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[IC] The Hourglass Order Page 40

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Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by Fallenreaper
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by YummyYummy
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@dragonpiece@yoshua171




Incessant scratching plagued Ingrid’s residence on an early Victendes morning, a good hour before Quentic mass was to take place. It came from her door, with the source being a ginger cat with an envelope under its paw. It meowed a couple of times whilst leering at the Eskandish girl, head tilted slightly to the right. Then, it dashed away!

A similar encounter occurred with Valerian, this time at his window. A black cat with an envelope in its mouth tapped against it until it received the attention it wanted and dropped the delivery into the home. Then, off it went!

Dear Friends of the Rettanese Empire,

Let’s meet for real! We have much to share and many events to prepare for.

Dorm 17B - Merchants’ Quarters. After church.

Stay Dope!

-Stormcloud


The time for worship had come and passed like any other week, and like any Victendes most students would find ways to spend their free time, whether in hobbies, self-improvement or simply nothing at all. It wasn’t the case for the two fresh Sanguinaires, however. They had a date. They could decide to completely ignore it, of course. How dare this individual walk on their limited weekly break? On the other hand, she knew where they lived (like most of Ersand’Enise).

Do they attend the rendez-vous?

♫


Ingrid tried to pet the cat before it took off. Damn, Ingrid snapped her fingers as she watched it dash off. She picked up the envelope and shut her door. She made note of the wax cat stamp binding the letter close.

Ingrid leaned on a side table and melted the wax away into a pot. Rather short, Ingrid thought. She weighed on rather to skip mass or to push back her duties to her business. She went to her room to think but more importantly she kept examining the letter, the loops in the letters, the tilt in the words. Punctuation if it was longer.

Ingrid fed the letter to a flame, I can go on my nature walk some other time, my businesses needs some tending. Ingrid worked on the paperwork she needed to do and dropped off what she needed at the banks and handed her letters to the postmaster along with the fare. And away Ingrid went to Stormcloud's dorm.

Flames flickered in a drape drawn window like lantern light as Valerian wrote his reflections in a journal. He’d had the habit for some time and found it helped him process everything he dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Now, with the events in Retan it seemed he had even more to unpack than usual. As he finished a page, Vel heard a faint scratching at his door. Raising an eyebrow slightly, Valerian finished his thought then closed the book before he pushed up from his desk and headed to the door.

Lock moved with a small kinetic spell, Valerian opened the door and glance down the hall. No sign of anything beyond a small cat bounding away. Looking before his door he noticed a letter, which he pulled towards his hand with a bit of kinetic magic.

Catching it in a hand he moved back into his dorm, closing the door behind him as he opened the letter. As he moved through the well appointed door room, the small flickering flames reoriented around him.

Eventually he read the letter’s contents, at which point he frowned slightly. Sighing, he flicked it to the side and into an orb of flame where it instantly ignited and burned to ash. A moment later he’d grabbed a coat and left his dorm room, locking it behind him. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Valerian made his way to the meeting place.

He made a point of finding cover and shade whenever possible, but when that wasn’t an option he used a bit of clever magic to shield himself from the sun. If anyone asked, he’d say he overheated easily and the sun had been getting in his eyes.

“Come in!”

Called a voice, maybe familiar to the two, maybe not. The new resident wasn't exactly the most chatty of the Black Guard. The door opened before the guests with only a chubby tabby welcoming them with a loud meow and expectant look before U-turning, butt out and retreating inside in an elegant gait. The door gently shut behind the visitors once they stepped inside.

The dorm room was spacious, as one would expect from the higher-end merchant quarters. Though there really wasn't much else other than space. A few crates at the corner, a simple blue rug in the centre of the large room and a desk with a chair and a few bookshelves behind it set at the side of the room that had all the windows. There was only one framed painting on the wall opposite to her desk - one of a dune sea and a castle at the distance. Judging by the style, it looked very old.

Stormcloud we under her desk, loading up the drawers with various baubles the two couldn't see. A pale face stained by green paint on her cheek with long, dark hair poked out with a wide smile plastered on it.

“Hi!” she chirped before hopping on her feet, and then hopping again, over her desk this time, to close the gap between herself and the teens. “Please, have a seat.” she opened her arms to gesture toward the entirety of her abode. She wore a freshly paint-stained, white hanfu mismatched with Constantian-style shoes. “First thing's first.” she regarded the tall bunch, quite a bit taller than her mere five feet and three inches, and let her smile mellow into a more neutral look. “How are you adapting to your new lifestyle?”

Ingrid gave a light nod to greet Valerian before they entered Stormcloud's room

Ingrid couldn't help but to very obviously inspect the room. The mysteries of what a centuries old woman does in her spare time intrigued her but the room left her mostly disappointed. She had expected dozens of small knick-knacks to strewn the room but instead, all Ingrid could find of note was a painting of torragonese dune seas.

Maybe her home from years ago? Then she noted the paint that laid on Stormcloud's cheek, Or she is just a painter with lots of styles under her belt. Only time could tell. She took a seat as she asked.

Ingrid was unsure how she was doing. She sat silent for a few moments trying to figure out how to word her experience so far. "I find myself struggling with it. Every time the lor burns me when I worship in the sacred grove, I wither inside," Ingrid spoke candidly in front of Stormcloud, not giving any care of Valerian hearing it. "The blood thing hasn't had as much impact on me as I thought. It's odd, don't get me wrong. But it could be worse."

Giving Ingrid only a small perfunctory nod of acknowledgement, Vel glanced about the room as the feline granted them entry. There wasn’t anything particularly impressive about the Blackguard’s room, but it wasn’t drab either. As he noticed Stormcloud beneath the desk a somewhat amused expression crossed his features. As the woman rose and greeted them with a pep in her step, Valerian found himself liking her.

Cheerful was the first word that came to mind. Funny how they had almost been enemies. At the thought he almost grimaced before hiding his face behind a practiced mask—in the form of a courtier’s smile. Turning his eyes to find a seat, Valerian eventually settled on his own. With a brief cast, the air itself was trapped in between a series of invisible ‘panes’ of kinetic energy such that as he moved to sit, the air caught and held him as if it were solid. “It is…certainly an adjustment,” he stated in a plain yet ambiguous manner.

He’d been rationing himself, a difficult thing when blood starvation would have…rather severe consequences. At Ingrid’s words he nodded somewhat, “I agree, the Sun’s newfound hatred for me is…certainly disconcerting and more than a little troublesome…but not entirely intolerable.”

A smile of delight graced Stormcloud's visage once more. Both were sitting, in a room with no viable seat, with one sitting on the floor and the other straining himself for something more high class. It was nice when people did as requested. It also made her feel just a smidge taller.

“No substantial challenges.” she made oral note to herself, making her unusual Avincian stand out. It didn't sound foreign, but rather accented in a manner that put emphasis on different syllables than one would expect. “That is subl- Err, Swell! Dope, even.” she nodded.

The black guard turned chaperone scooted into her desk a little more under she could cross her legs for extra comfort. “I think I should introduce myself, actually. We'll be working with each other for a long time, after all.” she regarded both of them with a sweeping glance and then focused upwards to the ceiling as she began. “You know me as Stormcloud. My name is Ariadne Hyde. No, it's not my original name, but it was one of my names. I am NOT Enthish or Thalak. And I am here to make sure your transition into the life of a Sanguinare happens seamlessly.” big breath, she was reciting something she had rehearsed and forgot to breathe. “Also, to make sure you don't get yourselves killed and keep the peace between the school and ReTan, I've been sent to intervene on most matters regarding you. Whether for assistance, or reprimand.” another deep breath, and then she went briefly silent whilst tilting her head. Did she forget something?

Ah, right! “Feedings! That, I'm supposed to teach you proper methods. And manners. And our cycles.” she firmly nodded to herself before peering at her group of sitting kids. “I think this is where you can start asking your first questions, before I continue with the, errr,” she had trouble uttering the final word. Or maybe she was unsure if it was right. “deets ...?”

Ingrid nodded along to StormcloudAriadne Hyde, surprised on how seemingly normal it all was compared to the stories of Sanguinaires she heard as a child. What should've been surprising was the school knowing and permitting it. But that ship has sailed. Ingrid's once strong support of the school had shifted to skepticism. The trip to ReTan was a real waking up moment. Upta had known so much more than she told even when asked.

Did they have a role in Hugo's passing? a thought fluttered in for a moment...

Ingrid raised a hand, "So, is there any kind of blood you should avoid? Like the dead or animal blood?" Ingrid decided to start with a simple question. She was somewhat aware of what can happen if she does but asking it from their resident expert was better than any book she could read.

Raising an eyebrow as he listened to Ariadne's rather unique communication--both in annunciation and affectations--Valerian considered what he might want to ask. While he was considering, Ingrid spoke up, asking her first question and though it was a good one...his probably would've been more related to the ethical concerns of feeding. Nonetheless, he was eager to hear a response, his eyes training on Ariadne to show just that. Still, not one to be left in the wings, Valerian spoke up, posing his own query.

"Speaking of the sun..." he began, referring to both their earlier comments, "...do you have any suggestions for dealing with it, given that we do still need to be active during the day?"

Ariadne's fingers drummed over her calves as she listened to each one. Her head canted to one side when Ingrid spoke, and then the other when Valerian did, all the while her gaze drifted about as if she was thinking of something entirely different.

“The bad kind of blood.” she answered Ingrid completely deadpan. “Animals won't nourish you. The ones that won't kill you, anyway. Even dead people, unless very freshly dead, will not sustain you. You will just get sick. Stick to people - mages in particular. RAS, as they call it nowadays, is the indicator you should follow. The higher, the better.”

Then came Valerian's turn, and her expression turned into one of smiles again. “You stay in the shade.” and then a pause. An awkward one. Was this really it? “Although,” she eventually broke it, of course. The grin turned into something impish. “You could cake yourself in makeup. You WOULD look like a clown and utterly suspicious. But, in theory, you'd be safe.” she chuckled. “You're going to be suspicious to some degree, especially to those that came with you to ReTan. Accept it. You're likely already found out by the faculty. It is, in all likelihood, a matter of time before everyone and their dog is aware of what you are.” she snapped her fingers and pointed right at Valerian with a finger gun. “Which is a problem for you, Parrencheman. Your people are particularly vicious to our kind. Whereas this one here,” she nudged her head toward Ingrid. “will likely be ignored so long as she doesn't cause a fuss, YOU are a noble. A stain on their image. They WILL come for you.” she tilted her head slightly. “No matter how important you may believe yourself to be. The biggest nation of the Twin Continents does not hinge on a few superficial pillars. They'd gladly sacrifice their own King for the grander picture. Be careful, fledgling.”

Then, she clapped her hands together. “Dull questions answered. Now you will answer mine before I hit you with the 'deets' and the catches.” one hand retreated to her ankle while the other was kept raised at shoulder level, fingers wiggling as if machinating something devious. The High Sanguinaire grinned wide. “What are your three preferred blood types?”

Ingrid leaned back on the wall as the next question was posed. An illusionary scorecard manifested for everyone to see. She put down some obvious ones and then started to dig through her mind to find more of them to consider.

Logically she needed things that were easy to hide. She already has a sun weakness now but if she suddenly makes plants whither and is 9 feet tall, she will be found in an instant. Things that could help her take down her targets should be high priority as well

After about 3 minutes, Ingrid speaks up, "I think for hunts it would be Sensemaster. For power it would be Fireblood, you can't go wrong with extra power. And because it is interesting, Timewalker." Ingrid answered. Though she did wonder if these would just be dangled above her to control, either way there were plenty of other interesting ones.

Listening to the explanation for Ingrid's query almost brought a frown to his lips, but he schooled his expression as he'd long been taught to do. instead of the shift in expression he simply nodded and gave a small amused chuckle at the idea of caking himself in powders and makeups. That simply wouldn't do. He'd have to find his own solutions it seemed. He supposed nothing easy was worth it, at least that was the common wisdom. Then Ariadne pivoted from educating to inquiring and he raised an eyebrow, admittedly surprised by her question.

He'd not given it much thought, but in that moment he drew on his studies and considered what might be beneficial.

"Glowvein," he said, looking thoughtful, "...and Sensemaster as well." He'd seen the strength of awareness and the danger of Atomic magics and while he had little desire to meddle with such energies, it would be wise of him to have a means to combat them. Then a third came to mind and he nodded to himself, "...Rosebud as well, I think."

Those were a good start. Rosebud covered social situations and could eventually become an asset even in combat. Glowvein gave him an innate resistance--if not immunity--to the invisible fire of Atomic power, whereas Sensemaster let him not only enhance his own awareness--and thus faculties--but also to afflict others with reduced capacity in such areas. In tangent with his own innate talents they would make for a potent combination. Still, as he lifted his gaze and met Ariadne's eyes, he wondered why she was asking.

Ariadne continued with her habit of canting her head to one side when paying mind to one pupil, and then shifting when the other spoke. It was her way of communicating that she was paying attention, even if eye-contact was flimsy at best.

“Sensemaster is a big favourite. And a tad bit of a trap.” she uncrossed her legs and let them instead hang over the edge of her desk while supporting herself with her hands gripping the opposite end of the desk behind her. “If you've managed to touch them, you've probably succeeded in your ambush anyway. A good mana-type, but there are better starters, like ...” she snapped her fingers before pointed to Valerian. “Rosebud! Why take risks when you can seduce or mislead your prey with words and presence alone?” she flashed a toothy smile at the two.

The finger then pointed toward Ingrid. “I expected you to want Glowvein, actually. With your propensity for ... The more destructive spells outside of the forbidden, it would suit you. But Fireblood!” that same finger wagged side to side in denial. “Tsk tsk. Unless your mark is weak or easily mislead, it's a trap that claims many new Sanguinaire lives. Only jump into an ambush for Fireblood if you are convinced you can get a strong advantage. Otherwise,” another click of her tongue. “Better off steering clear until you've fattened up a bit.”

Then, Ariadne snorted. “Timewalker ... Are you suggesting you have a growing interest in Temporal Magic, Ingrid Penderson? Much like Linlin did, or maybe she was sick of having two evil eyes.” she chuckled smugly.

“I wanted to know your priorities. It's good to see you're not TOO ambitious, but have some spunk. It'll at least be entertaining.” she raised her hand to brush the stray locks of her that his a fourth of her face behind her ear as she continued. “Now, for the bummer - You're gonna start wasting away, and I do mean WASTE, if you don't feed semi-regularly. Ideally on a weekly basis.” she announced with a stern gaze and a hardened tone. No more happy-ditsy fun-time, it seemed. “And, you will only hunt in my presence. If I deny you a mark, you obey. If I give you a specific target, you go for it. Defy these two core tenets, or cause enough of a mess to get the hunters on Ersand'Enise, then I will be taking away your acquired abilities and you will be banned from hunting for a month.”

She hopped off her desk, now standing straight and her arms crossed under her chest. “Is this understood?” she inquired, waiting for a response, before continuing. “I'm not difficult to please. Come to me for Sanguinaire-related problems only. Otherwise, we're merely peers. Jolly, youthful school peers. That definitely attend clubs. Yes. And fairs.”

Keeping her words in mind, Valerian nodded along, only finding himself hesitation as she made her second stipulation.

He didn't much like that, her dictating in any instance who he was and was not allowed to hunt. It wasn't that he'd prefer particularly ambitious targets, nor that--as he was sure some Sanguinaires might--that he wanted to target someone and hunt for sport, but rather that he had no idea what the woman's moral scruples were. Stifling a sigh, he nonetheless acquiesced...at least for now. She was stronger than him, that was a simple fact, and there was little he could do to go against her if she truly wanted to put him in his place. As such, it was better to lay low for the moment and question her judgement later even if he ended up following it anyways.

"Very well," he said, nodding once, his expression serious.

Ingrid listened earnestly to Ariadne, making note of sensemaster being a trap and the benefits of rosebud. Ingrid was not much of a seductress. She liked the act but most men found her size to be unappealing, even in Eskandish circles. And Ingrid only grew more perplexed about showing her face in to get it. Maybe she would have to try though.

What Ingrid had been surprised about is fireblood. She knew it was strong but she thought of the manatypes with affinity to a school of magic, fireblood would be safer with their lower RAS. A lot safer than an Atomic mage with Glowvein at least.

Ingrid was obviously curious about Linlin, leaning forward to only lean back as she felt a little teased by Ariadne. "Who wouldn't be interested in it? But trying to become a time mage right now? I'm not sure. I think just feeling time would be worthwhile though."

Lastly came the rules. Ingrid made no fuss or face about them. She just nodded at the conditions placed in front of her.

“My remark, Ingrid, was meant to underline the fact that without Temporal magic, you shouldn't aim for known Timewalkers. The moment you fail your ambush on them,” Ariadne snapped her fingers. “done. Time stops and in the blink of an eye, your head's spun the opposite direction. That said,” she raised a brow as she mused. “You're always rolling the dice whether your prey has that sort of magic to begin with. Which is why I recommend sticking to the semi-familiar, if you can, or study potential targets.”

Pale and dirty hands clapped together, prompting the self-grooming cat to perk up and stand. It brushed against Ingrid's calf. “With all that said, I think we got the important things sorted!” she flashed her pearly whites. “We all got to meet each other, you know where to find me, now ... You're free to go if you have no further questions! Thankies for attending!” Segu, the cat, meowed and yawned.

Nodding, Valerian rose and made his way from the place to enjoy the rest of his day.

The two were dismissed, and first to leave was Valerian. But before Ingrid could cross the door, Ariadne hollered at her.

“Oh! Ingy! I have a small request.” arms reached up for a stretch. “It'll just be a minute.”

Ingrid was so ready to leave after the successful disaster that was the first hunt. But Ingrid knew better, that display of hers earlier taught her better. She turned to Ariadne with a smile and stepped back into the room shutting the door behind her, "And what can I help with Ariadne."

The High Sanguinaire canted her head. “What clubs are you signing up for?” she smiled.

Ingrid was suspicious but thought there wasn't much harm in answering. "Well, I'm continuing most of my clubs from last year. The Eskandish Circle but that is more of a religious outing for me. I actually have become more attached to the Draconic Order." Ingrid rolled her eyes and smirked a bit, "Originally I only joined because of an enthusiastic friend of mine but now I go there because it's fun. He made me into a dragon lover before I knew it. Oh, but back on topic." Ingrid steered herself away from talking about her dragon friend.

"Eshiran's Own I've been a member since last year, and the same with the Pageturners. I think you might enjoy some of the more experimental literature people test out there from time to time." Ingrid gave a light recommendation, always looking for another book enthusiast. "I've also am trying to join the Special Ones for pretty obvious reasons. I had a spot open after I left the Golden Mushroom."

Ingrid then in a hastened whisper, "Fingersteeplers as well, And that's them all"

Ariadne hummed, tossing a few m'hm's and uh-huh's to Ingrid's need to explain the why's for her simply query. Eye contact was also broken in favour of gawking at various details of the somewhat ascetic room she had been working on. Once the question full answered, her head adjusted back to look forward at her pupil.

“Okie! We appreciate it!” she beamed at Ingy, eyes closed to emphasize her delight. “You are dismissed. Have a pleasant day.”

"Thank you, and a good day to you as well," Ingrid left without a fuss. It was actually quite pleasant though Ingrid resisted both the urge to speculate and the urge to believe it was out of mere curiosity. Ariadne didn't come off as malicious but she could be conniving, Ingrid believed. Either way it was not for her to worry about today.
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Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by Echotech71
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Niallus Saberhagen


Event: Moving Forward.
Location: Ersand'Enise.


The evening sky was upon the streets of Ersand'Enise. Niallus walked these cold streets, his breath being seen in the air. with Albion walking shortly behind him. Her head was nuzzling up to his right arm. He smiled, giving her a little rub on her head. From how she was behaving, it seemed that she enjoyed being part of the Animal show event that was being held at the festival. "Did you enjoy yourself girl?" he asked her. She gave a musical chirp. He smiled once again, giving her a little scratch on her white scales on her head. Then continued walking in the cold air.

Opening the door to his dorm, Albion rushed past Niallus inside the room, to her bed. She must be tired. he thought to himself before closing the door. He hung up his cloak. Going to his desk, it seemed he had some letters sent by his family. Suitors, check-ups or just wanting to talk. It was one of them, possibly all three. Rubbing his brow with a couple of fingers, he went to his bedroom to check on Albion, she was fast asleep, just not in her bed. Her body sprawled across his bed. "Why did I bother buying you a bed." he mumbles under his breath with a faint smile.

Some time passes, A lone candle lit from his desk, complemented by the dim, warm heat from the fireplace that was also lit. Sipping on a cup of coffee. Leaning back into his chair, thinking about the last few weeks that have happened. The time of the Faire was fun. He didn't do too badly during the three legged race. Only problem was he wasn't really too fond of his partner, since she almost killed his girlfriend. But now, that's kinda irrelevant now since she's now his ex-girlfriend. He just shook his head. The hopping race, he wasn't too good at during that so he was glad that disastrous event was over.

After was the tug of war. Niallus was put with a few people he knew. There was the obvious one, Esmii. A new friend he's been talking to recently, Roslyn. Penny who looked really different with her having two legs now that completely caught him by surprise. Lastly was Penny's boyfriend Jamboi. Their team was off to a bad start, really bad. Then something happened, it was hard for him to describe. Ayla cast something, then everyone just seemed interested in other things. Miret adjusted herself in her top to flash her cleavage at me, that definitely caught him off guard. Esmii dived into to water running to Sven, then he just picked her up and took her into the bushes. Penny jumped at Jamboi and started making out. No idea what was going through Roslyn's head but from her crimson face it was perverted.

The fourth event was rather fun. Teaming up with Marlijn was something interesting, but it was fun. They didn't win, but the two Eskand managed to still enjoy themselves, by drinking their weight on booze. Then they took part again in the drinking contest. They did a little bit better than the last time, they lost again. Luckily they found a way to ease with the loss and began to drink some more. The downside is, they have no idea what happened the night after their drinking session. Both of them had to go to a binder to help recover from their hangovers. It was fun.

The Talent show was next on the list, once again he found himself pairing with Marlijn. It was a great performance that they managed to create with their act. Both of them did really well, even if they were almost bottom. Still it was good fun. Taking a sip of coffee, he leaned back in his chair, thinking about the live shows performed by the Soul Sisters, another by Leon. "That was fun."

These weeks have been difficult for him to adjust to, break up is never a good thing to come. Maura, Esmii, and Sven have made it easier to help. Even new people like Roslyn. Not to mention he started to talk to Marlijn more. He cupped his chin with his fingers wondering the last time he spent time with Marlijn. "Was it when she and her brother were attacked by a Sang?"

There was an odd feeling in the air, slightly different from normal. It came from somewhere. Niallus's room faded away leaving his body suspended in the air as if he was sitting on something. But he couldn't see it. As he looked around he saw Albion break from the darkness and slowly crept towards him. Each step she got bigger and bigger. Until she towered over the Eskand, he tried to speak but couldn't find the words. He thought it was an illusion of sorts, but it felt too real to him to think that. Then the giant Albion stepped back from him, it started to smile with a toothy grin, then stuck its tongue out. Niallus was even more confused by this display, but it felt familiar somehow. A voice came from where Albion was standing.
"I almost got you there." Niallus recognised it slightly. The atmosphere warped once more, his belongings became transparent, then physical, the Albion in front of him began to fade away, in its place, a young female Eskandish started to materialise. She stuck her tongue out playfully to him.

"Marlijn," he signed with relief, "Thanks god's, I almost thought it was real at first." he smiled, a light chuckle escaped his lips. Marlijn smiled at his complement to her skills. "Thanks." she looked him up and down, "Good, that effect on that hat wore off you. It would be kinda embarrassing having a few drinks with a child." she explained with a little giggle. Niallus smirked at her response, he would have felt the same if it happened to someone else. He finished off the rest of his coffee, standing up ready to go. "I'm ready when you are." he asked her, opening the front door of his dorm room. Marlijn walks past him outside into the hallway. "I am, while we're hanging out tonight, after a few bottles each you can tell me about ReTan." she asked curiously.
"Sure." he simply said, walking with her down the hallway. "Do you think we'll be able to remember after this night?" asking with a little smirk.
"Probably not." she said, sticking her tongue at him. Then the two of them laughed, then the two decided what Tavern to visit first.


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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Ti
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Event: The Summons | Location: St. Yuri's Academy of Thaumaturgy, Sovetskaya, Vossoriya

Oksana was writing on the slate tablets in class. Things at the Academy have been rather turbulent over the last couple of weeks, given the events in Kirimansk. The strict ban on teleport magic had been broken as the group known as the Dieci Volti Nascosti crossed the great pond and stolen several artifacts of magical power hidden by the state. If it wasn’t for the students from Ersand’Enise Academy, it would have been far worse, a fact that unsettled many. The idea of outside help was something that greatly upset the orthodoxy, yet, it provided a convenient lie that their interference and inexperience caused the great loss of the Kingdom’s treasures.

She sighed out; she had hoped she could have rescued at least some more of them for her own people. The Kozaky held a place just outside the central control of the kingdom, acting like war dogs to keep the borders in check. With the artefacts, they could have potentially become truly free. But there was always a bigger picture to such things - so they say.

The chalk scribbled on the slates as she continued the age-old practice of rote note-taking they practiced here. Probably more to keep the students in line than to provide the best education, after all, you don’t want your food able to fight back too strongly. The chalk snapped with her frustration. She remembered asking the Ersand’Enise students for help, only to be met by the indifference of that one girl with brown hair and a freckled face, one of those goody-two-shoes who thought Sanguinares could be good people too, clearly ignorant of the world. She wondered if she would like it, to be viewed as nothing but livestock to them, to be a plate of hot food at the mercy of their whims. A sheep bleating that not all wolves are bad.

Her frustration and lack of attention were noted as she felt the whip of the cane against her fingers. The instructor barked toward her, a demonstration toward the class more than her, knowing she could not hear it. Perhaps another comment about the idle, ignorant Kozaky, unintellectual girl from the tundra, most likely. She simply picked up the broken piece of chalk as she continued to start writing again, only for her hands to feel the kiss of the cane again. She noticed the expressions of the others; there wasn’t the typical mirth, but one of seriousness. She looked up to see the instructor pointing toward the door, with one of the headmaster's attendants standing there. She had been summoned.

Her testimony had previously been under scrutiny, especially with the claims she made, though they were right to suspect some mistrust in there. After all, a Kozaky being loyal to the regime is a convenient truth that is always doubted, and it was clear she went beyond her role as a mere silent observer. However, her documentation on the traitor, Khaluin, was not false, and an exposure of someone so close to the regime by someone like her, an outsider, unsettled more people than made them comfortable. Especially if they knew her bloodline as the Tundra Princess, one of her many monikers as a descendant of one of the wayward children of King Snorri.

After the meeting ended, it went better than expected. She is to be sent out yet again in the trials. She is to sign up for the Sipenta Academy trials as an independent and to get herself recruited by one of the Ersand’Enise teams. Simple enough task; she had hopefully fostered enough goodwill with the students there to pull that off. After all, there were plenty of gifts to be given. The rest of the request? That would be another thing entirely.
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And now, you will bear witness to the trial of the century, pitting the ruthless Prosecutor, Zorino Chorizo, and the legendary defence attorney, Horisius Justiceman, in one of Dami’s most challenging cases!

♫


The curtain split open, revealing the stage. Flat, wooden props created an improvised courtroom with a witness stand, a judge’s bench and other minor elements that were filled with shadowy silhouettes.

“It may as well be case closed, Horisius! The evidence is overwhelming …” spoke a ‘man’ with exaggerated mannerisms and a fake-deep voice. It was Zorino, wearing a cheap costume of a Perrench attorney, a false moustache and a pair of round glasses. Her index finger waved accusingly to the opposite side of the stage she was standing from. “Your client clearly stole the Monseigneur Box!” she accused dramatically.

A new light shined upon a small, dark figure that waddled into the middle of the stage. It was a black feathered monkeybird! “You are wrong! You are wrong! ZOZZY ZOZZY! You are wrong!” it waved its wing-arms in the air as it paced around to deny the prosecutor’s conclusion. At the tip of its beak was a mustache much like Zorino’s, and a white wig on its head. That was it. “Wrong wrong! Your evidence is bad!”

Zorino blinked as he stared at the talking bird. “Mister Justiceman, why are you not wearing any attire?” he crossed his arms. Although not before quick tossing a treat into the animal’s beak and briefly let out a girlish giggle.

“Because! Because! BECAUSE! I only wear one suit in trial! One suit!” it bobbed its head rapidly before turning to the audience. “A lawsuit!!!!” and with the inevitable laughter of at least some, the animal flailed its arms in an overdose of excitement. It even squawked in celebration.

Zorino nodded. “Touché.” he grumbled, then turned to the audience, head by his cheek as if whispering to them. “This guy’s good … His confidence off the charts!” and Horisius let out another howl of joy hearing this, earning him a treat.

“But your client has yet to deny the allegations and you have to refute the evidence! And now I turn to the suspect …”

A light shone onto the witness stand. And it was none other than another monkeybird popping its out from below. This one with a bonnet and a small dress. “Didn’t do it! Didn’t do it!” it bobbed its head like the other did. “Innocent! Was not me! Innocent!” and it earned itself a treat.

Seeing a treat being given, the lawyer also joined in. “Innocent!”

“And yet, miss Maatilda, how can you explain Captain Nibblar spotting you the previous night by the auction house, hmm?” hands on her hips, he leaned into the bird’s space, and then looked to the audience

Then, an awkward pause.

Someone even coughed.

Zorino blinked, the monkeybirds were wide-eyed and grooming themselves.

A little sack of treats had to be shaken. That woke them up!

“OBJECTION!” shouted the dark attorney.

“Objection! Objection!” added the suspect, waving one arm in the air.

The veil on the judge’s bench opened, revealing none other than …

Judge Duyuniros, the Gurgler! The big Skuggvar almost looked to be standing on two feet, both front legs on the big podium, wearing a judge’s wig, a proper magistrate’s attire and a fake beard.

*Gurgle Gurgle*

“SUSTAINED?!” explained Zorino in disbelief. “That was my key witness statement!! Lord Justice!”

A low growl escaped the beast.

“No, I apologize.” he raised his hands in surrender. “No contempt intended!”

“Shame! Shame! You should be shame!” it was Horisius’ turn to point fingers, this time at the prosecutor. “So bad! How do you sleep at night?!” its little feet couldn’t stop hopping in excitement as it looked at the audience.

“Well, that’s easy. Like any good public prosecutor …” he turned to look at the audience. “I lie on one side. And then I lie on the other!” big, goofy smile, followed by more treat distribution.

“Question question question!!!” Horisius turned to the witness/suspect. “Who stole? Who stole? Who stole?”

Then, another pause. This one, purposeful, as Maatilda raised her wing to point at Zorino.

Everyone gasped, and the judge burped.

“W-what?! Impossible!”

Then, a box resembling a bootleg Monsigneus music box fell out of his suit. The audience was stunned!

“I can explain!”

“Enough!” a voice clearly coming from the back shunned the attorney. It sounded masculine, and the deepness artificial. “As Lord Justice, I condemn you to five months in Eskand!” the foot-gavel stomped.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

“Take away! Take Away!” said one monkeybird. “Take, take, take!!!” wailed the other.

Another skuggvar, one with a lamplighter uniform and a goofy constable hat, walked from one end of the stage to the other, dragging Zorino with it, without a single care in the world.

“Another to my flawless record!” the disembodied voice said. “If I keep dishing out justice like this, I should become a chef!” then, the judge gurgled.

“Justice! Justice! Risotto Artist. Did you get?! Did you get?!”

A light shined on the one last spot that was left dark. There was a white horse’s head with a paintbrush held in its mouth. The canvas was turned, revealing only a carrot. Everyone, including the animals, facepalmed.

Then out came Zorino, now in a prisoner’s attire.

“Looks like he couldn’t draw a reasonable conclusion!”

And then everyone struck a pose.

♫


The curtain closed, only to open a minute later with every participant. Zarina, Abdel, Dayanara, Qadire, Horus, Maat and Riesco. With claps, they bowed!





♫


Leon Solaire sat on the edge of the stage, allowing his legs to dangle off the side. He was close enough to be in talking distance to the student's who filtered in earlier. He spent the time chatting away and telling stories as the crowd filtered in.

Once the audience was in full attendance, or close enough, he addressed the crowd.

"Welcome, welcome, I'm glad you could make it." He declared with arms open. "While it pains me that I can only be here tonight before the road calls me back, I plan to give you all an unforgettable show."

Leon stood up and grabbed his lute. He gave the instrument a final check to make sure it was tuned. "I would like to introduce the Spirito Dell'alba band who will be providing back up music. Although, they are very good musicians, very good. I'm a little nervous I'll only look like a pretty face by comparison," he joked.

"Well, I think I've kept you all waiting long enough. My first song will be a new song, first heard tonight! I was inspired by a figure who I met a few days ago on the road. A king of honour and kindness. Despite wearing a mask, I could tell that he was unnaturally handsome and charming as well. I was surprised to find he is competing in your trails. So please give all your love and support in my place. This is Flight of the Sun King."

The song begun with about thirty seconds of Leon alone playing a simple tune on the lute while singing along. Until the light displays characteristic of the performer started and the show had truly begun.

Here came Zarina, along with this Tarlonese Yasoi girl she had been one upping with for the majority of the faire. The looks she not-so-subtly returned to that girl were not going to stop, even with a show like this one. But, it was about fifty-fifty. "Hey, you still owe us for the trials last year!" she called out and waved.

Back up on stage, Leon prepared for the finale.

"Before we begin, I have two tokens to hand out. One a token for these faire game, and one a token of my undying appreciation."

He tossed a token into the front of the crowd, then a rose straight into the middle of the audience.

"Now without further adieu, the finale." Leon set his lute aside and took the lyre out from his back, playing a divine melody for the crowd.

Zarina was the lucky one to catch the rose.

Zarina, gaining the rose, would feel a metal clink around the rose. Three tokens painted green had been tied to the rose.

The Virangish winner grinned, realizing the spoils she had just won. But, her focus was on something else, truthfully. A token was flung toward her close friend's direction - Marci's. And two others were tossed into the air, letting Dami choose the worthy!

And now with the symbol of Ahn-Ipte, Zarina turned to Miret with the look. The rose-prop in hand, and then cornily placed into her mouth. Come. She gestured. She wanted to dance.

Miret leaned in, trying to snatch it away with her own lips. After a moment, she pulled back and giggled playfully. "Yes. Let's!"

All the while, Zarina was unusually fixated on her dance partner. They radiated an energy that would be promptly denied if ever asked afterward - one of passion and want! She was, after all, a dancer since her childhood. It was her element, even if she had long since lost the passion for it. She led the footwork, and taught Miret as they went, and in turn was receptive to her partner's own style.

"I never knew yanii dances could be so fuuunnn!" Miret squealed, giggling and trying to snatch the rose away every time that they came close. Zarina was always a half-step ahead of her, though: light and elegant and... Miret usually preferred men, but - by Ypti - she felt a stirring and would not be one to deny the goddess. On their next pull together, she squished herself right up against her partner and winked. She reached down to smack her bottom... as a distraction. Then, she'd get the rose. For sure.

Zarina eep'd! And so loosened the rose. Just slightly, not enough to fall. And just as she faltered, lips met and everything around her went quiet. Completely frozen, a foot still off the ground. It lasted a short moment, and ended with Miret as the new avatar of Ipté. "... Wicked Yasoi." she grumbled, burning red and forehead pressed to the other's. "Making me so, so foul."

"We're all a little foul," replied Miret, eyes searching Zarina's. "It's the sinning that makes sainthood worth something, you know. Over here, though, nobody cares. Ypti only desires love... of every kind." She backed off slightly, dancing: smooth and svelte, strong and graceful and elegant.

Oh the little sweet nothing sayings and mental gymnastics. The admitted foulness they seemingly mutually shared only deepened her fixation over her partner. Now she was the one pursuing. And she played with her food - perhaps out of playfulness, or maybe out of hesitation. Did she want this? He body said yes, but ...

Their eyes met once more, Zarina behind her Yasoi partner, one arm coiled around Miret's waist, and the other extended out with the other's, her's over it, reaching for the rose that was now at the very tip of her fingers. Any sort of conflict washed away in this moment of closeness and warmth. For the first time, she felt intimately close to someone - and loved it.

After a kiss for their audience to see and judge, she whispered. "Let's go."

Miret took the rose, gently, and held it up to her nose. She smiled and took Zarina's hand. "Let's."





♫


“You won’t hurt me, right?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, suunei.”

“I’m trusting you. Fully.”

“Don’t be scared. Look into my eyes. And join me, Zaz.”

It had been a while since Zarina had a full night’s worth of sleep. Although maybe not the entirety of the night, the sun had long since risen. Birds were chirping, and other birds were whining for attention - Zarina’s Monkeybirds to be precise. But today, they were not her problem. Today, she was a transformed dragon with nobody really questioning it, and as such chores were taken over by the residents of her home.

Today, she had her favourite new friend to hold close and feel things she had never allowed herself to before. Thoughts of the future ran like a film in her head, from their endless love for eachother, to marriage, to kids, to whatever else a girl could dream when they found their one, true love - generally their first ‘love’. It was all impossible and even silly, and she knew this. But it didn’t stop her from feeling all these fuzzy feelings. The shame and regret was going to come later, so for now it was all goodness and indulgence.

Except, there would be no woman at her bedside. Only an empty spot without even a trace of heat from a recent level.

Zarina refused to open her eyes. It couldn’t be real. Was she really just a one night stand? Surely, she was dreaming.

But she couldn’t help it. Her eyes opened and the worst case came to be: Nothing. Dumped like a used rag. The poor girl just went limp on her bed, one eye peeked out of her pillow with her long, brown hair partially hiding it. She so wanted to cry, but her ego and anger toward herself stopped her from showing such vulnerability. She wanted to scream, however …

The smell was still there. Her smell - Miret’s. On the opposite pillow, in particular. Zarina reached out weakly to pull in the fabric and just clutched it like it was her lover.

She stayed like this for an hour, drowned in self-pity with sniffles managing to escape her despite her stifling efforts.

It was only when she heard a noise that she noticed more than the pillow before her and the white wall of her room. A note on her nightstand, and again she slowly reached out to read it.

Going off to war after a memory-making fling.

Zarina grit her teeth and felt her fingers hook. She was angry, at first, but then she giggled with a wide, mirthful smile on her visage. There was even a light blush on her face.

Kinda romantic. Even bothered to write a note.

She carefully folded the paper and delicately placed it back onto the nightstand.

“Scandalous Sanguisoi. Gods, don’t crush my little heart, you heartthrob.”

She bit her lower lip and sprawled on her bed. No magic today, and so no worry. But, even with the relief that came with a myriad of emotions, there was a certain loneliness that took her. Even as Somnes came, it felt a tad cold in Zarina’s bedroom.

Until they came.

“ZAZZY ZAZZY!”

“ZAAAAAAZZY!”

The Monkeybirds had managed to push the door open and noticed their mother in bed. And they were sorely lacking in morning attention.

Zarina smiled as she was bird-piled in mere seconds for cuddles and playing.

Thank Vyshta for this fortune.

Now to make sure the others don't realize I'm as useful as a fire sword ...
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Ti
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Ti Bruja

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Event: Primitive Wrap-Up. | Location: An Zenui





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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by pantothenic
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pantothenic bored part-timer

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Knock knock.

”Come iiiiin~"

Yalen opened the door to the bishop’s office and stepped inside. It was a dark place, dimly lit only by a handful of candelabras hanging from the walls. The velvet colored curtains were drawn closed, blocking out all but a small sliver of light from the outside. As his eyes slowly dilated, he glanced around the room, noting the spartan nature of the superior priest’s work space. Every inch of wall was dedicated to rows upon rows of scrolls, so much so that there was no longer enough room to contain them all within their proper shelves. Hundreds of sealed documents were stacked on top of one another, piled into pyramids in every corner of the room. All other furniture had been removed save for the desk and chair, just to allow one to walk from one end of the office to the other.

If this is how much work the bishops are getting, I can’t imagine how busy things are up at the top. Yalen thought to himself. He was slow to approach the bishop’s desk. After spending half the day walking around the city, it felt like he was walking through mud. He came up with an excuse to skip class today to handle some overdue errands, such as buying food for the dragon and picking up a package sent by a certain gun loving friend. This visit was the last thing Yalen needed to take care of for the day.

The hooded figure sitting in the bishop’s chair was indeed Yalen superior, but this person was not the bishop.

”You’re late you know. It’s not good to keep a lady waiting.“ Gloria crossed her arms and pouted.

”My apologies Sister. As you know, it’s been hard for me to get around as of late.“ Yalen replied with a shrug.

”Excuses, excuses~“ She sighed and blew a lock of crimson hair off of her nose. ”If you had other business you should have let it wait until our meeting was over. Didn’t Colette teach you anything about chivalry?“

I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to come see you. Yalen thought to himself. After getting to know her for the better part of a year, the Biro was beginning to understand why Cardinal Verus rarely let his personal assistant speak out of turn. Her loose mouth was ill fitting someone of her status, especially given the amount of power and responsibility Gloria possessed. He had no idea how such a flippant and salacious woman became entrusted with the power to control time itself. It was not too long ago that his fellow Dark Somnian created an aberration just to stop her past self from tripping over a loose brick. The cardinal yelled at her for so long that he fainted from exhaustion.

”You’re right of course. I won’t let it happen again Sister.“ Yalen bowed his head in reverence.

Gloria covered her mouth and giggled. ”Oh lighten up Yalen, you know I was just teasing you. Why are your responses always so serious?“

”I’m sorry for being such a wet blanket. Perhaps you would have more fun chatting with Brother Creed instead?“

The bloodchild gagged. ”Yeah right. I can barely get two words out of that mute. Talking with him is about as fun as watching paint dry.“

”I wouldn’t go THAT far…“

”Of course you wouldn’t. No balls.“

Yalen could feel a blood vessel throbbing behind his right eyelid. He needed to take control of this conversation quickly so he could go home and prepare for the Trials. The Melon Derby was tomorrow and he had better things to do than get roasted by his annoying colleague.

”Yes, yes. My testicular fortitude aside, I believe you have some news to share with me?“ Yalen crossed his arms.

”Not in the mood for a chat today? Fiiiiine.“ Gloria huffed. She reached underneath her chair and produced a leather binder filled with documents. The priestess slapped it onto the bishop’s desk and began shuffling through her papers. The process took a few minutes longer than Yalen felt it should have, and all the while Gloria sending looks his way. It was the kind of petty behavior he’d come to expect from her. He took the opposite seat and passed the time by staring at the wall behind her, admiring the patterns in the woodwork.

Eventually Gloria brushed against a piece of parchment which gave her reason to pause. ”Oh, here it is.“ It was wrinkled due to a lack of care, and she had to rub it against the corner of the desk for a minute just to make the letters readable. Yalen wondered how the cardinal got any work done when his closest aide treated important church documents like they were her freshman year theology homework.

”Ahem.“ Gloria held the letter up to her face. ”The Quentic Church hereby recognizes your request… blah blah blah… Yalen Castel… mhm… after much deliberation… yeah who cares… sabbatical…“ Her crimson eyes widened with surprise. ”Huh? You requested a sabbatical? And it got approved?“

”Yes Sister, I did. Various things have happened this year, and taking a break from my work as a priest would give me much needed time to think.“

”Frankly I’m not sure what to say. If it were up to me this request would not have been approved. We’ve been stretched thin as it is.“ The parchment gradually turned to dust in Gloria’s hands. ”Ah well, it’s not my place to object. I don’t know what the cardinal is thinking, but I must abide by his decision. Stand up please.“

Yalen rose from his seat. With an exaggerated flourish, Gloria went about magically altering his robes for a second time. His first makeover saw him transformed from a Brother of Sunset to a member of the High Somnians. Things were different now. When it no longer felt like his skin was crawling, he looked down and tugged at his new clothes. There was no more adornment. No more silver trim. The badges of his office had all been stripped away, replaced by a simple gray robe befitting someone on a religious pilgrimage. From today until the time he chose to return to the fold, the young man was no longer a Somnian. He was just Yalen Castel, son of Charles Castel. The only thing identifying him as a Quentic was the five sided icon hanging from his neck.

”There, it’s done. Wow, I just realized how cute you are without all that distracting embroidery getting in the way.“ Gloria’s pale face suddenly turned a light shade of pink.

”Sister…“

”I know, I know. I’m just saying, if I was a Hundrian and you were single…“

”Gloria!“

”I’m sorry! Have you tried not being my type?“ Gloria gave herself an energetic clap on the cheeks. ”Alright, Serious Sister Graziano is in the building now. Nice to meet you.“ She cleared her throat and leaned forward, hands clasped on top of the desk with an air of authority. Yalen couldn’t help but notice that she was sitting exactly like Brother Pierce usually would when having a heated discussion with someone.

”So, I’m sure you’re already aware of how this works, but just in case let me remind you of a few things. You have just relinquished your post within the church. Until the day you decide to return to us, your authority has been stripped along with your uniform. From now on, the consequences of any actions you take will fall squarely on your shoulders, and yours alone. In spite of this, we still expect you to respect the tenets of the Menana and conduct yourself accordingly. You may not be a priest right now, but you are still an ambassador of the Quentic faith. Understood?“

Yalen nodded along in acknowledgement. It took several days of prayer and meditation just to come to this decision. He had a vague idea of how difficult things would get from now on. Without the armor of the church’s authority, people would be treating the priest in training very differently from today onward. He would have to be careful not to anger the wrong people lest he find himself in a dark alley with a knife between his ribs.

”Understood Sister. Thank you for your help.“

”This is the last thing I’ll be allowed to do for you. You really are on your own. Are you sure you’re ready to face the world like this?“

”I’ll be okay. I have friends I can count on now. Besides, no true believer is ever alone as long as the gods watch over us.“ Yalen’s gaze tilted slightly upwards.

”Typical Yalen, ever the poet. Maybe that should be your nickname. Poet.“ Gloria grinned. ”Well don’t let me keep you any longer you busybody. I can already see your feet inching towards the door.“ She waved at Yalen dismissively. With no reason to object, he gave her a respectful bow and turned towards the exit. However, before he was able to leave, he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

”Oh yeah, one more thing.“ Yalen felt a draw of energy from Gloria, but before he could react his entire body was racked with pain. The crazy woman electrocuted him! He would have tried to retaliate if every muscle in his body wasn’t involuntarily seizing up.

”There. That should help a little bit.“

Help me how exactly!? Yalen’s jaw was clenched too tightly to speak. Gloria rested a hand on him and alleviated some of the pain with her magic. Apparently that wasn’t her attempting to murder him. She almost had him fooled.

”Was it too strong? I apologize, I’m still working out the kinks. I’ve been working on a spell to help a Tethered on four maintain their mobility. Could you try getting up and walking around?“

Gloria picked Yalen up and guided him from one end of the room to the other. She seemed to be paying close attention to his feet.

”Hm, still no good. I thought that some electrotherapy might reawaken some of your nerves, even for a short time. The human body is more complicated than I thought…“ Gloria shook her head with disappointment. ”All of us are worried about you. Without those magic shoes of yours you would probably need a wheelchair by now.“

”I’ll be alright Sister. I’m used to this.“ Yalen peeled Gloria’s hands away and steadied himself against the wall. His helper didn’t appear too convinced, but she made no more attempts to support him against his wishes.

”Don’t push yourself too hard. I still have some other ideas for keeping you on your feet, but I’ll need time to experiment. Just don’t go killing off any more of your manas until we meet again, okay?“
”I can’t promise anything if I meet another undead saint.“ Yalen joked.

”Heh. It’s just like you to say that. Ah! It’s a good thing I stopped you. I almost forgot to give you something. Here, a missive from Captain D’aureville.“ Gloria pulled a folded up letter from her inner robes and pushed it into Yalen’s hands. ”The cardinal is sending her overseas to conduct an investigation. The window of departure was too narrow for her to come say goodbye in person. The captain will be spending a few months in Vossoriya.“

”Vossoriya? Why are they sending her so far west?“ The piece of paper crumpled in Yalen’s grasp.

”I don’t know much. The order wants her to find someone for us, and our superiors think the trail starts in Vossoriya. Aside from that, I am as in the dark as you are.“

”I-I see. Thank you for sharing this with me. I only wish I could have been there to...“ Yalen fell silent.

”Oh cheer up. It’s not like she’s going to war. If she runs into a situation she can’t handle alone she’ll come home right away. I’m sure of it.“ Gloria patted Yalen on the shoulder and ushered him to the door. ”Go home and rest alright? You’re a Trials competitor starting tomorrow! You can’t let your anxiety get the best of you or you’ll let your team down, right?“

”Yeah, right. The Trials.“ Yalen mumbled. Suddenly the competition was the last thing on his mind. ”I suppose I should go home and practice my spells. I’ll be taking my leave now.“

”Don’t be a stranger, Yalen. We might not be working together for a while, but we’re still friends right? Let’s have a meal together sometime.“

”Sure, that sounds good.“ Yalen faked a smile as he departed Sister Graziano’s company.

Oh sis… I have a bad feeling about this.
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Ti
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Ti Bruja

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Event: The Proposal | Location: Ersand'Enise

"Jammy," said Penny, mercilessly, "You know this thing is a magic lamp, right?" She was swinging gently in the hammock in his dorm, her lone foot hanging out of it. Presently, the Avatar of Reshta was turning the shiny brass trinket over in her hands and, after a brief silence, she took a moment to glance his way. "It grants five wishes, but it's sneaky. It tries to subvert them."

Ashon nodded as he listened to her words, “You have mentioned this before, but sometimes these things have a reputation far worse than implied.” As if on cue, he brought out the so-called Twig of Woe, “Like this cool-looking knobbly stick. If anything, it is a very sturdy stick; I even batted a cannonball away with it once, but it has never given me a single ounce of bad luck.”

He moved toward her, stroking his hand against her cheek and into her hair. “How many wishes have you made with it?”

Penny straightened in the hammock until she was sitting 'cross-legged', or her best approximation of it. "Why, my dear monkey boy," she purred, "I have used only one." There was quite a big grin in evidence. "I thought we might use the rest to improve our fortunes and... maybe... unimprove those of some people we don't like?" She was feeling mighty devious and clever at the moment.

She rocked back and forth, self-satisfied, until her toes brushed the twig of woe. On her next swing, she found herself over-rotating and tumbling to the floor with a series of painful thumps. Grimacing, Penny sat up, rubbing at her left elbow. She regarded him dubiously. "My love," she began frankly. "Light of my life." He blinked. "Luush'elar," She pursed her lips, pawing momentarily in discomfort at her legless hip. "That thing is cursed as fuck. Maybe we can start by un-cursing it?"

He stroked his chin, “Un-improve those we don’t like? That sounds like a bad idea; we don’t want to make them even worse. Barely tolerable as they are.” He definitely had a few people in mind as he shivered, giving her a big, knowing grin. Though the idea something happening such as a 8-foot Ayla gave him goosebumps too, or an even smaller one, running around and biting peoples ankles.

He blinked as he looked toward her and the twig, watching her crumble to the ground into a puddle, a smile growing on his face. “You just have to treat her nicely. She gets a little defensive, though she can be a little jealous too if you spend too much time with other sticks.” He rubbed the top of the staff, polishing it a little. “Though, would you really trust it not to do something to your lamp?”

"Who'd have ever imagined there'd be a thing called chivalry, huh?" Penny shook her head and, after a moment, stood. "Well, to be fair, your stick gets plenty." She rolled her eyes. Casting about for her crutches, the one-legged woman hopped a few steps to grab them and turned on the spot, holding the lamp awkwardly as she went.

"If twig-chan is too precious," she decided, "I say we wish for something simple it can't possibly fuck up. We just need to leave enough wishes to avert the looming disaster of the three babies I'm going to make in seven months out of wedlock."

He pondered for a moment, especially at the last comment. It was something that had occupied his thoughts for a while. Contemplating rather seriously, he suddenly had an idea. “If I'm honest, there is one thing…”, he moved to settle on the hammock, patting the space beside him. “I find myself in the fortunate position of always getting what I have ever wished for.” He reached out to hold Penny’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I've never lacked for any possessions, having more than I ever want or need. As for love…” he gracefully rose from the hammock and knelt before Penny, taking both her hands in his, “I found the most beautiful girl who has occupied my dreams since before I can remember. One who loves me and is carrying my children.” He gently placed a hand on Penny’s stomach, looking up into her eyes, “The one thing left that I truly wish for is to marry you, Penny Pellegrin. If anything, to give you the wedding you've always dreamed about, even having your father bring you down the aisle as you've spoken about.” He grinned up at her, planting a soft kiss on her ring finger. “Can your lamp do that? Grant us your father’s approval, recognize me as worthy of his daughter's hand, and allow me to give his precious and most beautiful daughter the wedding she has always dreamt of?”

She was about to settle into the hammock beside Ashon when he seemed to think better of it and, in his restless yasoi fashion, rose.

She thought little of it and remained standing. Then, he knelt. He knelt and began speaking in an earnest voice and he was so handsome and so perfect and so... *there* and she didn't know what to make of any of it! Involuntarily, she'd have taken a step back if his hands hadn't been clasping hers. He... wanted to give himself to her. To... be married in the sight of the gods. He said everything right. He *was* everything right.

...and, yet, he was not.

Her father might 'disown' her to let her free of the restrictions of her station. He might attend such a wedding incognito or in disguise. He might furnish her with his well wishes and a sizable dowry and embrace her one last time before releasing the tethers that bound her and letting her sail away to be her own person. Her heart pounded at the thought: her and Ashon, a couple, setting off into the great unknown of a shared future.

Her mother would disown her in earnest, however. They would not speak again and she knew it. She might receive some notion of the woman's 'profound disappointment' through limited contact with one of her siblings, and that would be it. For some reason, she found herself surprisingly unperturbed. All her eighteen years of life, Penelope had tried for her mother's regard, and the best she'd ever gotten were grudging acknowledgements or shallow, public displays of acceptable affection, so as not to lay bare the distaste in which the queen held her daughter. It had always been... exhausting. It had been a constant investment of time, energy, and worry that had nibbled at the edges of her sanity and emotional wellbeing. And now, because she might want to marry a man - *any* man, for it had been made amply clear to her that a 'disfigured' creature as herself was never to bring life into the world lest her curse be passed on - she would face a tantrum from the old woman? Penny's mind was made up.

Placing her weight on her hands so that he held her up momentarily, she knelt before him and brough them eye-to-eye, or something like that, despite his height. "Yes, Ashon." She had said it, and it was cathartic to say. She took a moment to breathe, a smile blossoming, unbidden, on her face. "Yes one hundred percent. Yes. Yes. Yes before Ipté and Oraff. Yes before Dami and Shune and even Eshiran." She rose, pulling him to his feet. "Yes before all the people who give us strange looks in the street." She looked up at him, giggling giddily through the tears. "Yes before you being a foot and a half taller than me. Yes before people asking 'I'm sorry if this is a rude question, but are you two able to... have children?'." She grinned. "On that note, yes before the three Oraff-damned kids you put in me and the agonizing pain of multiple childbirth." She shuddered, but softened it with a rueful laugh. "Which also means yes before those girls who shoot you coy looks. Fuck 'em. You're mine." She reached up and cupped one side of his jaw in her hand and pinched his cheek playfully. "Yes before your prophecy, too. I'm Reshta now. Always was." She winked, hands clasping his, swinging both of their arms back and forth.

"And yes, finally, before my bitch of a mother who says you're not good enough and I'm not good enough to be happy." She smiled with finality, and there was suddenly a hint of shyness to it. Penny took a couple of deep breaths, letting them swell her chest. She rose onto her tiptoes, craning her neck and pulling him in toward her. "I love you, Ashon, with everything I am." She leaned in to kiss him. "We don't need any wishes this time. My father will come around."

Ashon was undeniably startled by the response, taken aback by the reaction. For a while, he had assumed that marriage was an elusive dream, particularly given the apparent disapproval from her parents. After all, would a Perrench King even allow his daughter to marry the local Yasoi orphan boy turned monkey man? This uncertainty had made him hesitant to bring up the topic, and his initial request was more about changing circumstances to make it a viable option. Perhaps the lamp could have changed their minds, or given him some Yanii title to parade around with, or even a so-called 'King of the Yasoi,' as far as such a title would ever exist other than in a comedian's tale.

However, considering everything they had been through, it suddenly seemed to make sense. Here she was, carrying not one but three of his children. What struck him even more was that she hadn't once considered getting rid of them, despite societal expectations and norms. It was no dirty secret, not even with the magical lamp in the picture. He was going to be a father, which was incredibly exciting, and now, he was also going to be a husband too.

As Penny extended toward him, Ashon decided to seize the moment. He effortlessly picked her up, cradling her in his arms and hoisting her upward as he wrapped his hands around her hips. In this playful lift, he found himself the shorter one for a change and leaned up to engage in a deep, passionate kiss with her. After breaking the kiss, he couldn't help but beam at her. “Well, that's another wish granted.” His wide grin persisted as he looked into her eyes. “I suppose this means I'm taking you to Hyparii. Got to show you off to the Old Man for his blessing before the big day.”

Penny leaned into the surprise direction of the kiss. On some level, she knew this was mad - it was all mad and daft and would be her ruin - but it also felt like deliverance, and she wanted it! *Ipté* how she wanted it! When they parted and he held her there, she winked. "Well, you know, you are engaged to the Avatar of Vyshta, you know. She let him set her back down. "Wishes coming true tends of be part of the deal." She straightened her ruffled clothing. "Could you imagine our fathers meeting?" She proposed with a rueful laugh.

Whether or not they would remained to be seen, but now, perhaps, there was just a touch more certainty to it all.

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Xiuyang and Roslyn
Trouble Brewing: How the Mächtig Fall


The Hoch und Mächtig had ended with Xiuyang receiving a token from Maura; a gesture for which she'd be extremely appreciative in the near future, and one which did a great deal to clear the fog in Xiuyang's mind regarding their relationship. They were friends first, and business rivals second.

However, the night's revelry would continue, and the warm notes of rekindling friendship would once again be overtaken by the dry aftertaste of failure. Just as she had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, so too would Trypano; but that wasn't what bothered her. No—Ashon and Penny were flirting, and the conversation that ensued treaded the line between Ashon's usual jovial ribbing, and a serious argument regarding his questionable taste in baby names. Xiuyang had exercised no small amount of willpower to resist the temptation to... check—but Penny was a friend, too. She respected her privacy.

Yes, Penny was a friend. That made it worse. It was childish, she knew, but still, she fled the scene with a poor excuse that she didn't feel well, hobbling off through the bushes of the Arboretum, towards the Ever Tree and Hedda's Lake, one of the few places she still felt safe—though Juulet would soon take it from her. Xiuyang looked over her shoulder, and to be sure, she saw Roslyn, but didn't suspect for a second that the girl was following her. Few students batted an eye at the sight of Xiuyang being drunk. She always seemed to make it back to her dorm by herself just fine, and come back stronger tomorrow.

This made it all the more surprising, then, that once she entered the foliage of Hedda's Lake, she began walking steadily. It made sense in hindsight; the girl was always swimming in low-level chemical magic. It would be strange if she didn't know how to purge the toxins from her body. What was also strange was that she had covered herself in a sonic bubble.

One might have suspected the girl, who wore the shady Revidian merchant look as an almost "ironic" fashion statement, was up to no good. However, she soon knelt down onto the soil, hands pressed up on a tree, looking as if she was going to puke despite being sober. She shook, in agonizing pain.

When Roslyn spotted Xiuyang against the tree, the alcohol in the Hendlish girl's stomach twisted. Any questions in her hazy mind vanished instantly. She hitched up her skirts and rushed forward. Shoes kicked off in her wake letting her feet hit the soft grass. In moments, she kneeled down at the woman's side. Her hand reached out and gingerly touched Xuiyang's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Frowning at her ignorance of the obvious, she scolded herself for the stupid question.

"Scratch that question. It might be better to shift into a sitting position. It looks like you had a bit too much to drink." Roslyn hoped that was accurate because she wasn't the most skilled healer and she doubted there was any Zenos nearby.

Xiuyang's ears rang and her vision blurred as her face became another's. A sensation like a million hot pokers all across her body blinded her to her surroundings. Her heart nearly stopped as the hand touched her shoulder. On instinct, she veiled her face in shadow as she whirled around to confront her pursuer. She could barely hear Roslyn's voice, but she could recognize her, and knew from body language cues that she was trying to help. Her body trembled violently, as if she were on something much stronger than alcohol. She pushed the girl's hand aside and faced away, making hand motions like she was fine, but she wasn't.

No! Not Roslyn—she could never know.

No one could know. The cost was too great.

Upon closer inspection, Roslyn's eyes narrowed with concern. Something was off, her gut screamed. She had seen excessive drunkenness and its effects before, but never this harsh. The way Xiuyang's body shook hinted to something stronger. She fought the urge to jerk back when Xiuyang's blotted out face turned to her. Past the shadows, a pair of eyes stared at her. They seem to shift in color causing her breath to still in her chest.

What the... Her heart dropped into her stomach as her eyes adjusted. For a moment, Roslyn wondered if she was seeing things. Was it the trick of the light, maybe? Some primal instinct argued otherwise.

Xiuyang had only done this a few times before, and it was always horrific, but she had no choice. She immediately began to reverse the facemimic process. Agony compounded on agony as her body returned to her normal. Shit, she was actually going to hurl. It was unbearable. Hastily, she removed her mask with a silent hiss. No noise escaped the sonic bubble as she relieved herself of the alcohol in her stomach.

Damn.

"Godsdamn it, Roslyn! You shouldn't do that. Scared the fuck out of me," came the disembodied voice from the mask in her hand. She exhaled, her breath ragged. She seemed more relieved than annoyed. The shivers started to die down as she leaned up against another, unsoiled tree.

Swallowing the rising anxiety, Roslyn stood there and let the masked woman sort herself out. Her right thumb rubbed her fingers before a foul odor like sour carrots invaded her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, but did her best to hide her disgust. All she could do was stand there and watch. When Xiuyang spoke, Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief. Her hand dug out a handkerchief and then offered it to Xiuiyang. Whether it was for the eyes or mouth, she didn't bother clarifying.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you." Roslyn didn't point out she was anything but quiet. For a moment, she considered her next words. Her form lowered into cross legged sitting position in front of Xiuyang. It wasn't lady-like, but at this point the brewer girl didn't care.

"You going to be okay? Cause whatever that was, it seemed really bad." She tried to put on a comforting smile, but her worry bled through.

Though Xiuyang's mask was removed, a veil of cloth still covered her face. She never showed her face to anyone, nor much of her body aside from her eyes and hands. The rumors why she did so were as absurd as they were numerous. One thing many students thought they knew was that Xiuyang couldn't breathe properly without her mask, but that didn't seem to be true, since she was breathing quite heavily now.

As if she were just suddenly thinking about it, she quickly put it back on. This time the hiss was audible. "I must be losing my edge. You actually snuck up on me." A hollow chuckle echoed from inside the mask as she wiped the tears from her eyes. The pain had passed, and she seemed to be doing fine. She waved her hand dismissively, declining the handkerchief, though she did use the cloth on her face for it. "Sorry you had to see that. Drinking too much doesn't pair well with migraines and chronic pain."

Reaching into her medicine box, she retrieved a pipe and set its contents to flame, but rather than smoking it, simply absorbed its chemical energy, using it for pain relief. "Don't like to mention it. Complaining ain't very classy, 'specially for me. 'Binder, heal thyself,' yeah? There's nothing for it, though."

Seeing the polite decline, Roslyn placed her handkerchief in her dress pocket. Her form leaned back with her hands planted behind her. Absorbing Xiuyang's words, her lips shifted to the side in thought. Garith and Xiuyang had something in common it seemed. Her eyes softened with empathy while she listened.

"Yeah, pain and alcohol are never a good mix. My brother avoids drinking because of that. Not ideal when we're suppose to run a brewery together." Roslyn kept her voice steady when she brushed the sensitive topic.

Xiuyang shrugged in her usual blasé fashion. "Anyway, I'm not sure what else you expected to see, following the school drunk into the bushes. A lovers' rendezvous, perhaps? That's just a rumor, though."

"I will note, I've seen many different types of drunken reactions, but yours... That's a first for me." She began to realize she might be thinking too much into this. Everyone was different after all. Moving on, Roslyn noted the medicine box and the pipe taken out. She considered asking questions, but she dismissed them. It had to be for the pain, she thought and moved on.

"As for rumors, I never take them seriously. After being the subject of them last year, I realize how easily gossip spreads. All it takes is for a lady to strike up a friendship with a gentleman and everyone becomes very chatty." She rolled her eyes at the memory, chuckling softly over how farfetched some became. They mostly died down a month or so later much to her relief.

Xiuyang turned her head slightly, as if she were just a little bit taken aback. Did Roslyn just... dodge a question? Roslyn inwardly cringed spotting Xiuyang's reaction. She realized too late how she sounded and let her smile drop for a moment. Garith was the more articulate one compared to her, rarely fumbling over his words.

Well, two could play that game, anyway. "You're better off. People only spread rumors because they have nothing interesting going on in their own lives. I'm sure you've heard the rumors that I'm a major tree-rider. I'll screw anything that has pointy ears, apparently. Oh, or that I must be a sanguinaire, because I never show any skin. That's a good one. If only my secrets could be kept so easily," she japed with a wink.

When Xiuyang mentioned sanguaires, a raw ball of emotions twisted in her gut. Her form tensed a bit against her will. Forcing herself to relax, she pushed away the discomfort. "You're definitely not a sanguaire." Her confidence was strong about that fact. "As for the other stuff, a good punch in the jaw might set them straight."

Xiuyang took a deep breath, like someone enjoying the aroma of tea might. "I'd never heard you had a brother. Funny thing is, I also have two sisters no one talks about, aside from my dad—who reminds me every chance he gets that they were already married at my age. Whenever he visits, I like to ask him if he's secured any alliances lately. Hopefully he'll get a sense of humor before he gets that joke."

Was it a sore spot or harmless fun? Roslyn wasn't sure, but she didn't pick at it. When her thoughts turned to her own family, the mirth seemed to fade. "Yeah, we didn't exactly leave on the best of terms. He was suppose to be here instead of me." She took a small breath and hid away the hurt. "So what are your sisters like?" She leaned a bit forward, her elbows rested on her knees.

Xiuyang shrugged. "One's a proper snooty lady, living her best 'snootily ever after.' The other at least has a sense of fun and sneakily visits Ersand'Enise from time to time. Neither of them were impressively gifted with magic, though, so it's just me here." She might have looked like she wanted to say more, but kept her pessimistic musings about her father's possible motivations for sending her to Ersand'Enise private for now.

More interesting was what Roslyn said a moment ago. "You're rather confident that I'm not a monster. Can't help but be a bit curious about why." Perhaps, after she allied with sanguinaires in ReTan, she needed some confirmation that she wasn't, in fact, a monster. Perhaps it was her admittedly large ego about her secrecy. Perhaps both.

Roslyn mused over memories she had of Garith before they drifted apart. In his youth, he held a strong wit and mischievous nature. The years wore it away and replaced it with a serious air and bitterness. Things were so much simpler before the disease. She bit her lip when Xiuyang mentioned her confidence. Her eyes shifted downward and considered what to say next.

"I'm not sure you'd believe me, if I told you. I learned things I wish I didn't and even... killed someone by accident. I have regrets and deep down, I wonder if I did anything right." Her face fell when thinking of her last mission.

"I am still having nightmares about it. The good thing is, I found beer helps numb the guilt." She tried to smile, but the eyes didn't match.

Xiuyang had to resist the urge to laugh—not because what Roslyn said was amusing, but because of the absurdity of this situation. She was an honest girl, and it wasn't hard to guess that her true intentions in following Xiuyang were pure. Now she was the one spilling her guts and seeking counsel from the school drunk—counsel which, having gone through a similar experience, she should ostensibly have.

But she didn't. At least, not any that helped.

Some of the tension left Xiuyang's body as she acclimated to the change of subject—not the topic of conversation, but the subject of their attention: Roslyn, rather than herself. Content with this turn of events, she settled into her role as a dispensary of dubious sagely advice.

"I'm guessing you've met one, though I'd say it's not much of a guess. Here's the thing, though," she said, taking a "drag" of her pipe. "There's nothing especially 'evil' about them. They're the result of putting a human in a moral dilemma—drink blood or die—and letting them fester in it for centuries. There's very little a human heart can do in that situation except grow numb. If you ask me, the ones who grow numb to the suffering of other people within a normal human lifespan are infinitely more deplorable than the 'evil' sanguinaires."

It was an opinion that would be shouted down as heresy in any Quentic church—but it was very "Xiuyang." "Any evil you might see out there exists in all of us, to some degree. Sometimes, it's not our fault when it comes out. What matters is trying to be good. You got regrets? Hold on to them. They keep you human. I'd say you can't change the past, but, well." She shrugged and winked. "Thing is, we actually can change the past, and just look at what good it's done for us. I don't look at the world and see perfection—do you? If the wealthy and powerful can't get it right, what chance do you or I have? We can only do our best, and accept that the mercy of our Pentad has to make up the difference. That's our lot." She said it so simply, and tried to make it sound more convincing for Roslyn than it was for herself. She reached down to her medicine box—not to take anything out of it, but to make the sign of Oraff, in a silent prayer that her killing was just.

If Xiuyang was good at anything, it was her way of considering all the factors and justifying her decisions to herself before she made them. It always felt cynical to weigh lives on a scale as if they belonged in a ledger—but when all you had was a merchant's skillset, every problem presented itself as a type of accounting. Her friend from the brewery club was clearly more distraught by her first kill than she was. She'd hope that fact at least made her sound like an expert. As she finished her silent prayer, she nodded as if to confirm the soundness of her own advice—if that's what she was calling it.

Roslyn nodded, confirming Xiuyang's suspicions. On a small degree, she knew what the masked woman said to be true. Vel was an example of this and his struggles reflected it. She prayed to the Gods he didn't turn into a blood thirsty monster one day. Her hands had settled into her skirt where they toyed with the folds. It was a childish gesture, but she didn't care. As Xiuyang finished, she seemed to digest the words bit by bit.

"That makes sense. Sadly, I don't think the Gods have much mercy for my family." She needed more time to think, but some of the weight in her chest had faded.

Roslyn leaned back again, her eyes fixed on her fellow student.

"Do the nightmares ever stop? I imagine you had a few of them thanks to the mission in ReTan. Vel mentioned something about having issues with a giant squid."

Xiuyang paused as the pieces started to look like they might fit together—but, even if Vel had become a sanguinaire during their visit to ReTan, surely he wasn't the one who'd scared Roslyn so badly. It remained a theory, for now, but it did make her even more wary of Ingrid.

"I've never been much of a sound sleeper. Don't really get a lot of dreams to be honest, either." She shrugged. "Probably the alcohol—but uh, don't follow my example. Obviously."

"I think that's a bit too late. I started when I got back from Vossoriya," Roslyn replied. She knew her collection of bottles were growing each night. At this point, she needed one to two mugs just to relax then more to pass out. Her hand lifted to rub her neck which became sore at the thought.

Of course, Xiuyang had been given some time to think about the knower titan. A small part of her refused to accept that what she'd seen was real, but either way, there was no sense in burdening Roslyn with even more worries. "Giant squid" suited her just fine. Perhaps if she did have a dream about ReTan, she'd try to superimpose a giant Ashon into the scene and have him eat the thing like a dish of calamari, just as he said.

"Try to think of something, or someone, pleasant to dream about, and maybe they'll show up instead, or help you out. If you get yourself a new weapon or something that makes you feel safe, you might see it in your dreams too. In the end, though, whether or not the nightmares end is up to you. Grow as a person, and outgrow your fears."

She shrugged. It wasn't a totally satisfactory answer, even to herself—but as the words left her mouth, she realized that perhaps she was stronger than she thought. She'd never fight a knower titan with confidence, but perhaps the feeling of cosmic helplessness would subside eventually. Or maybe she'd just grow old and tired, like everyone else. Only time would tell.

At the mention of weapons, Roslyn snickered. "I don't really have any. I might get a pistol from the Magehunters, but that doesn't make me feel safe. As for outgrowing my fears... That's hard to imagine." Roslyn let out a breath. It felt good not having to be careful with her words now. With Esmii, Niallus, and even Vel, they had so much to carry. It was not fair to add more on.

"It's hard to go from normal to... being swept along in something way bigger than myself. Even when I had magic back, it didn't seem to make a difference. I hesitated and Penny died because of it. She's alive now, but..." Roslyn's arm wrapped about her middle, comforting herself.

Xiuyang shrugged, defeated. She couldn't think of a weapon good enough to make her feel like she had a chance, either. Resigned to her own inability to make Roslyn feel any better about her situation, she started when she mentioned Penny. "Penny died? That cheeky fucker didn't tell me shit!" She slapped her gourd on the dirt, scandalized. "I'll kick his ass later," she told herself, drinking to it.

Roslyn blinked and questioned if she should've kept it to herself. Well, it was too late to change it now. In all fairness, she only knew about it because she saw it happen. Otherwise, she would've been ignorant too. Though based on the use of he, Roslyn could guess where Xiuyang learned about Penny's situation.

Then, finally, Xiuyang decided it was time to stop sitting on the dirt. "There's better places to talk than on the ground," she said, pointing to the gazebo on the little island on the lake. "You wanna know how little people like me make a difference?" the merchant girl from a wealthy family said to the noble brewmaster, a glint of feigned smugness in her eye. "I've got a minute. Let me talk your ear off real quick, eh?"

Agreeing with Xiyuang's suggestion, she picked herself up. She paused long enough to dust off the dirt and casually followed. As she kept in step, her attention latched onto the conversation. A small spark of hope glowed in Roslyn upon learning about yet another person feeling the same way she had.

Xiuyang would while away the next hour or so recanting the tale of her struggle with Seki and Hitoshi, alongside Mountain Spring and Cold Soup. She recalled how small she felt watching the titans fight, and how Seki refused to take the "child" from Ersand'Enise seriously—but she waited for her moment to intervene, and took down Hitoshi with a single well-timed arcane lance. The lesson, she insisted, was that even little people could make a big difference in the right context. If Roslyn felt small, she could cozy up to the "big" people, find her niche, and apply it.

If Xiuyang learned anything tonight, it was that she gave more effort comforting others than she ever did herself. She held herself to higher standards, while giving others more charity. If she wanted to stop feeling small, perhaps she should stop belittling herself while propping up others. Perhaps she should be just a little more selfish. She thought to give Roslyn much the same advice, but she held her tongue for now. She'd defy her usual pattern and give her own advice a test run before giving it to others. She owed herself at least that much, right?

Feeling the tale deserved one in return, Roslyn spoke about the incident at the monastery and then the warehouse. Including information about the anti magic devices. It reminded her that she still held one in her possession. During her shock, she had completely forgotten about it until now. She would need to figure out what to do about it later.

"I have a lot of thinking to do, but thank you. So... How are you feeling now? If you feel up to it, we can pop over to the beer garden. I heard cider can help with stomach recovery..." Realizing Xiuyang might not want a second round, Roslyn then added. "Unless you have something else in mind? I'm all ears."

Xiuyang waved her hand, in a "perish the thought" sort of way. "That suits me fine," she said with a hidden smile. Perhaps, for once, she'd just made a rare, real friend.




Xiuyang and Desideria Solari
Suunei Solari


...Silence. At first, a dramatic silence. Then, a confused one. Then, a very concerned silence when the crowd finally noticed.

From within the darkness of the backstage area, a singular object became visible: a silver mask bearing a hauntingly wide and ambiguous smile that almost threatened the audience with a good time. Having secured the attention of the crowd—but not before a dramatic pause had passed—the disembodied mask moved eerily smoothly up the stairs and entered the stage, revealing the slim form of a dark-haired beauty in a pitch black wetsuit. She strode confidently onstage, in an almost spectral way as the stunned crowd silently watched. No words accompanied her appearance, only a form of music—which, like the lady's mask, was also caught somewhere between jovial and macabre.

The curtains parted, revealing a large glass tank, empty except for a roughly five-inch layer of sand at the bottom. Above it was another tank, this one with a live thresher inside! Some among the crowd recognized this as a setup for escape artistry of some description—and were quick to point out that, for a student of Ersand'Enise, this could turn out... quite mundane. However, before the whispers could travel far, the masked woman made her next move: she craned her neck toward the audience, in an almost leering fashion—and, invisible eyes locked on the crowd, she silently and deliberately showed off each of her limbs—how the wetsuit hugged her body, leaving no space to hide any tools.

In the meantime, two more pitch-black figures emerged, wearing skull masks. One began binding the masked lady hand and foot with rope, handcuffs, and yet more rope—while the other came bearing a plain sign that read "NO MAGIC ONSTAGE" in a variety of regionally-relevant scripts. The crowd whispered amongst themselves; some clearly didn't understand precisely what to expect—but the eerie mask, unsettling music and utter deafening silence of everyone onstage was making them anxious nonetheless. Others knew well, but whispered all the same: could the school really allow a student to attempt something so dangerous? As the girl was daintily lowered into the tank by one of her assistants, the other manned the pulleys hanging from the looming thresher tank above, and tipped it slightly, causing the masked lady's tank to begin filling with water. At last the show had begun in earnest, and the crowd began to quietly watch.

At first, the masked lady did nothing—while the music quickened and built drama, she was just... getting wet. Suddenly, however, one of her assistants just... fell over, in an abrupt and notably un-dramatic fashion, appearing disturbingly unscripted. The water began to rise faster, and the remaining assistant glanced around, appearing alarmed as the masked lady calmly and daintily looked over her shoulder at her bindings... still not doing anything. "Would someone please assist?!" he cried, finally breaking the silence of the act! Tommy rose immediately, no longer able to resist the urge to add to the theatrics and save the damsel with his machismo—but he was too slow! Mahal took to the stage, pulling the rope as she was directed—only, the water began pouring even faster! The crowd began to panic!

But the girl had been waiting for her moment—water at chest-height, her arms obscured by swirling sand, she'd used the wooden hair pin no one had noticed drop from her mask to pick open her handcuffs. She'd been using the teeth of the cuffs to saw through the ropes, freeing her wrists, ankles, and legs. Just as the crowd was begging for someone to save the girl from drowning, she leapt out of the tank, performed a handstand on the rim and landed onstage with a graceful flip, shocking the crowd and her impromptu volunteer! The crowd cheered as the masked lady patted a shaken Mahal on the back comfortingly, silently thanking her for participating in her clever little distraction.


The judges, it seemed in retrospect, had been at least partially in on it. Sunny had gasped and bolted to her feet before being pulled back down by her sister. Luna had been still and impassive until near the end, when she grinned and clapped. Johnny Fabio had leaned in to Jocasta partway through the performance, when things had been going 'wrong' and the two had exchanged a secret discussion. The former was leaning back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The latter was wearing a smirk. She clapped quite enthusiastically, but she'd been the toughest of all judges so far and that wasn't likely to change. Still, she at least gave a 3 out of 5.

Xiuyang had gambled—correctly—that a magic-less act would stand out at Ersand'Enise, and the top five winners very much did. Unfortunately, Xiuyang was not one of them. Despite capturing the attention and emotions of the crowd, and scoring top marks with the judges, her act was less than appreciated by her fellow students. Perhaps the showing had been too morbid; there was a reason the school felt a need to go all out with the faire this time around, after all. The timing may have been bad. It may also be comeuppance for her insistent habit of remaining an enigma, even to her so-called friends. Perhaps there was such a thing as too mysterious. Whatever the case, Xiuyang was unconvinced that she deserved better. She'd needed to spend more than a mere two days planning to develop something truly excellent. She could, at least, consider the act a modest success; she didn't embarrass herself as so many beneath her had done, and none of the probing mages in the audience could figure out her trick. They'd wasted too much time on her carefully planted red herring: the layer of sand at the bottom of the tank that "obviously" hid a handcuff key, or a knife—its true purpose being to hide the wood pin from all but the most observant and skilled binding mages—provided they weren't looking for metal objects.

Then there was Jocasta, who had probably figured out the trick immediately, and found herself suitably unimpressed with its simplicity. Hiding anything from Jocasta would likely be forever a pipe dream. In theory, anyone with the wherewithal to ask logical questions during her unsettling performance could have guessed that she was probably holding something in her mouth beneath her mask, and that was why the act was silent. However, it seemed as if no one did. Most were too mesmerized by the theatrics—and some, by her curves on full display.

Though, it wasn't her body.

"Xiuxiu!" came the hushed whisper of another girl from backstage.

The masked lady, Xiuyang, stared into the darkness, at her own face. It was another Xiuyang!

But, it wasn't.

Xiuyang removed the creepy mask, revealing her face. Though, it wasn't her face.

The other Xiuyang saw her own face staring back at her. "Heyhey!" she greeted herself with a wave.

"Hey Desi," replied the unmasked lady, hugging Xiuyang. Or was it the other way around?

"I thought we were gonna do a bit and prank everyone?" the Xiuyang-faced Desi asked curiously.

"Nah. Was gonna call you over when I stepped up to claim my prize. Didn't win, though. I didn't make top ten, even," she admitted, tapping the toes of her boots on the floorboards evasively.

"Oh..! These kids have no taste. I was on the edge of my seat!" Desi assured her.

"Seeing my own face pouting like a kid is so fucking surreal," Xiuyang remarked.

"Shush! Father will kill us both if he hears you using my voice like that!" Desi replied, cupping a hand over her mouth. She resisted the urge to tell her little sister that she did, too, pout like that when she was young.

Xiuyang snickered, wearing a smirk on Desideria's face that she wouldn't dare try. "You wanna get a drink?"

"Oh no, I couldn't! My husband is here too. We have, uh, plans after this," she confessed.

Xiuyang watched her own cheeks turn red. Had she ever made a bashful face like that? Is that what Ciro saw earlier? Just because he called her "bella" in that smooth voice? Good grief, she thought, shaking her head. "Oh. Well. Guess I'll get drunk by my poor, lonesome self," she teased.

"Alone? But you looked like you were thinking of someone just now," Desi fired back accusingly.

"Me, myself and I. Party of one, baby," she denied.

"Come on, sis!" she pleaded. "What about your sharp-eared friend you're always writing about? The one who's nine feet tall and handsome?"

"He's seven foot—and I never called him handsome," Xiuyang dismissed, earning herself a quiet scoff. "And watch your tongue. It's rude to comment on the ears... When did I tell you he was a yasoi?" She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

"Just now," Desi tossed back playfully. "It wasn't much of a mystery though, you know? Even I know a few things about their culture. They're practically our neighbors! So anyway... introduce me!" she demanded with a smile. "It'll be fun! I'll be you, and you'll be me, and we'll see how long it takes for him to notice something's not right!"

Xiuyang shook her head, averting her gaze. "No," she whispered sternly. "We can't play around like that, you know this. We were pushing our luck to begin with." She sighed. She had no intention of introducing Ashon to anyone, not now that Penny was pregnant. It would be best if she—if she kept her distance. She choked up a little at the thought.

Desi didn't understand, but she certainly noticed. "He broke your heart, didn't he?" she whispered darkly.

"No!" Xiuyang denied immediately. "I did. I didn't... didn't act. I hesitated for too long, like I always do," she said through gritted teeth. She was so very, very tired of crying lately. Would her misfortune ever fucking end? "Change out of my clothes, would you?" she sighed, as if resigned to a lecture.

But the lecture didn't come. Lectures were father's to give—and lately, Xiuyang spoke with an authority that reminded her of him. So, Desi did as she was told. "You're still so young, li'l sis. You will find someone—and when you do, indulge in a little romance. If not for Ipte's sake, then for yours."

Xiuyang remained silent. She couldn't know. No one could know.
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Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by Fallenreaper
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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Force and Fury
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Sound and Fury

They were not happy with her, she knew.

The stars in the night sky looked a little bit different here, but the crickets sounded the same. Tyrel stretched out in the hammock, shifting and swinging gently, her foot hanging out of it. Idly, she flexed her toes, watching the lines of golden body paint gleam faintly under the moonlight. It was only to distract her.

The Avatar of Vyshta throwing off her ceremonial robes, dirtying her hands, carrying buckets, holding screaming patients down while they were healed: this was not the image that those in charge wanted to project. It was supposed to have been a display of majesty. Yet, what good would that have done? Who would it have concretely helped? The nineteen-year-old shifted again, restlessly. Not three feet away were her crutches, and she even started to reach for them before thinking better of it. She lay back. There would be no late-night pacing.

She’d healed. She was no specialist, no lifelong Daughter of Oirase, but she was temple-trained. Ever since those two fateful days on Tantas Island that had determined her entire future, she had been trained and instructed in everything a living divinity might need to know.

Yet, she did not feel like a goddess by simply walking around in the splendid regalia that they’d dressed her in. A goddess should make a difference. A goddess should bring joy and deliverance to her people. In six years, I will bring these lessons with me when I ascend, she thought, in a pointed attempt to reassure herself.

All that it did was make her shift again, uncomfortably. She rested her cheek on her hand. Ever more often she was without Miret. She was without Chad. She saw aluu and aloi, Calidan, Derii, and Sendrii for only a few weeks each year. Her old room, back in Angreth, felt like a mausoleum sometimes.

In one smooth motion, she slid from the hammock and landed in a crouch. Retrieving her crutches, she left her fancy, bloodied outfit hanging from a nearby hook and shrugged, instead, into the simple blue shirt and loose dark pants that Derii had given her at a mette’stiroi two years ago. She was not to be seen in them, she had been ‘advised’, except at night, except as pajamas. Yet, these were the clothes, sewn by her sister’s hand, that knew her body best. They did not put her flesh on display. They did not pinch or pull or restrict. The sleeves were loose and could be rolled up and held back with a button so they didn’t interfere with the loops of her crutches. The right pant leg was sewn shut with actual attention to the shape of her stump instead of being crudely truncated. She stuffed her foot into her boot, swept some of the remnants of her elaborate hairdo from her eyes, and gave into the impulse to… move.

They were on the outskirts of a large town, but it still felt like a military camp. The people in charge had taken every precaution to keep the young avatar of the fallen goddess separate from the rough and crude soldiers who bunked in the trees and large tents but, practically speaking, as she informally outranked almost everyone on the ground, they could do little to stop her night-time wanderings. She was glad of it.

Distance fell away in the comforting language of footsteps: the familiar rhythm of click-swing-thump, click-swing-thump. Instead of letting her mind wander, Tyrel lost herself in the sensory experience of it all: the scents of this alien forest and its strange, broad-leafed trees, the antiseptics and chemicals of the field hospital, the faint burnt smells in the town. She took in the sounds of the strange birds hooting and the small animals scampering. Paired sentries made quiet conversation. A couple of the soldiers’ tents were still lit with the flickering light of candles, lamps, or arcane magic. Their voices, joking, weaving stories, or rising and falling with the fortunes of gambling, reached her ears. Her eyes, meanwhile, were already well-adjusted to the lessened light, and they darted, with a curiosity she had never been able to satisfy, in the direction of a half-dozen side trails, pathways, and streets. They hovered over homes. They warily regarded the sentries and, each time that she was recognized, were paired with a nod as she continued. She would explore Felaxo tonight. This much, she had determined. A stray thought occurred to her: Do yanii also do this? She was not sure where it had come from. The huusoi, of course, were dull, boring people for the most part, with little in the way of curiosity or wonder. Their overwhelming focus on the practical was… not without its uses, she’d been taught, but very much not the yasoi way, very much a path to unsatisfying achievement.

Then, the gate to the town loomed ahead, and the four soldiers at its checkpoint. Tyrel hesitated. They could not refuse her, of course, but she was on a thin branch here. Colonel Nephyn’raad had all-but removed her from the field hospital, shaking his head while extolling all of the hard work her stylists had put into her costume. She grimaced. She could try to sneak through the forest, but they were likely watching it. If some of the locals had embraced their cause, much to everyone’s delight, others viewed them with suspicion and were perceived with it in turn. Still others, hiding out in the depths of the jungle, were outright hostile.

“My lady Vyshta?” came a voice, and Tyrel whirled on the spot, nerves sizzling. There was a girl on the path - perhaps just a handful of years her junior. The avatar recognized her. “Seviin?”

She bowed her head. “The same, my lady.” Idly, they came a few steps closer to each other. They’d spoken surprisingly little of substance, despite having spent much of the day in each other’s company. Mostly, it had been the work of saving lives that had bonded them. If Tyrel could not remember the girl’s full name or hometown, she knew perfectly well how quickly her pain-dampening magics would set in on a patient with an abdominal wound. She knew exactly how Seviin would fold her bandages. “What keeps you awake at this unholy hour?” she enquired. “Oirase knows you’ll need your sleep if tomorrow is anything like today was.”

They came together and their voices lowered. “I might put precisely the same query to your radiance,” Seviin responded, and Tyrel smiled ruefully. “Turns out, even goddesses have trouble sleeping sometimes,” she admitted with a shrug. They were not so much walking as standing off to the side of the road, restlessly taking a step or two at a time in either direction. Seviin glanced down, and then back up, knowingly. “They didn’t like it,” she remarked, “Did they? When you came to work in the hospital.”

Tyrel swung idly on her crutches, pawing at the ground with the toe of her boot. She looked up. “I expect they did not,” she confirmed, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes. She glanced away, down the road, to where the sentries waited in the distance. She turned back to Seviin. “I’m sure they were especially fond of all the blood I got on my nice little outfit.”

Seviin smiled conspiratorially at that, absently following Tyrel’s lead and poking at the ground with the toe of one of her shoes. The smile faded, however, and she became earnest. “You saved lives, your radiance.”

For some reason, it felt strange to be addressed so formally by a peer. Seven hours ago, they had both stood at a wash basin, scrubbing blood off of their hands together. Perhaps it should not have. Her family, Miret, and Chad aside, she was spoken to as a goddess by all she met. Perhaps she just missed them. They were, this moment, landing in Solcuura, she knew, taking the capital by night, facing mortal danger, most likely, without her. How Tyrel had begged - the young goddess before an old man in a uniform - to be allowed to accompany them. She’d been too valuable, of course: always too valuable to risk. “I’m… glad,” she replied belatedly. “Glad to be of some genuine use.” A sigh built but did not escape. Seviin was dangerous, she realized. The words of this girl dripped with subtle rebellion and, what was more, Tyrel did not find herself in complete disagreement with them.

“They all admire you very much back at the hospital, Lady Vyshta,” The young priestess assured her. “You are the first and - to date - only one of the higher-ups who’s made more than a perfunctory visit. At least a dozen people who would otherwise not be are alive because of you.”

“I only wish they’d let me do more,” Tyrel admitted, kicking at a pebble. She twisted to regard Seviin in full. “I fear my leash is very short, and even shorter now.”

“You cannot simply command them?”

The avatar shook her head. “It turns out there are those above even goddesses.”

Seviin regarded her steadily in the moonlight, smiling faintly, ruefully. She started to reach out for Tyrel’s hands, but then thought better of it. “These old men, you know, understand only Exiran and Damy.” She paused. “Oh, and perhaps some measure of Ypti.” She blinked in distaste. “In their own way.” Tyrel knew what she meant. There was very much a difference between how the smallfolk addressed her as ‘radiance’ and how the men in charge did. There was very much a difference in how the one admired her as compared to the other. Perhaps that was why her ‘radiant’ clothing was covered in blood and she was wearing a shirt and pair of pants that her sister had sewn. Instead, she reached out for Seviin’s hands, crutches dangling from their cuffs. “We will not be mere minor pieces on their board forever, suunei.” She tried on a reassuring smile. Seviin’s hands were small, cold, and sweaty. It had not even occurred to her to use the familiar term for the girl, and yet she had.

Yet, Seviin did not seem to take heart. She half turned, hands still loosely in Tyrel’s and sighed. “I shall pray that you are right, my Lady Vyshta.”

She needed reassurance, the avatar realized. She was flagging. Managing a bit of a puckish smile, she squeezed the girl’s hands. “Your prayers have been heard,” she assured Seviin, “And I shall work hard with all my divine power to grant them.” It was the sort of joke she made all the time with Miret and Chad. She’d tried to make it with her parents before, but they’d been mortified.

Seviin’s hands slid free and she got down on her knees. “I am greatly honoured, your radiance. I shall strive to be worthy of the favour you’ve shown me.”

Something inside of Tyrel pinched, at that. She forced a smile instead of a grimace, and bowed her head. “You are worthy already. Now go and carry on your good work.” She released Seviin and the girl rose, bowing again as she backed away. “I… I shall, my Lady Vyshta! With your blessing, I shall.”

Then, she was gone, and Tyrel was alone.


“You ready, suunei?” Chad was fastening the last of his straps. He breathed in and out. Miret, crouched in the darkness some three feet away, glanced his way. “You ready, suunei?”

He snorted. She smirked faintly, but it faded quickly from her face. Both of them knew how serious this was. Both of them were unhappy that Tyrel hadn’t been cleared to join them. Both of them had a job to do. The floorboards creaked below them and moonlight filtered in through the couple of portholes hewn roughly into the Taol Zaganax’s living timber. They were lucky to have even those. A rigid curfew on light or excessive noise was being enforced across the fleet. Those who broke it were to be flogged or given to the beasts. So far, no punishments had needed to be handed out.

Quietly, Miret made the sign of the Pentad. “Watch over me, please.” She glanced Chad’s way. He was more than just the lush’elar of her cousin. “Watch over him as well.” She kissed the little medallion that hung from her neck and breathed: in and out. They had kept her well fed, this third landing of the grey fleet, in both senses. The power that coursed through her arteries was palpable in her movements, her drawing, and her senses. Her eyes gleamed, predatory, in the night. Chad rocked back and forth in nervous anticipation. “For the cause, suunei,” he assured her, “for the cause.” he knew, of course, how she felt about ‘the cause’. That was the joke. That was Chad: half sincere and half mocking, always.

“For the cause,” murmured another handful of voices.

“For the liberation.”

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii.” It became a sort of refrain, working its way through the hold, through the members of Shadow Dragon Team. Absently, even Miret joined in. In theory, she often reminded herself, the intent to cure people of a crippling plague and rid them of a corrupt government was a good one. She just had to trust that it was pure, and she did not.

Outside, as the great cannons atop the walls all turned to face the army they thought was coming inland, fifty great ships, each laden with a hundred elite warriors, slipped past the outer harbour defenses, accelerating to unnatural speeds in the grip of magic. In that same grip, they proceeded, invisible to the reserve sentries manning the harbour watchtowers. For a moment, the world brightened, and she knew what it was: the Great Light of Sairax’Solcuun. It fixed upon the Taol Zaganax and she knew what would come next.

“Moila,” barked Captain Jurax, “Suunei!” His nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed. “Brace!” The great bombards, whose immense weight had taken the better part of a day to be shifted and remounted on the landward walls, could not be repositioned on time but, within moments, the first of the bombardment arrived. The high, keening wail of a siren pierced the night. The cacophonous chiming of church bells began. In the buildings and canopies of Solcuura, she knew that those who had not already evacuated - those who had nowhere to go or no way to get there - were bolting awake in bed, rushing into cellars and streets, arming themselves, huddling together and praying. She squeezed her eyes shut. I am not your enemy, she assured them from the depths of the vessel on which she traveled. I am not here to harm you - I swear it - only your bitch queen and those who would defend her and the other parasites that feast on your people. She opened her eyes again. “I swear it,” she mouthed under her breath, drawing a brief glance from Chad.

Then, the first arcane lance struck and there was no stopping it. Miret flung herself to the deck as it scythed through the ship. Instantly, Suulet, Darchan, Saldon, and Thevand were vaporized, only the last of them even having the chance to scream. Outside light streamed in through the great blackened wound in the Zaganax and, for the first time, Miret laid eyes upon their target: the Tansan capital of Solcuura. She had memorized the map of it by heart. She had seen paintings and heard it described.

She stood there, transfixed, as the embers where the ship had been carved open glowed orange in the humid night air and cold, slimy water began to pour in through the gaping wound. Nothing had prepared her for the sheer… decrepit majesty of the place. Part tree, part stone, steel, and wood, the nine great towers that gave Solcuura its name rose into the moonlit sky. Three of them: Alax’Alan, Toithiira, and Sen’dan’thuul, the tallest of all save for the light, towered some seven hundred feet above her, colossal even from this distance. Awe inspiring as they were, there was no missing the state they were in either. Asticaan and Leiluunsa leaned against each other, a series of enormous cables and buttresses stabilizing them. A portion of Carsoascan’rai was burnt out and overgrown. Yenteiyon was skeletal in its upper reaches, home to the nests of thousands of seabirds.

She scarcely registered the danger of the magic being flung her way. She scarcely flinched as the cold water washed over her feet. Then, the Great Light pulsed again, and three more ships of the Grey Fleet were split clean in two. The Taol Zaganax! Right! She snapped out of it. The vessel was damaged and she was a binder. Lieutenants Luuran and Canthal were already hard at work, and the others were rallying to the cause. The ship was listing, but she could see the keel below intact. It could yet be saved, at least for long enough to get them to their destination. She picked an area where two others were struggling to stem the flow of water long enough for the wood to be reconstituted, and helped them. Gradually, they won the battle. The Taol Zaganax picked up speed again. A colossal ball of burning stone missed it by mere meters and it was all that they could do to stop the force of the waves from crushing the fragile rebound planks.

Then, came that fell light again, and its horrid death ray swept across the Grey Fleet, punched through two more vessels. Immediately, in flames, they began to go under. For a moment, it struck Miret how fragile she was. How she, this little thing of flesh and bone, was at the mercy of this ancient titan. Countless attacks of magic and cannonfire alike hammered Sairax’Solcuun, but it had stood since the days of the first Tansan Empire and their most fearsome weapon was defended with everything that the people of this broken place had. Strangely, despite everything she had been assured of - that the Tarlonese were liberators, that most would welcome them, that Sairax’Solcuun had not fired its Death Ray in nearly two centuries and was no longer operational - she could not fault them. They were fighting for their home. Against their liberators.

The top of the pinnacle began to glow once more and the bombardment intensified. “Remember!” Captain Jurax was shouting, “They fight from fear. They fight for the lies they have been told by the cruel and decadent despot who sucks this land dry. Yet, those who fight -” A near miss rocked the Zaganax again and Miret drew from the surrounding water to make ice around one of the weak spots. “are the enemy of not only ourselves, but of their own people. Make no mistake, liberators of the yasoi, they are to dealt with accordingly!”

Then, that terrible tower unleashed once more and everything inside of Miret tightened. If she met the gods now, she would do so with grace. She’d only had eighteen years - how much longer it could’ve and should’ve been - but there was no helping it. That was all in Vyshta’s and Exiran’s hands. It struck somewhere else, and another ship went to the bottom. There were voices shouting, commands being issued. The captain rushed up top and then, less than a minute later, came rushing back down. “Dragon Unit!” he barked, and Miret realized that was Chad’s. They shot looks at each other, and no words needed to be exchanged for them to know what would have been spoken: Look after Tyrel for me.

Eleven of the Grey Fleet’s elites stepped forward. “You have been approved for insertion. This is a moderate-severe risk insertion. Your target -” He paused to gesture out of the yawning hole in the Zaganax, “is the heat conduit of the Sairax’Solcuun. Lieutenant Loiret will warp you there. You are to overcome local security and secure three levels as a buffer. You are to overload the conduit and extract yourselves via kinetic magic. Is that understood?”

If they bled anxiety, they also bled eagerness. That vile construct had claimed a great many of their own. They were smarting for revenge. “I obey!” they shouted as one. “I fight!”

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii!” shouted the captain.

“Jaadas, juuras, tan’daxii!” came the reply, as Loiret worked.

Then, the portal was open and they launched themselves through. Chad was second-last. Miret twisted to look out ahead of them as best she could. Loireth was already at work again. The Zaganax was flooding again. It would not matter. They were close. So long as the Death Ray didn’t burn them down, they would be in the halls of the Ienaphex’bii in little over a minute. Anxiously, as the captain warned them that they might be separated, that resistance might be stiff, that the Queensguard was made up of aberration-mad maniacs who were fanatically loyal to her because she kept them supplied with what they craved, Miret watched the tower. She watched and, silently, she prayed. The pinnacle began to glow. She could see, if she enhanced her vision with magic, the tiny figures moving around up top. She could see the ancient mechanisms - one of the few things actually cared for in the city - begin to heat up and pivot… towards her. I’m sorry, Zarina. I would’ve loved you.

Then, the glowing beacon flickered. It flickered, and the tiny figures around it froze in place. That was for the barest of moments. Loiret was preparing her portal; she was charging up. Then, they began to run. Miret watched as, impossibly, they hurled themselves from the tower. Sairax’Solcuun bulged about the middle, and cracks spidered their way up and down the ancient structure. Thick black smoke began pouring out of them and all that she could think about was Chad. He was there. Likely, he was part of the cause. Great chunks of stone began to peel off of the sides, and more figures dived desperately from the wounded goliath. Then, all at once, it ruptured. The middle section - some fifty feet of it - blew outwards in a fantastic explosion that forced all within a mile of it to cover their ears and look away. Like blood pouring from a lethal wound, the smoke boiled and billowed outwards, thick and black and spreading. The light at the top went dark and began to tip over. Great chunks splashed into the water below and Miret’thilan watched Sairax’Solcuun buckle and fall after a thousand years as sentry of this place, a great black and orange river of smoke and flame following its tortured descent. For a moment, she nearly forgot about Chad.

Five hundred feet of stone, steel, and crystal crashed into the water and the wave raised was colossal. It rushed toward the Zaganax and the ship would not survive it. Then, the portal was open. “Through, Ghost Squad! Through!” roared the captain. The ships of the Third Grey Fleet bucked and bobbed on the water, two or three capsizing. One - already damaged - turned to splinters. The rest rode it out. “Move! Move! Move, or you’re gonna swim with the rest of us!”

Silently, Miret thanked the Taol Zaganax for bearing her safely. She thanked the captain for leading with courage and discipline. The others rushed through into the imperial palace. The ship, she knew, would not survive. She crouched low and drew with every fibre of her being. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes glowed. The Zaganax splintered around her, its fibres becoming her energy, her energy becoming a weapon. The ship began to buck and buckle as the great wave lifted its fragile remnants. Miret launched herself forward, accelerating like an ashbul through the glowing gap. Loiret slipped in beside her. On the other side lay the enemy. Woe be the enemy.


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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Force and Fury
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“Woe be the enemy!” crowed Rikard, spinning on his heel to face the others as they walked. He was trying to convince himself that he liked this group, even though he wasn’t that thrilled about it. Still, it was the Trials and he was in it and… what was there really to complain about? “Why… with Captain Skuggvarr, Cool Wheels, ‘I Definitely don’t have bodies stashed in my basement’ and…” He trailed off, regarding Aridane. “Well, aside from clearly being like… thirty, you’re kinda normal, I guess.” The fourteen-year-old shook his head. “Anyway, we’re pretty stacked. I like our chances.” They were walking - well, four of them were, anyhow - back to their assigned base. All about them, other teams were doing the same. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, and the leaves were green on the trees.

“Sooo… you guys just… play games for a week?” Seviin was asking, and a couple of the others nodded. Juulet grinned toothily. In truth, the young priestess was wary of the claimed Avatar of Vyshta, not just because she was in conflict with the claim of Tyrel, who was something of a friend, but because of her entire bearing. Something about her rubbed Seviin the wrong way. Regardless, she found herself agreeing this time. “Seems like it,” the one-legged girl chirped. “Yaniis, am I right?” At least a couple laughed. This group was no democracy, so the genuineness of the reactions was perhaps up for question but, regardless, it did not appear to be in any particular hurry.

Elsewhere, clusters of five and ten were hustling over to their assigned bases: academic housing of the city’s Zenos, temporarily cleared out for the games. A couple of squirrels skittered across the open expanse of the Arboretum before diving into the safety of the trees.

If there were people outside of they city vying for the attention of those inside, if a place called either Mudville or Belleville was about to decide its future in a high-stakes election rife with foul play, if Ai Medda had been conquered and, just one night prior, Solcuura had fallen, it did not seem to matter within these hallowed hallowed halls and verdant gardens.
For over five centuries, the famous white walls of Ersand’Enise had stood impregnable, a resolute barrier against an outside world that was often a source of danger and turmoil; a place where these young Biros of magic - scions of elite families and leaders of tomorrow - sought calm and sanctuary.

This fourth day of Velles, its streets, parks, and squares were littered with melons in a great many colours, shapes and sizes. These fruits sat under the sun: some mundane and some enchanted. They perched in market stalls, they hung from trees, they floated in ponds and canals, and they waited in dressing rooms, offices, pantries, and shoppes to be claimed by the teams involved in the Great Melon Derby of the year Dami-Zept 55. Yet, the melon derby was not alone among games this year…

“Perhaps I am mistaken,” El Alacran was saying, “but this does not look like a normal part of the house’s furnishings.” There was a small, ornate lockbox on the dining room table and, from it, issued a slight ticking noise and some faint kinetic energy. As he spoke, voices from the drawing room - those of their allies, the Dark Protectors, rose in startled Retanese. It appeared that they encountered the same thing. Each box had a note attached.





“Parallel games…” murmured El Alacran, and that seemed to be the general sentiment. Marceline nodded along with it, but she narrowed her eyes. “Defense is basically worthless from what I can see,” she decided, but she appeared to be effectively alone as the others on her team and on many other teams began making complex plans to keep their boxes out of the hands of their opponents. Outside, the first few clouds had begun to move in. Everyone was busy making their frantic - or perhaps measured - final plans. All that was left to do, for most, was wait.

It was naught but five more minutes before the bells in the city let loose with a great cacophony of ringing. They flooded the streets by the thousands, then: the young biros of Ersand’Enise and a half-dozen other academies. For the five-hundred-fifth-fifth year - an auspicious one to be sure - the Great Melon Derby was underway!

Within twenty minutes, two of the five sacred elemental melons had been claimed: water and thunder. The first clouds began to appear in the clear blue sky.

By the end of the first hour, the terramelon and cloudmelon had been grabbed as well. Fluffy and white, clouds drifted lazily across the heavens.

Fire went half an hour after.

The Fat Bastard was lifted from the lake.

All but two dark melons were gone. Oh, how the sky had clouded over now!

Then, in the far southeast of the city, came a mighty beam, rising kilometers into the sky, disappearing into the whitish-grey blanket above. Attention turned, in earnest, to what had, now, to be the melon supreme! It lasted all of two to three seconds. Then, it was gone, and the rush was on!

While some clashed over the apparent prize, others snuck into each other’s bases to steal either melons, Thieving Cherune’s boxes, or both. The Melon Derby, in time-honoured tradition, was headed, once more, for its climax and it was all to play for.

Then, just as an unholy alliance of Juulet and Johann was breaking down the door to King’s Ear’s base and wreaking havoc within, as Marceline was juggling the true melon supreme six kilometers up in the sky, above the clouds, there was an accident.

A girl named Lucia Moli, who had inadvertently set into action the very chain of events that had led to the death of Hugo Hunghorasz almost a year earlier, ran straight into an aberration. It had not been visible, hidden within a potted rosebush, but its effects were. Immediately, it leapt out, actively predatory, and the girl screamed as it wrapped pitch black tendrils of nothingness around her. Most ran at the sight, their bravery and bravado from moments earlier evaporating in the face of true danger: children now waiting for the adults to come and solve the problem. A few stayed, however, hammering it with kinetic attacks that passed right through it, arcane attacks that did not burn it, and chemical manipulation that had nothing to seize upon.



They were too late. Even as a pair of zenos arrived to lay low the monstrosity, Lucia lay dead and mostly devoured. Dozens of other students encountered aberrations in strange places. Some faced life or death peril. Some screamed and slumped as they were overwhelmed by the otherworldly energy. A few went mad and attacked their fellow students or ran for the high heavens. The game had become frighteningly real and even more so when Juulet’oli’muusti’zan of Team Vyshta’s More Favoured - a hyperpowered yasoi who fancied herself the avatar of the fallen goddess - imbibed one too large for her to handle and went berserk. It took the combined efforts of her fellow students and three zenos to put an end to her rampage and, nearly, her.

The event was called off. Teams would be scored on their current possessions, both on and away from base. To avoid causing panic, this was presented as an unexpected twist to shake the game up. Some believed it; many did not. Regardless, as chemical magic ‘reset’ memories, as snapped necks and skinless faces were restored, as property damage was repaired and Arch-Zenos and bureaucrats met frantically in secret to discuss their next course of action, winners and losers were declared.

Wearing sometimes paper-thin smiles, half of the school’s Zenos flitted about from house to house and team to team, investigating melons while the other half investigated the catastrophe that had occurred. Areas were roped off and sonically sealed. Robed figures clustered around them, removing ‘environmental hazards’. A grand open air feast was hastily arranged in Balthazar Square and, there, teams gathered to await Zenith Upta’s announcement of the Melon Derby’s victors.

Meanwhile, the people of Mudville - or, rather, Belleville - had their own storm to contend with. Hundreds of aberrations had appeared there as well, though all of them had been tiny and dark. If some of them would be irritable and suffer from headaches for the next few days, perhaps it was worth it, for they would soon find that they had gained the ability - in some small measure, at least - to use The Gift.

The trials and triumphs of those people - so near and yet a world away - were little on the minds of the students gathered in the square, however. It had been explained to them that there had been a mishap and that there was nothing to be worried about. The integrity of the derby would be unaffected. Perhaps a few disagreed, but there wasn’t truly much recourse for them, and so they stifled their gripes and accepted the results as announced.



Some celebrated. Some grumbled. Many hung around and, over the next few hours, dispersed. How the taverns and bierhalls and places of entertainment swelled with young patrons. Others were exhausted. There were time differences to account for, after all, and the day had certainly been full of action. Whatever the case, they all eventually found sleep in some form and, as the morning bells tolled halfway through the Hours of Shune, they rose and - one would hope - shone. Today was the day of the second event, the infamous relay race known as the ‘Dragon’, and it required a bright and early start. Once more, they gathered in the square, where a grand breakfast buffet awaited them on a series of long tables. Exactly one hour later, the Zenith raised her arms and announced the selection of allies. They would have five minutes and then another ten to strategize and prepare. Then, the portals would open and the students would step into their starting positions all across the Sipenta. The second game of The Trials of DZ55 was about to begin!


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Xiuyang Solari
Good for the Soul



The Faire


Despite having what many would consider a disadvantage in height, Xiuyang had managed to do well in the three-legged race with Roslyn and the Reshta race by herself. While this might surprise others, it didn't surprise Xiuyang. Nothing about her appearance was particularly suggestive of athleticism, but she spent plenty of time running, swimming and surfing. She nearly met her match with the shooting game—while it would be a slight exaggeration to call them "rigged," there was certainly a trick to handling these toy guns. Other students figured it out, and Xiuyang followed suit, scoring just enough points to qualify for a token. While she had an increasing interest in potential tools of self-defense in light of everything that happened in ReTan, there was no point practicing here, so she moved on from it.

The tug-of-war was an unmitigated disaster. Admiring the team that Juulet was building from afar—a team that included non-yasoi, and even Trypano—she thought, rather foolishly, that this could be a chance to not only win, but potentially make the acquaintance of another Avatar of Vyshta. She knew the alleged risks of getting involved with that girl, but favored her chances as a friend of Ashon. It was not to be, however; an unexpected Ciro Volta greeted Xiuyang, wanting her for his team. She was so surprised by this that Juulet's preferred candidate for a final teammate, Ashon, got snatched up in the confusion. An angered Juulet shoved Ciro aside, snatching up Xiuyang, perhaps out of spite. At the end of it all, the team Xiuyang had chosen lost, and she fled the scene—soaking wet and burning with curiosity about the boy who showed an interest in her, when other teams considered her a liability.

The drinking game was close. If only they'd let her drink through her mask, as she was often seen doing around the school and in Mudville, she thought she could have easily taken it. In the end, it didn't matter, as Maura acknowledged her with a toast. She'd attempt to go again, to help Roslyn and Trypano get tokens, but the hosts of the event wouldn't let a "winner" play again. So, she spectated from the sidelines, drinking her heart out from her bottomless gourd alongside the contestants. Mountain Spring had truly given her a gift to end all gifts—no. It was truly a treasure, just like the man currently stood on a twelve-foot-tall stool, downing beers. As she watched her best friend chug like a champion, another student—one whose face and name would largely be considered irrelevant in the grander scheme of campus life, and secretly a member of Le Volpi—approached Xiuyang. He informed her that, despite their best efforts, they simply could not dig up that much information on Ciro Volta. Xiuyang herself barely registered the information as Ashon and Penny had an argument about baby names, of all things. It seemed to be a serious one. Was Penny..? No. She couldn't violate her friend's privacy like that. She refused to reach out and try to sense it. She felt sick—not from alcohol—and quickly excused herself.





Soul Sisters Live!


"GANBATTE MIO-CHAN!!" Xiuyang shouted above the crowd with her mask's audio projection powers. It felt good to shout, after everything that had happened today. Juulet and Ashon would have been enough, but to top it off, her luck with the faire's events had turned for the worse, as well. Having momentarily given up on getting enough tokens for a decent prize, she resigned herself to enjoying the Soul Sisters' performance and going home. That was the only way to guarantee the day ended on a high note.

Or so she foolishly thought, she berated herself. The political nature of the performance did not escape her, and while she could handwave it as the idols being told to spread a message they might not necessarily agree with themselves, Xiuyang wasn't holding out much hope that that would be the case. Tasked with finding the beauty in such a performance, Xiuyang was surprised when, with a graceful flick of her wrist, Mio sent a token soaring out into the crowd. It sparkled in the bright stage lights as it arced through the air, the crowd's cheers growing even louder as they watched it approach. The short Rettanese girl, against all odds, caught not only the idol's attention, but her token as well. "Nice catch!" Roslyn congratulated. Stunned, Xiuyang decided to also "do her best" in the remaining games. Though she was exhausted by the games before, a new surge of energy filled her with determination to win!

Only... Who would be her "plus one" to invite backstage..? Ashon and Penny seemed to be having a moment, and even she, in all her deviousness, wasn't that tactless. Curiously, she found herself searching the crowd for Ciro, armed with an excuse to interact with him again, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, her eyes landed on Kaureerah, whose eyes were sparkling with barely-concealed envy. She, like Xiuyang, seemed to be a fan. "I seem to be lacking someone to invite backstage. It would mean more to you than some random guy, I think," she offered with a smile. Kaureerah smiled and jumped up and down. "Eye woold bee delaighted." She took Xiuyang by the arm. Xiuyang couldn't help but grin stupidly at the Eeaiko's enthusiasm, though none could see it. For someone who had to stay low key, she always did have a weakness for that endless well of infectious positivity some had. "Well then, let's not waste another second!" she replied in kind, leading her along by the arm. Others may have looked on in confusion, but she paid them no mind. Since when has she shied away from rumors, anyway?

Backstage


As the tokens were presented to the doormen, the guests were welcomed into the backroom. It was a vibrant and lively space, adorned with paintings and memorabilia of the Soul Sisters' previous performances and achievements. The walls were painted in shades of pastel colors and silver, creating a glamorous yet welcoming atmosphere. The lighting was soft and flattering, casting a warm and inviting glow, with lanterns along the edges of the room, creating a magical aura.

In the center of the room, a long table was set up and covered with a delicate pink lace tablecloth. An array of snacks and refreshments like Jian Dui and Mooncakes awaited them, along with cups of green tea. The aroma of the freshly made delicious treats wafted through the air.

The Soul Sisters entered one by one, each taking their seats spread around the table. Their warm smiles and friendly demeanor immediately put the students at ease, encouraging them to relax, sit down, and indulge in the tempting snacks and treats thoughtfully laid out for them. As the room filled with a sense of camaraderie, the Soul Sisters initiated engaging conversations, urging the students to share their thoughts and stories during the light-hearted small talk.

Mio, with her signature charm, distributed Nikanese Spratz-coated Mooncakes, her smile as sweet as the treats she offered. Xiulan and Ai, seated side by side, were engrossed in an animated discussion about recent events in ReTan. Nia, with her melodic voice and infectious enthusiasm, casually delved into the topic of the Ten Masterworks of Kagemitsu Kenshin, a legendary collection that had inspired countless tales. Ji-woo, the epitome of grace, moved gracefully around the room, ensuring that everyone's tea cups were filled. Her attentive presence mirrored the way she cared for her fans, ensuring they felt cherished and appreciated throughout.

Xiuyang entered the backstage area, swept along at Kaureerah's enthusiastic pace. It wasn't clear who was leading who by the arm at this point. "Go on, talk to them!" she whispered excitedly, sounding a bit like an encouraging parent, perhaps because she was borrowing her own mother's voice.

She paused as Mio offered her a Mooncake. She didn't bat an eye at the idea of binding her food into her mouth in front of the fearsome Twin Emperors, but now a cute face seemed to be begging for her feedback. She looked around, a bit anxious. She really wanted to taste Mio's homemade sweets. The flavor just wouldn't be the same if she dissected it on a molecular level. She wasn't that good.

Her hesitation only lasted for about half a second. Screw it. It was a secure area. She was surrounded by friends and a couple of guileless young lads. Maura wouldn't be her rival for much longer, either. Reaching underneath her veil, her mask hissed as it was removed, and she hung it at her hip next to her medicine box. With a grateful nod and a smile in her eyes, she took the Mooncake and bit into it. "It's wonderful," a weak and raspy voice, like that of a lifetime smoker whispered. Her mask, still hanging at her side, suddenly piped up. "Sorry that I can't show you my face. I'm wanted in 36 countries... just kidding. The brewery club put a bounty on me though!" she japed while enjoying the snacks.

Kaureerah's eyes widened. "Hee hee! Yoor mesk hes eets auwn sense auf hoomaur!" She was dancing her heart out, finding all the pretty boys that she could. She shot a look back at Xiuyang and winked, gesturing.

The Sisters continued to play host with practiced precision. Even in their so-called downtime, things could end up being rather scripted for the benefit of the fans. Each of them was very welcoming and considerate to those taking part in the event. Mio offered a warm smile to Xiuyang as she indulged in one of the Mooncakes. She tilted her head to the side as the girl appeared to take her mask off to eat, then placed it back on over her face. She listened carefully, then nodded, standing up to move away, only to return with a wide-brimmed hat with a veil, presenting the weimao to Xiuyang to wear. "It is a privacy veil, please use it." She nodded encouragingly toward her to take it up, so she could enjoy eating without being on guard.

Xiuyang was taken aback by how prepared Mio was, either to go to such lengths for a fan or just in general. If only Mio could see the smile on her face, this could be an even more unforgettable moment. She put on the weimao and thanked her, very politely, in Nikanese.

For the rest, though, she'd have to rely on her Rettanese. "Sorry, I only know a few phrases," she admitted. "You're so thoughtful. Actually... my face is a bit... disfigured," she whispered. "I've never told anyone. I'm trying to learn how to fix it before anyone finds out. It's not the sort of thing any old healer can deal with."

It all spilled out before she could stop it. She felt so secure in this little place, surrounded by so few people, even fewer of them knowing Rettanese. Mio's smile, however, was probably what cracked her open. "You remind me of myself when I was younger, always smiling like the sun... Heh. Sorry. Imagine being only 19 years old and saying something like that." She said it like it was a joke, trying to smile, but there was a tear in her eye. She hadn't realized how dearly she missed showing her face, or how desperately she tried not to think about it, until the faire. She'd joined in the revelry to chase away such thoughts, not find more of them. "Sorry," she apologized again. "I'll do my best to stay positive like you." Maskless, she couldn't stop her voice from shaking a bit.

Mio was moved by Xiuyang’s heartfelt confession and touched by the vulnerability of the moment. With a compassionate smile, she responded with warm sincerity. "Thank you for sharing. I'm truly honoured that you felt comfortable enough to open up. Remember, our challenges don't define our worth; our actions do. So continue to be the person you want to be, let your true self be unveiled."

Catching Xuiyang's mention of disfigurement, Mahal stiffened briefly. Her thoughts shifted back to her own scars splayed out on her back. It was now covered with something more elegant, its history hidden. A sense of familiarity from the woman washed over Mahal, but she couldn't place why.

"Flaws are natural and they can encourage people to make their own beauty. I personally find those expressions more meaningful and interesting. They reflect a person's creativity and their soul." Mahal struggled with the right words, but she let them out regardless. She knew it was a bit odd for airing it in a conversation she wasn't invited into. However, the words were honest.

Xiuyang's gut reaction to Mahal's words was one of anger, but she quickly buried it. Her Rettanese was serviceable, but there was a distinct possibility that she didn't understand what she meant by "disfigured." The fact that she felt compelled to find comforting words was enough for the moment.

Mio drew her attention away quickly. Wiping her tears, she nodded. "Took the words right from my heart. That's what I've decided, too." Smiling, she took a half-step toward her, then took it back, clearly having resisted the urge to hug the kindhearted Nikanese idol.

In the background, Ji-woo's political commentary brought her back to her present worries. Would the Twin Emperors really follow through on their deal? Would she be able to secure the Tarlonese land for the Yasoi? Would doing so even result in the best outcome? Her face darkened as she considered her future role in this matter, and the price the Twin Emperors would require in exchange. Again, she felt powerless, useless. She hated this feeling. Something needed to be done.

Leon's Concert


"Something" would have to wait a while longer. With a rush of newfound energy, Xiuyang returned to three of the games she'd passed over due to bad luck in her earlier attempts. There were games requiring heavy use of magnetic and kinetic magics—two of her weakest—and a fireball game that by all rights she should have won on the first attempt, but the judges seemed to have a lapse in attention. Now, she'd returned with a vengeance, and managed to win all three games in no more than two attempts each, surprising even herself. Finally, she had enough tokens to claim the highest level of prize she still had access to—some of the tokens came in limited supply, alas. There was one more game, a type of shifting hedge maze runner, but she'd spent quite enough energy already, and had her fun.

At the end of it all, there was Leon Solaire's concert. Xiuyang wasn't one for song and dance, all things considered. While seemingly all of her friends and fellow students paired off and basked in the sensual atmosphere, Xiuyang indulged in the warmth of her one true love: alcohol.

Yet there was one left to join her.

Seeing as the token distribution was all but finished Trypano trudged her way past the couples and chatting few to someone she had been meaning to talk to for some time during this festival: Xiuyang. "Hello again. Had any luck with token collecting?"

Xiuyang rocked a hand back and forth to indicate a middling result. Technically, that was true, as she had about half of the possible maximum. Shrewdly, she kept them buried beneath the bandages around her arms, as though they were sleeves, having noticed some others being stolen from. She sighed. Was nothing sacred, not even these silly games? Perhaps it was the school's fault for putting next year's tuition on the line for those who otherwise couldn't afford it. "Yourself?" she asked. Curiously, she hadn't seen much of Trypano lately.

Trypano simply gave a shake of her head. "I was not able to make my own luck in many of these events." She crossed her arms, a mild exhale from the nostrils serving as a modest sigh. She hated the idea of depending on luck or the will of beings more powerful than her in forging her own fate but many of these games favored skills that she either didn't possess or were simply matters of luck. She has grown a great amount of disdain towards matters of uncertainty. "I've not collected enough tokens to be of worth in even the mildest sense. Quite frankly if I were able to part with any of the tokens in my possession I'd be happy to offer them to you so that they'd do some good rather than none." She glanced at the tokens she currently possessed, assessing which ones she could part with.

Remembering her mercantile instincts, Xiuyang perked up. "You got two that I don't, actually. That would put me up a prize tier..." She left out the part that it was the difference between silver and gold tier, which was staggering. "What are you hoping to get for them?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Nothing, really," Trypano answered back, her tone ever still flat and inexpressive, like reading a stone tablet. "It is simply that in the possibility that you were able to reach the top prize tier you could, in theory, receive access to the Forked Tower. Seeing as I'm restricted from speaking of it's contents as per the non-disclosure agreement I had signed I ordinarily wouldn't be able to discuss matters pertaining to my time within. Should you receive access however I fail to see how I would be barred from discussing it's contents with someone who already has access to it's interior. It would be easier to discuss the full scope of my work should you receive certain 'insights' that I have already obtained."

It was risky to put more trust than necessary in someone, especially after the last time, but she was quickly finding that what she could accomplish by her own hard work and sacrifice was still ever so limited. Any means of expanding what she was able to achieve was quickly becoming needed, especially given what forces were beginning to shift in the background of globe-spanning events. "Even if you don't receive access to the tower the other rewards will provide benefits both in magical potential and financial. The better off you are, the easier it will be for you to find me a lab to work out of after all." Indeed, while not wholly selfless a gift it was a gift all the same. She didn't need recompense for there to be value in seeing Xiuyang prosper. On some deep down level perhaps it was simply nice to see someone she's able to talk to in some capacity achieve more, even buried under layers of pragmatism as it were.

Xiuyang scoffed. "They'd never let a Solari roam around that place unattended. I'd consider it an insult to my family if they did. Besides, I'm nowhere near the grand prize... but I do know someone who is."

Taking the Leon concert token, she approached Abdel. "Hey, Abdel. I'm Xiuyang; heard about me from Maura?" She smiled. "I saw what happened. Some people are just terrible, aren't they?" She gave the responsible parties who had stolen his token the side eye. "This is the last one you need, right? Here. You can have it, if you wouldn't mind helping a girl out. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with my friendly little competition with Maura."

Abdel and Rikard had just caught eye of Maura and Ayla conversing, but before they could push through the milling masses that searched for the now missing star of the concert, they were intercepted! By a familiar face, no less. "Oh, hey!" replied a surprised Abdel. "Yeah, I remember you from ReTan. And school." he smiled faintly. "Not many people hide their mouths most of the time." "I know, right? More people should try it—covering their mouths in public. Especially politicians and lawyers," she japed back good-naturedly.

Then, he heard her proposition. The teen pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Hmm, well the thing is, I've got-" he shifted his eyes to both sides and then leaned in to whisper. "Sixteen tokens." then, he retreated back with an impish grin. "Maybe we can switch it around, and I can get you a couple. How many did you manage to get?"

"I'm jealous just how multi-talented you are to get all those. Your performance at the talent show was especially good. Me, I might as well have got last place. I'm still wet behind the ears," she joked again. "But, uh..." she started, awkwardly. "You do need one of each to get the grand prize, right? I was sure you did; would be way too easy if you didn't." She shrugged. "I'm nowhere near a full set. I only got 8; it's a hopeless case."

Abdel chuckled as they exchanged. This one talked well. Definitely a merchant-type. The fanning of his ego was what made him slightly cautious, especially as the whale of the event. What could she possibly want? "Don't sell yourself short." he canted his head, eyes searching onto Xiuyang's. "I, uhm, think I got each, actually." he scratched the back of his head, feeling as though he was shooting her down each time. "But I think you only need fourteen for the prizes, right?" he nodded. "...If you need help with something it doesn't have to involve tokens, you know."

Xiuyang blinked. Did she... miss it in the fine print? It really didn't seem like Abdel was lying. She sighed, defeated. "It's not like me to miss details like that. Ever since ReTan... I feel like I can't focus at all." She was the one scratching the back of her head, now. "Well, um. I guess you don't need anything from me, then," she said awkwardly. "I'm not exactly comfortable, asking for favors. Doesn't feel right, getting something for nothing. Merchants, am I right?" she jokingly scoffed, shrugging.

"Yeah," replied Abdel, regressing into a deep muse as ReTan came up. "I don't think many of us came out the same, at all." He looked to Rikard, and further away his own girlfriend. They seemed 'fine,' but even they weren't totally unaffected by what they had seen. He, like Xiuyang, took that experience quite hard, however. "It's also late, we've all had drinks and got our minds warped by the beautiful songs," he commented with a more chipper demeanor. He then shrugged. "You can always just say if there's something you need. We're friends, right?" he tilted his head, smiling. "I mean, if not friends, we're at least something after coming out of that crazy trip a few weeks ago. Promise, no debt or favors."

"Yeah... had a bit much to drink," she lied half-heartedly, looking a bit lost. She never was good at trusting people that she couldn't bribe or blackmail. That was yet another talent she lacked that Abdel seemed to have. "Of course, we're friends. All the more reason I should make sure you get something out of helping me, right? That's my take on it, anyway."

"It's not the sort of thing I should involve you in, otherwise," she whispered directly into his ear with audio projection. "Nothing nefarious. It's just not something I want spread around." Whatever it was, it seemed to be serious, and she seemed unwilling to talk about it unless she had something to offer—and she thought she was offering access to the Forked Tower.

Abdel nodded. "I get it." and then, he smiled bright. "Need help getting home or...?" Head tilted, he worried that maybe she had more than what she was saying. "I think Maura is going with Ayla anyway."

Xiuyang blinked. The offer seemed to surprise her. "Sure." She flicked the Leon concert token back to Trypano. "Looks like that plan was a bust. It's getting late, but maybe you should keep trying. The night is still young, after all!" Carefree, she took a drink from her gourd, seemingly unaware of her contradictory words. Xiuyang's face couldn't be seen, but she definitely made one. She was drinking the good stuff.

An Unexpected Invitation


When Xiuyang returned to her dorm, she found something waiting for her: poised just as immaculately as everything else on her desk, the letter drew her eye with an attached rose. What?! Who—?! and then she remembered Ciro Volta, who had tried to approach her more than once during the faire—to which she had responded in kind, but always seemed to just miss him. She'd thought that perhaps he'd given up—but he didn't, and here was the proof, with an unexpected, undeniable subtext attached that sent her heart aflutter. Inexorable curiosity about the handsome yet mysterious boy clashed with ingrained, stubborn cynicism; only two types of men showed interest in her, Xiuyang told herself: those who were desperate for love, and those who thought her desperate for much of the same—an easy mark. Which one was he? Should she even read it? The Trials were just around the corner, and anything that impeded her sleep or her better judgment tomorrow would be a setback, she determined. There were more important letters she needed to open first, she told herself—and letters that were less important but had arrived days ago, besides.

...

It was a moot point. The sight of the rose lingered tantalizingly in her mind. She was like a kid, trying to go to sleep knowing that there was something exciting going on—fun times to be had, gifts to be received in good cheer—but not quite knowing what to expect. Beneath the surface, too, she had put her heart on ice this night—lest it burn with envy toward Penny—and the sight of it warmed her, in spite of her stubborn attempts not to let it shake her. The walls of her determination to not care were slowly crumbling to dust. What was the point of waiting any longer, if it was going to be like this? The letter was intended to be a gift, and she was letting it become a nuisance—why? Because she "knew better?" Was it an act of spite against Ipte who had yet to bless her?

She mentally berated herself for taking it so seriously. In the grand scheme of her life, heavens help her if this was the most eventful thing going on in it. At the end of the day, it was probably just an average love letter. She could open it now and, in the worst case, maybe regret it for a little while after, or she could leave it unopened and let it occupy space in her mind, possibly forever. Confused, anxious and—beneath the mire of mixed emotions, eager, she carefully opened and read it, her cynical eyes only partially cutting through the prose and gentlemanly banter to the core of its message. He wanted to meet her at... The Groove?!

"That little shit," Xiuyang remarked with a grin. He was definitely flaunting his connections, mentioning The Groove, and the simple assumption that she'd know how to find it on her own was bold, yet also subtle. "I know what you get up to in secret," his words seemed to suggest teasingly. He was sharp, and his letter seemed to suggest that he thought she was sharp, too, which gave her hope that maybe he didn't take her for a fool, after all. If that was the case... was there a chance he was actually interested in her? Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that she didn't know how to react to this news. For once, she knew she was on the back foot. She didn't have a single ounce of makeup to her name, and no pretty dresses to wear.

No, she did! The Twin Emperors had given her one! Though it had been intended to be used as a weapon against her, she would now make it her own. Only, wearing bandages on her arms and legs with such a nice dress would definitely look tacky. She didn't need to be an expert in fashion to know that much... but then again, in some cultures, women covered as much skin as they could. What if he found it... exotically charming? Screw it, she'd hedge her bets and wear a shawl. That would make the bandages less noticeable. Or... a thought occurred to her. What if she borrowed Desi's body? Could she do that? They looked similar enough, and it was unlikely that Ciro had ever met her. Surely it would suffice for a first date, and if he noticed a difference, she would blame it on the makeup she didn't have.

Her mind reeled and returned to the words: "first date," implying that she was already entertaining more than one. AAAAAGH!

Hopeless! She was a hopeless girl! But she was armed with a plan, and as long as she was using facemimicry, she may as well...

She grinned. He'd never see it coming. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't resist the temptation.
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Event: A Home Visit | Location: Ersand'Enise

There were times when Jocasta liked to just... float.
High above the city, far from the reach of everyone down below.
Sometimes, she would watch it awaken.
Sometimes, she would watch it fall to slumber.
Up here, she was cold and alone, but she was safe.
It would be naught but a month. Then, she would be warm and joined, and safe.
She would share her husband's bed. She would...
Lying there upon her stomach upon the air, gazing down at the twinkling lanterns in windows, she did not know.
She did not know what it was to be a wife.
Yalen was a man, after all, even if he was a gentle one.
He would not be like...
A particularly cold gust caused her to draw her arms tight about herself.
There was no point in delaying. The invitations needed to be sent out.


It was a half hour later. The sun was peering over the skyline and Jocasta was back on solid ground, wheeling briskly down a hallway in the female merchant dormitory. It was not a route she was unfamiliar with. Zarina had stayed here during their first year, when both had been students, and Jocasta had been to her dorm often enough.

Now, however, she was here for a different quarry, and one she wasn't actually particularly keen on catching: Trypano.
Slowing down as she neared the hallway's end, Jocasta looked about. It was the last one on the left.
Or was it?
Maybe it was the last one on the right.
In any case, this was a matter of obligation. Trypano was in her apprentice group. Trypano and her had an agreement of sorts.
Trypano was about as social as a bric

Surely, were it not for the obligations they both held, her under-classmen would have been far happier in her secret lair in the catacombs.
Jocasta went with the door on the left. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face it, retrieved the letter from her bag, and let it out in a long, tension-relieved sigh. She knocked.

Maura was in her room after she spent the night, engrossed in her work, diligently dealing with paperwork. Her hands were still smudged with ink as she navigated through a particularly challenging problem late at night. Amidst the warmth of the morning sun rising in the distance, a knock echoed at the door. Initially she was planning to ignore it, she sighed and instructed the wheel throne to guide her toward the doorway as she wrapped a blanket around her. With a deliberate motion, she opened the door.

To her surprise, Jocasta sat on the other side, clutching what seemed to be an invitation. Maura paused for a moment, then composed herself with a polite smile. "Ah, Tan-Zeno Re, how may we help you this morning?" Her eyes flicked toward the document in Jocasta's hand, attempting to decipher its nature. She silently prayed that it wasn't related to any transfer papers for her Zeno-group.

Jocasta's neck was pre-emptively craned upwards in anticipation of the usual pain that accompanied speaking with Trypano. Instead, she found nothing there. She lowered her gaze... and her expectations.

"Oh, Maura. Sorry to disturb you!" She grimaced, but there was actually a degree of relief. "It's practically still Ipte. I was looking for Trypano, who's always up at this ungodly hour." She rolled her eyes and offered up a knowing smile. It was... actually kind of nice to be able to look someone eye to eye in conversation.

Jocasta arched an eyebrow, suddenly annoyed. "You're at the end of the corridor, and your expression is saying more or less the same thing, you know." She sighed after a moment. "It's the wedding invitations, alright?" The tethered reached back into her bag. There was a brief flash of magic. "I was going to wait until some later hour but, since I've already woken you, this one's yours!" She smiled good-naturedly. "I... I hope you can make it," she stammered. "I know Ayla would be thrilled." Jocasta blinked and scratched sheepishly at the back of her head. "I uh... know we haven't always gotten along so well, but so would I."

Maura frowned as Jocasta began to retort and sat, politely listening. When handed the invitation, she displayed a wide, surprised smile, audibly gasping. "We didn’t realize it was the first of Victendes already!" she said gleefully.

Her expression relaxed, and she raised an eyebrow at Jocasta, visually conveying 'Really?' with her facial expression. "You don’t need to contrive an excuse as a cover for your error, Tan-Zeno Re. Even the great Jocasta is allowed to make a mistake here and there."

Maura offered the wedding invitation back with a sigh, “If you sincerely want to get along, then drop the act. You are stronger, richer, talented, more experienced, and congratulations on getting married. What you have achieved is great, and you have no need for... whatever you call this.” She gestured to the performance Jocasta had put on. "We’ll send a bottle of Licor Salbeirão for your big day."

Jocasta was somewhat surprised by the response, but not unpleasantly so. "Well, finally, she just says what she's thinking," the Tan-Zeno replied with a slow, repeated nod. "She lets it out. Gods I can't tell you how good that is for the soul." She placed the envelope back on her lap. "Oh, and I fuck up plenty," Jocasta admitted, pushing forward a bit and sighing. "If I didn't, I might actually have... real friends." She swallowed, hands sitting light and nervous on her wheels. "I wouldn't... care when people judge me," she continued. She could see, on some level, how Maura was... hurt. How, despite her intelligence and precociousness, she was young. There were five years between them, and the entire antipathy she held towards this girl started to melt away and feel stupid.

"I was fucking with you, but... then, I don't know. It was genuine after that." She shook her head. "Maura, you don't know me and you judge me." She shrugged. "I don't know you and I judge you." She took up the envelope again and held it out. "But we both know Ayla and she saw a friend in both of us, alright?" She sighed. "That's gotta be worth something." She took a moment to adjust one of her feet. With all the turning about, it had come off of her wheelchair's footrest. "And, you know, we both see the world from the same angle most of the time." She let out a snort. "We both have to look up bipeds' noses whenever we talk." She swallowed nervously. It all began to seem so pigheaded: the way they'd always been with each other, ever since an awkward first meeting. "Look: we don't have to be best friends, but we should at least be real with each other. I mean... half of it: this act you see me put on, it's because I became the mask. For as long as I knew, until I actually just came out and used my Gods-given power, do you think a fucking soul on Sagand took me seriously?" She let out a long sigh. "So take it, Maura, please. It's not a trick. I'm not laughing at you. I'm not belittling you. It's a peace offering, because that's long overdue."

Maura continued to sit quietly as Jocasta seemed to be having an epiphany moment on her doorstep, during the hours of Ipte, no less. She let the blonde express herself as she accepted the wedding invitation again. “Do you want to come inside, or has Yalen got you enrolled in the Red Rezaindian’s?” She smiled cheekily toward Jocasta as she moved backward, making room and inviting the blonde inside. “Would you like a coffee? We’ll stick in the arsenic just for you.” The tone was clearly tongue-in-cheek, aimed to break the uncomfortable tension, as she moved to boil the water, allowing the other to make themselves comfortable. Then she came through with the tray on her lap, placing it on the table between them. She also took the opportunity to freshen up her appearance and get rid of the ink smudges.

“If you don’t let people see the real you, then how can you expect them to be your real friends?” She poured the cups, which were clearly absent of anything remotely dangerous other than a dose of addictive caffeine and a suspicious-looking container that threatened to contain spratz in it. “Warts and all, as the saying goes. Pay lip service where it is due, network where you can, and create genuine friendships when the opportunity arises.” She parted with some advice from her own play book.

When it came to the matter of them, there was a formal politeness about it. “We probably know you pretty well to judge,” Unable to resist a playful tone completely, “but we are not Dami, and you are clearly trying to get my attention. You have it, and we are listening.” She took a drink from her cup, and smiled sweetly toward her. “What would you truly want from me; approval, validation, a favour, or are you wanting to build a real friendship?”

It was just for a moment, but Maura's little quip landed in a way it almost certainly wasn't meant to. Mid-push, Jocasta froze in place, palms skidding against her wheels. Her heart beat a tiny bit faster. Maura couldn't have been involved in... She couldn't have known. She couldn't have... "I'll take sugar instead of spratz if you don't mind," she replied. "Hold the arsenic. Had enough of that lately."

Then, with the best of intentions, Maura went on to give a speech about how to win friends, make money, and succeed in campus life. It was Jocasta's fault. She'd made a needlessly self-indulgent comment about not making friends earlier but, in truth, she'd rarely had trouble doing so. She was, for the most part, a good talker, or at least she had been.

Then had come Yalen. Then had come Ayla, and Zarina, and Marceline, and Kaspar and... after it all, she was still a tool, because then had come the academy. Then had come the Dieci Volti Nascosti once more, and the offers from Volto Nero and Volto Argento that she couldn't refuse. They were, in a sense, no different from Zenith Upta and Arch-Zeno Harrachora. She accepted the tea with a thank you, checking it for any unexpected substances and cleansing it just the same with her chemical magic. Never again would she show that sort of weakness; that sort of stupidity. It had almost cost her everything.

"Here is the thing... I cannot be entirely truthful with you." She grimaced even as she said it. "In some ways, being what I am - this thing of monstrous capacity - defines my life. I do not want it to, but it does because others say that it does. I may try to hide it and then I am a poor girl with useless legs, to be pitied, perhaps even humoured, and then pushed aside. Never respected, never listened to, rarely seen but by a handful of close companions." She paused, taking a sip of the drink. It was a Palaparese blend, from Zenobucks. She set if back down. "You know... I may just know you pretty well enough to judge as well." She smiled faintly. "And I think this is a pain that you also know something of." She shook her head with a tight smile. "My point is this: if I live as myself - as my true self - and I don't hide, my very existence is a problem or an opportunity for others that they will feel they cannot ignore. As with the late great paradigm, I do not have the option of going unnoticed or un-harassed. I must either join my fortune to others of great power in loyalty or become so powerful myself that even the many cannot destroy me."

She frowned. "If ever I have struck you as self-serving or callous, this is the underlying reason." She wrung her hands for a moment. "I do have friends, in a sense, though we can never completely know each other's worlds, though they may never truly understand me, or I them. Yet, the mere act of knowing me puts them in danger. If something were to happen to one of them..." She trailed off for a moment. "If one were to be hurt by some external force on my account -" The mere thought caused something to sit, heavy and awkward, atop her stomach. She shook her head. "Well," Jocasta joked, trying to lighten the mood, "Perhaps that's why I have asked you to be my friend." She managed a small smile and winked as she lifted the coffee to her lips and sipped. She did not wish to speak any more of herself. She had resolved to know something more of the girl who sat across from her, but she realized that perhaps her words demanded some form of response first and she would not deny Maura that opportunity as, perhaps, others sometimes did.

Maura rolled her eyes after Jocasta’s comment about the arsenic, “Don’t tell me you have been going for that bright-eyed and translucent look as well; you are more than pretty enough without it. The lengths some go to for a man’s affection.” She tutted at the actions of some of their classmates.

She continued to listen to Jocasta as the words spilled out, interjecting a little here and there. “Well, we don’t really want to know about the pimple on your bottom, Jo. Over-sharing is a thing as well.” She smiled, making light of the heavier words, “but being truthful comes down to self-respect, and that is super important. One little lie here and there may not matter much, but if you are regularly lying, then you begin to stop loving yourself. After all, does that mean you are the sum of your lies, a lie yourself, the feeling of being an imposter? By being truthful, we own who we are, being our authentic self.” She wagged her finger for a moment, “Though that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t lie, as sometimes it is very appropriate to do it for good reasons. It means understanding the decision in choosing to lie in that circumstance.”

“And now you are comparing yourself to Hugo the Great; this is the humble woman we know.” Her tone was teasing, as she couldn’t resist the temptation not to comment on that. “One thing about Hugo is that he didn’t care about what others thought. He did what he did, even if some hated him for it, while others loved him. You are never going to please everyone, so at least make sure you are at peace with yourself with the decisions you make. Treat yourself with respect, then others will come to respect you too. If they don’t, there is a reason you are comparing yourself to Hugo.” She gave a wink.

“We are still waiting for you to come tottering up with a bunch of rifles under your arms and giving Desmond a run for his money; don’t disappoint me now by suggesting that is you being self-serving.” She recalled the surprise as she saw Jocasta swiping the guns in ReTan, though with the latter comment about Jocasta wishing she was her friend. “Though speaking of ReTan, we do vaguely recall Wu Long muttering something along the lines of ‘May you all live in interesting times’ when we left the palace…” She stroked her chin for a moment, then shrugged. “Besides, if they come for me, we’ll use our puppets, probably.”

She rested her hands on her coffee cup, “Though we are not a sycophant, nor have any interest in you being one either. If you are willing to be truthful with me, within reason, we would do so likewise, and perhaps you never know, we can be rolling sisters from different misters.”

This, at its root, was why Jocasta was not particularly fond of Maura. Just like her at times, the Torragonese loved the sound of her own voice. She loved to be the clever, witty one in the room. Unlike Jocasta, however, she loved dispensing her own brand of wisdom. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't get enough of being ever the one who knows. Good advice, mini-me, the tethered thought with an eye roll that was strictly internal, and it honestly is, in any other circumstance, but my entire point is that this involved a few more moving parts than my personal need to love myself and be genuine. Jocasta could be as authentic as she wanted, and she was with a very select group. If it got her killed, however, it wasn't of much use. She'd rather live to fight another day. She'd always rather live. It meant she could try again. It meant she could beat them this time, and she just might be more than a victim.

Rolling right up to Volto Argento and telling him to shove it might've been cathartic in the short term but, in the long term, it might mean Yalen, Zarina, Ayla, or Marci dead. It might mean her poisoned again. Someone had tried to murder her not even a week ago. Then a knower had tried on top of it. If ever there was proof that she simply could not be normal, that she could not let her guard down, there it was. And you just don't understand that, she thought, as Maura made another quip. Really, how could I expect that of you? She sipped some more tea. There had been a group of them - a fluctuating group - at Ersand'Enise, who'd found themselves involved in a dozen different perils. Sure, Maura had been part of it for the past few months, at least, but she was still, fundamentally, a normal, emotionally healthy girl. Jocasta was sure that she had her insecurities and her issues, but whenever gentle feelers had been held out, she'd gone off in another direction. The nasty part of her wanted to push that much more. The better part understood that it was a boundary.

She sighed. "Yes, we shall, though I expect sisters bicker from time to time." She managed a smile. "I have too much fun tugging your tail anyway." The smile grew into a grin, which she hid behind her cup. "I shall also look myself in the mirror every morning and say one self-affirming thing," she promised with a wry grin, placing the empty cup back on its saucer. This, she floated back onto the table. Then, she furrowed her brow. "Please don't take it as too forward of me," she began, "But I am ever so curious as to why you refer to yourself in a partial royal 'we'." She sniffed and took a moment to fix a rumple in her dress. "I've noticed that Ayla does it as well."

Maura smiled warmly, “Always wanted an older sister.” She softly nodded as she took a sip of her coffee, allowing the sweet moment to sink in. “Now, we are able to relate with Ayla in saying how awful they are.” The sting of her tease added a playful element to the comment.

She did an eye-roll at the self-affirming thing every moment, “My point was…” she paused, considering the best way to explain, “It is like those church-sponsored carnival freaks; their name is Memento Mori.” She swirled the cup in her hands, mulling over the wording, “But the biggest shame would be to die without ever truly living. So we make sure to say ‘screw you’ to the world and push myself out there, rather than be locked away in some cupboard, out of sight, out of mind.”

Maura simply smiled at the question, “Oh, it is just a habit by this point. Imagine being stuck to Ayla for so long; you just start doing it in amusement, a joke here and there. Start acting like the noble Torragonese girl, speaking with some authority. Then you notice the reactions of others, and you begin doing it to amuse yourself at their expense. Before long, 'we' is all that remains.”

Jocasta had no idea why Maura was going on about some churches team. They were likely just further creeps who'd wish her dead, but she sat through it. At the end of the day, Maura's conclusions seemed not too different from hers. It was just a tall and perilous mountain to climb to become strong enough that she could do it without endangering herself and her few loved ones. Still, it was heartening to know that, even with limited perspective, someone else whose opinion she respected was encouraging these things.

When Maura answered her closing question, Jocasta smiled. "Ah! So you, too, have become the mask!" She released her brakes and rolled a push or two around the coffee table. "Checkmate!" She floated her cup and saucer over to the wash basin with some kinetic magic and let herself coast another foot or two, until they were close. "I'm happy we did this, even at this red-eye hour." She reached out for a light embrace. "I find the best thoughts tend to come in the morning or right before one falls asleep, and I was just dying to share them with you." She winked.

Maura blinked, then smiled, accepting the hug offered by the blonde. “Though no dying on me just yet; we've got to finish showing how amazing we are first.” She pulled Jo into a tighter embrace than what the other intended, getting rid of the formality of the others’ gesture as she gave her a heartfelt squeeze. “Perhaps when they threaten to put me in your Zeno group again, we wouldn’t reject it so hastily next time.”

It was somewhat unexpected, though not entirely. Jocasta hugged back. She'd... gotten better at hugging over the past year. It no longer made her tense up, and Maura was small and soft in any event. She smiled as they separated. "Neither would we," she replied.

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jasbraq The Youngest Elder

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At the end of the Derby

Participants: Fiske, Marceline (Both with and without moustache)@Force and Fury



The sun hung low in the sky, the melon derby complete and her team's victory assured. Marceline sat upon a rooftop, shoes off, rubbing some feeling back into her toes. They were slipping past the pins and needles point now, into persistent outright numbness, and that would need to be rectified soon with a grey aberration. Of course, the city had been bombarded with them earlier in the day, forcing a very fortunate early end to the Melon Derby. Of course, she hadn't gotten any. Instead, she'd been busy running from monsters. Instead, Dory had almost died at the hands one of those: the yasoi Juulet.

Fiske jumped from one rooftop to another until he reached the one he needed to. "Relaxing a bit now that it's over?" The boy took a seat next to the Kerreman. "Did not do too much myself, especially when chaos erupted everywhere." He kept quiet for a moment, not wanting to speak too much about the encounter with Juulet. A hand was placed on the girl's shoulder. "How 'bout you? How did it go for you?"

"Just lookin' after some toe cheese," she teased. She paired the gesture with a shrug, giving up on any further massaging. They were tipping over into being a lost cause. She'd go for a grey later. After today, and all of the running, leaping, and sneaking, her declining mobility of a year ago seemed a world away. What had once seemed an inevitable grim fate seemed, now, like something she could manage, something she could beat!

Fiske needed reassurance as well, though. She knew him. "Went well enough," she replied with a shrug, swinging her feet idly back and forth, "'til those monsters Ariadne and Juulet came to play." She furrowed her brow in annoyance. "Like, seriously, you're telling me, Dami as my witness, that are actual students!?" Marceline rose to her feet. "Well then my name is Hildr the Fucking Red!" she rolled her eyes, reaching down to pull him up.

Fiske grabbed her hand to be pulled up. "Well you might be, 'O great warrior of old." He bowed before her greatness.

"Don't think they're students, really... Not after seeing what one of them could do." He tried to look away. "The last time I was that fearful was when those big hulking things showed up and Salvatore Moli turned out to be a weird... squid... thing..."

Marceline went from jovial to serious quite quickly. "You're... not joking?" she asked tentatively. Generally, they were on the same wavelength, but there was the odd time when she couldn't tell. Fiske was fond of his tall tales.

Fiske's look turned to one of confusion. "About that one-legged Yasoi?" He looked around to see if anyone else might be close by to overhear, once the coast was clear he sighed. "Let me ask you this. Do you consider your friends strong? Zarina, who is strong enough to fight in that bulky armor, or even Yuli and Ayla who have shown to be quite impressive." His tone was a lot more monotone than most people were used to.

"Well, I meant the entire Moli incident, to be honest," she replied, cracking a faint, rueful grin. "but I'll take this as confirmation." She shook her head. "I consider them just about as strong as any real 'student' could get," she continued, eventually answering him. "Course, I'm starting to learn that, if there's a power scale, people like us might not even register on it."

"Oh, the Moli thing? Yeah, that was the truth." He waved his hands around as if he tried to mimic an octopus for a second.

However, hearing her say that made his intrusive thoughts about his own strength resurface. "Might? I do not think that for me it's a might." The boy frowned, memories about certain encounters flowing into his head.

"Remember old man Jascuan? I thought of him as my better. Someone I could potentially reach if I keep on trying." Fiske wanted to hit something, frustration about that night building up within him. He kicked one of the roof tiles. "Juulet is so not like that... That monster was so much beyond my reach that I could not even run away even if I wished.... my high RAS meant nothing... my illusions meant nothing... Nothing that is my whole meant anything when it came to her."

♫


Marceline stood there under the moonlight, the wind lightly stirring her hair. "Fiske..." She looked him in the eyes, all of her usual puckishness absent. "She's the Mad Avatar." Marci swallowed. "The one who killed Manfred." She shook her head. "She - along with a good few others - is a thing that should not exist." A particularly brisk breeze set a series of slightly oily locks rippling across her face. She took a moment to brush them away. "What did she do to you?"

"She's the one who killed Manfred?..." His eyes widened Poor man did not even have a chance...

He knew this question would come up. "They forced me into a game of cat and mouse... Only thing I was ordered to do was run... but every time there was hope of losing them... I was back into the start, made to do it over and over again."

Fiske shook as he remembered the fear for his life that he felt. "After twenty or so times.. she revealed an aberration and made me draw from it... " He clicked his tongue "This shit is bad enough that even my control over my senses can't fully numb me from it."

Wordlessly, Marceline reached in and hugged him. She lingered like that for a good while, chest pressed against his, heart beating. She took a couple of deep breaths and, for a moment, squeezed him a little tighter. "Repeat after me, Fiskel," she advised, clearing her throat. "Fuck." She pushed back a little. "That." They parted to arms' length. "Bitch."

She blinked in the breeze, but it was a surprisingly muggy evening and the brief break of cool was very welcome. "We're gonna deal with her." She shook her head. "And not by being stronger; by being smarter."

A warmth in his chest beckoned him to repeat her words... although not as powerful. "Fuck." He tried to put up a fake smile. "That." The boy both wanted to say it but scared to do. "...Bitch..."

As she declared a blood feud of sorts the boy pointed at himself. "We are?" He sighed. "I love that enthusiasm of yours... but I can only see us beating her if she has no magic.."

"Say it again, Fiskel," Marci demanded, "And like you mean it, this time." She suited words to action and let loose herself. "And yes: she's so strong it's made her dumb. She's walked into so many traps and made so many stupid moves, and she only gets away because she's strong." Marci shook her head. "We need one of those disruptors." She furrowed her brow. "You wouldn't know anyone who has access to one, would you?"

"Fuck. That. Bitch!" He proclaimed with his chest puffed up.

"Distuptors?.. Don't know anyone but I could ask around. Maybe my Zeno would know where I could get one." He shrugged. "Besides, you're friends with all the strong folk."

Marceline put her finger to her lips. "Well... don't you know anyone with resources?" she inquired proddingly for, in truth, he did. Did she know!? In any event, she shook her head. "It'd be better if you weren't noticed looking around too much." A sonic bubble dropped around the pair. "She can't be allowed to suspect a thing."

Fiske tried to think if he knew someone that wasn't the person in front of him. A cold droplet of sweat traveled down his face. She didn't know about it... did she? "Well... Maybe Desmond might know.."

He nodded. "I know. The plan stays between us."

Marceline considered Desmond for a moment. He didn't like the powerful sorts who went around squishing people very much either, and he'd been a friend of her brother's. She nodded. "I think he can be trusted," she agreed. "I'll..." She trailed off, considering. "I'll check with Zarina and..." She pursed her lips. "I'd say Jocasta, but she and Juulet have already had a few run-ins. It might be too obvious a place to look."

"Then shall we ask him to help us? Maybe he will even help us with the 'not being on the scale' issue we have with all the thingies he has and has started making." He nodded. "I think getting your strong friend in would help.... Cause I doubt asking your team for help after what happened would be too obvious as well..."

"Well yeah. We can't make it that obvious," Marceline agreed. "If we get caught," she decided, "that means we get squished like a rat in the pantry." She made a little pinching gesture and let out a mirthless laugh. She looked away from Fiske then, and up at the stars, "And I think that'd be the greatest shame. You and me, and our friends... we deserve a long happy life way more than that nasty bitch does." She shrugged. "I know you've got your dark stuff too. I know you don't like to talk about it." She was talking to the night sky as much as to Fiske. "So I'd never pressure you to do it. You'll tell me when you feel it's right." Her eyes flicked his way, sparkling, and she smiled before settling back onto the rooftop, cross-legged, and gazing up at the darkened heavens once more. "But me, I dunno... I was never supposed to live past thirty, never supposed to leave that gods-forsaken place." She folded her arms back behind her head and rested it on her hands. "I watched my mum waste away and I knew the same would happen to me: first my legs, then my body, then my arms, and then..." She took and released a deep breath as a shooting star streaked across their field of vision. "Well, then I'd be gone, before ever really having the chance to live. When I got here, my legs were already starting to go, until those aberrations became my miracle - well, my mom's too - all tethered, really."

She paused and glanced his way. "Fuck, sorry, schnookie-bear, this is kinda heavy stuff, I know." She shook her head. "I just... needed to tell someone and, aside from, you know, shouting expletives at that one-legged bitch, tonight has kind of a pensive vibe, you know?"

"Don't think I deserve a long happy life if I can be real honest." Fiske leaned back against the roof tiles. "Now I'm not saying I deserve the same fate as that bitch deserves." He sighed. His gaze desperately tried to avoid the other. "My cowardice has been a sin, I'll probably end up in the deepest parts of Eschiran's hell for what I did not dare to do."

"See, that's exactly why I admire you." He tried to hide his own blush with a very basic illusion. "In terms of how we got here we're opposites. You, rising from what seemed like a lost situation... And me who lived with a silver spoon for most of his life and now has nothing." The boy's eyes travelled back to the other before quickly moving away again. "Well, until I met you."

He shrugged, trying to lift the heavy air. "But i won't bore you too much with my boring ass stories" Fiske tried to smile through the somewhat sombre expression. "I don't mind listening if you ever need someone to lend an ear to you."

"I have delivered unto thee a compelling hook for the soul-rending story of my tortured fall from grace, yet it is 'boring-ass' and I shan't trouble you any further with it, madam." Marceline rolled her eyes grandly. "We should talk about the things that matter to us, Fiskel." She shook her head. "I won't suddenly stop loving you." She was sitting up now, trying to massage some feeling back into her toes again. The aberration from a couple of months ago had worn off a bit quicker than expected. "But I'm also not gonna force you."

She changed the subject. "Ya think there are people living on those other places up in the sky? I mean... we saw some weird shit in the Groove the other day..."

"Well, if you can guess some things about me.... I'll reveal a little thing each time you get something correct... though, three questions max." Fiske poked the other's cheek after the rather grand display of eyes rolling. "And besides, me telling you my entire life's story... I'll lose all the mystique that I have gathered." His gaze became worried after noticing the second time they massaged. "Got it acting up again?"

He shrugged. "Who knows, we might have some scary moon-men." Just imagining it caused a small chuckle. "And speaking of the Groove, we might have to visit there soon.."

"Oh, we definitely will," Marceline agreed, leaving her toes be. "Stupid toes are toasted." She chuckled with no great hint of nervousness. "Someone must've slipped something into my last Gray's drink. Only lasted a few months before starting to wear off." She shook her head. "Oh well. Gives us an excuse to visit again, at least. Hopefully I won't get such a dud."

She let him think that she'd let his little offer slip by for a moment. Then she grinned: positively Cheshire. "You weren't actually that... Leander guy, hmm?" she guessed teasingly. "Oh, same offer's open to you, by the by."

"Well, I was... and wasn't. It was a name I took on when I arrived here, Seems like he never showed up, so I took his place. Becoming Leander, the Thunderchild from Thalakos.... Though it was rather annoying to pretend to be a thunderchild. My magic felt much weaker by keeping that charade up constantly, you know?" A small magnetic charge surrounded his form as he smirked.

Then as the charge faded away he lifted his finger. "Oh, I know. You mostly talked about your brother Manfred, how's your relation with the rest of the family?" He pulled a groove coin out of his pocket. "I'll help pay for the next gray, need some myself as well. This headache is kiiiilleeer!"

"And... where's the secret fact, Leander?" Marceline teased. "You really are a con artist." She shook her head, pulling some of the charge away from him and creating a little dancing arc that wavered in the air above them, drawing moths, mosquitoes, and crane flies to be zapped.

Then, he spoke, and the magic disappeared. Marci sat there, stalk still, and stared out across the rooftops. "I have my mother," she replied, "and we love each other very much." Her jaw clenched and she let out a breath. "Spending your lives in a tethered refuge will do that."

Fiske clenched his head, ruffled his hair and mumbled to himself for a short while. "I'm sorry, I should not have asked." Visibly distraught from his own question. He tried to find a way to change the subject. "Then for the secret fact." He held his collar and sighed.

"You know how I talked about being born with a silver spoon in my mouth?" He leaned down to look at his legs dangling. "I'll tell you the secret fact, my sin." His eyes began to get slightly watery. "I did not give up on said silver spoon. It was taken out of my mouth by force.... A rival noble family planned it... and blamed it on revolting workers." Fiske doubted that his gibberish would come out as a consistent story.

And soon enough tears began to flow. "Do you know how it feels to never be you again? To the world, the me that I was... is dead."

Marceline had started to sense that there was something deeply traumatic in Fiske's past. Maybe, beneath the affable trickster that he played, it loomed larger than even he knew. Maybe she'd just had a gut feeling. Most likely, however, was that she recognized the pain he spoke of all too well herself. Nina Hohenfelter was alive, but she was effectively dead. Marceline had begun life at age nine, with no identity, no history, and no loved ones save a beautiful woman in a wheelchair with long black hair that fell like curtains to either side of her face. Only Manfred, to some degree, had ever become family again. Yet, on some level, he was still Nina's brother and not Marci's. They'd started again in his mind. They'd started - period - in hers.

So it was that she scooted a bit closer to Fiske and took him into her arms and he was warm and real and soft and strong. His hair lay against her, tickling her neck, and she took in the scent of him. She held him close and tight and kissed him on the side of the head, tasting the subtle salt of his sweat and tears. "The you that you are - the only 'you' I know - is alive, and I'm glad he is." It sounded profound, and she was pleased with the words for a moment before worrying if they weren't a bit hollow - weren't a bit of a platitude. She didn't know what else to say, but she meant them. So, the girl who had been Nina and was now Marceline embraced the boy who was Fiske and had once been someone else and rested her chin on his head and her hand on his back, patting, wishing, stroking the pain away as best she could. Yet, whose pain it was remained anybody's guess.

Someday, she thought, we will be too strong for them to hurt. She kissed the top of his head, gently. Someday, she promised, this will all be but a distant, painful, memory. We are meant for more.

"I guess you're right about that." Fiske took a deep breath in, then breathed out mayhaps even heavier. In one swift movement he embraced the girl and clinged rather tightly. "I promise to you." His voice was still quavering. "Some day, I will be so strong that... that... even Hugo would blush at my greatness!" He obviously knew that he would never get that far.

A little cough escaped him to try and hide what he said. "Well, seeing as that might take a while." His voice became as dry as the Torragonese deserts. "I hope you'll be there... to see me become strong... and stuff." Then a small panic hit him as he realised he forgot something. "I will do the same with you, of course."

Marci half-sniffled and half-laughed. "Well, I suppose, if you're Hugo, then I'm Enna Lantisca," she decided, blinking away a couple of tears and smiling bravely. "Even tethered and all that." She swept some hair from her face and shook her head. "Though, I think you're right: we'll both have to be very old."

Marceline's smile faded gradually, and she held him like that for a little bit longer, before backing partway out of the embrace. She turned her attention back to the sky. It was a meteor shower tonight, she supposed, as another one streaked across her field of view. "You wanna know something, Fiskel?" She didn't actually wait for the response. "I wanna live forever." In and out she breathed, gradually separating from him, leaning back with her hands on the roof. "And I don't just mean that in some figurative way either." The girl's eyes turned his way. "Bad as some of it is, the world is too... interesting, too big and exciting and full of wonder for just seventy years or whatever we get." She picked up a pebble and rolled it about pensively between her fingers. "Screw that. I want more." She glanced at him hopefully. "With you, of course."

"Live forever, eh?" Fiske thought to himself. Would living forever be such a bad thing as he was always told? He began to mentally find ways to even make such a thing possible. "But how would we even get that? As good of an illusionist I am, I doubt I can trick you age into thinking you stay the same age forever." To help with said statement he used a small illusion to put wrinkles on his face and greyed out his hair.

Fiske placed his face onto his fist with a smirk on his face. "Hearing that wish reminds me of when those butterflies first showed up in my stomach." His expression was as starstruck as it could get. "Then miss 'Enna'." The boy jested. "Let's find us a way to live forever so that we can see every little corner the world has to offer."

"Aaaah! Fiske! Noooo!" she squealed at seeing an old version of him, but then a grin blossomed. "Aw fuck it. Do me!" She shook her head. "I would, but I'm not nearly good enough with Arcane."

When he was done, she had another idea. "If you were a girl... what would you look like?" She was holding back epic levels of mirth. "Or would it be pretty much the same?" She teased. In fact, she was so excited that she rose and started pacing within the small area next to him, forcing Fiske to do the same or at least stand. "And if I was dude... oh Ipte! Would I just end up looking like Manfred?" She hammered him excitedly on the shoulder. "Oh muh gawds, do it, Fiske, do it! I wanna have a mustache!"

And then, when all the fun was over, Marci was laughing and lying back on the roof and Fiske was once again sitting beside her. "Thanks," she said, with a certain sort of reverence as she faded back into pensiveness. Fiske had more to say, and she furrowed her brow and listened carefully. She smiled enigmatically and, quietly, Marceline rose. "Come with me," she entreated, "Back to my room."

Fiske envisioned himself as a woman, in truth he has worn dresses when his mother wished to dress someone up when his sister did not wear them. "Oh, I'd look absolutely fucking fabulous!" Following those words Fiske stood up and did a... rather perfect twirl, changing his image with each time he went round. His vest opened up and became longer, turning into coattails, his short bottoms turned into a skirt of kinds and his collar extended towards his neck. The chest filled up modestly as his face became softer and soon after his... or rather her twirl ended. "Told you I'd look incredible!" His voice sounded somewhat higher than it did before, perhaps he really was made for the stage.



"Though, talking like this is hard on my voice." He posed a couple timed. "Though I guess it's your time." He casted an illusionary curtain over himself and when it opened up he was back to normal. "Hold still." Soon enough an exterior layer over Marci was cast, becoming taller. In truth he based the frame on Manfred but he would never reveal the secrets of his craft. As the final touches were made the boy sighed. "Fine, fine, you'll get your mustache." With that he tried a couple different options, a Revidian styled one, a Kerreman styled one and one that was a bit more rough like the Eskandish. Eventually he settled on the Kerreman styled one, casting a reflecting surface. "Take a look, I think I did a pretty decent job for my first time on someone else.." He proclaimed proudly.

After the fun and games were over his face flushed up upon hearing the request. "What?" in the sheer confusion he could not even hide his blush with an illusion. He would softly slap himself a couple of times. "Lead the way."

Marci pretended to check him out, naturally, and then, when it was her turn, she engaged in mustache-twirling antics and deepened her voice using sonic magic. It was as if, in those brief moments, the heaviness of what had come before evaporated and they were, once again, just two young people who had take a shine to each other.

The girl's grip was gentle but firm, and she never let go of Fiske's hand as she led him back towards the house she shared with a few of her friends. "In through the back door," she whispered as they crept up to it. Inside, the lanterns and candles were out and a silence and stillness prevailed. She placed a finger to her lips. "Up," Marci entreated, finally releasing him as they ascended the stairs. "I... wanna show you something."

Fiske gulped, he knew there were a couple people that did not particularly like him in this house. So he kept as quiet as he could, having been sneaky coward does have it's perks at times. "Show me something?" he whispered. His mind raced with whatever it could be, some more influenced by his interest in 'shinies' and the other by his interest in the other. Calm down Fiske. It might just be a really cool keepsake, or some plushie she got from her deceased brother that she is too embarrassed to show others.

They snuck into her room, with only the moonlight pouring in through the window to light their way. The door opened with a creak and Marceline was already unbuttoning her bodice as Fiske crept in after her. She seemed to be lingering by one of the chests. "Close the door," she prodded, peeling out of the restrictive garment. "This," she could be heard saying as the door closed, "This is what I wanted to show you." That was the last that anybody saw of either until early the next morning, when a rumpled-looking Fiske slipped out of a window and landed gently on the ground below. Marci was a bit behind on her Zenobucks rounds that day but, by all accounts, she was unusually chipper.

Fiske stretched as he landed onto the ground. The brightest smile ever plastered on his face. "To think it would feel that nice." He walked back through the gates, all proud of himself. You have really found it, Fiske. Love

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Hidden 1 yr ago → 12 mos ago Post by Jumbus
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Jumbus

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A Reason to Fight

Mentions: Talkan @Grimnir, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, & Kaureerah @Force and Fury






Enter the Dragon

Interacts with: Laska @Force and Fury

Perfect Pizza


Leon rubbed his sore cheek which had just been pinched by the Nonna. She was impressed with the pizza, as he was certain of. But did she have to express it in such a physical way? Stupid question, the answer was yes.

He was a bit behind the leaders in the race. His fame, even with the Sun King persona, was a double-edged sword. He got fantastic deals on premium pizza ingredients but lost time and energy when the crowd swarmed him. He couldn’t keep his pace; it's not as though he could simply push them away.

Singers and Saints were still in a good position after the first inning and Leon was in no mind to slack about. He ran to the portal immediately and jumped through to tag in Ayla for the Plunge.

But that wasn’t the end of the race for the Sun King. No, it was just the beginning. He had an ulterior motive; to run the rest of the race alongside the teams and make sure every team completed it. The Trials were for fun after all. It wouldn’t be fun to be eliminated from them.

Mushroom Maze


Leon had not expected to be using his magic this way, ever. When he came through the portal, someone had grown a dense wall of mushrooms right outside the entrance. He was sure that the Trial runner would have more foresight than this; it had to be cheating.

He spent the time doing slow controlled burns of the fungi and he was there a good while doing it. The leaders of the race had long since run out of view and by the time he made any strong progress destroying the blockade, only the lagging teams had yet to arrive.

It would be a while until Leon could catch up to spectate his team at this rate. But he reminded himself of his goal and carried forth.

Leon lost himself in the maze and stumbled across a contestant lying face-up on the ground with a half-eaten mushroom in their hand. The student only had their hands visible as they were mostly concealed by a large oversized green robe. Despite their state of twitching on the ground, the hood still hid their face generously.

Leon thought about revealing their face but then remembered his rule. If someone has gone to these lengths to hide their face, it's because they are horrendously ugly. Best to keep their veil in place. It is the moral thing to do.

He hoisted the twitching body onto his shoulder determined to rescue them from the maze.

“What are you doing? Fool! I was spectating the future!” The student piped up in a gravelly and hateful voice while being run through the maze turbulently.

“You can thank me later,” Leon replied with a jovial tone. “You aren’t done with the race just yet.”

Lost City


Chaos greeted Leon as he entered the Lost City. Some great big thresher was spinning and thrashing around destroying everything. What made it extra terrifying was that he rode a leftover Perrench thresher with a dud fin. There were too many close calls to count. But there were also too many students with calls too close. Bodies of students knocked out and knocked off their threshers floated in the sub-aquatic city.

A kinetic mage who was painted green from the Green Meanies, a mage dressed like a lion mascot from Indomitable Lions, a foolish mage dressed in full plate armour from the Knights of Justice, and what looked like an Ersand’Enise guard all rode on the back of Leon’s thresher. He tried bringing them back to consciousness as they waited out the thresher rampage.

Afterward, he returned them to their threshers to continue the race.

Invasive


Leon had a great time running around in the hot bamboo forest. Plenty of sun is all he could ask for.

There was no great distance to travel on this one. All of the teams ran around the same area, so he had plenty of ability to catch up to the front of the pack, despite how far back he was.

He caught up to Laska at the last minute following just behind her as she jumped through the final portal. The Singers and Saint had come first. Victory was theirs.

In his excitement, Leon ripped off the Sun King mask and slam-dunked it into the ground. He revealed to all of the spectators that this mysterious figure was the famed performer all along. What better time than on the victory podium for the Dragon.

Leon was not humble in victory. After finishing a brief victory dance, he ran up to Laska and hugged her. “You did so well I could kiss you.” He didn’t. He made no indication of attempting it either. He instead releases the hug. “That is a victory worthy of song. I’ll need to go get the others immediately.”

But it wasn’t immediate. He instead basked in the glow of victory a bit longer, then dashed off to find the rest of the team, turned a corner, and then just about passed out from exhaustion.

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Hidden 1 yr ago Post by Force and Fury
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Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow

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P U R E M O R N I N G

It was both the blessing and curse of Zenobucks to be open just as Ipte gave way to Shune. It was still and dark, the sun just a glow on the horizon, the great hordes of commonfolk just rolling out of bed, the brilliant blanket of stars starting to fade from the brightening sky.

There was a serenity to it - a peace - and Ersand'Enise, that great burgeoning metropolis that always seemed to be welling with people, magic, danger, and opportunity, felt oddly intimate at this hour.

As a tethered, Marceline had been taught from the moment she first opened her eyes in the Refuge at St. Agustin, some girl with strange dreams, no memories, and no name, to block out the noise, lest it overwhelm her. In the silence of the desert, she'd practiced: a small unnamed person atop the sandstone parapets, watching their long, sombre shadows skew and shorten as the vast golden sun peered over the horizon.

And every morning, she would return, as Amanda Escarra, her mother, observed and guided her from below, shaping the unnamed girl into a Marceline who might someday thrive outside of those walls. She learned the hum of the insects and the heat of the sun, the way the stones gathered it in and bled it out. She felt the people sleeping in their beds: the tiny pulses within their minds and bodies, the changing chemicals as they began to stir. Then came the voices, and how they devastated her at first. She shut them out and wished she couldn't feel them for, even here, deep in el mar de dunas, there were too many. So much movement, so much sound and heat and energy!

Over half of tethered failed to ever acclimate. They shut their sixth sense out, denying the half of their curse that was Gift. Gradually, in bits, Marci had opened herself. As mother's health had waned and she had moved from two to zero, the girl had strained to give her this present: the knowledge that it had all been worth it, that her daughter would succeed, that she might make something of her short life.

And then she had stood alone - truly alone - atop those walls, though sometimes she might sense Abuelo in the distance. Still, she opened herself, ever more. Still, she encountered the wonders of the world: how those small hills she had never questioned were a pack of halassa hibernating in the sand, the great reverberating rumble of the heavens as vast anvil-shaped clouds flowed like rivers overhead and then opened up to bring the desert to life. Then came the long grasses, the bees, and the lizards for those next few months, the enormous ancient shape of a distant sand wyrm in its endless trek across the wastes, far out there at the very hazy edge of her range.

How blessed she had felt to live in this world and to be able to sense the things that she did, but time began to steal the girl's happiness. By Marci's third year, as the Afortunado came to select her, her feet were alien things and her ankles could give her no more. Every morning began with strapping on a pair of braces and the climb up the stairs had become an arduous one. Her mother had well and truly cloistered and, for the first time, her imminent death had become a real thing, and a source of endless anxiety. The wagons that would come and go twice each month grew into objects of intense interest. She well understood that the sensory bombardment of the real world could be too much for some tethered, but mother had managed it in her younger years, when she had gone out on assignments.

Then, they had assigned her a wheelchair and bade her to practice and it had all come to feel so small and hopeless and limiting. By the age of thirteen, a deep anxiety had set in about her future, maybe even a malaise. It was only the arrival of six students of Ersand'Enise that had saved her, in every way possible.

Now, Marceline's footsteps, swift and sure, clattered over the flagstones of the city's streets. Her senses swept for the usual early morning denizens, and she made her way with purpose.

Dew sparkled on lawns and hedges and the iron balustrades of fine homes. A fox skittered towards the arboretum, where it kept its den. A cat rubbed against a planter box at the door of a townhouse, its eyes glowing faintly golden in the early morning murk. Marci reached into her bag and pulled out a smaller cloth sack as she neared her destination. Her senses were alive with the city now, as Shune finally burst over the horizon in all of his brilliance.

Somewhere up above, floated Jocasta, as was her early-morning custom. Born-on-Solstice and a handful of sunblessed sat on rooftops, recharging for the day. The aroma of strange sauces met her nose as she passed a guesthouse where some Retanese were staying and already cooking themselves a breakfast. One of the great bells of the cathedral lay dormant, its clapper gently swinging as a trio of pigeons landed on it. She could sense the tarnishing of its bronze surface: the subtle chemical changes.

Then, she was there. The fourth Zenobucks location - the one close to the Proving Grounds - was the newest, and they were on event hours, event pricing, and event staffing. She had determined it was in need of some extra care, especially with Tku absent, given that he was a competitor in the Trials, after all.

"Good not-quite morning!" she chirped at the staff. None of them were students by necessity, and a couple had been poached from their duties as carpenters, housewives, and washerwomen. "And thank you so very much for helping us out today." The booth was looking shipshape, but for one corner of the sign where the cheap wood they'd used was warping and pulling out the nail it was bolted in with. Marceline took a moment to focus her binding magics and render it passable. She made a mental note to replace it, contingency budget allowing.

Laying the cloth sack down on the table, she pulled out tarts for all four of the shop's employees: Muriel, the head baker; Lisette, the cashier; Vittorio, the deliveryman; and Franz, who handled maintenance and whatever else was needed - truly a versatile man. They wasted no time in ambling up and they were a good crew: capable, friendly, and generally problem-solvers where needed. Why, Muriel had even come up with a new type of tart the previous week that had been a hit with customers. They would be piloting it in an official capacity starting tomorrow. "Oh, and for the little one, Franz," Marceline added, pulling out a tiny bonnet for his newborn daughter. She spent two more minutes catching up with them, clarified a few things about the rollout tomorrow, and was on her way to the next store. Successful businesses did not run themselves, and Zenobucks - once little more than an inside joke - had become successful indeed.

It was a little over an hour later that Marceline was finished her morning rounds. The sun was up, all four locations within Ersand'Enise were open, and she had one more errand to run. Twice, she had nearly tripped in the areas of the city that had cobbles. Thankfully, only one of the shoppes absolutely required that she cross the picturesque little ankle-breaking stones. What it highlighted, however, was that her toes, with the vital balance they provided, had gone almost completely numb.

The shimmering coins jingled faintly in her coinpurse as the young tethered made her way through the Queensgate and out of the city. It took annoyingly long for, once more, there was something of a queue. A handful of tents and lean-tos hunkered under the palms and by the guardhouse and in them were yasoi who'd fled the invasion of their nations by the Tarlonese. Some appeared normal enough - or as normal as a yasoi could ever be - while others twitched or talked to themselves or looked about hungrily in ways that were profoundly unnatural. Addicts, the girl knew, feeling distinctly uncomfortable around their blank, leering stares, restless dashes to nowhere, and endless fidgeting. There was a reek to them too. "'scuse mem, I loss my wagon on go in," said one, grabbing at the folds of her dress, "lend coin Lachon pay back. Just need small lend. Lachon get wagon. All good!" His hands were on her and the girl stumbled back, nearly falling, and scampered away. Instead, she was stuck waiting in line while he and the other hovered around.

Once she was allowed through, Marci quickly made her way past, enhancing her speed with kinetic and chemical magics. The entire experience had unsettled her and she found herself happy to see the signage of the Vermilion Swirl. It was time for The groove and another Grey aberration. The last time she'd taken one had been back in Tiptos and it should've lasted her until the end of Mittria, at least, but here she was at the start of Assani. She hoped it wouldn't become a pattern. Maybe The Groove's merchandise was faulty. Maybe the place was a scam...

That was when she sighted Abdel, hanging around outside the famous - or perhaps infamous - pleasure house. Just like she had when they'd been children, Marceline snuck up behind him. "Well well well kiddo," she teased, "Fancy finding you here. I'd say I never took you for the type, but..." She trailed off with a merciless little grin.

Abdel perked up as he felt his personal bubble be a little too invaded. He preemptively turned to confront the little rogue, only to meet a very familiar face. “Well well,” he parroted, arms crossed before his chest as if she spoke some truths. He cocked a brow at the joke. “how's it going with Fiske, Brandaeble?” he smirked, eyes not-so-subtly shifting between her and the esteemed establishment they were, or were about to be, frequenting. “But really, what brings you here? Zeno Bucks aspirations?” he smiled with brief checks over his shoulder as if he was waiting for something.

Marci arched an eyebrow. "No, Abdul. I'm here to visit my secret hunky boyfriend, Chad." She tried rising onto her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder, but they were dead things: all the more reason for her to do this now. "Who ya lookin' out for anyway, though?"

“A friend.” the intonation and briefness of his tone, as well as the context of a brothel made his guarded posture all the more telling. Abdel stared at his childhood friend's eyes, lingered and then snorted. “An actual friend. Her name's Tiff. She-” then it clicked. “You're not here for business, are you?” his pointer finger stuck out of his crossed arms and wagged at her direction. “It's that 'secret' tavern-club thing, isn't it?”

Marci saw no point in hiding it. She nodded, crossing her arms as well. This was often how they seemed to speak to each other: behind crossed arms and layers of witty remarks until he just went earnest and she was reminded that they'd grown up together. "Yeah, it's The Groove." She sniffed and uncrossed her arms. "Stupid name, but very useful place." For a moment, she hesitated, as if about to say more.

Abdel snapped with the wagging finger. “That's it.” he pivoted to have the entrance to the establish on one side and Marci to the other. “Tiff chaperoned me the first time. I was hoping to see her again, but ...” he pursed his lips and shrugged. “I didn't, and still don't, have any of their coins. So ... I never found out if this was the real deal. Abs 'n' all.” he looked Marceline's way with an inquisitive eye. “So, is it?”

"Why do you think I'm here?" she inquired, kicking at some sort of nut that had fallen from one of the trees overhead. "Gonna go in and take a grey." She scrunched her face up for a second, annoyed. "Last one hardly lasted. My toes are fucked." Her eyes flicked their way for a moment before rising to - briefly - meet Abdel's.

Abdel's heart beat a twinge faster when he heard 'grey'. Not white, nor black. Grey. But then Marci's additional comment brought his brows to furrow. “Really? Was it just small? Or lousy, maybe.” he shrugged, opting for optimism before letting reality disappoint him once more. “Frankly, I'm giga-broke. But one of the girls here actually brought up work.” he paused, realized what he had said and shook his head. “In the Groove. Work in the groove. For coins. Figured if I was gonna make a living, I'd do it standing up.”

“Anyway, shall we? I'll meet up with Tiff later.”

Marci didn't wait for his hasty explanation. She began cracking up even as Abdel realized what it was he'd said. "I mean, shune..." She trailed off. "I don't even wanna make fun of that. It's too easy." She began heading for the door, shaking her head and still grinning. "You can come with me, but I'm not just giving you a sympathy ab, you know. They're... not cheap."

“And you're not charity, huh?” smirked Abdel, letting the lady pass first before they made their way to their exclusive club. “... How about a credit ab instead?”

The girls - and boys - of the Swirl could sense that Marceline wasn't here for their offerings and so their greetings were simple and friendly and perfunctory. She led Abdel past the bar area, which was at its emptiest at this time of day, and towards a curtained room near the latrines. She sighed and regarded him evaluatively, hesitating. "You're not gonna leave me hanging, right?" she asked with an unexpected intensity.

Abdel, on the other had, tried to keep himself tense-free. “You know where I live. And where my girls live.” he chuckled. “I wouldn't do you dirty, Marci.”

She seemed to slacken a bit at that. "Yeah, I know. Sorry." She laughed weakly and scratched at the back of her head, kind of like Rikard sometimes did. "It's just... you know: people like us really need this stuff and I always have to keep enough cash on hand just in case." She forced a smile and a pep in her step. "I can spot you for now, even interest-free this time."

“Interest-free?” Abdel grimaced. “Who are you and what did you do to Marceline?” he jested. “This is almost too good to be true, if you ask me. Either the abs are not what we thought, or these coins are going to be the end of me.” he sighed.

"I am a generous god," she chuckled, pushing through. Beyond was a dark room, and a couple of large shadowy figured hovered about, but the underaged duo was never approached. "But I have my suspicions as well." She twisted and shrugged in the dimness. "trying to stay optimistic." She led Abdel to a door near the back, then, and opened it to reveal a closet within. "Hand," She commanded matter-of-factly.

“Sure thing, Jo.” the hand was ordered, and so it came.

Marci knocked on the back wall in a distinctive pattern and then... stepped right through, taking him with her. Inside was, well... The Groove and the supposed salvation of their kind. Abdel's attention was quickly taken by something that was not the aberration café, or even the bar. “Is that a frog?” he asked incredulously, and it still hadn't quite lost its wonder for Marci either. "You know, I've never actually asked," she admitted. "Looks kinda intelligent, though, right?" She'd lowered her voice, of course. "Or as intelligent as a frog can be, at least." She'd released his hand and was leading him towards the bar anyhow, sparing glimpses in the strange being's direction.

The closer they got to the bar, the easier to was to notice the sign next to the notorious Goroci. “'Cee Weird Sign One. Is - Is that a lot?” he took a seat but just couldn't get his eyes off the improvised stand of the Zweihander wielding individual. “If it is, there's your guarantee.”

Marceline had seated herself as well. She glanced over her shoulder. "Abdel," she replied, voice barely above a whisper, "you don't have to go on a suicide mission." There was a quick, tight smile. Meanwhile, a couple of yasoi were letting out sighs of delight as they twirled about inside of black aberrations. A sickly-looking old woman took in a white and seemed to recover before their very eyes. "I trust that you're good for it. Pay me back when you can. Okay?"

Abdel turned to look at her. The levity was nowhere to be found in his eyes. There was something in there, something serious and that needed to get out. Anger, or maybe fear, that grew exponentially when concern mistaken for pity was tended to him. But, quickly enough, he smiled with his features softened. “Almost had me there,” he shook his head. “but we've seen the worst before, haven't we, Marci?” his elbows rested over the counter as he leaned forward. “Dictators, demons, infested dragons ... What's some Froggy odd job with a bit of peril at this point?”

She snorted. "That's exactly why I trust nothing at this point." There was an unsure smile that grew, with some coaxing, into a smirk. The bartender was a thin, towering, unusual-looking woman who strode up to them silently. She must've been over eight feet tall and was distinctly yasoi and... something else. "Hello, dears, and what can I get for you?" she offered, tilting her head. With every word she spoke, a series of colours and images that seemed to support her meaning flashed about her.

Abdel looked up to acknowledge the unusually tall woman. Ogauraq, he thought, with a good serving of Yasoi too. “Uhm,” he looked at Marci for the okay before passing the order. “Two,” he pointed at one of the options on display. “Greys ...?”

"Small greys," Marceline hastily amended, and the towering woman bowed her head in a very Retanese way. "And that will be all?" Images of money and conclusions and the aberrations flashed through the air around them. Marci seemed entranced. "Oh! Why yes," she confirmed, taking out the necessary coin and blushing. "Very good. I certainly hope they do the job." The barkeep smiled and moved off: huge and ponderous on the one hand, incredibly graceful on the other. Marceline leaned in "Is that... an ogre-rack?" she whispered with no small measure of wonder.

Abdel's zoned out completely, he himself entranced by the aberrations. When beckoned by Marci, he had to shake himself out of his gluttonous daze. “Huh? Oh.” he shamelessly gawked at the bartender. “Yeah. They always do the funny image thing too. We -” he was about to go on a tangent. A not so pleasant one, considering what happened to the giants of ReTan during their visit. “Nevermind.” he focused on what mattered. “Bon appétit, I guess?”

This did not go unnoticed by Marci, but she wasn't about to prod. That wasn't the sort of relationship they had. The bartender arrived and with a surge of magic and a double snap of the fingers, a pair of cantaloupe-sized grey aberrations appeared in front of the pair of young tethered. "You enjoy it all, now. Alright?" More of those images flashed about.

"Guten appetit," she replied, heart already starting to beat faster. She wanted it and now it was hers. Marceline reached out and...


Out of the Vermillion Swirl came out two teens with swollen with energy, hopes and RAS. The Greys, as they called them, had done their work and the staff waved yet another set of happy customers goodbye.

“Really makes you think,” Abdel couldn't help but question his blessings. “How do they get these?” he said as the overflow of energy had him do a couple of leg intensive stretches. The persistent ants pricking his feet were gone.

Marci was busy flexing her toes back and forth. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Everything was back to normal. Jauntily, or perhaps just to bleed off some of the excess energy, she twirled on the spot. "Oh, I wonder quite a bit as well," she admitted, coming to a stop. Her hair swished about her and she took a moment to reach up and fix it. "but as long as the keep-me-not-crippled juice keeps a-comin', I won't ask any questions..." She furrowed her brow and there was a surge of magic as she dropped a sonic negation bubble around them. "unless there's a way to cut out the middleman, of course." The bubble quickly lifted, the exchanged parting pleasantries, and they went their separate ways.


Ever since the Student Faire, Zarina had a certain glow about her. She had already been less of a recluse and now she was the radiant light of the room. It was undoubtedly that Yasoi girl that had made it a habit to come over that was behind some of it. While opinions may vary on the nature of her second wind, one couldn’t question the Virangishwoman's drive for productivity and even the over-the-top games of the Trials. Zarina was back with a more approachable air to her, essentially.

The Dragon was the next trial, and with it came an unusual announcement in regards to the leg taking place in Citivalunga. Or rather, a warning to maintain good behaviour and consideration.

“So it’s actually happening, eh?”

Marceline had made a habit of meeting with Zarina every morning so that they could discuss business and, while the coming of The Trials had forced some adjustments to their schedules, it was not going to get in the way of this initiative.

They stood beside each other in the crowd, both somewhat apart from their teams, Marceline updating her older partner on the operation of their locations and Zarina filling her in on supply chain matters. There was a good deal of friendly and, at times, teasing banter regarding the earlier Melon Derby and, presently, High Zeno Bastaner was discussing the next event on the docket: The Dragon.

Marci's eyebrows went up. "Yeah. Wow. They're actually acknowledging it." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like it one bit." She twisted to look over and up at Zarina. "Means it's close: dangerously close."

Zarina peered to her younger business partner. “Scared?” she smiled with an air of confidence to her. “I kind of am too, really.” She deflated, her hand rising up to brush some hair that had already been neatly tucked behind her ear to undo it so she could put it back in place: A typical nervous habit of hers. “No more coffee lines. The fuck do we do after that?”

Marceline furrowed her brow. "That is the big looming worry. Thing is... if we've noticed, others have." The Zeno was moving towards to the conclusion of his speech and she'd have to go within moments. "How much do you think the prices have risen already?"

“Too much.” answered Zarina, arms crossed as numbers were crunched in her simple little head. “Do we just unga-bunga Eskandish-style it?” She regarded Marci, uncertain.

Marceline nibbled her bottom lip. "Yeah," she agreed. "I think we do. We just... need to raise the capital somehow because, if we do this, we do it all the way." Her eyes flicked Zarina's way again, in seriousness. "We'll need an obscene amount to ride out a bloody war."

Zarina shrugged. “We do what upstarts always do,” she began, a tad cryptic before shooting a grin at her close friend. “Borrow it from whales and have a backup plan for running away with it if shit gets that bad.”

"And I'm the devious one," Marci joked in response. She shook her head good-naturedly as the High Zeno bid them to join their teams and prepare for the opening of the portals. "Looks like we'll have to discuss it later," she replied in earnest. "But you're right, and we'll need to get a move on it, and soon, too." She'd already taken a few steps back, but then she paused and darted forward, enfolding Zarina in a quick embrace. "You look happy, suunei." She smiled and blushed a touch. "Stay well and good luck!" In truth, perhaps, there was a certain glow about her as well. She had shared something with Fiske last night that she'd never thought she would share with another person. Then, Marci and Zarina were separated and the former was backing away into the crowd. With that, her focus turned, in its entirety, to the race ahead.

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All Fun and Games, Until...



The Cappening

The time came quickly for Xiuyang to choose whether or not to fully trust Ciro Volta. Her original plan for her middling haul of faire tokens was to secure free access to the Silk Gate. Though the Solaris could afford it, it would save no small amount of money. It was at the very least what her family would expect her to spend them on. Now, however, she stood among the crowd of eager students, gleefully parting with their hard-won tokens in exchange for... hats. To be fair, they were magically imbued hats, and their enchantments were not to be scoffed at. It just felt a little silly, on the surface—no, perhaps it was. Students lined up in droves to throw away free tuition, and the empty space between them and the students lining up for other prizes held a palpable negative energy. The gap between the privileged and those scraping by, Xiuyang noted as she stood between the droves of students, looking to either side of her. Never had the student body been more clearly and visibly divided.

After eyeing the prize pool with some scrutiny, Xiuyang threw her hat in the ring, so to speak, and entered the raffle. She came out one of the lucky ones, and managed to snag one of the hats she had her eye on. The Belcher was a suitable prize indeed. She could feel its power, and was just imagining how she might have used it in her battle with Seki and Hitoshi when a familiar face approached her. It was Taleja. She was also wearing what, in some circles, might be considered a hat: the Beanie of Weggosi Relaxation. It was another one of the prizes Xiuyang had her eye on, and Taleja wished to propose a trade. She even boasted—in a manner befitting her, and insultingly accurate besides—that she already knew Xiuyang would agree to it. "Yes, something like this does suit me much better," she remarked as the two exchanged hats, each placing their hat upon the other's head.

As the fabric of the beanie slid over her eyes, Xiuyang found herself disoriented. From her perspective, Taleja had already taken her leave of Xiuyang, and was more than a few feet away. She saw herself take a few steps forward in confusion, adjust her beanie, look around, snicker, then turn to face Taleja in a panic. I'm seeing the future? She moved forward, following the footsteps of her phantom self. It was a bit too much to get acclimated to, right now. Could she turn it off? She adjusted her beanie, then looked around to see... well. With an effect like this, she could probably deliver an inaugural speech as Queen of Torragon. The ladies of Ersand'Enise will be relieved to know that a boy didn't get this, she thought, snickering. Then, she realized. Had Taleja seen her?! She whipped around to face her, but she was already long gone.

Xiuyang would stick around to see what her friends managed to snag, before they could, and tease them with her reactions. Living ten seconds in the future was harder to comprehend than she thought it'd be, but as long as she stood mostly still and ignored as many of her other senses as possible, she could account for the ten second delay in what she was hearing. Fittingly, it was possible with a few meditative techniques to grow accustomed to it for short periods of time. Already, her mind was swimming with the possibilities of how she could use this to her benefit. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Juulet shoving Niallus's head up his own ass with that strange kind of magic Kaureerah had. Everyone's eyes were drawn to Xiuyang as she burst out laughing for seemingly no reason, at what was about to happen. "So that's what she did to Lady Matsuhara! That's hilarious!" she wheezed. Something she wouldn't normally dare say came out so easily, knowing in advance that Niallus would take it like a good sport, and Juulet wouldn't target her next.

What a useful item indeed...

Fait Accompli

The dreaded and anticipated day came—the time to choose her teammates for the Trials. In the first round, her choice came third last, giving her a choice between Ingrid, Talkhan, and Roslyn. Xiuyang was surprised to see Ingrid and Talkhan left to her as options. If her sole objective in the Trials was to win, Talkhan was almost objectively the correct choice. Ingrid was also strong, but a potential wildcard. While she couldn't be completely sure, she had reasonable suspicion that both Valerian and Ingrid were now sanguinaires. Though she could easily imagine how a long life as a sanguinaire could corrupt a soul, she had a much harder time picturing how a brand new one would think and act. Would she be essentially the same person for the time being?

Then, there was Roslyn. An unknown factor in terms of strength, but a friendly one who had been useful during the faire, and her primary concern right now was befriending someone. In the end, Xiuyang chose her, but as she approached, she could immediately tell that something was off. Roslyn wasn't her usual chipper self. Was it a hangover? Her thoughts were interrupted as the time came to choose once more. Xiuyang chose Trypano without a second thought, hardly even considering the other options. She attempted to administer chemical magic to dull the pain in Roslyn's head, but it was to little to no avail. Was it aberration sickness, then? The time to choose again came annoyingly fast. She almost wanted to point at a random face, but then she saw Ciro Volta. The frustration in her eyes immediately vanished, and she waved him over with an invisible but evident smile. On the second attempt, she managed to give Roslyn some reprieve, but it wasn't as effective as she would have liked.

Then came the final choice.

All eyes were on Xiuyang as she was enviably given her first pick. She could have anyone she wanted.

With a deep breath and a trembling hand, she lowered the fabric of her beanie over her eyes, and saw it.

Juulet's face. She was glaring right at her.

It was already decided. It was Fait Accompli.

As she had done in all the previous rounds, Juulet loudly and arrogantly staked her claim on...

"Tyrel," Xiuyang interrupted.

Juulet glared at Xiuyang. Then, however, her face unexpectedly softened as an announcement came; it was time for the various teams to negotiate trades. She traipsed up to Xiuyang. "Oira, suunei!" She smiled sweetly. "For um... obvious reasons, I feel a sense of kinship with Tyrel." She glanced down at her missing leg, beneath her odd pant-skirt-like garment. "Might we trade our picks for the round?" She made a face that looked anxious and a bit sad. "Please....!"

Xiuyang almost cringed at the level of faux desperation. Perhaps, if she had even once earned the right to be called "Suunei" by Juulet, or any yasoi for that matter, she might have relented. She glanced at Tyrel, Juulet's would-be victim—perhaps to strengthen her resolve—then shook her head apologetically, for what little the gesture would be worth. "No offense to Chad, of course," she said, as if that were her worst offense in refusing. Her heart was still pounding in her chest after her bold and very public choice, and it only grew even faster as her perceived offenses against Juulet piled up.

Juulet's right eye twitched for a second. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to momentarily draw blood. Tyrel and Chad exchanged looks with each other and then the other two. "I will see you on the other side, luush'elar." The former reached for the latter's hands. "I'll kick your ass, luush'elar," teased the latter. Their fingers met, but then Juulet stood in between them. "I'll see you in the games, hax'doiyap," she hissed at Xiuyang, coming inches from her face as her teeth clicked shut with the insult. "You're fucking dead," she snarled, turning on the spot to stalk away. Then, she paused and twisted around. "Well, figuratively, of course," she added with cloying sweetness. She rolled her eyes and continued. "Wouldn't be allowed to actually kill you..." It was barely more than a murmur.

Xiuyang stood her ground while being threatened by Juulet. It was an insult she was used to hearing, and a reaction she expected. Still, it stung. What if most, or even all yasoi reacted to her like this? She shoved the thought aside forcibly. She'd made her choice. In choosing Tyrel, she was sending a message: she was done hiding her support for the yasoi behind a veneer of childish curiosity. Tyrel reached out and squeezed her shoulder, glaring at Juulet's back. "Fucking cunt," she mumbled. Xiuyang snorted, releasing some of the tension. "Thanks for that. They say fortune favors the brave. I'm not very brave, but your support would mean the world to me."

Dubious Dealings

Xiuyang watched as the scene unfolded in front of her: Niallus had chosen Ingrid—and Ingrid wanted nothing to do with him after their breakup. Xiuyang's heartrate had barely settled from the Juulet affair, and the constant state of fight-or-flight had begun to get exhausting. Could the two of them just stop? Close to her other ear, as well, Ciro was questioning why Xiuyang didn't choose Ingrid herself, instead of Roslyn. She was beginning to feel regret, herself, after seeing the state of her. Her regret at being unable to help Roslyn outweighed her regret in choosing her while she was in this state, but the latter was undeniably there, all the same.

She was in a difficult position. On the one hand, she wanted to befriend Tyrel, and showing Tyrel her loyalty to a friend would help in this regard. However, she also wanted to impress Ciro with her quick wits—and she had just thought of something juicy she could do in this moment. Borderline terrible, yes—opportunistic, absolutely—but smart. Again, she consulted her beanie, but this time the results were inconclusive. She'd have to be a bit assertive, and it might not even work. Success or failure, either way she would feel awful about it later, but she had to try.

Xiuyang sighed, and approached Niallus. "Roslyn for Ingrid, if you're having regrets." Roslyn looked down, swallowing her irritation. She knew why Xuiyang was trading her and she couldn't blame her. She felt useless due to the sickness and she was surprise she was picked at all instead just tossed to the last team. "Ciro for her," Niallus countered, pointing at Ingrid. "Denied," she replied flatly. "I'm doing you a favor," she added, buying time. As she watched Niallus's expression change, it was nearly in view... "I mean you no offense," Xiuyang assured Roslyn quietly. "You get along with Niallus too, don't you?" she asked, acting as if she were second guessing her judgment.

"If you wish you may also trade me for Ingrid," Trypano offered to Xiuyang. "No offense to yourself but Roslyn and Ingrid are more likely to operate more effectively than I and Ingrid currently, as you understand." "Yeah..." Roslyn said, but her tone sounded more hurt than she intended. "Honestly, you shouldn't have picked me at all. We both know I'm just going to drag the team down." Xiuyang's heart sunk. While she watched Niallus, Ciro and Tyrel for their reactions, she'd neglected the opinions of the rest of her team. This was quickly turning into a mess. She started to feel glad that, while wearing the beanie, no one could see her eyes.

"I'm willing to put things aside if I don't have to deal with him," Ingrid said as sincerely as she could, "I promise that Trypano." Trypano nodded back, expression unchanged. "Good t'hear. It's all business after all." She seemed to have a bit of a different accent, possibly owing to her new hat.

"I wouldn't trust her," Niallus spat back.

Ingrid held her voice at what he said. She just couldn't with him anymore.

"Guy I'll trade Sven for Ingrid," Niallus tried, turning to him. Guy considered it, but keeping Ingrid on Niallus's team was a guaranteed loss for him, which meant one less team to worry about. "You chose a scorned lover Niallus, and I have no reason to trade," he said politely. "I thought she'd be willing to move past it, but clearly not," Niallus replied. "Offer's still valid," Xiuyang added, pretending to inspect her nails. She knew that her stubbornness was surely being grating by this point, but victory in these hastily and ill-conceived negotiations was finally within sight. Soon, it would finally be over. True to her visions within the beanie, Niallus reluctantly agreed to receive Roslyn for "the bitch."

With negotiations finalized, it was time for damage control. Though, Xiuyang kicked herself mentally for thinking in such cynical terms, when her new friend was clearly hurt by her decision. "You're only a liability if you imagine yourself to be one," Xiuyang whispered to Roslyn, stopping her as she turned to go to Niallus's team. "I don't think of you that way—and if you think I do? Prove me wrong," she said with a fake smile, giving the girl a supportive pat on the back, and a ceremonial "push" towards her new team, The Invisibles.

Roslyn paused when Xuiyang whispered to her, half the wisdom lost due to her hearing issue. But somehow she got the idea of what the masked woman said. Her fingers still clenched her arm as she inhaled, trying to keep her irritation down.

She sighed, "I'll try."

Roslyn hoped the day would end without them being dead last.

Ingrid offered her thanks to Xiuyang. "I promise I will perform the best I can."

"I'm counting on it," Xiuyang replied with a hidden smile. "I know I said I was doing him a favor, but you seemed uncomfortable, and I know you're talented. I'm happy to have you." As she turned away, she winked at Ciro. She'd certainly scored the deal of the day.

"Truly, thank you," Ingrid gave a small smile. It was overly vulnerable to be put in that position. Stuck under your ex who has been turning a private matter into the gossip of the day. She looked at Trypano and contemplated how things turned. "I know I said I won't cause issues but I would like to also get better with how things have been if that's alright."

The Floatmelon Heist

Within the hour, Fait Accompli's plans for the Melon Derby were decided. While the looming terror of Juulet was still fresh in the minds of all, Xiuyang would pretend to cower within the perceived safety of their base. She would join Trypano in digging a tunnel to Dami's Cross, the entrance to which the Sea People would deliver any giant floatmelons they found within the canals of Ersand'Enise. Tyrel and Ingrid would set off on their own misadventures, serving as distractions and grabbing any high-value melons they could find to place inside the floatmelons. If they were lucky, other teams would simply assume that Ciro and Trypano were kept at base to protect Xiuyang from Juulet.

For the most part, the plan went off without a hitch. Ingrid went unopposed and came back with a floatmelon, a grenade melon, many other melons of smaller value, and an interesting message in a bottle. Tyrel acquired a dark melon and attempted to steal some even more valuable melons from Penny, but the one-legged girl somehow managed to fend her off and escape into the safety of Balthazar Hall. Juulet, meanwhile, was obsessed with acquiring the Fat Bastard, leaving Fait Accompli to their own, dubious devices. Once the tunnel was fully constructed, Trypano began dumping the team's rather large number of skunk durians directly into the bases of any unfortunate teams that left their bases fully unattended. Unfortunately, it would be of little effect, due to the unfolding chaos and the resulting sudden termination of the event.

Xiuyang returned to base and set to work producing counterfeit melons, with Ciro as a lookout. In the end, he never left her side during the Melon Derby, not even once. Xiuyang could never guess what exactly gave him so much confidence—in her estimation, she was just slightly stronger than him, as a mage—but his confidence was slowly but surely rubbing off on her. By the end of the Melon Derby, she was starting to think that maybe Juulet wasn't that angry after all. Perhaps the fun of the Melon Derby would take her mind off of things. Could it even be that Juulet had thought it over and understood what Xiuyang was trying to do?

Suddenly, all of the main cathedral's windows glowed an incredibly bright white, as if a lineup of muzzle flashes from the cannons of the Grey Fleet itself had just pierced through the fog of night. Xiuyang couldn't resist the urge to open the curtains and take a look outside. "What the fuck?" she remarked. "I've never seen a student move that fast. Holy shit... Well, that's where Juulet is going to be," she supposed, not knowing that the true Melon Supreme had already been discovered, and this one was a decoy. That was for Ingrid and Tyrel to deal with, at any rate. She returned to her business, continuing to craft melons until... suddenly, there was a massive draw of energy from the King's Ear base, and Xiuyang fainted.

When she came to, Ciro was there to help her to her feet. Thanking him, she tried to stand, but there was another massive draw from nearly the same location. "Gods damn it... What in all the hells is happening outside..?" she groaned, trying to struggle to her feet but failing. Fuck! She had the work of Oraff to do! "No shit the Derby is over! What the hell happened?!" she barked impotently at no one in particular as the announcement came.

Just then, a pair of Eeaiko emerged from the secret entrance of their underground tunnel. Only a pair of them, along with a total of 9 giant floatmelons—a substantial haul that had, by and large, only been brought into the base and collected so that the unconscious bodies of the remaining three Sea People could be rescued from the sewer-adjacent tunnels. At the end of the day, though, a score was a score. With the Zenos allowing all of the students to collect any melons currently in their possession, Tyrel was able to return with the dark melon she had obtained. In total, Fait Accompli was able to achieve a 5th place standing with a final score of 3264. Just one sacred elemelon would have taken them all the way up to 2nd place, with its point value doubled inside a giant floatmelon, of which they had a whopping ten. An unfortunate end to what was, in Xiuyang's less-than-humble opinion, a 1st place winner of a strategy.

At the end of the day, though, they had placed above Vyshta's More Favored, who took 7th place after multiple penalties for use of violence.

Xiuyang would hear that story at a later date, however. Immediately, her focus was on the second event: The Dragon.

Venomous Smiles

After a selection process, it was determined that Fait Accompli would be allied with the Dark Protectors for the Dragon. As soon as this was decided, a Rettanese girl with a rebellious attitude approached Xiuyang. "You and me. Doesn't matter what event, I'll leave you in the fucking dust," Hill's Pond declared, asserting herself immediately. Xiuyang blinked. "I'm sorry, have we met?" she replied in Rettanese. "Nah. Name's Hill's Pond, and what you've got there," she pointed at Xiuyang's hip. "—is Mountain Spring's gourd. It looks ordinary, but I'd know it anywhere. So you're the one who took it!" Xiuyang raised her hands up defensively. "No, he gave it to me. We met during the battle with... Anyway, he gave up alcohol. That's what he told me," she replied. "No way that would ever happen," Hill's Pond retorted, unconvinced. The Dark Protectors' leader, Vigorous Salmon shot her a look, and she stormed off, leaving Xiuyang to ponder their future partnership in the Dragon. It had, apparently, already been decided.

Despite much reflection on the matter, Xiuyang couldn't think of a better alternative. After debating with Ingrid for a while on who should do the thresher-riding leg of the race, they decided that Xiuyang's advantage in the Mushroom Maze was too great to ignore. She gave Ingrid a few pointers on how to handle the animals, and sent her on her way. Now, she stood at the entrance of the maze alongside Hill's Pond, waiting for her turn. "I still don't believe jack shit of what you said," she suddenly piped up. "I heard about what you did in the Melon Derby. Holed up in your base, shakin' in your boots like a coward. You're afraid of a fight, and no doubt. Ain't no fuckin' way you earned Mountain Spring's respect like that," she spat, both figuratively and literally.

"Of course I'm afraid of a fight. Only a fool isn't," Xiuyang replied, earning herself a scoff. "But, when lives are at stake, your body moves on its own. ...I barely remember what I did in ReTan, now. I only know that I killed a man, when I've sworn to avoid doing so as much as I can. I can't tell you what Mountain Spring may or may not have found admirable about me. He was my superior in every way—but, perhaps, we were similar. Maybe he saw himself—a foolish, younger self who has learned much but practiced little, until the day I met him," she finished wistfully. Hill's Pond eyed her suspiciously, but let her speak. "You talk like you know the man," she replied skeptically. "I'd like to think that I do. Who knows? With everything that happened during the fall of the Jiang Dynasty... Maybe this is a family heirloom, and he's the only one in on the joke," she japed. "Only if your ancestor is as much of a big-headed bitch as you!" Hill's Pond screeched back as Xiuyang laughed her ass off.

Finally, it was time. Tyrel and Vigorous Salmon arrived, sending Xiuyang and Hill's Pond on their way. "Go easy on her, Xiuyang!" Salmon called out teasingly. Hill's Pond flipped him off as she ran, determined to beat Xiuyang to the end of the maze. With redundant layers of protection from her mask and Devourer mana type, and additional perception from her beanie, navigating the maze—purportedly the most difficult part of this challenge—was easy for her. The difficult part for her was dealing with other challengers and the local fauna, which she made a point to avoid with her Arcane illusions whenever necessary. She was nearly caught a couple of times but managed to steer clear, and in the end, both girls made it to the finish line, with some time-wasting hassle from Desmond. "You're actually... pretty good..." Hill's Pond panted. "But I'll drink you under the table after this! You'll never win!" As if to emphasize the point, she took a drink from her gourd. Xiuyang did the same. Reaching out to gauge how strong of a drink Hill's Pond had using Binding magic, she smirked as she realized it was non-alcoholic. "Sure, we'll have a drinking contest—and if I win, you'll stop trying to steal my gourd!" she declared. Hill's Pond flinched, unaware that Xiuyang knew she was trying. "It's not yours! If I win, I'm taking it!" she retorted.

The two shook hands on it, exchanging venomous smiles. Then, Xiuyang turned her attention to Desmond. The Raffscallions reportedly had a box that Fait Accompli needed to steal. Sure enough, Desmond had a box on him, and without much thought, she stole it, using Blood magic to deconstruct and rebuild it in her hands. It was a simple action that could have been brushed off as a branch of Binding magic, but she still felt a cold chill—guilt, perhaps, at her underhanded tactic? She decided to rebuild the box using Binding magic, with the unsettling feeling that there were eyes on her. In the end, though, nothing came of it. However... she did make a mistake when rebuilding the box. She'd reconstructed the hinges the wrong way, such that the box couldn't be opened. "Not exactly my best work as a carpenter, eh?" she mused, earning a genuine chuckle from Hill's Pond. "Nice job, dumbass." Xiuyang couldn't inspect its contents now, but when she did, she'd be in for a nasty prize from the fake Cherune box.

The Hills Have Eyes

As promised, Xiuyang took Hill's Pond out to drink, at a Mudville tavern both agreed was the place to be. There, they would exchange stories: all of Xiuyang's were, of course, about Mountain Spring, the Black Guard, and the Twin Emperors—anything Hill's Pond was interested in asking about. However, she would never dare say that she was close enough to Cold Soup's demise to feel the shockwaves from Seki's attack. Hill's Pond started with stories about herself and her upbringing, but they were becoming less and less coherent as time went on. It wasn't long before it became obvious who was going to win their drinking contest—though, amazingly, even Xiuyang was just a little bit drunk. She was just about to launch into the story of how she met the Soul Sisters backstage when she felt it: a cold chill.

Eyes. There were eyes on her—angry eyes. She looked around, but didn't see them through the alcoholic haze.

Her instincts told her to run, and her instincts didn't lie. So, she ran, and sure enough, footsteps followed her—familiar footsteps—and they didn't belong to Hill's Pond. Soon, an equally, dreadfully familiar hand grabbed her by the collar.

"Would you spare a moment of your precious time for me?" the man asked impatiently.

"Fuck! No!" Xiuyang spat as she struggled.

"Don't raise your mother's voice to me, you rebellious girl!" he rattled off, pinning her against a wall.

"Uh, 'scuse me..." a very, very drunk Hill's Pond interrupted, staggering along. "Izzat man, (hup!) ...botherin' you, Xiu?" she asked, drawing heat from the air threateningly. Though in this state she was almost entirely inept, it seemed to intimidate the man just slightly. "...He's my father," Xiuyang confessed, after a pause. "...Oh," Pond replied, blankly. "...OHH!" she repeated, as if it were suddenly making sense. "So it's like that, is it?! Well, come, (hup!) ...get some, abusive dad-guy!" she cried, throwing herself at the ground. Well, she tried to throw herself at Mr. Solari. He clicked his tongue. "Look at you, hanging about with this filth—and that one-legged yasoi girl! You should know better, Salome! You should know what that looks like!"

"I know perfectly well what it looks like!" Xiuyang fought back, raising her hand against an incoming slap. "I've never once let you down, have I?! You've never demanded to know what I'm up to, until recently! You used to just trust me, let me do things! What happened?! Why the sudden change of heart, giving the company to Maria?!" she demanded. Her father's eyes widened; he looked like he was going to ask who told her that. Then, he narrowed them, ignoring that concern for the moment. He looked into the eyes of his smug daughter, confident that she knew more than he thought she did, and that somehow meant she knew better. "This school has changed you—much for the worse," he judged. "What do you know?! I've accomplished so much here!" she countered. "Accomplished what, Salome?! Tell me, if you're so clever, why you never write to us of matters concerning anything but the present?!"

"Stop calling me that," Xiuyang growled. "I know you only care about passing your legacy on. You're only interested in my marriage prospects." Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's your future at stake, Salome. Dark and difficult times are ahead. Hard times are survived only by hard men. I know you know this. Your brothers-in-law—they are wealthy, but weak. I had hoped you could find better, here. Clearly, I was mistaken. ...Come home, Xiuyang," he pleaded. "We both know what's about to happen. If no man here will have you, let your mother and I protect you instead."

"...I have a boyfriend, though," Xiuyang replied, feigning confusion. "If you mean that redheaded—" he began angrily, but Xiuyang cut him off. "Not him. We're close, but... he's just a friend," she forced. "...Then who?" he prompted, his tone confused but encouraging. Xiuyang drew a breath.

"...Ciro Volta," she replied.


In the end, Cosimo and Salome Solari talked, for the first time since ReTan. She shared a hollow laugh with her father about how Maria's husband was a doormat, and Desi's husband let her spend their money lavishly on frivolous things. Xiuyang, he assured her, knew what a good man was. She agreed, reassuring him that Ciro was strong but kind, and very market savvy. In fact, the two of them together could one day be the wealthiest merchants in all of Constantia! She tickled his ears with whatever he wanted to hear and sent him away with a hug, presumably to try and dig up some more information on Ciro. Truthfully, she was glad that he would. Where Le Volpi failed, perhaps the head of the Solari family might succeed. Sadly, she wasn't confident that it would result in what she wanted, more than anything: to stay at Ersand'Enise. With her mind swimming with new things to think about, and her heart still semi-racing in that unsettled way it always did after awkward and unwanted conversation, she laid on a rooftop under the stars.

"...Now I've really done it," she sighed. "Suppose I'll have to apologize to Ciro for lying about that, after my dad inevitably gives him some long-winded, excruciatingly boring lecture about how he's not good enough," she muttered to herself, taking a cynical drink from her gourd. She snickered a little, imagining a very confused Ciro patiently listening and taking it all in stride with his winsome smile. "What a... m-mess..." she yawned.
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The whole derby was essentially free time to share between themselves. When the aberration chaos occurred, they were perched safely on a dragon that had no interest in joining the maelstrom of death below. Before any sense of heroism could take them, however, the Zenos had taken control of the situation and the event was cancelled early.

“Well,” Zarina hopped off her grounded dragon, right at the back of her property with the fire melon still in their possession and neutralised. “we did good. Didn’t we?” she offered her hand to the object of her immense affection with a shining smile greeting the Yasoi that had recently returned from war. “Ah!” the Virangish girl clicked her tongue. “Before I forget - I have something for you.”

She gestured toward the cellar. The large Froabas behind them was first to look in that direction in expectation for a treat. “Right, right.” she produced a steak of dried meat from one of her pouches and hurled the thing right into the beast’s maw.

Miret cocked her head to one side. “Well, I had something for you too,” she replied with an enigmatic smile, “but ladies first.” Much as she loathed closed in spaces and, particularly cellars, she made to follow.

♫


“You did?” Zarina perked up after failing to hide her surprise. The dubious grin had her visibly nervous. “Hah, way to make me conscious on whether my gift's good or not!” she giggled as they descended. With a flick of her wrist, the nearby lanterns were lit up, revealing multiple crates and tools stored inside, as well as a door leading to an adjacent room.

With a light kick to the corner, a crate unfolded itself in the most satisfying manner imaginable and revealed a crescent shaped mass with a sharp edge. The thick end of it easily identified it as some sort of claw. “Voilà.” Zarina gestured dramatically. “Sand Wyrm claw. 'Cause, you know ...” her hands went to her hips as she fumbled a bit with her words. “War and stuff. I probably shouldn't be doing this, giving top armor material stuff, but ...” she pursed her lips and eyed her beloved Yasoi's visage. “I'd be real heartbroken if something happened to you.”

“Aww shucks,” purred Miret, “You really know how to butter a girl up.” She dawdled around, glancing uneasily up at the ceiling. But then came the gift, and it was... quite the rare thing. “Hah!” the yasoi laughed. “I'd be pretty gutted too,” she admitted, accepting the gift. “Sand wyrm claw... where in the five hells did you get this?”

“Uhhh.” Zarina looked Miret straight in the eye, deadpan. “Torragon. From a Sand Wyrm.”

Miret blinked. “It, like... died?” She arched an eyebrow uncertainly.

“No,” Zarina smirked. “I made a trade deal with it.”

Miret's eyes widened. They remained that way for a second before narrowing. “Oh... Hah! Aha! You're messing with me. Holy shit. You really killed a sand wyrm?”

Zarina snorted. “You know, I did make a sort-of deal with one before.” she crossed her arms and feigned some exaggerated smugness. “But, yeah, me and some comrades. Like, a year ago. The thing was huge - this big.” she stretched her arms out as far as they could to add to her skit. “And aberration mad. We almost didn't make it.” then she tapped the big piece of Wyrm. “Anyway, yeah, all for you! You may needa very good smith, however.”

Miret leaned in and kissed her, one leg up in behind her, hands clasped at the small of her back, fairylike. She pulled back, smiling. “Well shucks, now you've got me worried my little souvenir is gonna pale in comparison...” She'd been carrying a rucksack with her the entire time and had only put it down once they'd gone indoors. She began to reach for it.

Zarina was completely disarmed by the kiss. All the faux-confidence and flexing just melted away. She held onto Miret by the neck, even as the grand reveal was about to occur. Although the suspense barely got to her, as her attention hardly alternated from the Tanso survivor's visage. “Glad you like it.” she whispered.

Miret held the bag out. She batted her eyelashes and giggled. “It wasn't easy to get,” she admitted, holding back a large smile. “They don't usually allow us war trophies and all." She blushed, “But -here - take a look! It's the severed head of that bitch queen!”

Zarina flinched. Did she hear that right? The smile was still there, and she let out a giggle. “No shit?” her heart began to beat fast. The Yasoi's acting was on point, if it even was an act. “Isn't this how the wild folks of the other continent propose?” she joked, but concern only grew. She began to draw - only a little of course - just to peek inside the veil. Was she in for a gruesome surprise, or did she fall for a grand troll?

Miret nodded earnestly. “It is customary to bring the head of a fallen enemy to your beloved in my culture.” She blinked and smiled uncertainly. “This is how we Tarlonese demonstrate that we will provide and protect from the dangers of the unforgiving wild.” She thrust it with greater enthusiasm into Zarina's arms. Something vaguely round thumped against her chest.

Zarina backed up, only to actually have some space between them as the spherical souvenir from Tanso was thrusted into her arms and chest. Fuck. She did her best to barely cover any surface of the 'gift', mortified by the notion of feeling a nose or eye cavity. She looked up to Miret with an uncertain smile. “O-okay then.” she just had to be sure. The back was loosened and slowly opened to reveal ...

Indeed, it was a head…

Of lettuce.

“Savages, cabbages,” Miret joked, grinning widely, “Similar sound, nuh-uh?” She flipped her hair over a shoulder. “This is Eluuxo,” she explained, “a rare and valuable plant that has an effect like coffee, alcohol, and... well, it excites one in other ways as well." She pursed her lips. “I did take me down a bitch queen of Tanso,” she admitted, “and her palace was just full of the stuff.” Miret shook her head in disappointment. “Bloody degenerates.” She smirked.

A cabbage. A fat sigh of relief was warranted. “Fucking hells.” a big burden gone, although a tad bit of frustration had to be released in the form of a harmless punch to the shoulder. “Eat my ass, you had me there you wicked bruja!” she shook her head, and then took a moment to admire the head in her head.

Then, she cackled. “Other ways, eh?” and with little hesitation, she plucked a leaf and took a bite. “Not that I need it with you around.” she stepped forward in a sudden, brisk movement to reach her heand onto the small of Miret's back. “Tell me all about your grand exploits, great conqueror.” she leaned in, nose meeting with Zaz's hair falling onto Miret's shoulder. “Show this Yanii who's on truly on top.”

“Getting some head already?” Miret teased. “You know there's a way to prepare it, you degenerate.” She leaned in for another kiss, took Zarina's hand, and closed the door with a thought and a bit of magic. Locks clicked. Lights dimmed.

***


It was dark out, although not yet the hours of Ipte. There were no melon themed celebrations, leaving the streets eerily quiet for a trials night. A quietude born of a quickly stifled tragedy, but a tragedy nonetheless. It was nice, Zarina found, if she didn't think too much about it.

“Hey,” she cooed behind her partner's pointed ear whilst embracing her from behind. “did you actually ... Kill that queen?” the big spoon tightened her hold a little more. “Did you have to do a lot of that?”

Miret had wanted to lie there and fade into the embrace of sleep, but there was an unwelcome whisper in her ear from a welcome voice. Her hazy mind settled on pretending to be asleep. She shifted slightly, as one does when disturbed from slumber, and let out a soft moan. “Mmm.”

Zarina swallowed when she fell for the ploy. “Sorry.” she uttered in the mousiest of voices. “Good, hmm,” she paused for a moment to recite a word that wasn't all that intuitive for her to pronounce. “saluuv.”

Miret's heart hammered a little faster and a twinge of guilt prickled inside of her, ready to join its many peers. She made a tired sound and squeezed Zarina's hand with a tired tightness. “Y'too,” she murmured, before drifting off. Only, she didn't sleep for a good long time.







Ever since the Student Faire, Zarina had a certain glow about her. She had already been less of a recluse and now she was the radiant light of the room. It was undoubtedly that Yasoi girl that had made it a habit to come over that was behind some of it. While opinions may vary on the nature of her second wind, one couldn’t question the Virangish's drive for productivity and even the over-the-top games of the Trials. Zarina was back with a more approachable air to her, essentially.

The Dragon was the next trial, and with it came an unusual announcement in regards to the leg taking place in Citivalunga. Or rather, a warning to maintain good behaviour and consideration.

“So it’s actually happening, eh?”

Marceline had made a habit of meeting with Zarina every morning so that they could discuss business and, while the coming of The Trials had forced some adjustments to their schedules, it was not going to get in the way of this initiative.

They stood beside each other in the crowd, both slightly separate from their teams, Marceline updating her older partner on the operation of their locations and Zarina filling her in on supply chain matters. There was a good deal of friendly and, at times, teasing banter regarding the earlier Melon Derby and, presently, High Zeno Bastaner was discussing the next event on the docket: The Dragon.

Marci's eyebrows went up. "Yeah. Wow. They're actually acknowledging it." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like it one bit." She twisted to look over and up at Zarina. "Means it's close: dangerously close."

Zarina peered to her younger business partner. “Scared?” she smiled with an air of confidence to her. “I kind of am too, really.” she deflated, her hand rising up to brush some hair that had already been neatly tucked behind her ear to undo it so she could put it back in place. A typical nervous habit of her's. “No more coffee lines. The fuck do we do after that?”

Marceline furrowed her brow. "That is the big looming worry. Thing is... if we've noticed, others have." The Zeno was moving on to the conclusion of his speech and she'd have to go within moments. "How much do you think the prices have risen already?"

“Too much.” answered Zarina, arms crossed as numbers were crunched in his simple little head. “Do we just unga-bunga Eskandish-style it?” she regarded Marci, uncertain.

Marceline nibbled her bottom lip. "Yeah," she agreed. "I think we do. We just... need to raise the capital somehow because, if we do this, we do it all the way." Her eyes flicked Zarina's way again, in seriousness. "We'll need an obscene amount to ride out a bloody war."

Zarina shrugged. “We do what upstarts always do.” she began, a tad cryptic before shooting a grin at her close friend. “Borrow it from whales and have a backup plan for running away with it if shit gets that bad.”

"And I'm the devious one," Marci joked in response. She shook her head good-naturedly as the High Zeno bid them to join their teams and prepare for the opening of the portals. "Looks like we'll have to discuss it later," she replied in earnest. "But you're right, and we'll need to get a move on it soon, too." She'd already taken a few steps back, but then she paused and darted forward, enfolding Zarina in a quick embrace. "You look happy, suunei." She smiled and blushed a touch. "Stay well and good luck!" Then, they were separated and she was backing away into the crowd and her focus turned, in its entirety, to the race ahead.

Zarina flashed a smirk and winked at Marceline, before departing with a thumbs up out of her extended arm.







You got this Zaz.

Zarina was in full leotard, hair tied into a net and goggles tightly bound to her head. One would barely be able to recognize her.

It’s just a race, they’ll revive you if shit goes wrong.

Although it wasn’t the girl that stood out but the gargantuan creature she was riding. Bigger than anything else and visibly grumpy from having a minuscule creature ride it. The Blue Water Behemoth was her choice and apparently she was the only one crazy enough to take it.

I’m gonna taste death for the first time, aren’t?

A low, reverberating growl was emitted from the creature. Almost as if it could smell her fear.

Just do like you did i-

A whistle indicated the relay for Raffscallions. She was first! Zarina, instead of panicking, spurred the beast into action, surprising it instead. Her partner followed behind, slow and steady.

♫


Drugs, that was what her wildblood colleague had found. A boost for threshers, one she mindlessly fed her steed right before Abdel’s long-range disruption.

Chaos ensued.

Few were spared from the Behemoth’s wrath. Zarina did her very best to hold it back, and to a degree she did with control over where the rage was channelled. A select group was pursued, and the ruins were made even more ruined. Ultimately, though, the Behemoth became unconquerable. Nothing could stop its aquatic stride and damned be those that tried.

Deep in the centre of the sunken city, Zarina dug unperturbed while Axolotl secured their win conditions with the stalwart crackclaw. And there she found it -

The Calesardes Mechanism.

That’s what it would be called if Zarina actually knew what it was. In her eyes, it was a peculiar, oddly unscathed triangular pyramid apparatus with wheels and gears as well as an 'eye' on one sidethat could be of value. Although the faintest hint of temporal stain was perhaps what attracted her to it in the first place.

The rest was merely an ascension with a still agitated Behemoth, but one tuckered out enough to not resist Zarina gentle guidance. Once emerged as an unexpected first, likely due to the chaos she and Abdel had generated, she secured her victory and set her sights on Oweyn soon after his arrival.

Still on her beast, she merely looked down at him.

He looked back.

“You got a box for me?”

”Nope.”

And then he walked off, unimpressed. Zarina didn’t dare hop off her crack-Behemoth just yet.

“Well screw you too.” the beast stirred. “Not you, Ruben.” the tapped Ruben’s carapace, doing little to change its demeanour.
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Death. Destruction. Pandemonium!

Core tenets of the Mad Avatar, ordained by the voices of the black tears in the world. All that stood in her way, all those that were a stain to her grand design, all that failed to quell her fury, they had to perish.

Dorothea nearly lost her life. Yuliya was next. But before long, an awe-inspiring flash of light rid the world of the Mad Avatar. The shunned hero, Born-on-Solstice may very well have saved many lives. But only Intaba knew this wasn’t a once and for all deal. Vaughn Marbrand made his move, and Juliette was now among them once again.

So help the established order the day the siblings make peace with their endeavours and unite.





♫


When Juulet came to, still quite dazed, she was in a room, on a bed, surrounded by the fluffiest pillows. Her childhood stuffed toy, Miss Monke, was there beside her. Leaning over her was... Tannifer. "Oh thank Oraff!" she exclaimed, "You're okay!" There was no pretense. The yanii leaned in and enfolded her in a warm, tight embrace. "We've been looking for you for so long," she bawled, blinking back tears. "So long, sugarplum." She pushed herself back. "And you're so..." Her eyes searched the yasoi's. "Grown up now." She glanced over her shoulder. "I can't believe we've found you."

The groggy and very recently half-alive Juulet awoke to ... Yaniis. Not just Yaniis - familiarity. The first thing that hit her wasn't their faces, or voices or even the linens. It was the smells. The odour of a person, even through their cologne was recognizable to those close to them. This woman's evoked memories, but the plush by her was the one to trigger the most. The hug was met with surprise and a half-hearted pat from a still dazed Juulet. A stark contrast to the consistently aggressive and bombastic creature that terrorized Ersand'Enise.

She silently reached out for the toy, looked at it with longing. Tannifer could tell she remembered, if only a little bit.

“That's what happens when years pass by.” she remarked as she regarded her elder sister. “Many, many years.” a twinge of bitterness could be found in her tone, but her eyes remained half-lidded with little emotion to be communicated. “You've gotten old too.” she smirked, head tilted cheekily. The plush was clenched close to her chest.

From the nearby kitchen could be heard the pop and sizzle of something being cooked on a stovetop. The unmistakable aroma of omelette, with Mycormish parsley and Lindenholdt sausage slices, wafted towards her.

For a moment, Tannifer's face filled with rueful mirth. "I thought I'd hidden the greys pretty well," she laughed, tilting her head in the exact same way. They were nearly mirror images of each other. Then, her expression saddened. "I'm so sorry, suunei." She swallowed and reached out for her little sister's cheek, to stroke it. This was very much not the roguish, fly-by-the-wind zeno that most students knew. She seemed an entirely different woman. At the last moment, she paused, as if unsure, as if waiting for some sort of permission. "It happened so suddenly. You were there and then you weren't and... Shune, we tried, but we couldn't find you." She shook her head. "We searched for years. You were deep within yasoi lands, weren't you?" She swallowed and shook her head bitterly. She opened her mouth as if to ask more, but then a small thump to the side drew her attention. There was a cat there: old and grumpy, with brown and orange stripes.

Juulet initially went to lean into the attempt caress, but found herself quickly retreating back when the hand that touched her was not the one she had grown to know and love. It didn't feel right. Only one ever showed this tenderness to her.

“I was with my mother, yes. In the homeland.” she answered somewhat dryly, in an almost defensive manner. “Everything was fine,” she claimed, her look intense at first like she was trying to simulate confidence, but upon meeting her sister's eyes, she softened. “I promise. I was alright.” she smiled, internally hoping the subject would just vanish.

Luckily for her, a distraction occurred. A cat! “Is that Mister Biggles?!” she was just about ready to bounce, but just reached for the animal to tug it close and join the monke. “He's so big. He was sooooooooooo small! Teenie tiny. Yer a grumpy one, aren't you, huh?” she nuzzled the poor, old animal that likely wasn't used to so much attention. “So, what's cooking?”

The cat tried to squirm away, but it wasn't able to muster a hiss. After some time, it settled into dull acceptance.

Tannifer, meanwhile, could sense that her younger sister - half-sister, in truth - was very much not the girl who'd been stolen away a dozen years ago, and how could she be, in all honesty? Fine? she thought, You were aberration mad and minus an entire leg! Yet, it seemed a sensitive topic and Juliet seemed happy enough and that was what was important right now. The Zeno knew when to back off. She retracted her hand and rose. "You don't recognize the smell?" Tannifer shook her head. "Where's that bloodhound sense of smell you used to brag about, hmm?" Turning on her heel, she began padding softly to the kitchen. "Don't stand too suddenly," she added, motioning in passing at the girl's crutches. "He took most of the sickness out, but, well... you know how it is with balance after one of those."

That both elder Marbrands had taken them in the past was no secret between the three, but their younger sister, half-yasoi to boot, had been to young to join in. She had only just started to develop her first hints of magic when she'd been stolen.

Mr. Bigglesworth - or Biggles, for short - merely dug his claws into Juulet just enough to cause discomfort and ensure his grip. He let out a small noise of feline annoyance.

“Eggs.” Juulet, or rather Juliette in this household, realized quickly enough. “I haven't had chicken eggs since ...” she wiggled her nose and squinted. “A while. And meat. Defo some meat. Oh yeah.” and despite the warnings, she hopped off her bedding after gently prying the discontent cat off her. Still, even with her experiences and inclinations, she regretted not heeding the warning a little more as she nearly fell on her rear and just barely found balance with her crutches.

“'Ey, Vaughn.” she called out, her voice changed but the cadence was almost depressingly nostalgic as if time hadn't passed at all. She made her way to the source of the food with the help of her crutches. “I heard some guy called Marbrand ate shit with the school-” she couldn't help opening with a little bit of provocation. “Did you actually shit on the Yanii squares?” an impish smile took form on her visage as she regarded both him and the feast dedicated to her. “Badass. Heh. Heh.”

He was just scooping the omelette delicately into a plate and he scowled. "Still a little fuckstick, I see." He shook his head. "And you know that was a good job." There were beans, as well, and toast, and her old favourite: lindenholdt sausage. Vaughn slid it onto the table and went back to the stove. "Pay was sweet, and I got to steal all their secrets." He winked. "Tanny's still there, you know."

"Haven't managed to get fired yet," she agreed, sitting across from her sister. Vaughn slid a second plate her way. "I missed you, kid." There was no big sappy speech, no attempt to hug her, or anything like that. "Lots." It wasn't his way. He was thirty-two and, by his reckoning, she was nineteen now. They were far from being peers but, while Tannifer had seemed a bit like a mother at times, he'd made no pretenses at being anything more than someone who'd teased and played with his little runt of a half-sister.

He brought the last plate over and sat at the head of the table. "First time in a long time - even for me and Tanny here - don't tell me if my cooking sucks, okay?"

“Fuuuuuck youuuuu.” Juliette flipped off her brother and took a seat. Her early education had gone out the window and her posture could be generously described as casual. Nothing ladylike. A little fuckstick indeed. Immediately she dug into the coveted sausage and couldn't help but speak whilst eating. “Fwuck yew fer bein' - Mmm- such an awesome cook. What the fuck. Why teach? You should do this.” and, for a moment, she immitated Vaughn's voice, accent and all, “Where's m'fuckin' lamb sauce?!” she tapped the table a couple of time before continuing her feast.

It was a nice moment, one most would believe she'd have forgotten, but clearly she hadn't. This was home, and for a moment she could forget what she truly was. “I-” she pursed her lips in hesitation. “Missed you too. Even papa. But, I couldn't write to you. Not with the blockades.” she regretfully expressed, although were there ever such embargoes in Yasoi lands?

Then she regarded Tanny, her half-sister and a near monther-figure. “You might not have a job anymore after this. I fucked up.” she realized, eyes peered down and jaw shifting in growing nervousness. “I fucked up hard, and because of that you did too. You shouldn't ...”

For a brief while, there was laughter around the Marbrand family table: Vaughn, Tannifer, and Juliette brought together for the first time in years. Biggles wove his way between the various legs beneath it, rubbing up against them, purring, and being a generally adorable nuisance. It was a stark contrast to how things had been for far too long.

Then, as all good things do, it had to end. At Juliette's words, Tanny regarded her and, for a second, there was a hint of sternness. "I shouldn't what?" she replied, "let someone hurt my sister again?" She shook her head, stabbing at her sausage. "I won't fail you, Juli, never again."

Vaughn's face was serious. "They won't send their dogs after me. It'll either be an arch or nobody." He shook his head. "I'm not defenseless."

"And they keep me around in hopes of gettin' to him," said Tanny, jerking a thumb in her brother's direction.

He nodded, swallowing some omelette. "But here's the truth, kiddo:" His eyes both narrowed and gleamed. "We're strong, and we have strong allies." A grin grew. "Yeah, you goofed."

Tannifer nodded. "Nothing wrong with some of the good stuff, but you know you've gotta self-regulate." She pursed her lips. "Or that happens." She tilted her chin back at the bedroom.

"Anyway, truth is, they're scared of us." Vaughn was grinning now. "And with all three of us?" He laughed and leaned back, dabbing at his mouth with a kerchief. "We can really start to do it. We can build our own power base. We can topple this whole fuckin' order."

Tannifer arched an eyebrow. "Or just do family things in peace..."

He shrugged, fingers drumming on the tabletop. "Yeah, or that," he admitted. Notably, perhaps, they hadn't spoken about their father. A couple of glances were exchanged. If it was a large kitchen, the elephants hiding behind the furniture had the potential to make it seem much smaller than it was.

It was there that Juliette remembered who she was - Juulet, the true Avatar of Vyshta. And her remark, initially one of concern, had another facet of pride and hubris worthy of one convinced they were a God.

“You shouldn't have, because those nothings couldn't do anything to a Goddess.” she said in a tone that could be interpreted as a bad joke at first, but the lack of any follow-up made it quickly come off as genuine. “I was fine. You shouldn't have fucked your gravy wagon over my bullshit.” she leaned back on her chair and crossed her arms, stump over her opposite thigh too.

Then the notion of family came. Juulet felt a warmth take hold - something good that she felt like she had to stifle. It felt too good, to the point of feeling like an indulgence, and thus a weakness. She was beginning to feel too vulnerable. “I can't stay.” she said bluntly. “I ... Want to stay longer, but I have a responsibility to my people. As their light and leader.” the way she spoke, it was the Juliette she had naturally emerged from over a decade of absence, but something that sounded recited.

However, she didn't let this wave of cold spoil the moment. “But you're right. Us three's a banger. After Yasoi lands are saved, we could do some good to the Yanii world too.” she regarded her brother in particular with a complicit grin. “Or just chill ... Maybe take a break before the six years pass. Kinda thought about that until these Grey islander fucks rushed me and-” she shook her head.

Vaughn very much recognized, in that instant, what he had suspected all along: that his little sister was quite insane. Twelve years apart and... Gods only knew what the world had done to her. For starters, she'd been fed a consistent diet of aberrations. The addiction was obvious and severe. Then, they'd taken her leg and... had people simply begun worshipping her as the fallen goddess' avatar or had she purposely crafted herself into the role? A darker thought occurred to him. She'd mentioned a 'mother' earlier. Had someone else done it instead? In any case, she'd have died, beyond any shadow of a doubt, had he and Tanny not intervened. They'd been unsure. They'd taken the risk. They'd been right. It was her, but it was... not her. No, that was wrong. It was Juliette, but she'd grown wild, feral, outside of their supervision.

Not that Mr. Bigglesworth seemed to notice. The cat appeared to be making up for lost time, rubbing quite aggressively up against Juliette's lone leg and purring, batting playfully at the tips of her forearm crutches, gnawing on their goma rubber treads.

Tannifer, finishing her omelette, smiled grimly. "I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you, but... don't just disappear on us," she entreated. "We're stronger together, and..." She sighed, fussing with her hair a bit. "Doesn't hurt to have people who have your back, even for the strongest of us."

Vaughn, not quite finished eating, placed his knife down gently. "Then you go," he decided, "and be the goddess they need, especially with the Grey Fleet." He stood and pushed his chair in, signaling an end to the affair.

“Anyway - Is Papa still kicking?”

"Father is..." He shrugged.

"Gone," Tannifer confirmed. "Aberration madness." She wrapped her arms around herself almost... protectively.

Juulet scoffed, and then chuckled. “Lightweight.” she muttered at the announcement of her father's passing. Then, she laughed with the shakiest of voices. “Fuck. I'll miss the man.” she clenched her fist and raised it, hesitant to just unleash like she always did, only to let go soon after.

Vaughn nodded. "Petrified, in the end." He scowled. He could've warned her to learn from their father's example. He could've lectured. It wouldn't have helped. He loved her, his little sister, but he had to let her go. He could tell that the feeling was mutual.

Tannifer brushed around the table to embrace Juliette. "You stay safe, you little shit, okay?" She reached up and brushed some hair from the teen's face. "Use every ounce of that godly power if you've gotta, understand?" She shook her head. "Well... I'm sure you do."

"Oh, and if there's anything you wanna take with you, help yourself. It's yours, after all."

Vaughn was leaning there against the counter: shoulders broad, arms crossed, watching his younger sibling. Breakfast was cleaning itself up behind him, in the grip of chemical, blood, and kinetic magics. He nodded her way. "Write sometime, huh?"

Things remained sentimental, something Juulet had never been good with. The discomfort was evident with the avoidance of eye contact whenever Tannifer manifested her cares and worries. “Nah, I won't write.” spoken like a true brat. She reached under her leg to seize the increasingly affectionate Biggles for a brief cuddle session, even if the notion of being held in such a manner never enthused him. “I'll just pop in here. Now that I know I'm welcome.” she smiled. “I figured after being gone for so long ... I guess I overthought.” she shrugged before releasing the poor animal with a peppering of kisses on his head to go.

It was Juliette's turn to be showered with affection. She still didn't quite know what to do with something so ... Genuine. Her arms closed in a mechanical motion as if her joints had long since petrified. Her body was stiff, on guard. But eventually, after resting her chin over her sister's shoulder, she let herself melt into it. Eyes closed and deep breaths to take in the finer details of the moment. “I'll be safe. Not so sure about some fucko's that think they can pull fast ones on me.” As departures were inevitable, Juulet reared her head more and more. This wild critter was going to be trouble no matter what, and yet it seemed her family wasn't going to give up on her. Gods, she missed them.

“Actually-” as she presented her flat hand before her sister she had since parted with, Miss Monke appeared on her palm. “Monke. She kind of reminds me of a friend from Hyparii. And he goes to school here too. Far to good for us scumbags.” she chuckled.

It was on that note that they parted. Vaughn sighed when she was gone. Tannifer closed the door with her own hands instead of magic. Then, the two of them were in this room together, alone, for the first time since their father had gone. "We can bring her back," Tanny said, with a shaky sort of certainty. "She's been through the wringer, but she's still there. She's still her."

Vaughn's arms remained crossed, his eyes lingering on the door. He dropped a sonic bubble around them, just in case. "Maybe," he allowed, shrugging and finally peeling his eyes away. "But whoever 'mother' is, we don't have a chance until she's dealt with."
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