The Perrench siblings met within the noble dorm of the oldest Berbignon. ”That damned brat didn’t think meeting with his family was worth his time?” Armand looked as if a blood vessel might pop any second. The only thing keeping his anger from spilling over was the gentle hand of his sister keeping him calm. ”You know how he is, Armie. He has become busier lately.” The eldest sibling huffed as the others tried to keep him calm. ”Perhaps you are right, but Lucien will reach the age to attend. Him not being here. . .”

”It is quite alright, Brother. . . I did not expect him to appear anyway.” The youngest pensively lowered his head. But as the three sat around the table, all with different emotions on the matter, the doors opened and from it the silhouette of the third child would be seen.

”I’m truly sorry that I’m late. I had some business to attend to.” He used his own capacity to pull back the seat and placed himself onto it. ”Keeping someone as important as Doge Vermidra waiting could set the wrong impression of Perrence itself into their thoughts.

Armand’s anger was visible to everyone in the room. It was supposed to be HIS right, HIS inheritance as the oldest, but instead the third child gained it all for Oraphe liked him slightly more. It’s unfair, his whole branch of the family being cast aside into mediocrity if his younger brother has any child. He smirked rather smugly Yvain's way. ”So, how is it looking? Found any suitable partners for one as grandiose as yourself?” Yvain raised his eyebrow. ”Not any in particular, some ladies kept me company in Mezegol, and there was that one other woman.”

The oldest sibling’s smirk only grew more wide upon hearing his younger brother’s words. ”No, no, I meant as in a marriage partner. Me and Josephine are already expecting our first child, you see? It would be a shame for the heir of our great father to have no children except a couple bastards.” He took a sip from his glass, him being the only one who had emptied his glass several times over already. ”If my greatness is as people say it is, I must have a suitably great partner, no?” He twirled his finger on the table. ”Would you tell me if Josephine still resents me for not picking her sister as my betrothed?”

Armand’s expression turned sour once more. ”She did not like it in the slightest. She was groomed to be your perfect partner, yet you declined her effort, her determination to climb this social ladder our forefathers have created..” Yvain’s sigh was heavy, he did not wish to explain himself once more. ”She was only acting to be my ‘perfect partner’. I just wish for someone that is real with me. If she would’ve just been true with me instead of saying and doing as she was groomed to do, I would have accepted her.”

”You waltz over someone’s effort as just not being ‘real’ enough for you? How heartless can you be, little brother?” Armand looked around, to see his other two siblings looking rather uncomfortable with the situation. He could stop, but he had to say one last thing. . . ”Is that Revidian boy’s trueness good enough for you? I heard rumors that the two of you have gotten rather intimate. . . Father’s heart would break if he heard his favorite son turned out to have a taste for Revidian men.”

The third child’s eyes went wide, not with any anger but surprise. ”You’d dirty your own brother’s name for your own good?” Lucien backed away slightly from the table. ”Awww, is my baby bwotha angwy with his big bwotha?” The oldest rubbed his eyes as if he cried. ”No, I’m not angry with you, Armand. I am just disappointed. You say that I like Revidian men so much, yet the way you speak right now. . . It makes it sound like you truly enjoy having the Doge’s sausage in your mouth.” It was not the younger sibling’s turn to be snarky back.

”How dare you say that about your older brother, you brat?!” The leadvein began to draw, so much for the peaceful family gathering. It was then that the sole woman in the room stood up and with a hefty sigh roared out. ”Enough! Both of you are acting like insolent children.” She let out a sigh before taking her seat once more. ”You two will behave or I will make sure Lucien will be the one to inherit it all, securing your futures as either a one-way trip to the monasteries or if you’re lucky, ending up a titleless Zeno.”

The two’s eyes then both traveled to the youngest who reluctantly hid behind his chair. Yvain was the first to speak up after clearing his throat. ”I am sorry, Sister. I spoke out of line.” He lowered his head, but when the oldest of the four decided to be silent on the matter, Cecile spoke up. ”Very well, your apology is accepted.” Lucien was once more seated in his chair, it was a bit more troublesome since he was not as strong as the two brothers he looked up to, nor could he ever be. He looked Yvain’s way and he could feel something in the back of his neck, once the sensation stopped the boy seemed to smile and in return Yvain smiled back.

The rest of the festivities went rather smoothly all things considered, the two troublemakers kept in check by the one sister in the group.

Cautions and Ambitions

”You need to rethink! Father, he will drag us all so far through the mud that we will soon have to grovel to counts! The eldest begged the head of the house, yet the older man’s expression showed to be rather unimpressed. ”That may be so, but you are not showing enough worth to take his place, Armand. The pot truly is calling the kettle black.” Jacques’ eyes stared daggers into his own blood. ”Once you reveal yourself to be worth my blessings, I might think it over.” ”Father, what do you?-” ”What I mean is that once you stop being such an eyesore, I might give you a chance. If only you and your brother could be a bit more like your dear sister. Alas, perhaps there is still hope for Lucien.”

The lord of the estate sighed as he waved towards his servant. ”Let the other annoyance in.” The servant responded with a bow before she left the building. Arriving with the second son by her side. ”You wish to speak to me, father?” The boy greeted his own father with barely even a nod of his head. ”Do know that my time has become more valuable now that I am working in the direct interest of our King.” Armand’s built up resentment was all too visible the way his eyes looked at his own brother with nothing but disdain. He approached Yvain and laid a hand on his shoulder. ”Father wishes to discuss the recent development with you, ‘o great, royal pole-smoker.” and just like that he left the room.

”I assume you have heard of the developments in Palapar.” His words accompanied with an expression that could only be described as ‘uneasy’. ”You mean the inevitable? Anyone with a brain could have anticipated that in a world with the Traveller’s goons and their masked fools running amok, something of the sort would happen.” Yvain’s face showed nothing short of pure disgust. ”The fact that they’re our ally is revolting. Being so with the ol-” He was cut off by a sharp snap of the father’s fingers before he could finish his sentence. ”Yvain, we cannot risk mingling ourselves with such matters. It could become disastrous for us.”

Yvain squinted his eyes and lowered his head.”As you wish, father. But you are aware that the hypocritical Revidians will get involved. They’re like necrophagous beasts with how opportunistic they are to profit whilst not dirtying their hands. It's disgusting.” Even if he knew one decent Revidian did not revise his outlook on Prospero’s dystopia. ”That might be true, but we are not Revidian rats. Do your best not to compare yourself to them. We are inheritors of Avince’s vigor, the people that have surpassed them. They are but the bickering remains of a long splintered empire thinking themselves the descendants of it.” Jacques’ voice rang stern. ”I know that, father. I would never lower myself to compare myself to them.”
The older man slumped slightly into his seat. ”However we might have to come face to face with them. A war is truly looking inevitable, regrettable as it is. Yvain grinned upon seeing his own father’s onlook upon the upcoming conflict. ”This is not going to be just a war, father. It is a war of ideals. A war of philosophies. Not just about territory, but the ruler of the new world that arises.”

”I am Verusand’s chosen, born for the same greatness as their mortal flesh.” He spread his arms with a triumphant smile. ”If the Revidians want to spread their broken and flawed ideals. It is only natural that it lays upon the Perrench to correct them and punish them for their childish tantrums.” He shook his head. ”Nay, we should look upon this more broadly. We should prove their ideals wrong by spreading our own! To paint the world green!. . . . To bring forth a-”

Roslyn and Xiuyang

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Other Scenes

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OOC: This is messy as heck and apologies for that, I did my best to keep it in Roslyn's pov. I also smoothed out issues and stuff, with changes that better fit.

For a pretty penny, a girl like Arianna Capobianco could afford a modest room within the merchant quarters. The rooms were more spacious than that of commoners and one could imagine it a little smaller than a nobles room, although she would keep no scope of reference.

Despite being in the second year, few decorations or memorabilia stood out in her room. A Revidia flag hung near her bed and a figurine of a dragon sat on her desk from the first year of trials. She had mixed feelings about the dragon, it reminded her of an outstandingly fun time she had at the event but it also brought back memories of a boy she liked on the team, the feeling was not mutual.

She wore trousers and a button shirt similar to what an on-duty Revidian navy woman might wear. The shirt fit poorly and she favoured rolling up the sleeves instead of going to resize it. For a girl who had no background or family history in the military, this was quite the shift in fashion from her compliance to the typical Revidian dresses. The later night required a meeting and she was not to look weak for it.

She slid the upper abacus bead of the sixth row down ticking the calculation over to 50,000, adjusting the beads from the lower rows she came out to the new running count of 52,235 Veneficus in monthly profit for Ersand’Enise Zenobucks taking away material costs and a rough estimate for labour, there was still more to cover.

She didn’t know why she picked Zenobucks for her economics assignment, she didn’t even enjoy coffee. She drank it because she needed the boost but she could never really say she enjoyed it. She simply chose the business in the closest proximity and with the best ease of estimation. Then again, what could she pick for economics that she would be truly passionate about?

She tried to think that her days ticking away at an abacus and crunching numbers would only be something she would have to cover in school. Arianna liked to forget her father had an abacus as a permanent fixture in his office when time came to do the accounts. Perhaps her future really did lay in the endless calculation.

Some students were made to excel, go on spectacular missions, and carve their names into the future history books. Then there were students like her, only there to, well, study. Arianna never stood out from the crowd once. She took the classes that were expected of her, she did reasonably well but not exceptionally so, her teams had a mediocre performance in the trials, she had yet to know love or even have her first kiss, and she never sought a position of renown because that was not her place. She was not exceptional, she did not stand out, and her life was nothing but enslavement to a fucking abacus. Crunching numbers to crunch more numbers such that you can have more numbers to crunch in the hopes that you have more numbers to crunch than your competition and that's just good business. It was pathetic…


My fellow Revidians, take a look at what this school has become... You see what is happening in front of you. No doubt, you see the injustices happening before you; those held in custody, and those being silenced for speaking out against it. Maybe you are scared to act or try to defend it because that injustice calls itself one of us... But I know Revidia, I know the beauty of its rolling hills, I have tasted its wine, I have danced with its women and men alike. Through all my travels there is a reason I always come back there out of anywhere in the world... But I ask you now to look at the up toward the Forked Tower, where a girl was taken from her home in the early morning and held there without a word. The Perrench think that we condone this, that this is the work of the Central Alliance. I want you to tell me if that is the Revidia you know. I want you to tell me if that is a Revidia you can take pride in. I say no, that is not Revidia.

To those who call themselves Revidian, I ask you to fight. What Revidia would we hope to inherit if we turn a blind eye to the corruption before us? But I am not asking you to fight Revidia or turn against the Central Alliance; only that you fight to remove a coward who hides behind their colours. Take up arms here and let it be known where the true Revidia stands. Follow me, follow my spear, and fight for its honour!

She remembered that speech word for word. She stood frozen watching Ersand’Enise crumble to the unrest of Penelope Pellegrin’s detainment. She sat back watching the gathering armies of students who looked to storm the Violet Enclave. As she was prepared to do nothing because it was not her place, he rose and told her to act.

Leon Solaire spoke of acting against Revidia’s wishes and joining the revolution, yet she didn’t feel she was betraying it. Despite politics, despite commercial gain, it was in Revidia’s honour to storm the Violet Enclave and free the pauper princess. He was like a knight bathed in gilded light who pointed the way and she found a purpose to follow.

Magic had previously been a help for mundane tasks and an extra assurance of self-defence. The night of the revolution, she wielded it to kill two people.

Shifting the first five rows, Arianna updated her running count to 91,327 Ven to account for special Zenobucks orders such as the absurdly popular spratz toppings and household ingredients such as ‘sugar s’... Sugar s…

The first one had been an older Enthishman she killed in self-defence. When the Revidian students made their charge behind the leaders, the old man rushed through straight to her with his blade drawn. She panicked and only just managed to put enough electricity through him before he took her head off. Her heart beat fast, she drew unsteady breaths for a while afterwards, and then she vomited.

The second was done with intent. He was a younger man with pale skin who barely got the chance to speak before lightning shot through him. The mercenaries had made it clear they meant to kill, she felt no remorse in the moment to treat them in kind.

It was an accomplished feeling she had to stand above a battlefield victorious. Arianna had few victories to call her own. She was not a large girl, had not come from a largely successful family, and was not particularly blessed by the gift. It seemed she was afraid, weak, or inferior everywhere she went. She no longer felt that way among the fallen of those who opposed Revidia.

When a second sun bloomed above the Forked Tower, Arianna had an epiphany that she had been lost. She had lived her life with no direction. Her grandfather was a lumber merchant who sold lumber for profit such that her father could inherit that and sell lumber for profit as well. She was at Ersand’Enise so she could compete with her siblings for the grand title of lumber saleswoman who lived only for making more profit. Profit, profit, profit, but what for? For what purpose did she exist other than to do the exact same thing her father did? What point did they really have in the world? Arianna looked at the second sun calling a successful end to the revolution and saw direction where she had never seen it before. She would serve the vision of that man named Leon Solaire who had given her purpose and cause. She felt like something more than she was meant to be…

Ticking up profits for the Zenobuck’s snacks had started to wear on her patience and became quickly frustrating. Arianna looked out her window to see the sun dipping below the horizon, slowly retreating its glow from Ersand’Enise. She happily wrote down her current tally and left her assignment to gather dust on her desk. She grabbed her faux military coat and draped it over her shoulders before heading out.

Leon had departed for Palapar so a special meeting was to be held for the Figli di Revidia, the Revidian student group. Arianna was excited.

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The floor of the Fino a Colazione became quite a different place during an Orredes night. It was the cleanest the floors were in the entire week; just preceding the Lepdes and Victendes mayhem. The smell of the faint sea breeze clashing with the herbs and spices of the kitchen was not overpowered by excessive booze and was a welcoming scent to any Revidian who called the coasts their home.

Figli di Revidia gathered at a reserved end of the tavern with roughly thirty students in attendance. It was a mix between a social gathering and a pantomime of a small council, the food was plentiful and the jugs of wine runneth over. Short, tall, rich, poor, they all gathered here under the banner of Revidia. There was even a small bunch of students who shied away from the political nature of the group and spent their time making food in the kitchens for everyone and catching up with friends.

The group’s soul had changed since the revolution and the approaching reality of war. Before, there was endless speculation about the markets and internal plans among peers to manoeuvre accordingly. This often meant that people stuck to small groups of 2 to 4 out of fear that too many people having details would spoil a golden goose. It also meant that nobles talked to nobles, merchants talked to merchants, and commoners made the food as many only wished to go into business if the investment was mutual.

Now, instead of solely discussing a means to make a profit, they spoke of what they could do with those funds. How could Revidia manoeuvre to favour their victory in the war? What contacts did people have to sway neutral nations into Central Alliance sympathy? How could Perrence be chased away from their growing encampments at the borders? Standing around two central food tables they filled their bellies with food and wine while idling away with the chatter of finance and military speculation afforded by said finances. But even subjects of sport, food, and music found themselves more than welcome.

Toward the back wall was a table for the leaders of Figli di Revidia. Three chairs sat facing the group’s festivities while awaiting the topic for the night. Arianna sat in the central seat picking at the pizza made by Fiorella Caruso, a younger commoner girl who had personally served her and awaited a review. It was good but not exceptionally so, although Arianna struggled to think of the missing ingredient. For as much as she loved the girl’s culinary passion, there was more on her mind.

To her left sat another leader, Vittorio Garibaldi, the first heir to Garibaldi’s Pawn in Ersand’Enise. He was a larger, older boy of 19 who was well on the road to adulthood compared to Arianna. He wore round spectacles, neatly trimmed black hair, and had a larger stature with some fat and a little more muscle than someone in finance typically kept.

Vittorio was conversing with Ettore Muti, a 15-year-old with far too discerning eyes for someone barely beginning puberty. They tried to keep their conversation discrete but not secretive as they discussed the prospect of investing in lumber before the war started. Arianna thought it was strange that they wouldn’t ask for her input in the matter but she didn’t get the impression they were excluding her from the conversation. She didn’t feel inclined to participate.

To Arianna’s right was an empty chair. It was supposed to be occupied by Flavio Velluci, but his refusal to arrive on time had held up the entire meeting. He was a truly rat-like man who was lanky for his height and had very little going for him other than being the heir of the Velluci luxury products business. He dressed up an unfortunate appearance with enough gold to feign the impression of dignity and gravitas. Unlike Vittorio, he did not fit the maturity of a 19-year-old. His seat of responsibility was often empty.

The night wore on for some time before Flavio finally arrived. He was likely only a half hour late, but it felt longer to Arianna and she didn’t care to check the time. With all three seated, she was now caught between the two other leaders. Both were taller, bigger, older, richer and had more claims in life than her. But it was past time for her to be intimidated by that. Vittorio had stayed back during the revolution to protect his father’s store and Flavio was absent without explanation.

Vittorio ended his conversation and dismissed the Muti heir, who returned to join the crowd. He then faced the other students and smacked his hand a couple of times to announce the beginning of the meeting. As was customary, the chatter would die down in a minute or so as everyone was given time to finish their conversations. In the interim, he turned to look past Arianna and directly at Flavio with an all-too-polite smile. “How nice of you to join us, Velluci.” It was a pointed, sarcastic remark that demanded an answer for the luxury heir’s tardiness.

Flavio gave an exaggerated sigh and a half-hearted smile attempting to look nonchalant about the inquiry, but his acting was poor. “I was held up by family matters, Vittorio. If I could do something about it, I would.” The relaxed delivery had an undertone of annoyance. Arianna didn’t buy it for a second and barely stopped a scoff. His lateness was likely nothing other than the result of his own actions and she doubted Vittorio thought any differently.

Quiet began to take hold over the hall as the other students wrapped up their talks amicably and awaited the leaders to speak. Eyes were mainly turned to Vittorio who had called the special meeting. Very few people were unaware of the subject matter but they stuck out like sore thumbs while everyone else grew stern. Vittorio, however, smiled politely.

“Welcome to the meeting all,” he began with a formal presentation, “I hope you have found the food agreeable. I don’t wish to waste time or hang on moments that are better spent on drinks among family, so I will make this quick. I would like to discuss the matter of Leon Solaire and his pending membership in this group.”

“Although anyone who has tried my glasses would disagree, I am not blind. I have seen the impact the performer has had on this group since the revolution. This was originally a group for Revidian students to network and help find their future place within this country. There seems to be far too little of that now in favour of talk that is… idealistic, to say the least.”

“It is good to have ambitions and Leon can be an inspirational figure, no doubt many support his membership.” Vittorio looked down at the speech he had written down on a piece of parchment. “But I would like to temper that ambition with practicality. Leon Solaire is a dreamer who has yet to display any real grasp on finance or politics in our meetings, he barely shows up to half of them, and one could even question if he is a Revidian by birth, although I wouldn’t hold the last point against him.” He paused and looked up. “While I am not overly invested in the vote’s result, I would like to vote on the refusal of Leon Solaire’s membership on these grounds.”

Silence.

“You can’t be serious.” One of the wine-avid students at the back called. Arianna couldn’t see who it was.

Enzo Gallo, an unassuming 17-year-old commoner, spoke up at the front. “Leon took down the White Thresher in Mezegol alone while the other students there watched, you should know. That whole city loves him now. You can’t say he doesn’t belong here.” Arianna moved her hand up at her mouth to hide a tight smile. That statement wasn’t true. But she wasn’t going to correct the record and the other students had neither the knowledge nor desire to either.

“My cousin’s friend is gonna marry the Marquis’ son there because of him.” Suddenly called Arianna’s friend Fiorella Caruso, a food-making member of the group. “She’s a navy woman marrying a noble because of him.”

Vittorio frowned in annoyance and waved the chatter and emerging protests down to move the meeting along. “As I said, I am not concerned with the outcome of this vote. I simply wish to give voice to some of the less… vocal members of the group and let everyone have their say.”

“All those in favour of dismissing Leon Solaire, raise your hand.”

Vittorio, Flavio, Ettore, and four others raised their hands. The group’s policy of public voting backfired as one student even lowered his hand after the poor turnout. 6 out of 30, 20 percent gave a clear message that Leon’s place within the group was solidified. Those who voted against his membership calmly lowered their hands.

“That decides it then. Leon Solaire shall be an official member of Figli di Revidia when he returns from his trip.” There were cheers among the group that even Vittorio couldn’t help but admit a smile at in humble defeat. Arianna noticed that Flavio and Ettore were not so gracious, Ettore because of young age and Flavio… had no excuse. “Please continue with the food, the wine.” He waved them away formally. “And try not to hold the results of the vote against anyone, we are familia remember. Family can have their disagreemen...”



“Before that!” Arianna finally spoke up. “I would like to hold a second vote.” Vittorio gave her a raised eyebrow and Flavio scoffed with impatience. A few students groaned at being wrenched away again from the fragrant food while most turned to provide the youngest leader with her due respect.

“I would like to hold a vote on making Leon Solaire a leader of Figli di Revidia.”

Vittorio’s face dropped and Flavio piped up in a snarky tone. “You can’t. This group only has room for three.”

Arianna smiled at Flavio and turned to the student group captivated by the unfolding drama. “...replacing Flavio.”

Vittorio spoke quietly to Arianna but could still be heard by Flavio and the front row. “Arianna, with all due respect, don’t you think this is a poor time for this?” He looked past her and apologetically toward Flavio, who was about to have his reputation put on the block for public execution.

Arianna gestured gently to the crowd. “This is a democracy, is it not? I think we should let the people decide.”

The other two leaders shot each other worried looks and Arianna felt even more confident. There was a time not too long ago when such a prospect wouldn’t have even phased them and the vote could be dismissed. This was before Arianna had informed the group of Flavio’s habit of skipping academic classes in favour of burning his father’s fortune at dingy brothels. His reputation was even lower than normal after that. There wasn’t anything to speak of for Vittorio, but someone thought they had seen him buying Blue Ice in Mudville and that was enough.

Even if the rumours hadn’t gotten back to them yet, they could feel the undercurrent of their slipping influence. That wasn’t even mentioning Leon himself, the Sun King had a hold on the group that both could recognise.

Vittorio bowed his head briefly in resignation. He could already guess the outcome. “Very well, all those in favour of removing Flavio from his leadership position and replacing him with Leon Solaire.”

18 students immediately raised their hands making an instant majority to call the vote. Within a few seconds, that number had risen to 24. Then, after 10 seconds had passed, only Vittorio, Flavio, and Ettore had chosen to keep their hands down. The answer was clear.

Flavio’s face had grown red from anger and humiliation. He almost jumped out of his seat and spared no time in storming out of Fino a Colazione. Arianna watched him leave with a smile, if she had to guess, she doubted he would remain a member now that his precious leadership role had been stripped from him. Good riddance.

All eyes were now turned to Vittorio, who had removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose in clear frustration. Flavio had been a problem he had left for too long and now his co-leader had used him as a means of pushing that fraud performer into a position of greater influence. He waited for a while longer after Flavio’s exit to respond.

“Flavio, I can understand.” He spoke with thinly concealed irritation, barely managing to look up from the table. “He had long neglected his responsibilities to this group and I had planned to deal with that matter privately. But Leon Solaire? Do you all really think he will be any better? Are they not cut from the very same cloth?”

“I know he isn’t in attendance tonight, but would Ciro Volta not be a better fit? Or even the Synesti heir?”

His questions fell on deaf ears.

“I have sat back and watched this group crumble since the revolution. I had thought it was something that would pass or that the sudden grand ambitions would find a realistic way forward. But I can’t entertain this any longer. Tell me,” he tried to look every single student in the eye at once, “if this is the group of Revidia’s future, are we really going to hand it over to that fraud musician and his love-sick fan girl?”

Silence met him. His words found no purchase because Leon Solaire was no fraud and they all knew it. He had proven himself time and again regardless of Vittorio's ignorance. A few looked on in sympathy, but many more in judgment.

Arianna stared daggers into the side of his head. She hated the way he described her and how simple it made her feel. Her vision was so much more than that… He was a man who had never found a purpose greater than the path provided to him, so he was blind. At the very least she knew his true opinions now.

“Very well. I resign and leave you all to your group of sycophants.”

Vittorio calmly rose to the erupting sounds of protest. Those who took exception to his labels thrown in contempt were throwing their own unfavourable words back. Arianna watched him stand and saw the heartbreak in his eyes. He truly had considered this group like family and took the shattering of that family as hard as anyone would. But he hid it well to the unattentive eye in favour of the decorum and dignity that fit his inheritance. He walked out of Fino a Colazione calmy. Behind him followed Ettore Muti and Mila Pioli, the daughter of a fish merchant whose father’s finances were even less remarkable than Arianna’s.

There was silence at first when the trio had exited the door. Many students stood shocked at what had just transpired. Some couldn’t believe the gall of Vittorio to say such things. Some glanced at Arianna, concerned that she could do such things.

Then a timely joke from Enzo Gallo got a modest three laughs and the atmosphere slowly returned.

Arianna sat back alone at the leadership table for a moment and watched the closed entrance of the tavern. Despite the planning, she still couldn’t believe she had pulled it off. It didn’t feel real. She half expected the leavers to come right back and join the group again like nothing ever happened. But something did happen, something big that could never be remedied.

She felt powerful.

She felt right.

She felt good.

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Placeholder (Queen of Diamonds)

Placeholder (Queen of Diamonds)

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Once upon a time, Ceboyan had been a small place. Thatch-roofed huts had perched upon stilts in the tidal flat and fishing boats had been the only traffic through its harbourmouth. As night had fallen, hearths and bonfires had winked out until there was only the faint twinkling light of the stars and the five moons.

There was nobody save, perhaps, for the very oldest among the residents of the sprawling, ramshackle city who remembered those times anymore. They fell increasingly within the realm of cultural myth, a fraying thread traceable to a distant and disappearing past: before the Virang had come.

And so it was that the sun set over this vast metropolis of some four hundred thousand souls, muted and moody behind a shoal of softly mumbling clouds. The bray of stray dogs traveled through the narrow winding streets and the clank and groan of cranes carried from ships being unloaded - even by night - at the docks.

One by one, the lights winked out and a soft rain began to fall. Yet, not all disappeared into the newly brooding darkness. There remained thin bands of light along the city's few large avenues. Within the port district, in particular, torches flickered amid the gloom as crews continued to work. Liveried security - the gleam of their brass buttons made mute in the prevailing conditions - hunkered in their guardhouses. Others grudgingly patrolled around the Royal Palapar Trading Company's warehouses, clinging beneath the awnings wherever possible. Back and forth swung the tremulous orange lights of their whale oil lanterns, greasy smoky spots of light that wavered as they walked.

The soft rains became a downpour and the torches began to falter. The arteries of light that snaked across the city and up the hillsides toward Mount Bantay retracted until they laid bare the truth of the this place. The docks remained lit - tentatively - and, now, one might behold, even as they disappeared for the night, where those veins of light had led. High up on the hills, overlooking the city, were palaces of a distinctly Virangish architecture. These roosted there, illuminated with magical light, defiant to the wants of nature. From more than one could be heard the sounds of music, conversation, and laughter. Ladies in fine dresses, too drunken to walk with grace, were helped into waiting carriages under umbrellas. Gentlemen, fancying themselves possessed of more daring stuff, made a dash for it in the rain, sliding in beside them. Others stood out on covered colonnades and verandahs, the tiny orange glows of their cigars lost amid the glow of the palaces. It was these events and the conversations held here that moved the city, after all.

Yet, there was two more places of note. The first was lower down, within the city, an oasis of greenery, garden, and light: the Royal Palace of the Queen of Palapar. If it was sleeping for the night, well-accustomed to the monsoon rains that had not quite yet come to a close, it retained some light for practical reasons. This grand old building, however, was rendered impotent by the second.

This loomed above even the retreats of that foreign aristocracy. Further up the mountain that the locals had always considered - and named - a guardian, lay the headquarters of the Royal Palapar Trading Company, who were not from this country but owned it in all but name. Though they had named their complex the Beacon Centre for its great domed tower and constant illumination, the locals had another name for it: Masamang Mata - the Evil Eye.

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OOC: Reposted here to line up with the story better. :P

The road west from Torra Corda stretches on into inner Torragon, straight as a line in some places. To one side is Lake Albadón and the sparse greenery upon its shores; to the other lies a vast and cruel desert, bleeding off into the horizon, seemingly endless.

It was into this scene that Ayla Arslan, a daughter of one of the greatest noble houses in the country, arrived. From the dust and winds, the endless mirror of the lake emerged, flamingoes and other waterfowl dotting its surface, peering up from their animal activities at the new arrival.

Not so far from its shore lay a gazebo. A simple wooden structure, it cast a rhomboidal shadow across the whitish sands as whitish curtains fluttered in the stifling breeze. Just outside was a horse. Just within was a man. He waited at a table. The girl arriving knew who he was.

Since they first met, that girl had grown into a young woman. Years of Ersand’Enise education and extracurricular activities had moulded the once demure girl—a lion cub—into a confident lioness. While a typical lady of the court might don her prettiest dress before an audience with the king, she had chosen a more practical outfit. She wore sturdy black boots and an embroidered rose-patterned corset styled like a tunic over a red blouse. A belt cinched her waist, holding the hilt of a bladeless sword, and a cavalier hat added a bold touch, with her red hair neatly tucked up inside as it shaded her from the sun.

As she strolled toward the gazebo, she admired the flamingos in the water before finally approaching the occupant. With a warm greeting, she crossed her arm over her chest, clenched her gloved fist, and bowed her head respectfully toward the gentleman.

The man inside was King Sancho VIII of Torragon, called El Alacrán in the Northern dialect. He rose to his feet and nodded in return. "Lady Arslan." A smile lifted his mustache from his upper lip for a moment, and he waved her warmly towards a seat. "It must've been a long ride. Have a drink. Have some tapas. Then, we discuss." He settled back into his seat and moved to pour both himself and his guest a drink.

Ayla took the seat offered to her by the King, pulling back the soft-cushioned wooden chair before settling in. “We find ourselves north of Varrahasta more and more these days," she remarked, her voice light with humour. "One might think we’d be used to the long rides and saddle sores by now.” She offered a playful yet sweet smile as she accepted the glass of wine and a rather delicious-looking empanada.

She took in the surroundings, her gaze sweeping over the vibrant landscape. “This must be one of the jewels of the north, with such a breath-taking view,” she added, gesturing toward the flamingos gracing the nearby lake. “Who should we thank for this pleasant scenery?"



The king smiled again, briefly, plucking from the plate. He nodded. "It is what some would call a 'hidden gem'," he admitted, taking a bite and chewing. A light breeze rippled the surface of the water and a quartet of ibises took wing. "A place not known to those courtiers who want only to fill the king's ear for their own gain."

He watched the birds for a moment before addressing the second part of Ayla's question. "It is a place we thank An-Orafe for, in our prayers, but I have always thought that we owe equal debt to An-Ejerran." He tilted his head and stroked his goatee. "Why do you think that is?"

Ayla secretly suspected that the Queen's influence had been involved in choosing such a beautiful location, but she smiled pleasantly nonetheless and nodded when the conversation turned to the gods. The empanada was spiced in the manner preferred by the men of the north—bold and fiery—unlike the sweeter versions she was accustomed to in Varrahasta. Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a Virangish pepper in sight.

“Then we shall prepare to be plied with food and wine, while our ears are filled for the King’s gain,” she quipped with a mischievous smile, her sharp tongue making light of the situation as she used the jest as an excuse to indulge in the spread laid out before her.

Sancho let out a snort of laughter, but it quickly gave way to something more pensive. "Certainly," he admitted, "I hope to gain, but your words remind me of something that dear Felipe told me before he left to be with Ejerran."

He sat in profile now, almost a silhouette as the morning sun shimmered off of vast Albadón. "One cannot rise while the ship he is on sinks." He lifted his glass from the table and took a sip of his wine. "This was what Huarcan Frannemas did not understand." He glanced her way, setting it back down. "That is why I killed him. He was willing to sink the ship to rise within it." His eyes, in shadow, found the young woman's. "It is a lesson I believe that you know," he decided, "So tell me, Ayla Arslan, what is the ship that we are on?"

As the ripples of wine settled within the chalice, Ayla's eyes rose to meet Sancho's. "He was a mutineer on a surrounded ship," she said, shaking her head, "though not one that's sinking—yet." She took another sip. "There's no real appetite for war in the East. Trade during peace brings prosperity to its people. The raids in the West are a different matter; they embitter the people." Her gaze sharpened on the captain. "So the ship needs a carefully plotted course to avoid troubled waters—it can't rely solely on the winds."

"And yet, much as it may yearn to, it cannot defy them either." Sancho breathed out into the desert air as a flock of sandpipers came to land at the water's edge. "The Firrazi have a saying: The young conqueror surveys his new empire and crows that it is vast, like Lake Albadón, but he knows nothing of its depth." He took a bite of his empanada. "What do you think this means?"

Ayla pondered the saying for a moment, though the fact that it was Firrazi made her a bit skeptical. "It suggests looking beyond what's on the surface. While some may focus on the size of their armies and navies, real strength comes from stability, loyalty, and the discipline of individuals in battle. Overlooking that depth might hide how fragile a situation truly is—like a lion made of parchment." She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "Just one of many aspects of an empire, for brevity."

"You are not wrong," the king admitted, "from a certain point of view." Wind stirred the curtains and the hair of the people withing. Horses snorted and flicked their manes outside. "And I don't disagree, but the Firrazi like to remind us, in their bitterness, that they know this land in ways that we do not." He snorted at the notion; whether in dismissal or agreement, it was not quite clear. "It is a parable designed to trick us Torragonese, for Lake Albadón is, at most, five meters deep. Should the winter rains fail to come one year, it might disappear entirely."

He breathed in the lakeside air, tinged as it was with hints of dust and salt. "It is a reminder of how tenuous - how ephemeral - are the monuments and works of we individuals in the face of greater forces." He breathed out. "I think it is also, in a teasing sense, a call to understand, truly and humbly, before acting." He swirled the last remaining wine in his glass. "This is why we must go to war." He glanced out at the vast salt lake, brow furrowed, before turning back to gauge her reaction.

Ayla raised an eyebrow at the mention of war, especially considering King Sancho's impassioned plea for peace in earlier years. During her time at the academy, however, she had encountered many factions and individuals aiming to shape the world to their own agendas. The statement left a void she felt compelled to fill. "With whom?" she asked.

Sancho grimaced at her well-but-not-perfectly-hidden confusion. "The people who would see us laid low." He furrowed his brow and continued. "Would that we could be like cattle, left to feed and fatten on the plains with no care in the world, but that is not the truth of things." He shook his head. "The bull may appear complacent, but he is anything but, for he cannot be." A lone cloud drifted lazily across the face of the sun, providing a moment of welcome relief. "He is surrounded, always, by hungry wolves and serpents and tigers."

Sancho batted the imagined animals away. "Trust you me, girl: they circle even now, and I imagine you can guess who most of them are." He shook his head again, tightly, and reached over for the wine bottle. "The blood our answers spilled to reclaim this land demands a price." He poured, pensively: deep crimson wine splashing into the glass. "Since I took el Trono de Hierro, I have built a Torragon of peace. I have furnished universities and libraries and ports for trade." He sipped. "I have patronized artists and scientists. I have shaken Osman's hand as a friend and equal. At the start of last year, I repealed the laws against Darhannics."

A couple of swans alighted on the lake's surface, and tiny waves lapped at the shore as their ripples spread outward. Sitting in profile, the King breathed deeply: in and out. He turned to Ayla, gaze heavy and direct. "It won't be enough." He was earnest. "Two of my dukes rebelled against me. Frannemas, you know, and I slew the bastard with mine own hand." He sniffed and glanced away, at the lake and the swans. "Herrera was in league with him, ready to march on their 'soft' ruler. Only the quick death of Huarcan persuaded her otherwise, and after I disinherited his brats I'd have had a rebellion on my hands had I tried to remove her as well. Ejerran knows Tojarra is frothing."

He stood all at once and held the bottle out towards Ayla's glass, raising his eyebrows inquiringly. "We are of the same cloth, to some measure," the king concluded. "We speak for peace and sense and mutual benefit and nobody listens." Finished with the bottle, he set it down on the tabletop and turned to face Albadon, crossing his arms. "At the summit, last year, I convinced none who had a real say." He glanced over his shoulder at the youth. "It was something from Hunghorasz, the old wizard, that made them pull back." He tapped one of his temples. "I can still feel the way he went into my head and forced a decision." Sancho snorted. "At least it was the right one."

He pivoted on his heel and leaned over the back of his chair. "It is a regrettably simple conclusion, Lady Ayla." He pursed his lips for a moment. "Most everyone wants to fight: on every side of this thing, and I will not let Torragon be served up as a feast. Can you work with that?"

Ayla nodded as she mulled over her thoughts, reflecting on the complexities. "Peace is not easy," she began thoughtfully. "It takes hard work and is anything but complacent. Sometimes, people need to be reminded that it is in their best interest not to act against it, or persuaded by other means." She continued, using the earlier metaphor by Sancho to make her point clearer. "A complacent bull is weak—others start to ignore and violates its boundaries. This stirs the bull into action, forcing it to use violence to make others respect it, a war. Now, an active bull, constantly vigilant, dissuades people from crossing its boundaries. If they try, they're met with a snort and a show of the horns. Violence isn't needed because the threat alone keeps others in check, thus experiences peace. But it's important not to be an aggressive bull, as that would cause others to band together and outnumber the bull, seeing it as a threat."

She paused for a moment and added, "You could argue that peace is a war—a war fought with words, influence and clout."

"Perhaps it is so," the king acknowledged, as a gust of wind stirred the feathers in his cap, "and perhaps it is not." He pursed his lips grimly. "I've called you here, Lady Ayla, for two reasons." his wine sat on the table, he was drinking none of it now.

"The first is that you have helped your country immensely. You acted decisively when the Queen's and my lives were threatened, for which you've my gratitude, and again to secure Revidia's secret weapon for us." He shook his head. "Such things should not exist and, if they do, they should not be kept from friends." There was a brief, ironic smile. "You could say that you sharpened the bull's horns and diluted the serpent's venom."

In the distance, the sun lay atop the water, its surface a mirror to the sky and the plains. A pack of dwarf halassa grazed on a copse of bushes. "The second," Sancho began darkly, "is that the time for metaphors and waxing philosophical over what may happen is at an end." He tapped the table twice and worked his jaw, eyes meeting hers. "They will have their damned war whether we want it or not." He sighed in vexation. "I want to make it as short and decisive as possible."

He glanced down before meeting her eyes again. "I've no desire to spill blood over Revidian and Perrench squabbles." Sancho shook his head tightly. "Neither is a clear evil, much as the leaders of both will rail that his counterpart is." He glanced out over the idyllic scene of the inland sea. "And we are a continent away. Our only real danger is the unbridled ambition of some in Virang." Now, he lifted the glass and took a sip. "Osman is a good man. I had hoped to build an understanding with him, but I fear his days are limited and his influence wanes." Sancho swirled the wine and watched it for a moment. "The new generation do not remember war, and so they treat trade as if it is a thing to be won, and encourage the most radical form of their religion, and fund Hattim of Firraz in his campaign of terror against the Nordeste."

He scowled into the sun before his eyes flicked Ayla's way. "We are going in opposite directions, and it is time for the bull to use his horns, while he can still quickly put the panther in its place." He tilted his head. "Is this something you can help me with?"

Ayla nodded thoughtfully after listening to the reply, then straightened her posture, adopting a more formal bearing. "What is it that we need to do?" she asked in a composed tone.

Sancho regarded her and... was there a hint of discomfort on the face of the king? "An act that will make our names live in infamy like that of your ancestor." His bearing became grim, serious, earnest. "But one that could save millions of lives by putting a swift end to the war." In the distance, a flock of flamingoes lifted from the surface of Lake Albadon. "I am asking you, Ayla, not commanding. Is this something you think you could countenance?"

She gently put her hands together as she sat and listened, as she prepared herself for what was about to be spoken, “Yet without my ancestor, there would not be a Torragon or our people.” She nodded, as she consented, “Please continue.”

Sancho nodded at her words. "Mine own, Felipe de la Sangre, was infamous in his time." He shrugged. "And perhaps since, though he has not had the unique misfortune of having his name live so in infamy as Alizée." A fly came to rest upon the white curtains, tiny and black and eager to take of the food on the table if given the opportunity.

Sancho batted a hand dismissively. "Virang has risen much, some as a result of my own leniency towards it and the desire that both us and they might rise together and break the endless cycle of two grand alliances, mutually exclusive." He leaned forward and plucked an enchilada from the platter. "They are too strong for us to trample as we may have in the past." He regarded the morsel and shook his head... annoyed? Regretful? Admiring? "They will dig in and hold on and occupy us while the other Darhannics pounce and Belzagg either overwhelms Joru and takes us from the East, or Perrence joins them."

The king bit in and chewed. "Millions on all sies will die for the ambitions of few and grudges passed down for centuries, now meaningless." He swallowed. "I want to avoid that. We need a quick, decisive victory that will humble them where they stand and act as warning against any who might consider taking their part." He glanced out at the curtains as they flapped and the fly took off. "Something strategically decisive, scored away from their innocents, that leaves them utterly at our mercy." He took a second bite and chewed, eyes narrowed as he glanced at the lake and back at Ayla. "Can you think of such a thing?"

Ayla was presented with a near-impossible task: figuring out how to take down Virang without unnecessary bloodshed or loss of innocent lives. As soon as the Torragonese forces mobilized, Virang would respond in kind. Both sides had permanent garrisons ready for such a situation, and they would have to cross the Merapora making a land approach infeasible. Even if they attempted to circumvent the defences through Inipor, Gandakar lay to the south. A naval approach, even with allied support, would struggle to pass Izan without incurring heavy losses before reaching the capital.

"It would have to be like lightning," she mused. "Using portals to transport groups to capture key locations, then moving in the armies to catch them by surprise." She shrugged, acknowledging the difficulty of her suggestion. "Unless we could somehow position ourselves as welcomed liberators, there would be significant resistance—and for that, we'd need an enemy to liberate them from."

Popping the final bite of enchilada into his mouth, Sancho paused, and a grin spread across his features. "This is why I come to you, Ayla." He finished chewing and swallowed. "For this is precisely our plan." He pushed the plate away and paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "The Virangish rise has made them less amenable to us, true." He nodded. "but it has made them many enemies."

The plate sat there in the middle of the table, a sprinkling of crumbs dusting its surface. "Among those is Tarlon, who will soon try to force the Bin Ada again." The fly took off from its spot on the curtain, circling around the two of them and zeroing in on the plate. "Osman fears that they will move on Paggon, which they refer to as 'lost lands'." Sancho shifted in his seat and regarded Ayla frankly. "He is terrified of it, in fact, if our people are to believed. Losing Paggon means losing their stranglehold on the Bin Ada and the tolls they take for trade into the Ensollian."

The fly made its move and, with a single quick motion, Sancho swatted it. "He is willing to sacrifice Palapar for Paggon." The tiny creature lay broken upon his glove for a moment until he flicked its corpse free. "His advisors are not. Many own vast amounts of land there that this new unrest threatens." The king set his gloves aside and turned to Ayla. "Tell me, now, with more of the picture in place, how might you proceed."

Ayla listened carefully to the foundations of the plan. From what she gathered, the idea was for Torragon to pose as the liberators of an anticipated Tarlonese invasion of East Severa. It was true—the Tarlonese would never expect Virang and Torragon to work together, and both nations would be able to repel the yasoi. If the Tarlonese were bold enough to attempt such a gambit, they would likely stoke tensions between the two nations, causing a war, and then swoop in to seize any territories they desired.

“There are only two main conditions for such a possibility to exist: a weakened Virang and for Tarlon to move against Virang proper.” Ayla leaned back in her seat, contemplating. “A decisive action against Virang would guarantee the conquest of Paggon and control of the strait. Both are likely Tarlon’s long-term goals, so there is motive, but the opportunity is lacking.”

“For Virang to be weakened, it would need to become embroiled in Palapar, and it cannot achieve a decisive victory—neither for the rebels nor for itself. There would need to be a stalemate, encouraging reinforcement from the mainland as they try to tip the scales in their favor.” She moved imaginary figures across the table. “With the mainland and Paggon vulnerable, and its forces occupied across the Asperic Ocean, controlling the strait would prevent Virang's forces from returning, allowing Tarlon to achieve its objectives. They would hope this would create an opportunity for us to strike at Virang.”

“However, Virang wouldn't send its forces to Palapar if they knew it would leave them so vulnerable.” She knocked the imaginary figures from the table. “They would want a guarantee—a strong, ironclad one. Virang might draw support from Belzagg toward Joru to keep us focused on the Eastern threat, bolster their numbers from Perrence, or even consider an agreement with Eskand.”

She placed her glass to the north of her position on the table. “Then there’s another factor: ReTan. They seek vengeance against Tarlon, and control of the strait would threaten their trade. They might consider working with Virang against Tarlon in these circumstances. So, Torragon's objective is clear.” She moved an imaginary fleet from Varrahasta toward ReTan. “We need to strengthen our partnership with ReTan. That means working with them against Tarlon.” She marked an imaginary cross over the straits. “This benefits everyone. We work against Tarlon and demand concessions from Virang for our support, such as tariff-free ReTannese trade for Torragon and rights on the Merapora. Virang would accept nothing less—they require a guarantee of our self-interest in iron.”

She drew a semi-circle on the table, symbolizing a protective line against Tarlon. “This might prompt Virang to take risks in Palapar.” She moved the imaginary figures back to Palapar. “But then you have the same problem again with Tarlon…” She let the cyclical situation hang in the air, unresolved.

Sancho leaned forward as Ayla spoke, taking in her analysis of the situation. "You understand the picture well for one with limited information." He nodded appreciatively. "So let me share the rest that I know, as a king, with you."

Leaning back somewhat, the king stroked his beard twice over. "Firstly, Tarlon's appetites far outstrip what its teeth can chew. The people in charge know this. Second -" He ticked another point off on his fingers. "Osman with his famous prudence and his... wariness of us, is seen to be losing his battle with old age in Virang."

Sancho did not reach for his wine or a snack or anything of the sort. He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "The Tarlonese are easy to fear and to hate, to ascribe goals and motives to that we can decry." Not so far away, his horse snorted and stamped the dirt. "It is a common disease of people." He batted it away. "But I see, in them, a people not so very unlike us: They want to live as they wish, on their own land, unbothered by others, and they will do whatever they need to ensure that." He shook his head tightly. "Beyond that, I do not agree with them on much." His voice sunk, even though the seemed to be here completely on their own. "But one does not need complete agreement from an ally, merely common purpose." Now, he took an empanada. "Of course, we could let Virang think much the same."

“Keep our enemies close, divided, and pitted against each other?” she succinctly summarized the course of action Sancho was proposing.

"Something like that," he allowed as, in the distance, the dust trail of another rider could be seen. "But, perhaps, a common enemy might make for a useful ally." He rose in preparation to greet the fast-closing rider, who was just now entering sensory range. "We can only hope that Virang sees it that way," he added by way of conclusion.