it mattered, all that was important right now was getting a good drink.

After a long while of searching all the girl could find were Kerreman beer halls. Letting out a rather heavy sigh while tightening her cloak. “I guess I won’t be mistaken for a Kerreman here…” Having mentally prepared herself, Dorothea went inside the beer hall.

The halls were noisy and booming with cheers. Not her choice of background noise, but this wasn’t the place to complain. Choosing to sit a bit further from the big crowd, noticing someone that she’d spotted at the academy grounds. Deciding to sit next to him as a somewhat familiar face was better than a complete stranger.

Manfred had seen the girl around before. It was something with a D, he remembered. Well, she was pretty and she’d addressed him in Kerreman - though it was a particular sort, he noticed. Northerner or Feskan. To hell with it, he thought. This day had given him enough to think about. Kerremand was baiting the bull that was Perrence, and people would likely die for it. Tonight, howeverr, the idiots were celebrating. He’d put in an appearance for the free beer, to be perfectly honest, which was reason enough. He pivoted on his stool and addressed her. “You’re in a couple of my classes, right?” he began. “I’m Manfred.” He held out a hand. “Hohenfelter,” he added. “Of Meckelin-Thandau. Gods, why are our names so long?”

Dorothea looked the man in the eyes. Seems like he did remember her in some way as well. “Dorothea Hohnstein, a pleasure.” She put up a rather forced smile as she took his hand to shake it before noticing she completely forgot to complete her noble name. “Ah, of Albesatz-Danzau…” The free hand covering her face, not used to using that name yet. Trying her hardest to change the subject to cover up her embarrassment. “Yes, we do share classes… What others do you attend?”

“Ugh, too many,” he replied, waving dismissively, “and most of them aren’t of much use if I’m to be honest. I come here for the beer to forget about them, and today it’s free. How about you?”

“I tried to choose a couple that would’ve helped me improve on my existing skills mostly.” She answered before letting out a sigh. “But there’s barely anything new for me to learn there.” Her hand went up in the air as she asked for a beer. “If it’s free I may be here all day!”

Unbidden, Manfred let out a laugh. “Hah! You’re cut off. It’s night, Dorothea Hohnstein of Albesatz-Danzau!” He took a sip, cheeks perhaps a bit rosy, and grinned. “Look outside!”

That smile of hers quickly turned to a frown. “Who cares if it’s night? Don’t people keep drinking till the sun rises?” She took his mug and sipped from it. “I guess I’ll take yours then if I’m cut off!”

“Treacherous woman!” He grabbed hers and took a sip back. “All’s fair now!” Manfred grinned challengingly. Their arms had actually linked while stealing each other’s drinks. “This is a Feskan beer,” he stated, ninety percent sure of it. “I took you for a Swampy. You clip your r’s like one.”

“That’s the only thing that made you realize I was a Feskan?” She took his mug and placed hers to replace it. “There, now drink beer how it’s meant to be drunk!”

“That and the beer theft,” he accused, chugging what was left. “I’ll not have a Feskan telling me how to drink my beer, thank you very much.” By Ipte, she was pretty, and he was half-certain it wasn’t only the alcohol making him feel that way. “Say, you Feskan crook, have you ridden the teufelsrad yet?”

“Beer trade.” She corrected, chugging the other mug. “Why not? We make the best beer on the continent!” Why was it so easy for her to talk to him so easily? Even alcohol doesn’t make it that easy normally. “Teufelsrad? My father told me about it back when I was younger.”

“You haven’t ridden a teufelsrad before? Dory, you’re missing out!” He grabbed her arm, feeling a bit presumptuous for a moment, but he would of course be a gentleman. “Come on! They’re about to start a new round.”

“I haven’t, is it that good?” She let out a soft gasp as he grabbed her arm, surprised by the action. “How do I even play it?” Seeing his excitement was enough to suck her into the same excitement.

“Ah,” he began, “so you take a position on the wheel. You want to be near the middle or you get thrown off by the…what was the word again. Scheisse!” He paused and furrowed his brow as they walked. “Oh yeah,” he recalled, “the centrifugal force. When the music starts, the wheel will start spinning. It’ll spin faster and faster and people slide off. Last one still on is the winner. That’ll be me, of course.”

“Is that all there is to the game? Sounds simple enough!” She smiled and got her competitive spirit on. “It’ll be you? Are you really that confident in your own ability or are you trying to show off in front of me?” A rather crude hit against his arm as Dorothea chuckled.

There were about a dozen people gathered behind the gate as they arrived, and it looked about to open. The band was warming up and the announcer was just finishing up talking with a handful of spectators. “So, the question is,” Manfred whispered, leaning in, “do we play fair, end up on the outside, and lose, or do we leap ahead with the Gift and get a good spot near the middle?”

The woman started to rub her chin softly before smacking him on the back. “Guess it’ll just be more challenging for us then! Hope you don’t mind doing it all fair.”

“Fair is my middle name,” Manfred protested, “and colour me impressed: a Feskan playing fair. Never thought I’d live to see the day.” Truth be told, there had been a time when Manfred had been certain he would not live to see another day at all. The anxiety of it nibbled at the back of his consciousness, but that was fleeting at best. He had good beer in his belly and a fun, pretty girl to mercilessly stomp at a game of teufelsrad. Life was good at the moment. Then, the horn sounded. The announcer shouted, “Go, go, go, you little devils!” and he joined all of the others in the mad scramble for the best spots.

“Not playing fair? If I ever was caught cheating before a game my grandfather would roll in his grave.” Dorothea proclaimed smugly. “And you have a pretty low opinion of us Feskans, why’s that?”

Sliding into place closer to the middle than he expected, with Dorothea more or less beside him, Manfred paused. It was hard to hear anything above the cheers of the crowd. “You don’t actually think so, do you?” He shook his head, finding that he almost needed to shout to be heard. “It’s just the same sort of thing a big brother does to his younger one. I’m rather partial to Feksans, actually.” It was half a lie. He loved their cuisine and the few he’d met had been pleasant people, but the way that they treated their workers was atrocious. “Much better than Holmanians,” he added. Now that was wholly truthful. Just then, as he glanced her way for a response, the music began and he could feel the wheel start to turn.

“Well the last Kerreman student that found out that I was Feskan called me a stingy succubus. I was so mad, I almost grew horns on the spot.” She shouted as the crowd’s cheers would make it quite hard to understand.

Manfred laughed at the image. “Well, you did come here for the free beer,” he shouted back, arching an eyebrow. His expression quickly turned to alarm, however, as the great wheel picked up speed and he felt himself begin to slip.

“That’s true… but there’s nothing wrong with free stuff, is there?” She shouted back with a rather proud tone. Her eyebrow was raised as she saw his face contort to alarm. “What’s wrong? Not used to this?”

Manfred caught himself for a second. Three others were spun off of the wheel in rapid succession. “Nonsense! I am a Honehfelter of Meckelin-Thandau. Victory or glorious death!” Truth be told, he was quite inebriated. It didn’t help the dizziness any. “But,” he added slyly, “If I go down, woman, I am taking you with me, chivalry be damned.”

Dorothea’s smile turned quite sinister. “Me? Going down with you?” She looked around and noticed that quite a bit of people had already fallen off. “How do you see that happening then? As you’ve noticed, I can hold on for quite a bit longer.”

She was right, of course. She was small and light and had managed to squeeze herself into a spot close to the very center. Manfred blinked. The music was loud, the colours swirled, and there was altogether too much lederhosen in evidence here. He tried to pull himself up a bit further, but then the wheel accelerated again and he found himself slipping irreversibly. Truth be told, he was awful at the teufelsrad, so he laid himself out on his side, elbow on the floor, hand on his chin, and grinned as he slid away, throwing in a wink at the very end. “Farewell, succubus!” He tumbled off of the wheel and lay there in a heap for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s only three remaining!” shouted the announcer, “who will it be!? Cheer for your favourite!”

He really had to show off to his last moment on this battlefield of a game, causing her to click her tongue with her cheeks glowing a slight red. “Farewell, Spasti… Wait, only three remaining?” The Feskan was surprised by the amount left, was she too focused on the man who invited her on the wheel? “How’s the heap feeling there?”

Manfred sat up. Dory had said something, but he’d be damned if he’d understood it over all of the noise. He grabbed onto the railing and pulled himself to his feet, accepting backslaps from a few observers. It was tempting to push at some of the others just a touch to see if he could make her win, but that’d be unsporting and he was actually curious if she could pull it off. He blinked and averted his eyes for a moment. The way the women were on the wheel, you could see quite far up their dresses. While he didn’t mind the view, there was decency to be considered too. Keeping an eye on proceedings, he grabbed his beer stein from the tall table where he’d left it and took a refill from one of the roving waitresses. Amazingly, Dorothea was still holding on, though she was starting to look like she might hurl.

“Alright, now it’s getting a bit more challenging…” The woman slowly but surely started to lose her grip on the wheel. She wasn’t going to lose her first game after coming this far, was she? Looking around, she noticed the two others were also slipping but the question was who was slipping slower than the rest? The first to go was getting too dizzy to carry on and quickly lost their grip a while later. Now there were just two left.

“Don’t slip, Dory!” Manfred shouted, partly mocking, but mostly encouraging. “Use those muscles!” He took another sip of his beer and grinned.

[color=86608E]“I know, I know! You don’t have to tell me!”[/cplor] Dory yelled back, quite annoyed by his words. Both her and the other contestant were close to falling off. As she was about to fall off she kicked herself up before falling off, little did she know that that little stunt caused her to win by such a small margin that the announcer and bandmaster had to take a moment to confer.

“It was Dory!” shouted Manfred, “the Feskan wearing the dead otter on her shoulders! She won!”

“You know what, Meine Damen und Herren, I think we should vote!” the announced crowed. “Loudest cheer wins.” He spun on the spot, working up the crowd. “If you think Fräulein Margarethe Leitmer von Assalin-Heinkel deserves it, let me hear you!”

People whooped and hollered and their cheers thundered off of the walls. Prancing about the clearing around the teufelsrad, the announcer spread his arms, and Manfred could not help but be reminded somewhat of Leon Solaire’s theatrics. “If you think it’s fräulein Dorothea Hohnstein von Albesatz-Danzau, make some noise!!!”

People damned-near blew the roof off of the beer hall with their noise, but Manfred decided to use a little bit of his kinetic wizardry to make the victor that much more certain. He grinned roguishly, as she was presented with the trophy and a reward of one free meal each day from the restaurant for the rest of the school year.

“See? Told you I’d be able to do it!” The still dizzy student would lean against the other for support. “Guess you won’t have to pay for my meals now, huh.” A laugh followed by a soft elbow jab in his sides.

“The perfect reward for a stingy succubus,” he teased, jumping a bit as she shoved her elbow into his side. “Ouch! And a feisty one too.” He put an arm around her shoulder to steady her. Yes, definitely only to steady her. “But really, good show. Colour me impressed.” They took a few steps away from the louder area, back towards where they’d started, and passed a group of students murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. “Francois Laroux,” one said. “Arc-en-Ciel,” he overheard another. “Yeah, in the practice hall - we should go.” Mannfred tried not to make it obvious he was snooping, but everybody was drunk and nobody much cared. “Hey, looks like Francois Laroux’s performing in the mess hall of The Castle,” he told Dory. “Wanna score a free concert too?”

“A free concert? Count me in!” a grin covered her face as she thought for a bit. “It’s quite fitting for a stingy succubus like me, right?” She locked her arm with his as a sign that they should go. It was one that Manfred heartily agreed with.

Certainly, when the day had started, neither of them had expected it to go the way that it had. As he reclined on a settee in Arc-en-Ciel’s large practice hall, arm around a beautiful woman, warm food and good beer filling him, listening to the Twin continents’ second most renowned young performer strum away on a lute, Manfred was as happy as he could remember himself being since his childhood - since before the war. In truth, it was not a concert, but a loose crowd of people had gathered in various states of inebriation, and Francois, who’d been practicing, had not told them to leave. He seemed in his own world anyhow, and the music that he played tonight oddly more soulful than the often bawdy tunes that he was best known for. The Kerreman glanced down at Dory, her head resting against her shoulder. “You know, I’m glad that we have tomorrow off, more or less, though I’m in that camp class.” He stifled a yawn. “How about you? Got any classes tomorrow or did you dodge the bullet?”

"I don't have anything important tomorrow, why do you ask?" He had really become her person of comfort in this school. "Are you suggesting something with that question?" A smug smirk filling her expression as she whispered it in his ear.

Manfred blinked. He had not thought… but he had. But he hadn’t, of course, for Manfred was a gentleman… somewhat. Somewhat of a gentleman. “I am merely suggesting what I think is already in that pretty little succubus head of yours.” He grinned conspiratorially. “But um… I also did want to know if you were in that camp class tomorrow, haha.” He chuckled a bit. It would be nice to see more of her. They hadn’t been placed in the same apprentice group, but being in some classes together would be nice.

"What's already in my head? There are many things going on in there, you have to be more specific." She winked quite teasingly. "I am not… but I don't mind signing up for it." She was serious about this choice. Spending time with him seemed more fun than her current classes after all.

“The sort of stuff one would usually expect of a succubus,” Manfred teased, as Francois’ music grew softer and more intimate. “And if you need help navigating that tangle of bureaucracy to switch your courses, I’ve got a connection or two. It’s gonna cost you, though…” He grinned, looking her eye to eye for a moment.

"Then name your price. I will try my hardest to pay it. As a Feskan you have my word." The music had become nothing more than background noise now. "And you must be quite knowledgeable on succubi if you're so sure." She put a finger on his chin.

“How about this?” he replied, and he simply couldn’t bear it any longer. She was beautiful. By Ipte, she was. There was a glow about her: a sense of fun and mischief, and a whole other side - a mind he had yet to explore, but Manfred reached out and took her gently in his arms. He leaned in and kissed her and their lips became a single thing, connecting them. He could feel the muscles in her shoulders and back flex. He could feel that dainty little waist. Her eyes sparkled and everything else faded away.

Did it actually happen? Her mind was processing it all but nothing made sense. Was she really starting to like a Kerreman? Her body sure didn't mind, it was like the kiss caused her body to feel something she wasn't used to. As the kiss faded, she wouldn't let go of his embrace. Completely speechless, her eyes told him how she felt.

It was a cliche but it was true. It seemed like forever and no time at all before they separated. Manfred reached up and brushed some of the hair from her face with his fingertips. “Paid in full,” he said with a soft chuckle.

Around them, a handful of glances were stolen. Manfred did not care very much about those, though. With a final flourish, Francois finished his song and people applauded. He was tuning his lute now. The magusjaeger blinked. Dory was still very much right there in his arms, warm and soft against him. “You know,” Manfred began, “if you stay like that, I’m going to have to carry you.”

"Then I'll stay like this until you do!" She looked up and let her tongue out teasingly. Did she actually find a man she liked? What would mother think of him? Father would like him a lot but it's always a gamble with mother..

“You little shit, you,” he taunted, hefting her up and standing somewhat unsteadily. He gave her a little kiss on the tip of the nose. “Too stingy to even walk on her own.” He shook his head playfully. They had best find somewhere to go. He wanted her, truth be told, and not just in the way that he might fancy many pretty women. There was something just… lovable about her. And she is a Feskan noble, he remembered. Father would approve. Mother would approve because I’d ‘followed my heart’. “Well, if you won’t walk yourself, then I get to take you wherever I want.” He grinned mischievously and began moving.

"Well, maybe I'm still dizzy from the game you had me win. Got a problem with carrying me?"

“Psh, you're a feather,” Manfred scoffed.

Something about being with him felt just right, even a little kiss on her nose made her heart skip a beat. "Wherever will you take me? Not your dungeon, right? That would be oh so cruel!" Her acting skills weren't her strong side but they did their job.

“I would never be so cruel. I prefer to think of it as my castle.” He winked. “I have a real one at home, I promise.” With that, they exited the building. Eventually, Dorothea did find her way back to her feet. Being carried to bed is romantic. Being carried half a kilometer across campus gets old after a bit.

Someone was launching their own fireworks in the Arboretum and the booms and crashes echoed through the air. A group of Jorubans were up late drinking Danzagg and cheering rowdily for their favourites in a game of Ziggurats. It was a warm and a cool night at the same time, but it was bright and beautiful. Four of the five moons were up in the sky. Eike, Raske, Murri, Zollmun, he recited in his head, remembering the childhood rhyme he’d used to help memorize them. Eberhoff comes once a month. He hummed along with it and noticed Dory, nestled under his arm, doing the same, as if she’d grown up with it too. “You know the rhyme too, hmm?” he asked. They were nearing his dorm and would soon be there.

"I do, my father used it to teach me about the moons. Is that rhyme in Kerremand as well?"
She continued to hum it after answering his question." As they walked around, she overheard people talking about the explosion. Today's events almost made her forget about it. "Hey, Manfred… What do you know about the explosion?"

Explosion… Manfred thought for a moment. “I heard some people talking about an explosion earlier, while we were listening to Laroux, right?” He sighed and shrugged. “I know nothing and I have little enough desire to worry about it tonight.” He glanced up at the stars, that nursery rhyme still stuck in his head. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that strange things always happen at Ersand’Enise. Hope everyone’s alright, though.”

"I hope so too, it would be a shame if that explosion ruined even one of the bright minds here…" she smacked her own head. "Enough about that. It's only about us, right now."

For most of Manfred’s life, it had always been about other people. His brother, the heir, had come first. His sister and her treatment had come first when she came down with the Tethering. Then, his country had come first when war had come knocking. Even recently, he had put Eun-Ji’s feelings first before his own. He was always doing things like that. “You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s only about us.”

And so it was.

---

Place(s): Near the southern border of Ersand'Enise
Time: Pandes, Vardes 29, Dami-Zept 54, 1:30 HD - 3:30 HD
Interaction(s): The Mysterious Magusjaeger@Force and Fury | Indirectly, all those who witnessed that certain wide area thing that she had cast

---

Mirage of Lotus

Unbeknownst to seemingly all but Eun-Ji, Flavius, and the mysterious Magusjaeger, the battle was not yet over. Away from the celebrating king and the other members of his honor guard, Flavius had an encounter with Avrael himself while Eun-Ji continued her attempt to find and eliminate the enemy. Whoever this was, Eun-ji knew that they were dangerous. Noticeably more than the rest of the assassins that had been sent to finish off the King of Perrence. It made her even more assured that she cannot let this person go. It was too risky; one with such skills can likely kill the king all by themselves, turning the seeming victory into a disaster with a single fatal bullet. No, it was her mission to protect Rouis, and she will fulfill it even if it meant facing a potentially superior opponent and risking her own life.

Eun-Ji hid behind a tree. A reckless move will likely mean death. This had became akin to a lethal game; a game of tricks between two illusionists and also a game of precision and speed between two kineticists. She took her time to concoct a plan while remaining vigilant, her senses both mundane and magical sharpened to their limits. Whatever her next move is, it will likely be crucial in determining who will come out on top between them. Failure is not an option. She recalled the words of her instructors in the Lotus Sentries. You should be death before you fail. Your life is worth nothing compared to your mission.

And with those words echoing in her mind, she made her move.

There were much to draw from, what's with the flames raging through the forest. These flames also helped with obscuring what she was about to do. Drawing as much heat as her capacity allowed from the flames, she prepared to cast something at four different points. About five meters away from herself to the north, east, west, and south. And then without hesitation, she cast it while keeping her eyes closed. Intense flashes of lights immediately emerged from those points, covering a wide area in their blinding radiance. Ultimately harmless to all but the eyes, yet definitely far more than enough to temporarily blind a person nonetheless. The Light of Ahn-Shune, even though Eun-Ji herself didn't actually know that this spell had a name.

Yet this was but the first part of her plan, intended to both potentially blind the mysterious attacker while also alerting to the others that the battle had, in fact, not ended yet.

She opened her eyes as the flashes of lights faded way. Even for a burning forest, moisture and water can still be found in the air and more significantly within the soil. It was with these that the second part of her plan shall be executed. Using the Liquid Telekinesis that was her specialty, she swiftly gathered water, enough water to resemble the shape of a person her own size. As the water took on its humanoid shape, she imbued upon it as advanced of an illusion as she could, causing the water to turn into a clone of herself. And then, she moved it, making it seemingly run to hide behind a rather thin tree, the clone's head peeking out as if looking for the enemy with its right arm and leg exposed. In short, Eun-Ji had deliberately made the clone looked vulnerable; as if a combatant that was not aware that she had made a mistake by hiding behind imperfect cover that will not protect her.

This technique was the Mirage of Lotus, Eun-Ji's own original spell that she painstakingly created and continued to endlessly refine. And now she can only hope that it shall be enough to draw out her enemy while she waited and observed, a kinetically empowered dagger in her right hand ready to throw as soon as she can locate the enemy by the origin and trajectory of the gun that they will hopefully expose to her.