"My son is dead."
The Grand Duke's voice quavered in the air. Not from any emotional extreme nor from the intensity of his words, but rather the natural bellowing cadence of his barrel chest producing words through prodigiously jowled chops. The fecund duke was bestrode the throne of his palanquin, tall and mighty in his rotundity, with an arm laden with jeweled rings and golden bracelets raised on high wielding a crystal orb in the palm of his hand. The sausage like fingers of the duke's hand grubbily clung to the orb, clutching it in a doughy grip as if the artefact were more precious than anything else. And why wouldn't it be? The Duke Zelbam was the owner of the Starshard Glass, and he would wield it ceremonially- or whenever he had excuse to, of course.
"Long hath Valmial rendered service unto this house. Two score and two years his wit and intellect were the sup of student and alumnus alike. The stars rendered their secrets bare to his gaze, which liken to mine own it has oft been said, and it is much agreed that though he be not the mightiest of my children- that honour be bestoweth upon Edsel, whomst is away upon his travels on this day- nor is he the most acclaimed- for that doth be Titus, heir apparent and benefactor of this funeral- here here, here here-" This call was met by the raising of many a tall wine glass in the crowd to the honour of Titus Hippokrates, who raised a hand gaily in response as he sat in a throne beside the Duke's palanquin. "-but it was well deserved the respect and status he hath earned as tutor, researcher, arcanist, and astrologer of this institution. Let it be writ upon the Annals of the Starspire Academy that ne'er again will the like of Valmial again walk these halls. Let it be writ!"
Bringing the orb down, his fat hands covetously caressed its sparkling surface as the spark of magic welled within. The Duke then brandished the glowing orb, and erupting from within the diminutive- in the Duke's hands, that is- orb was the splendor of the night sky, cascading into the highest reaches of the academy Great Hall's peaked ceiling. A shooting star rebounded around the rafters, weaving a comet's tail through the ancient stone supports, and in its wake the flowing of a nebula spread. The star brightened, flaring into nova, then evaporated into nothingness at the end of its trajectory. The Nebula continued to crawl, filling the air of the Great Hall with the dazzling dust of stars and cosmic dew. This cloud settled into semi-permanency and descended onto the room, casting it in a wondrous glow that dazzled from within a mystical fog as the wisps of starlight meandered gaily about the room.
Now obscured from the Duke's sight, a young man tirelessly scribed the speech upon the man-sized pages of a great tome, whose first pages were already threatening to crumble to dust if handled poorly, and whose most recent page was dedicated to the now-lost preceptor; Valmial the Ineffable, son of the Grand Duke and Lord Preceptor Zelbam Hippokrates. Few in the hall paid heed to the scribe. Few, indeed, looked towards him for Valmial himself was stood, leaned heavily upon his tall sceptre, and gazing at the pages as the scribe wrote. Few men had the chance to read their own obituary. Fewer, still, had the chance to declare their own epitaph. Valmial hummed low in his throat, then reached out with a clawed finger to tap upon the page.
"You may omit any mention of Titus in this obituary, young Toby.""A-Are you sure, milord? It's the Duke's own words."
"My lord father will not be reading this. Of that, you may be certain. I will not have his name sullying my final representation in this institution." Valmial rose back onto his staff, satisfied with the scribe's subtle alteration to the passage. The din of the initial applause died away, and as the Duke was carried to the head of the long table on his Palnquin, the honored heir Titus rose to speak...
Valmial tuned him out. His heavy steps falling upon the flagstones of the great hall like the thunder of mail clad men storming the tower. His footsteps both highlighted and undercut Titus' flagrant speech of false words and bandied pleasantries. Valmial's insolence to his elder brother was noted by all, but what did it matter- Valmial was dead on this day. The only other being in the room who did not possess the same repressed servility and subservience to the Duke and Heir was a lithe framed woman, red of hair and pale of skin with eyes that shone a sapphire hue in the reflection of the stars. This woman held Valmial's attention, solely, even as the speeches flowed over him. His dreadful step limped him towards her, until at last he stood at her side, a head and shoulder taller than the she-elf even in his stooped state.
"This one bows to the Holy Order." Valmial says, stooping lower upon his scepter as he intones the words to the woman.
"The dead bow to no-one. They also, seemingly, do not respect their own funerals." Her lips twitched upwards in a smile.
"Do you disrespect all good things, or just the ones that you find insulting?"Just the things that mock the name Hippokrates." his words came as a low rumble, hinting towards the amused and giving the impression of a chuckle.
"This funeral was not of my desire. It portends negativity, and I have hopes, my lady."Her eyebrow rises, and she lifts her head to gaze up at him. She studies him quietly for a few moments, before making a gesture- more time had passed as their eyes met than Valmial had even noticed, and the heir Titus had finished his speech. The guests had risen and the feast was begun. A servant brings the she-elf a glass of wine, and Valmial receives a tankard appropriate to his bulk and physique. She raises her glass to him, he toasts it with his tankard, and both drink.
"I am no lady, dead man. I am census taker, administrator, and notary. Your hopes are misplaced, as well; your lord father appears to have succeeded in his rumored quest to do away with you. You will receive the Empress' blessing, of course, but what hope do you cling to in the dread city?" Her words are not cruel, but rather the subtlety of the coquette. Her tone is not lost on Valmial- but he is surprised by it. He decides to play along for the time, and see where this divergence upon expectations shall take him.
"I am not the greatest man to be sent on this quest. Nor the second greatest- it is far from my ideals to liken myself to the Empress' own brother, or to the great knights who were themselves citadel to Ordai'el. However, miss...?" he leads the question, asking multiple things at once with the question. The twitch of a smile grows, and she seems entertained by his playing back. She swirls her wine and sips from it, even as the dazzle of starshine falls upon her hair and gives it a radiance unto its natural fire.
"Laelia.""Miss Laelia." He bows to her once more, and this time she curtsies demurely in return.
"However, as is the foundation of this institution, all those who have gone before shall have laid the path for those who come after. It is my hope, indeed the very thing I pray for, that they have, with the strength of the legends who first ventured forth, paved a strong path.""Ah, I see. The mythical Hippokrates house words; 'Upon the shoulders of Giants'. How much truth is to those words, I wonder?""There is much." Valmial rumbled again, that low, deep, laugh.
"However, I am sure you are not truly interested in the deep histories of my house.""Indeed not, dead man, indeed not." She laughed openly, shameless in this admission, before she sips from her glass again.
"I see that you are a measure more astute than your peers, most of this academy would have loved nothing more than to lecture me, I imagine.""I am not most." He says pointedly.
"And if you are inadequate to the task, hm? What if you can't even measure up to the shoulders of the giants you wish to stand upon?""I have never been found inadequate." his voice was low once more and despite the crowded nature of the room, his low tone and the fog of the nebula made it an intimate statement indeed. Laelia's eyebrow cocked upwards, and Valmial permitted himself the semblance of a smile his thick scales permitted. Their eyes met in the shadow'd hue of this room, and she clicked her tongue as she took a step forward.
"We shall see, dead man. I have seen enough to satisfy the census. Enjoy the afterlife, and may the Gods themselves see you to the end of your road."Valmial watched her walk away, incapable of telling if the heat he felt beneath his scales was from the potent Hippokrates wine or the sway of her elfin hips.
Another hour passed, the funeral escalating into the political dissection of Valmial's powerbase. Victorine, he was pleased to hear from the whispers and chatter, was making considerable gains swaying his Academy allies to her court- but it wouldn't be enough to contest Heir Titus' iron grip over the port. Money flowed into Sunbow through the shipping lanes, and so long as his name signed every tariff form he would have ultimate authority over the city's politics.
His heavy footsteps went unheeded as he traversed the room. Voices carried words better left unheard to his prying ears. What did it matter, the Dragon would be gone come the next dawn! Let him hear, they must have thought, he can no longer manipulate the game! He could not keep his lips from drawing back in the wickedly-toothed smile he was known for. He thumped his staff upon the ground and calmed himself, bringing his arm up across his eyes in a feigned gesture of weariness; his eyes locked onto the icon of Mastrix chorded upon his scaled arm, taking solace and comfort in the icon of absolute order.
His steps hastened him along- until the bespectacled figure of Victorine was suddenly in his path.
"How did you do it?" She asked in a quiet voice, a hiss of a whisper.
"Do what?" He retorted swiftly, coming to a lurching halt as she had suddenly cut his path off.
"Edsel's loyalists. I know the guard heeded your counsel in his absence, and I know you were collecting information on the port authority. How did you do it? Old Groshnik never speaks a word to me unless I've got a dozen forms signed and I had a secretary double check the grammar, and yet you were able to find a crack in Edsel's monolith? Don't even get me started on the beggars. No matter the alms offered or the service rendered, the best my girls can get out of them is idle rumor and hearsay."
Valmial quieted the woman by placing his chorded hand atop her head; affectionately petting his older sister in her comparatively diminutive stature.
"Edsel likes me. That is all. You overthink things, Victorine, it will be your undoing." His words were low, but his tone was the gentle tone of the tutor despite their age difference. His eyes scanned Victorine, noting the streaks of silver appearing in her hair and the wrinkles of laughter upon her eyes. His tongue snaked between razor teeth and he sighed.
"You've got a chance with my absence. Erme's exile-""Speak not her name." Victorine hissed. "Do you wish for father's wrath?"
"I am dead, let his wroth overflow until it drowns the whole damnable city. Erme's exile was my ill-gained boon, let mine be yours. The Academy and Port will be split with this, you are a bright woman and I know that you have withheld many secrets from me. Stay the path, keep your head, and Titus will have stern contest. You are the chief benefactor of my will, when it is to be read. Be calmed by knowing that my vote lies with you, sister."Her eyes widened behind the thick rims of her glasses. He noted how the flecks of brown within her hazel eyes sparkled like garnets in the starlight of the hall. Behind those storm-grey eyes a devious cunning was gnawing on the pieces of puzzle he dangled before her, and he gently pushed her shoulder and released her as she stumbled back towards the center of the room. Valmial continued his trek, escaping Victorine's labyrinthine thoughts with his words of encouragement. If he had not interrupted her there, he would have been trapped bandying words and parleying niceties until time itself unwound from the firmament and slew them just so it could continue its immaterial journey.
He did not enjoy deceiving her, but in the grand scheme of things there must be a lamb and there must be a slaughter. No other way, could he conceive, to save the city from itself and from his father.
Valmial emerged from the Great Hall onto the balcony of the Tower; a great construction of black stone cunningly structured to stretch out from the tower three-quarters of the way up its immense height, with five equidistant pillars arching upwards and framing the ultimate crescent moon peak of the tower. In a phrase, Hippokrates grasping the stars made architecture. Very much so the proverbial Giant's Arm reaching for the heavens, upon which the origin of the house words was writ. Few believed the tales...
But Valmial had seen the bones. Deep below the tower, in the depths of the dungeon, where steel and stone fused with ancient bone. In the depths where he faced a sister in mortal peril, lost much- but gained more. The depths that few were permitted to see, save the highest echelons of the Academy's preceptors. Deep in those depths, where few even of the academy dared to tread, is where Valmial discovered a secret.
He stepped forward, his steps lighter now that he had escaped the oppressive atmosphere of the funeral party, and swiftly crossed to the north-facing side of the tower. He leaned his arm upon the battlement there and cast his gaze forth. The luminous moon, full on this night, cast its eye downwards and brought to light the wondrous white towers of Ordai'el. In the glow of the pale radiance of the moon, Valmial thought them reminiscent of the very bones beneath this tower.
Growing higher...And higher...and higher...
""Allo." A voice chimed from the shadows at his side. "I almost thought you weren't going to survive your funeral. Didja see how Titus got that vein on 'is forehead? Throbbing madly! Every time 'e tried to start a sentence, you just put your foot down- if my ears aren't failing me, I think you were stomping harder on purpose?"
Valmial chuckled in that deep rumble as The Darkling emerged from the shadows; his black suit blended nearly in with his natural skin tone, and his bloody-hued eyes flashed in the dark as he revealed himself. The Draconbreed made a slow gesture with his staff, as if weighing Winmar's words, before winking at him with his left set of eyes.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Titus has always had father's temper. It could simply have been bad air, my brother.""Bad air."
"Aye, the miasma about father seemed potent from where I stood.""Pfff, you're bold in death." Winmar laughed and cast his blooded eyes towards the distant door. "Are there listeners?"
Valmial's grip tightened upon the scepter, and when next he struck the flagstones with it a pulse of magical energy emanated subtly outwards from the point struck. Ripples of quiet energy, laced with his draconic twist, that emanated through the metaphysical reality around him. Twice his ripples returned to him, as an echo in the dark, and twice his staff struck the ground and dispelled the clairvoyant gazes. He noted, with a begrudging approval, that both held the octarine signature of Victorine's sorcery. Attagirl- be skeptical, he thought to himself.
"No longer." He rumbled.
"Be swift."Winmar stepped closer, his voice dropping into the lowness of conspiracy. The tall, slender, man was the lithe frame of the scoundrel and rake- and yet he bore the cunning regality of the Hippokrates genetics, with the alien sophistication of the elfin blood. If it were not for his bastard status and the societal perception of the Elves, Winmar would be a handsome and desired man; as it stood, he was the runt of the litter of the Grand Duke's ambitions and bore little love from the powers that be. This meant he was, in truth, underestimated by his peers...
But not by Valmial. He relied upon the cunning and craft of the bastard-Orph.
"Everything's in place. My lads're ready." Winmar stepped close within the draconbreed's deceptively long reach as he spoke. His hand laid upon Valmial's shoulder in a tender affection. "This has been a long time coming. I wish there was... more. More I could do. Damn them all, cornerin' ya like this. You've been good to me, and I won't forget it."
Valmial shifted, putting his weight back onto his scepter and bringing his hand up. He clasps Winmar's hand in his, and pulls the waifish man into an embrace. He never releases the staff, but brings his arm around the half-Orph and clasps his closed hand high upon The Darkling's back.
"Be true, be straight, be bold. I'll return one day, and together we will throw off these chains. Goan has long been afraid of its past and of the dark, but we know too well the foolishness of that." Valmial pulled back and gazed at Winmar with a deep affection.
"Give father my regards when the time comes."
The night wore long, and ere dawn approached. A few hours left before all came crashing down into harsh reality and fact of death. The party- not an honor of his death, but a celebration of his passing- was crawling to a close as the wine gripped many and rendered any true politicking a moot issue of pleasantries and circulating Pecks.
Valmial had abandoned it some hours ago, spending the last of his waking vigour at the top of the Starspire Tower. Here, he performed final calculations, gauged the movements of the firmament above, attempted to divine some final sign of his path- but all was for naught. The telescope revealed the cold death of the void between the heavens. The astrolabe's positions held no answers, only the long-calculated trajectory of the sun and moon. The only portent to be had was the waxing of the crescent moon; his family's sigil, on high, gazing down at him as if an eye half-lidded.
He rose from his stoop, blinking eyes tired from searching deep and far. A yawn rose through his body, and as the fatigue washed over him he clutched at the scepter tighter. The hour was late. It was time to retire and await the coming of the dawn in repose. His private chambers were here in the tower, but shying away from further contact with family and guest alike he had pre-arranged for his lodgings to be made ready in the study of the observatory. Come the morn, he would descend at once from the pinnacle of his achievements into the gloom of death and begin his journey. Penniless, for his will was total and his gifts generous to all his hated and loved colleagues alike.
He stepped into the study, weary, and closed the door at his back as he allowed restfulness to finally wash over his min-
"Rather spartan for a noble scion, but perhaps you were aiming for your final resting place to be academic in nature?"His eyes snapped open- and there, sitting upon the grand desk of wizened oak, as if to mock its imperial stature and age, was Laelia. Her red hair flowed free, and her sapphire eyes still shone bright even in the candlelight of this study. Valmial found his eyes drawn to the pale curve of her slender neck-
"What, speechless? After I praised all your perceptions and astuteness earlier tonight, I still surprised you?" She laughed and swiveled upon the desk, leaping forth from it and striding towards Valmial in long, confident, steps. She rose up and pressed her lips upon his bicep, before hooking her arm in his and gingerly easing the scepter from his grasp. Valmial leaned upon her in the stead of his tool, his eyes now gazing downwards at her in direct. Had her robe been quite so advantageous earlier this evening? He directed his thoughts elsewhere, back to her eyes- anywhere above her neck for sanity's sake.
"Speechless, perhaps, is a word." He managed at last as she guided him slowly, limping step by limping step, to the great chair behind the desk. Somewhere along the way she discarded his staff absentmindedly, casting it to the ground unceremoniously. She pushed, and he entertained her physical effort by sitting into it at her urging. He tilted his head, a sigh of relaxation coming from him as, for the first time since lunch the day before he finally sat down.
"What further service can I offer the Holy Order on this day of my death?"The woman laughed, sliding her hands into her hair and fluffing it out attractively. The red waves cascaded down over long ears, the tips of which protruded playfully from the fullness of her hair, and flowed over her shoulders and covered their bareness. He could have sworn she was wearing something more conservative earlier- this time he was sure of it, the haze of wine beginning to fade as heat filled his scales.
"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Her body twisted into a playful spin, all too aware of her own beauty, and she boldly made as if to climb into Valmial's lap, kneeling upon his lap in full to reach the height of his head and face.
"Dead man, dead man..." She purred, caressing the scales of his face with a hand. Her fingers dancing along them, tracing them daintily until she found the thinner armor of his under-jaw.
"If tonight is to be your last night, then it may as well be warm."The words would have been very alluring indeed, if not for the flash of steel from within her robe. She swiftly drew a long dagger and drove it upwards into the scales below his jaw- and it bit deep, breaking through the first layer with ease- but catching against the layered shards of dragon's armor. It glanced against bone and rose into cheek rather than mouth, failing to drive forth to murder. Her eyes had one moment to widen in surprise before Valmial's arms wrapped about her. He roared in fury and pain, hefting the woman's slight frame high in his grip- and smiting her down upon the great desk with such force that it splintered the surface and cast her upon the stones of the floor.
He limped back a step, wrenching the dagger loose from his jaw and casting it aside. Even as his black blood spilled down his chest, wroth broiled within his four eyes and his voice gurgled forth, booming even as speaking with wetness, with an imperative beyond resistance. The air itself trembled with his rasping voice, the candles flickering as if to death, and the shutters trembled against the near windows. His voice seemed to rise from the air itself, rattling within the stunned woman's skull as if driven there by the smith's hammer.
"Speak your master's name!"
Black blood spat from his twisted lips, coating his razor-sharp teeth even as it flows over his lips. The wound would not kill him, but his moment of spoken words was nearing its end as the taste of his own ichor filled his mouth. Laelia's scream choked in her throat, and a single word was understood through the terror that ripped from her broken body.
"Zelbam! Zelbam!" She cried, all other words incoherent as his draconic visage overtook her. It was the last word that left her lips as Valmial lurched forward, grasping her throat tightly in a mighty hand, and with lumbering gait brought the would-be assassin to the window- and with a thundrous crash of broken glass, hurled her through it and into the open air. His leg gave way, and he caught himself upon the broken glass of the sill. His scaled hand crushing the harmful shards easily, as he leaned from the window and watched as Laelia experienced something he had learned all too well at the hands of Erme Hippokrates in the depths of the Starspire Dungeons...
Gravity overcomes all.
It wasn't until she had disappeared from sight through a passing cloud that he coughed, sputtering his black blood against the windowframe, and brought a hand up to try and stifle the bleeding against his throat. He swayed forth, braced against the wall, until at last he could ring the serving bell.
His own attendants would arrive with haste, to find Valmial bloodied and wroth behind the splinters of his desk, clutching his staff irrevocably in his grasp. He would not sleep on this night. He knew not when peace would next come, but as his wound was seen to the dawn came...
Ordai'el beckoned.
