The SHADOW LOOMS “In truth, it was all but a matter of time. Even the most cynical of ours surely did not expect what was to come upon us all as our realm fell into disarray and madness whilst greed, ambition, hunger, and pride would lead us all into the darkest hell.” Theme - "Vengeance is Mine"
Lalaifia, 13th of Gerna | 1200 AU Location: Estate in Lalrial
Among the countryside adjacent to the gleaming city of Lalrial, many wide and open estates held miles of land. Vineyards that soaked in the salty ocean breeze from the far south dominated next to powder white herds of sheep, or muscular bovine. The sun was gentle here, only kissing the crops with the perfect amount of heat and light, without damning the tanned workers of the field to torment. The cool breezes chilled any labored bones and delighted any guests.
On one such Estate, generously rented out by Grevis Valarien to his cousin Allianna, the pre-summit party was beginning to come into clarity. Funded by all the contenders, yet sorted and devised by Allianna herself, the villa of the estate was teeming with the finest party decor.
The pillars of the portico were entwined in green vines bearing reddish grapes, and in turn thin strings of gold twisted across the plant. The very peristylium styled courtyard that the portico enveloped boasted lively trees, and a misting fountain. The cool sea air gave way to the sweet scent of freshly crushed berries, and the soft vinegar of poured wine. Allianna herself dressed in the green of the flowered peristylium, and in her hand she held a withered checklist, finalizing her goals for the party.
The sun lingered softly in the open courtyard as if in an understanding of the party to be had, and so didn’t give Allianna any reason to bring the heart of the party inside to the cool marbled rooms decorated for much later in the day. Here under the portico, the walkways were lined with tables filled with fruits and vegetables to freshly feast upon. Squares of cheese were cut and laid next to thin bread and baked crackers, chilled in the shade of the portico, and strategically placed where they may be enjoyed next to artistic frescos depicting historical occasions and lovely landscapes found all around Ethica.
Every member of every nation who had a name in the coming summit, or a foot in the door of major politics was expected to come. It gave them all a chance to talk and meet before the summit, as well as for the more sly politicians to set out on any last minute deals and dealings. Of course, a feast was scheduled quickly after everyone was to arrive, to allow the candidates to give speeches and toasts to sway the mob of votes one way or the other.
Purple-clad servants rushed to and fro, clogging the wide and high atrium with sweet non-offensive scents, floral vases and tall statues, eager to impress all who walk in. Silver platters were a common sight all the way to the entrance to the portico. Phoenix guardsmen stood sentinel-like unmoving statues in their gilded silver white armor where decoration was lacking by white plaster walls or marble. Their design combined with their beaked winged helms and majestic golden feathered cloaks allowed them the unerring appearance of the proud Phoenix of House Valarien. As if it had been given human form and cast from splendid steel. They're fancifully fluted and engraved suits of armor matching their splendid feathered spears.
At the start of the maze of beauty was the thick door and its gracious janitor, smiling and eager to permit the first of the guests to entry.
The Heartlands
Prelude
Ceveut, 12th of Gerna | 1200 AU Location: North Gate of Lalrial
Lanariel Vanalan breathed in the cool air of the open forest as she made her way down the twisting narrow path. A strong wind caused the flowers caught in the breeze to dance about her like a spinning cyclone of many colors. Here and there a green leaf from the trees swayed among the blues and whites. A sudden sneeze rocked the cloaked figure--oh how she hated her allergies. The day was beautiful out as any fool could see yet she could scarcely enjoy it. Unused to the great outdoors, the woman found herself stuffy and congested constantly. A fate no magic she possessed could remedy sadly. It was sometimes infuriating to imagine magic was capable of countless wondrous things, yet for something as trivial as this she had no power to overcome.
Perhaps had she been a trained as a druid? No, if such was the cause she would have had much more resilient a constitution in the first place given their ilk spent most their lives in the wilds. At least, her journey would not last much longer. The wind was bothersome but the heat from the sun above warmed her bones well enough. It was a cloudy day to be sure; the hooded and cloaked woman only hoped there was to be no rain. She could hardly predict the weather given her lack of experience in the outdoors.
The woman’s cloak aided in hiding her stunning features and ashen hair. All signs that would have given away her native house instantly despite her ‘bastard’ heritage. Her magnificent silver snow hair cascaded down and peaked from the folds of her hood. Silver eyes watched the surrounding terrain with a mix of caution and anxiety. She once again questioned the wisdom of her superiors in sending her to Lalrial-- surely there were other masters who could make the trek? Sure she held promise, but her experience in such a role and away from the grand province of Sorcere no less… she had to admit she held some doubt in her heart. She gripped the quarterstaff in her right hand more firmly as she climbed a small hill. A few bells tied to one end that rattled with each step; the only sound aside from the rustling of the wind.
From her new vantage point, the young woman caught her breath at the sight. Near the top of the hill she, at last, saw her destination in full view. The gleaming white City of Towers, it’s ivory spires seeming to jut into the very heavens.
Well, she had at last arrived, she only hoped that the news of her coming had preceded her as her superiors had planned. She wondered what awaited her in the legendary City of White-Gold Towers.
The Last Day of Zellra in the Year 1200 A.U. The Grand Duchy of the Kawachian Islands The Island of Verbera Indignor, Capital of the Grand Duchy Second Terrace of the Second Keep
Indignor was far from the least pleasant city in the isles of Kawachia, but unlike many of the worst it managed to be an awful place to live without anybody even having to try. Over the centuries, the fortress of a city had endured more than thirty sieges - all more than six-hundred years in the past. House Chalarensis had a long memory though, nursing resentment and grudge alike though nobody alive lived to recount any tales of slight against the House first-hand. The whole of the city had been obsessively torn down, rebuilt, and slowly extended in every direction so that it encroached through the fields to the East, sank deep into the Earth and even beneath the waters of the bay, and rose to stab at the heavens, incorporating increasingly arcane and esoteric structures in accordance with the most modern theories of siegecraft. The whole brimmed with choke-points, claustrophobic and narrow halls, abrupt ledges with crenelations rising in the middle of passageways, and gaping barred murder holes in the ceilings and floors - which only accounted for the interior. One needed to be both surefooted and cautious with their footing while moving from place to place, which was intended by design.
A recent addition to the design of the city had been to add series of layered terraces with towers for the purposes of securing aerial bladders, and it was upon one of these towers a courier waited with some apprehension as one of the massive sacs was slowly towed downwards by its guideline. Its long, finger-like basket descended by increments to meet the railed wooden causeway extending from the lip of the tower. The two pilots, dressed in lightweight jack cuirass moved to adjust the rigging for the rod-mounted sail in order to bring it down while two more men waiting at the gangplank secured the vessel to cast-iron cleats. As they worked, Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, Head of House Chalarensis, stepped onto the causeway and approached.
The Lord of the Kawachian Islands had a body like a saber, with angular features and a sharp nose atop a razor-trim body. Though House Chalarensis historically originated from mainland Ignis, his complexion was dark due to thorough interbreeding with the native populace of the islands. Further evidence of this was seen in his dark hair, which was worn straight and long with the end tied. He wore similar leather armor to the pilots, and though usually armed with a heavy cavalry saber he wore only an ornate dirk at the back of his belt, as every ounce of weight counted when sailing through the skies. Nearly his fifty-third year, the lord had the look of a man half his age with long cords of muscle running along his arms, and a temper which kept an energy normally reserved for boundless youths only barely in check. He now directed this temper at the courier as he neared.
"Explain." One word spoken in a seething and deep voice, like the crackle of a cooling lava flow. One did not recall an air bladder that had just been released and was mid-transit without good reason, and not without earth-shaking revelation if its passenger happened to be one of the most powerful men in Ethica.
"My lord." The courier intoned, their voice dappled with faint nervousness but otherwise remarkably composed. "This letter was received by way of the Imperial Aerial League, delivered directly to the ducal courier boat with instructions to see it to you with greatest haste and utmost urgency." The courier knelt, retrieving the sealed envelop from his pouch and presenting it with both hands. The unopened seal of House Valarien adorned it, with Ormoneric's name inscribed beneath.
A tense pause filled the air.
"We have no courier boat stationed at the capital." Ormoneric said finally, his eyes narrowed as his mouth began to twist into a sneer.
The Grand Duchy maintained courier boats at many foreign cities, but had not done so with the capital for some time. Most important and vital documents came to Indignor by way of other ports and the decision had been made largely as a gesture of scorn to the Imperial Throne. Most messages from the royal administration had to make its way by Impeerial carrack to some other port in the isles, where the port authorities could be counted on to keep them sequestered in the middle of the harbor for some time before permitting entry if not offered a sizable bribe. Further delays would come as the messages were then shipped (often needlessly) back and forth between officers of the Kawachian navy and army respectively to evaluate its contents and ensure it was neither a forgery nor containing of any provocative content before finally being sent where it was needed. Along the way, if any excuse at all was found to send the message back, it usually was - with a fine, no less. The entire affair was arranged wholly by the heads of House Chalarensis, and everyone in the Imperial court knew it.
"My lord." The courier replied, looking up from the ground just enough to be clearly heard. "The captain of the vessel does state that he was impelled under the authority of both the Lord Regent and the Voice of the Emperor to deliver the message, I am afraid it was decreed a courier boat on the spot by Imperial Mandate."
A second pause transpired, briefer than the first. Grand Duke Ormoneric reached out and took the letter, eyes faintly raised, tearing the parchment above the seal loose and handing the envelope back the the courier. He spent several moments in silence reading, his expression stilling into calm. He finally folded the letter and looked down at the courier.
"I must immediately tend to this." He stated calmly. "Inform the pilots of my need to depart, our flight is now postponed. Then return to the captain and congratulate him for his ship's new honorable status, then inform him he shall receive new deployment orders. That is all."
"My lord." The courier said as he rose, keeping his bewilderment from showing.
The courier had not frequently delivered messages to the Grand Duke personally, but any display short of irritation was unusual for the ruler. Now he appeared almost serene, despite having an apparent matter of Imperial business that required his immediate attention. It was common knowledge across most of Ethica that nearly all of House Chalarensis despised the Imperial Throne. Tamping down on his confusion, he moved to fulfill his lord's instructions.
Grand Duke Ormoneric left the tower and walked down the spiral staircase of the terrace. At the bottom, he instructed one of the guards on duty to not permit any departures by house members, and to direct them all to the grand hall of the keep. He sent another to pass on the order to the guards of the remaining terraces, and a third to relay the second instruction to a court envoy.
"My lord, though it be not my place, I must ask whether you are feeling whole. You look rather out of sorts." The last guard said, some wariness in his countenance as he processed the tone of the Grand Duke's orders. He had sounded mildly enthused.
"You are pardoned for your concern. I am well." Ormoneric replied. "Get someone else to guard the stairs with you until your fellows return."
He continued on through the labyrinthine halls and passages of the outer citadel, finally arriving at the grand hall nearly ten minutes after having left the terrace. Built less to impress foreign envoys - the mere sight of the city itself was usually sufficient for that purpose - and more to simply house the large number of house members who could be expected to sit in for a meal every day, the grand hall held twelve great, long tables carved from volcanic bedrock within that seated sixty people each, eleven side-to-side in the midst of the hall with the twelfth laid out at the front before all of them. Their tops were laid of ground and smoothed obsidian, and the candlesticks upon them, though made simply of cast-iron, possessed ruby and turquoise gems studded with pearl arranged in embossment representing the crest of house Chalarensis. Four massive hearths occupied the walls to the rear and sides of the great room, while a fifth, massive aperture near the rear, large enough to host a bonfire loomed over the setting. Hanging from the ceiling, several cast-iron hangers mounted circular arrays of spears tilted down, great candles of sulfur adhered to their hafts and burning with deep blue flames. The candles used below were specially rendered wax from the mainland, designed to mask the stench of brimstone wafting down from above.
It was near lunch, and so the hall was already filled with a fair number of other house members. Nobody moved to rise from their seats or otherwise halt their conversations, barely glancing at the lord of the isles, and indeed no herald even announced his entrance. House Chalarensis had never claimed to rule by divine right, nor did they maintain that their lineage was inherently noble - the house ruled using steel and force. Ormoneric's extended family would do as he commanded and submit to his authority, but nobody was pretentious or deluded enough to demand that they openly respect him - least of all Ormoneric himself. Upon the decks of a carrack or in a field tent things might be different with strictly and rigidly enforced terms of military formality. Here in the family halls of the house though, the rules were lax.
Grand Duke Ormoneric thus headed over to one of the servants standing by at the foot of one of the twelve long tables of the hall and quietly issued an order to have everyone informed that he would be making an address. He headed to the head of the hall where the twelfth table was and waited as servants began rushing between chattering groups of his kin, who began to turn and look towards him expectantly as he stood in his place at the center of the long-table. Once the hall had quieted and he was sure he had their attention, he began to speak - a loud, bellowed proclamation that carried through the length of the interior.
"Brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and all others of those amongst my kin - just mere moments prior, I received this letter," He held the letter from the Imperial administration aloft, the emblem of House Valarien plain to see. "From the capital of the heartlands. Today is a day of great and momentous celebration, and with the setting of the sun we shall all dine and feast as one, and make merry the likes this hall has never seen for decades!"
Anyone who had not been paying attention before was doing so now. Many were merely curious as to what sort of Imperial news could possibly be worth celebrating about. A few though, particularly the eldest amongst those gathered in the hall, had lived long enough to have witnessed this same kind of announcement before and were already grinning in anticipation, their eyes gleaming with fervor.
"For this day alone, you may abandon your grudges and set aside your rivalries! Turn! Turn and embrace your brothers and your sisters, weep freely and dance without perturbation! In this moment our House knows absolution!" He slammed the letter in his hand down on the table and shouted his final cry at the top of his voice.
"The Phoenix King Taramyth Valarien is DEAD, and Chalarensis smiles in his grave!"
Every individual in the hall, normally unable to wholly agree with each other on nearly anything, all as one, cheered. Dust shook free from the rafters, and guards from outside the hall rushed in to combat the Vilespawn dragon that had surely just burst through the wall.
@Celeste Later that Night The Private Rooms of Diende Tribal With the sounds of merriment and feasting audible to everyone in the citadel, nearly everyone save the servants who had to suddenly scramble to prepare and serve the largest feast in years was enjoying themselves. One of the few who was not sat now, writing a letter.
Sitting before the parchment, inkwell and quill prepared but unused, Diende Tribal nursed the loosened line of his lower jaw slightly for comfort in the near darkness of his room, with his wooden teeth removed and secured in the lower drawer of his bedside table. From the moment he had learned of it, through the rest of the day and up until that very moment, he had felt nothing.
He supposed he was glad the emperor was dead, in an abstract fashion. The entire affair seemed empty by his reckoning. Pointless. A new emperor would soon be elected, after all, which would mean a new round of laws and legislation that would be decreed, with House Chalarensis to serve as the punching bag for decades of mutual animosity with the houses of the mainland.
And he himself, Diende, would have to vote for the very same person who would be doing the punching. One way or another.
Finally having determined how he would go about writing what he needed to, he set his free hand down beside the parchment and began to write.
Written by the hand of Dienda Argider, son of Iian Argider and Ravana of no line, Former Marshal of the Ducal Forces of Kawachia (retired).
Intended for the eyes of Gerard Soleander, son of Sebestian and Esther Soleander, and Justiciar of Sunstone.
In not undue spirit do I write to you in the wake of the death of Pheonix King Taramyth Valarien to inform you of my previously planned visit to the Sonveld, and specifically the city of Insimu Lezinkanyezi for the purposes of house business.
However, with the sudden approach of the Imperial Summit of the Arch Electors, I find myself unable to go forward with my journey. As the senior-most member of House Chalarensis, I have been selected by my second-great-nephew and Lord, Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, to represent him at the summit in the capacity of Arch Elector.
I must now pray for your pardon for my intrusion upon your own affairs; the business I planned to attend to is of vital urgency and cannot wait for the conclusion of the summit. I must implore you to append an additional traveler to the party of your own Arch Elector Felix II Soleander, Protector of the Sonveld and Pratrician of the Sunstone, or else that of his representative, to accompany them to the Imperial Summit at the capitol city of Lalrial.
The name of the individual eludes me at the time of this writing, but I have seen fit to include a flyer describing the details of their business and affairs, along with the address of their estate in Insimu Lezinkanyezi.
I know that in reading, this request may appear somewhat frivolous. However, the matter at hand is both time-sensitive and of some urgency. In order to assure you of my seriousness, this letter has been disclosed with a box containing half of our commissioned partner's pay for services to be rendered, in the form of six Ammacre Pearls, with an additional six to be delievered upon completion of their assigned task. I trust that this measure is sufficient to convince you of the seriousness with which I make this request. The individual in question, by the time of your reading this, should likewise have received their own message informing them of this development and shall have made arrangements to prepare for the journey should you come in touch with them. If what I ask should prove possible and is fulfilled, I would be personally grateful and would be inclined to pay heed of your own concerns in the future, whatever they may be, such that I might be able to alleviate them.
With hopeful anticipation of our eventual meeting should you attend the summit, I hope that this letter finds you, your house, and your Arch Elector in good health.
This slip of parchment bears the details of business of a famous painter whom you know of by reputation as one of the most accomplished in the Sonveld. Several of their paintings, largely in the form of portraits, hang in the halls of the Sunstone. The flyer lists the address of their estate in Insimu Lezinkanyezi, as promised.
Opening the box, you see six spheres of impossible color nestled in a cloth of crimson silk. They hurt your eyes to look at directly - they are definitely Ammacre.
The 12th of Gerna, 1200 A.U. Outside the North Gate of Lalrial
From her new vantage point, the young woman caught her breath at the sight. Near the top of the hill she, at last, saw her destination in full view. The gleaming white City of Towers, it’s ivory spires seeming to jut into the very heavens.
Then, out of the side of her vision, a large, bloated lump of ugly dark brown floated directly in front of her scenic view. An air bladder - one of the bizarre results of the gas harvesting they did in the Kawachian isles - was drifting closer to the ground, clearly about to land. Small streams of sand dribbled down from sacks hanging off the sides of the finger-shaped basket suspended from the bladder itself, literally dirtying her view. A flag blew frenetically in the wind, perched atop the crown of the flying sac, displaying the banner of the Grand Duchy of House Chalarensis.
Aboard the bladder, Fame Mountebank slapped the cringing Harper Cragmore across the top of his head as the fifteen year-old prince cowered below the lip of the passenger basket. "Don't touch that rope you half-wit! You just released the ballast in the sack! You just wasted that much more helium!"
Fame was a pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League, adorned in their iconic jack cuirass and long-leather cap, along with a light saber secured across his left hip. As one of the only two-hundred Kawachian pilots in the world, he was the closest thing House Chalarensis had to a knight though he bore no title and was not of noble descent. He was nonetheless thoroughly educated in history, geography, politics, mathematics, negotiation, court etiquette, and naval protocol, and was trusted to act as an envoy for House Chalarensis much in the same capacity a knight would be expected to.
"You are the one who told him to release the bladder." A voice like wind in the hills stated, airily and reproachful. "As if he would even know how to do that, when he has been cowering on the floor the whole trip."
Sarapis Tribal, governor of the island of Acantha, was a young women in her early twenties with a tall face and thin cheekbones. She wore a damp blue, full-length robe in the Kawachian style of a kaftan, drawn together snugly across her chest but parting down from the waist over a pair of dark trousers. Her hair was dark and straight like that of most of Kawachian ethnicity, with an additional amount tied into a braid and worn over the back. Across her left hip she wore a ceremonial heavy cavalry saber indicative of her office, while an ornate dirk with a pearl-inlaid handle was strapped across her left arm. Despite the robe, the snugness of its top and its immediate departure from her body below the waist served to emphasize certain curves in a number of places.
"The Imperial depot will be topping us up in any case. It is their loss." Diende interjected.
In the light of day, Diende Tribal's wizened features were leathery and streaked with lines. His hair was shock white from age, while his left eye was missing and occupied by a glass with a pearl iris. His teeth at first looked as though they were filthy and covered in grime, until one realized that they were wooden dentures. He too wore a kaftan, though it was a deep carmine in color and was adorned with several marks of military merit. He too bore a saber, though it has a pronounced, rounded tip upon its sheath, and he used it as a makeshift cane.
After several minutes of Rame adjusting the rigging for the bladder, with some assistance from Sarapis, the large basket touched down on a large, spacious landing field specifically designated for the purpose by the Imperial Aerial League. By Imperial decree, House Chalarensis had been forced to supply several balloons for use by the Imperial Throne, as well as other houses, and so designated landing zones were not uncommon in proximity to larger cities - though they tended to possess varying degrees of security. House Chalarensis and the Imperial Guard both took the matter rather seriously, rightly recognizing the air bladders as a strategic asset. The large helium depots that accompanied these landing zones, usually in the form of refurbished and repurposed barns, also doubled as small milita barracks and watchtowers.
Rame and Sarapis jumped down to the ground from the lip of the bladder's basket, assisting both the frailer Diende and the still catatonic Harper down as a stern-looking Imperial Captain approached them.
"None of you are Grand Duke Ormoneric." He said in an accusatory tone, his face set in a disapproving expression. "You peasants had best have your papers in order. I don't care if you're actually from House Chalarensis, I will throw you into the sea if you are not supposed to be here."
"You threaten a pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League at your peril, Captain." Rame said venomously. "If you touch either of my masters, I will be forced to cut you down."
"It appears," Diende interjected, stepping forward slightly, shifting his cane accordingly as he reached into his robe. "That there has been a delay in communications. A letter was sent ahead from our ship several hours ago, but apparently it has not arrived yet. I possess here," he drew a slip of parchment, with a corner-seal stamped with the crests of both House Valarien and House Chalarenis. "A receipt of my status as representative for Grand Duke Ormoneric in the capacity of Arch Elector. I am expected at the Estate of Grevis Valarien, along with my guests."
The captain took the parchment and examined its contents in a perfunctory manner, rolling it back up before returning it. "Can't say I'm not pleased by this. Means I don't have to rattle off that obscene list of titles that Duke of yours has."
"Grand Duke." Diende corrected gently. "Are we free to go, captain?" The man simply waved them on errantly in reply, turning and heading back towards the depot, from which a team of laborers had emerged to handle the now grounded bladder.
Arriving by carriage at the estate, Diende, Sarapis, Rame, and Harper were escorted to the portico by the purple-clad janitor where a servant-herald then announced their presence - with one small hiccup.
"Now announcing the arrival of Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, Lord Steward and Khagan of the Kawachian Islands, Malefactor Advocate to the Pheonix King of Ethica, Despot of the Island of-" Another servant rushed up and interrupted them, whispering urgently in his ear as Diende, at the head of the party, looked straight on and pretended that nothing had happened. With a short cough, the herald started over.
"...Now announcing the arrival of Diende Argider, former Marshal of the Ducal Forces of Kawachia, Sarapis Tribal, Governor of the island of Acantha, and Rame Mountebank, Pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League." He finished.
The party of four stood in place. Sarapis and Rame had the grace to continue looking straight ahead, permitting Diende to be the one to glance askew - with his glass eye no less - at the herald and then to gesture faintly with his head towards the poor Harper Cragmore, fidgeting in place and tugging on his tunic.
"...And Prince Harper Cragmore, sixth in line for the throne of the Erayis Highland." The herald said, sounding apologetic. Satisfied, the party of four finally stepped forward and drifted their separate ways.
Fame headed directly for the selection of cheeses, examining them intently, while Sarapis folded her hands behind her back and intently stared at the selection of wines.
Diende locked both eyes, glass and live, directly with Alliana. Methodically, slowly, he advanced, setting his sheathed saber forward rhythmically as support.
"I do believe this is the first time in twelve hundred years that House Chalarensis has managed to arrive on time." He remarked casually. "On that note, I must apologize on behalf of my second-great-nephew and Lord, Grand Duke Ormoneric, for not being able to attend. I am afraid he is currently preoccupied with vital matters from which his attention cannot be spared, especially for an affair as trifling and spurious as this one."
He gave Alliana a wide grin, allowing her a good view of his dentures while he allowed her to process the verbal slap.
"I must further apologize for myself. I am old, and prone to rambling. If I should utter heresy or untoward commentary, please do excuse the ravings of an old man, for I do not have long in this world." His smile then transformed, snapping from a wide grin to a stern, thin line.
"So. It should be painfully obvious even to the hired help in here that House Chalarensis will either abstain or elect for you yourself. Jakinius is too weak," He thumped the ground with the end of his saber's sheath for emphasis. "...and everyone knows that House Chalarensis could never be sensible enough to move beyond its petty grudges and vote for a man married to Duchess Victoria Gracieux of the Sun Isles." His lips quirked into the faintest of smirks.
"As a raving old madman though, I will confide in you - and everyone else within the easy listening distance of the foyer - that for the purpose of political expediency, House Chalarensis is prepared to resolve that particularly senseless instance of gainsmanship. Neither the lovely Duchess, nor any of her line for that matter, have done anything of note to offend Kawachia. Only their incidental intersection with House Dustin, in very recent times I might add, has brought our disdain her way. I say that is a pitiful reason to sour relations with one of our most frequent and respected trade partners, and Ralltene Vallarien will be a very profitable choice of Pheonix King for House Chalarensis."
Diende let out a gentle chuckle, and then set his face sternly again. "I say this to you. As Arch Elector, I will vote for Ralltene Valarien, if the electors should reach a tipping point in choice between him and either you or Jakinius. Unless you make me a sufficient offer, now, right this moment. Not later. If you make an excuse and walk away to attend to something else, that will be all. If you want to be elected by House Chalarensis, I shall only give you this one moment to sway me."
Far more than Diende's blatant disrespect - he had not even addressed her by name! - far more than his utter lack of discretion and subtlety, the worst quality of his speech was its volume. The man had clearly made sure that everyone in the room - other guests and otherwise - could hear what he was saying. Her answer to his demand would shape the entire rest of the summit and how they treated her - it would be important for her to act in a way that proved she could not be intimidated.
Still respectively musing over at their tables, Sarapis and Rame were both smiling faintly.
Lalrial Harbor
While Diende Tribal was in the process of loudly coercing Alliana in front of everybody, a rowboat originating from the carrack Mundus Malleum, flying Kawachian colors, pulled in to dock. Waiting for its arrival was a very expectant and pleased port inspector.
This very port inspector had, on numerous occasions, been required by the Imperial Port Authority to visit the Kawachian Islands - and be subsequently harassed, waylaid, and sequestered by Kawachian officials and soldiers for his trouble. Now though, the shoe was on the other foot.
At least, it was until the first passenger on the rowboat rose and stepped onto the pier. The first thing the inspector noticed was that the man's right hand was missing, and that an actual flanged mace had been strapped onto the stump. The second thing he noticed was that the man was rather wide and tall. The third thing he noticed was the man's excellent and robust shouting voice. At some point during the tirade, his carefully kept tricorn hat fell from his head to be blown, as if by a gale-force wind, into the waters of the inlet.
"...I...I'm sorry?" He finally tried, once silence fell, finally recovering sufficiently to take a further look at the man. He was dressed in some kind of robe, the kind normally worn by the noble Kawachians - except they had no nobles outside House Chalarensis. His complexion was lighter than one expected of their kind, and his hair was closely shaved. The man's eyes were small, relative to the size of his head, but contained an inner gleam that made them all the more striking for their small size. The same gleam and distinctive facial features akin to that of a wall crenelation drew attention away from the modest collection of military merits adorning the breast of his robe. None of them were of any Naval orders that the inspector recognized, so he supposed he was part of one of Kawachia's armies.
"I...I mean," He recovered further, reminding himself that he had the entire port authority backing him up, even if the lunatic had a mace for a hand. "Sir, I will have your name, and know that I will have you fined for harassment of an Imperial Port Inspector!"
The man's nostrils flared while his eyes bulged, until one of the other men who had rowed to the pier with him grunted pointedly. Opening his mouth and visibly grinding his teeth, he looked down, straight into the inspector's eyes, and answered.
"My name is Mottay Vagost, Brigadier General of the Kawachian First Ducal Army. I am here on official House business, and all fines and other charges for myself and my ship are to be payed on the account of Diende Argider, acting in the capacity of Arch Elector!"
The inspector was for a loss for words. After a brief moment he decided on "I see." He bent his head and wrote down the General's name in his ledger in order to stall for time. After slowly and carefully rewriting the name twice, he looked back up.
"I am afraid on account of the abrupt and unscheduled nature of your ship's arrival, I will have to ask a few more questions. For one thing, what is the precise nature of the business you are here for?"
Mottay firmly crossed his arms, his eyes and lips twisting into a sneer as he hissed an answer.
"I'm here to get my mace back from those Cragmore scags!"
Thunder boomed in the distance, echoing gently throughout the rolling Erayan hills of Stormgully. For its size, Stormgully was a fairly quiet city, surrounded by little else than hills and grazing sheep. The sky was gray -- As it often was in Erayis -- and throughout the morning there had been a consistent rain, ranging from a thick fog to a drizzle.
At the gates of Stonereach, two figures returned home. One rode a tall brown diregoat, and the other, a speckled horse. This was uncommon in Erayis, as horses fared particularly poorly with the hilly landscape, though the Cragmore's guest had no diregoat nor the willingness to ride one.
This guest was none other than Elouan Gracieux, while the man on the brown goat was Prince Duncan. Aside from Sofia, who could not be forced to leave, he was the only Cragmore remaining in Erayis. His father, and the rest of his younger siblblings, had headed off to the capital days ago to vote. He scoffed for a moment, thinking of their studious hours spent silently tallying together votes for an emperor, droning on and on about speeches.
On one side, the Cragmore held the body of the fox he and Elouan had spent the morning hunting, and on the other, Duncan carried a nearly-empty wineskin. "Tell me, Gracieux," The prince began, leaning back on his diregoat, "You Veletians ever have any fox hunting?" He took a swig from his wineskin and held the limp carcass up proudly, examining it for a moment before turning back to Elouan. "Would be a shame to have all that land and not have a good fox hunt every now and again, eh?"
Elouan silently sighed, barely concealing a grimace. He was not fond of Duncan's company. "I am afraid the fox hunting tradition has never caught on in Violette. Our forests are mostly owned by the Luzerne, rather than the nobility, and their hunters are more concerned with sustenance than sport." Conscious of his need to stay on the prince's good side, Elouan then added, "They're an exceptionally uninspired lot. I'll have to introduce them to the thrill of the fox hunt once I return."
Duncan grinned a winestained smile, and began to laugh a deep chortle as the gates reached the apex of their ascent and the two rode into Stonereach's court, amused by the young Gracieux's remark. Immediately, a young squire ran up to Duncan's diregoat, catching the dead fox as Duncan tossed it aside, either as if it had been rehearsed or it had been something the squire was used to.
"Boy, bring this to the leathersmith a and have him turn it into gloves for our guest to bring home." Duncan slid off of the diregoat with surprising fluidity for his size and stockiness, landing on both feet with ease. If there was a pleasant remark one could make of the man, it was that he was a good rider.
Duncan turned to meet Elouan as he dismounted, pulling off his riding gloves. He stood but a few feet over the boy, and wore a tunic made of dark red wool with purple cuffs, and a brown leather belt. Though they were finely crafted, the clothes were bound tightly around his skin and were clearly made for a much thinner man, and the colors and tightness combined with his ruddy complexion gave the prince a remarkable resemblance an overstuffed, muscular sausage.
"I expect I shall see you tonight at dinner, Elouan." Duncan said, uncorking his skin and taking down the last few mouthfuls of wine.
Elouan nodded and forced a smile, waiting until after Duncan had finished off his wine and began to depart before he left his horse for the servants to tend to. Once he had left, the young Gracieux shivered in disgust, and began to dust himself off and expect his outfit. His clothing distinguished him from the Erayans as much as his choice of steed. His thin torso was covered by a tight-fitting purple and black shirt, and his bottoms were a pair of black briches, which had been covered in dirt and grime from the hunt. He cleaned them off as best as he could before heading into the castle, to search for his love.
He made his way through Stonereach's halls, following the sound of a harp vibrating through the castle's cold, grey walls. He could practically feel her already, warming the very castle with her presence. While Erayis was a foggy, rainy place, Sofia radiated with the warmth of a summer day. Whereas her confining castle was made of squat black stone and reeked of salt and goat hair, her skin was that of ivory and her smell seemed to always be the same flowers. She was an oasis of beauty in this otherwise ugly, gods-forsaken kingdom, and he could not withstand being apart from her for any longer.
As if by fate, the next corner Elouan turned was a small sitting room on one of the furthest reaches of the castle, deep into the mountainside it was built into. The walls were lined with torches, giving enough light for Elouan to see the smoke of sweet incense drifting gently towards the ceiling. The room was built for entertaining guests and discussing private matters, built deep into Stonereach's tunnels, far from the courtyard and the sun alike.
In place of arms or shields, instruments were hung on the stone walls -- Though most were traditional Erayan horns, there were collections of lutes, lyres, drums, and flutes as well. The floor was bare, save for a rug at the center of the room that was surrounded by pillows and chairs. In the smallest seat was Sofia Cragmore playing her harp as if waiting for the princeling's arrival.
Her song was not an unfamiliar one; My Highland Rose was one of the region's oldest love songs. She had been singing, and though her voice was low and quiet, it was nonetheless beautiful and soft. She sang to herself, plucking the thin black harp nestled between her legs, humming in between her lines.
"My highland rose, highland rose, no matter where I roam, I will return to the steps of my highland rose's home My highland rose, sweet highland rose, no bonds may keep me from she, Not the tallest mountains or deepest forests or raging churning sea."
Elouan contemplated silently as he stared at Sofia, smiling absentmindedly and losing himself in her song and her beauty. He wanted desperately to be with her, to sit and talk with his love, but her voice was so magical and her words so inspired, and he could not bear to interrupt her. He waited, until she was nearly finished, and silently grabbed one of the many lutes decorating the walls. At the beginning of the last stanza, he joined in with her, surprising her and announcing his arrival, but in a way that did not break her song. The two often practied together, and Sofia did not miss a beat when Elouan began to play.
"My highland rose, sweet highland rose, marry me tonight, Come into my fair castle, and be my Lady wife, Highland rose, know this now, my love for you shall die, When highland mountains crumble and heavens fall from the sky."
As the two finished, Sofia's gaze met Elouan's, and she smiled deeply, setting her harp aside. "Hello, my lord."
Elouan gave a low bow, smirking up at Sofia all the while. "And happy greetings to you as well, my Lady".
Sofia stood up, offering her hand as Elouan placed a gentle kiss just above her knuckles. "What brings you to the chambers of Stonereach? We seldom see violets growing here."
Elouan stood, takin Sofia's hands in his own. "And what a shame for those flowers, to be so rare in the home of the sun."
Sofia smiled at Elouan, staring deeply into his eyes, which slowly drew closer to hers. As if on cue, a rustling from across the room gave way to the door opening once more, giving Elouan just enough time to almost completely spin around. It was Kurgan Black, advisor to the king, who held a scroll in his hand.
He was short and tan-skinned, with eyes encircled in darkening shades of sleeplessnes, tucked under thick grey eyebrows. His head was a balding pattern of age spots and thinning grey hair, with unpleasant gaps between his teeth hidden by a thick mustache.
"My lord." He grumbled to Elouan with a quick nod. Kurgan was well-mannered to the guest of his king king and would always address him with respect, though brevity was hardly uncommon in Erayis, especially to foreigners.
He turned to Sofia, clearly aware of the situation at hand, pausing to let the girl stammer the beginning of her explanation before handing her the scroll.
"Your brother writes to you from the capital," began in his usual quiet, dry voice, "He wishes you well, and mentioned your sister's entrance in a tourney." He turned his head to Elouan, raising an eyebrow softly. "He also expressed a desire to speak with you, Lord Gracieux, when he returns." His voice held a thick Erayan accent as if he spoke through a rusting funnel, shortening consonants and vowels with the same inflection Elouan had come to expect of Veletian flower-sellers and fishmongers.
Elouan looked confused, and responded awkwardly, baffled at what the Cragmore prince could have to say to him. Kurgan's interruption of his embrace with Sofia did not register first in his mind. "I... suppose that's... good news?"
Kurgan looked at him with a stoic deadpan, nodding his head. "Of course." He gave the Veletian a firm pat on the shoulder, and turned to leave, walking silently out of the room the same way he came in.
The couple waited until Melvan had left before either of them took another breath. After they'd both calmed themselves, Elouan turned to Sofia and asked, in a slightly nervous tone, "Do you have any idea what your brother would have to say to me?"
Sofia paused, shaking her head. "Benjamin has always been a private sort. Perhaps he and your sister Victoria have discussed something in The Heartlands he wishes to discuss with you as well?"
Elouan scoffed. "I would think my sister would tell me of such a thing! And what would he have to discuss with me, if he had already spoken to Victoria in the capital? I am not interested in my sister's machinations, Sofia, only in you. I fear that Benjamin has something to say about us. And that is a most frightening fear."
The Erayan princess drew closer to him, gasping loudly. "I wouldn't let him tear us apart, Elouan. We could elope, to the North or Lointaine, or, or --"
A soft hand rested on Sofia's waist, and a finger from its opposite gently pushed against her lips, quieting her. Elouan's demeanour seemed reassurring, but if his hands hadn't been pressed against the Princess, they'd be shaking. "We don't need to run away, Sofia. And we won't. I'll do whatever I can, and then some more, to make sure that we can be together. No matter what Benjamin, or Kenten, or anyone else here or anywhere else says. I love you, Sofia, and I will not be torn apart from you."
Edryd was nervous, though he hid it well. He had only been to the capital once in his life, in the beginning of his mercenary days, and he had certainly never been to an event of this importance before. He was still somewhat surprised at his new appointment as High Marshal of Gwenydd, and even more so when he was asked to join the Royal Party to the summit. Edryd had been given a short notice on the latter but had assembled a formidable retinue all the same.
He had brought twenty-five of his best Knights along with their squires, a total of fifty men. Among those Knights were Ser William Gold, Ser Gavin Larse, and Ser Alexios Dekanos; three of the seven men who made up Edryd's privy council. Ser William was the worldliest of his Knights and the best lance in the Crimson Company, and his counsel was amongst the most trusted of all Edryd's advisors. Ser Gavin was Edryd's former squire and perhaps the best overall fighter in the company behind Lord Edryd himself; an excellent equestrian, swordsman, and a more than able hand with both lance and bow. He would serve as the Captain of the Guard of sorts for their procession into the capital, and would be in charge of coordinating the rest of the Knights along with Ser William while Edryd went about his duties. Ser Alexios was a foreign Knight and extremely up-to-date with the political workings of the realm, and would be serving as Edryd's personal liaison to the summit. He was also a fair hand with a lance, and the best dagger fighter in the company to boot.
Edryd began to feel a bit more relaxed as he went over his preparations in his mind. He could afford to lose himself in his thoughts, being towards the front of the column in the Gwethydd Royal Party along with Ser Wiliam. The rest of his Knights were spread throughout the rest of the column, with Ser Alexios commanding the mid guard and Ser Gavin commanding the rear guard. Edryd glanced behind him, spotting his squire Nell. He had brought her along despite his better instincts; but he knew that this would be an important experience for the development of his squire. Nell was a commoner he had found shortly after returning to Albinkirk. She had actually entreated upon him to take her as his squire when he had been commissioning fittings on his armor. At first he had refused, but she had persisted for weeks until he finally gave in.
Edryd smiled at the thought. He could not say he was annoyed at having such a dedicated squire; and dedicated she was, performing her duties with the greatest of enthusiasm and competence. She had been coming along well, picking up the sword with surprising ease, though she struggled with her footwork. She knew the chivalric code by heart, and her courtesies, he admitted, were above average. However, that did not change the fact that she was a women, thought Edryd. He was not sure how his peers of the realm would react to finding out his willingness to Knight members of the opposite sex; there were several such women Knights in the Crimson Company already. He would just have to see.
Edryd turned his thoughts ahead, towards the coming summit. He saw the towers of the capital in the distance now, and took pleasure in the reactions of those around him who were seeing them for the first time. He figured he ought to find his liege lord, and so handed command of the column to Ser William and motioned for Nell to follow him. The King would want to have a plan, Edryd was sure.
Gardens of the Caernan Castle, Harksmoor City, County of Harksmoor, Kingdom of Gwethydd
8th of Gerna | 1200 AU
King Aethlar VI of the Gwethyns ambled and loped listlessly around the expansive gardens that surrounded his palace. They were laid out on both sides of the low-lying but sprawling royal residence in the bustling capital - on the west, they led into the granite cloisters of the Eldva University, joining seamlessly with the academic institution by way of a regimented and carefully planned style. To the east were the great, naturalistic green expanses that were used as tourney grounds in happier times, which themselves rolled into a vast citrus orchard. The sweet, tangy smell reached Aethlar's nose even on the other side of the garden and he inhaled deeply. He longed for better times, for jousting and merriment and galloping out across the vast fields that surrounded the mesa on which Harksmoor was perched.
Alas, it was not to be. The King had been grounded in his palace by the news of the death of Emperor Taramyth at sea. Aethlar had not known the Emperor in any personal capacity; he remembered seeing him at the Imperial Court in Lalrial a few times; the young Aethlar smiled as he recalled that the Emperor had been the only person in those enormous, echoing courtly chambers who seemed as unwilling to be there as Aethlar himself. But apart from that, the Emperor had been an absentee. There were rumours everywhere about who had really ran the imperial centre in his stead.
"Are you reminiscing about the tournament season?" Aethlar was interrupted from his thoughts by the sudden interjection of his mother. For a woman of considerable bulk, the Queen-Dowager had always had the uncanny capacity to sneak up on her eldest son. The King turned on his heel to face her. She was wearing a mourning gown of deep purple, studded with jet gemstones and complete with a large red pin in her intricately styled auburn hair. "Or are you mourning for the death of our good Emperor?"
"I hardly knew him," Aethlar said shortly, folding his muscular arms across his chest. Hiltruda nodded thoughtfully. Her green eyes regarded her son with compassion, if not with a great deal of respect.
"None of us knew the Emperor very well. He was completely uninterested in politics," The Queen-Dowager gave a small smile, sinking into the nearest bench with a heavy sigh. "It is what made him such a good Emperor,"
"What of the new election?" The Gwethyn King asked, joining his mother in her repose. "Will I have to travel to Lalrial?"
Hiltruda nodded. "Of course. I shall accompany you. While you are busy with the business of electing an Emperor, I wish to see to it that your sister's marriage prospects do not wither away locked up in this stony prison," She continued, waving a hand idly.
"By sister," Aethlar said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I suppose you to mean Haldetrude?" He knew all about his mother's disdain for his siblings Eadgifu and Gaewin - the bastard sons of Aethlar V by his niece Alysandra di Reckmansworth, daughter of his own sister Gerberga.
"Bring the bastard girl too," Hiltruda said flippantly. 'Perhaps we can marry her off to someone so inconsequential in such a dark and cold part of the north that she will rot away and not be heard from ever again' was the unspoken implication. Lord Gaewin was already in the capital. Aethlar watched as a large brown bird loped lazily overhead in the sun. "Who shall be our next Emperor?"
"Terminus," Aethlar said determinedly. His mother scoffed, but he persisted nonetheless. "He has been a vanguard against evil in the south for many years. The common people know of him as a hero - and he is a warrior. There is no better man to lead this empire,"
"What of Jakinius?" Hiltruda crooned. "Guardian of the north?"
Aethlar paused. "He is the guardian of the north. We are not northerners. But, from what I have heard, he will make just as good an Emperor as his brother,"
"Will he?" Came the reply from somewhere in the citrus trees behind the pair. They reeled around. Amongst the oranges and lemons leant a figure, clad all in black. Amidst the gloom of the orange grove she looked almost like a spider, due in part to her curved and misshapen spine and her rasping way of talking. "What makes you think that, gentle nephew?"
Aethlar regarded his aunt Princess Alissera tentatively. His wife Queen Eadrith often admitted that the pock-marked spinster scared her; Aethlar was wroth to admit that he was no better.
"Is a warrior a good king?" Alissera continued from amongst the trees. She loped her way forward on unsteady footing, eventually settling on the other end of the long bench. "Was Taramyth a good emperor?"
"Well... he was an excellent sailor and-" Aethlar began, but his mother waved her hand to cut him off.
"Your aunt is not asking about his skills at sea. Was he a good Emperor? Did he attend to the business of his council and his court? Of the treasury? Did he mediate in petty land disputes between his vassals, or arrange marriages for his daughters and sisters? Did he correspond with the Church of the Sacred Flame?" Hiltruda said carefully. "Would you tear away the Princes Terminus and Jakinius from their invaluable posts in the north and south to do so?"
"Their work is not the work of an Emperor," Alissera said, shaking her head sadly. Her facial features were unnoticeable beneath the heavy black veil that concealed every inch of her skin.
"Who, then?" Aethlar said with exasperation.
"Allianna," Hiltruda said deftly, offering a sly smile. Aethlar's lips pursed. Allianna had always been a presence at Lalrial - she had been a magnificent creature, in Aethlar's mind, a delicate rose at the centre of a web of intrigue and boredom. Aethlar still remembered the day he had clambered onto his father's lap at age five and declared boldly that he would marry Allianna and take her as his own Queen. He still remembered the slap that had sent him skittering to the floor too.
"Why her?" He managed at last. "She is a woman,"
Alissera tutted from beneath her veil. "As was our first Empress,"
"That was different," Aethlar said defiantly. "The first Empress had the hand of Kammeth the Father to guide her,"
"Be that as it may," Hiltruda conceded. "A woman like her is more likely to be drawn to the inspiring and masculine charms of a Warrior-King like yourself. She may make you her champion," She paused, running a finger along her chin. "Perhaps more,"
Aethlar blushed crimson.
"Consider it. You ride for the capital at first light," Alissera said, running a gloved hand down Aethlar's arm affectionately. He barely suppressed a shudder. "With Princess Haldetrude, Lady Eadgifu, your mother and the Temple-Master Eldarhar,"
The King could barely lift his eyes from the grass. "Very well," He sighed, rubbing his eyes in defeat.
***
Valarien Estate, Lalrial, the Heartlands
13th of Gerna | 1200 AU
The Caernavir had arrived into Lalrial a few days later with all the pomp, majesty and circumstance that the occasion of an imperial election warranted. The king had ridden at the head of the procession, which had cut through the imperial capital's marble streets like a green dart. Aethlar had been a tall paragon atop his enormous white stallion horse, crowned with the emerald-studded silver band that denoted his place as a monarch. Beside him had ridden his verdant knights, and behind them two enormous carriages had trundled ominously through the crowds of eager peasantfolk, the first of which carried Queen Hiltruda and Princess Haldetrude and the second of which housed Lady Eadgifu and the Temple-Master Eldarhar di Graeton, who was arriving to serve in his capacity as a Master of the Astronomers' Conclave by way of his Chancellorship of the Eldva University.
After settling into the sprawling, leafy mansion compound which they owned for visits to the capital, they had embarked to the party hosted by Princess Allianna. It had been during the philippic delivered by the wizened Kawachian that they had entered, the messenger struggling to make his announcement of 'His Majesty King Aethlar VI of the Gwethyns', 'Her Majesty Queen Hiltruda, Queen Dowager of the Gwethyns' and all the rest heard in an attempt to silence Diende.
Aethlar entered first, with his mother projecting her enormous personality across the room soon afterward. He was clad in a fashionable, swishing green cloak and was still wearing his travelling crown. Behind them came Princess Haldetrude, attended by her bastard half-sister, whose swaggering, voluptuous silvery-blonde beauty easily outshone Haldetrude's willowy and mousy-haired meek maidenhead.
As they entered, Eadgifu lent into Haldetrude, pointing to Diende's back and giggling, she whispered. "I did not realise that the Kawachians were so fond of their history," Haldetrude blushed, but a smile reached her stern countenance for a moment.
Upon hearing the impertinence directed to Allianna, Aethlar puffed himself up with indignant and chivalric masculine rage. "How dare you speak to a member of the Impe--" He began, but Hiltruda waved a pudgy hand, silencing him instantly.
"I am going to assume that your indiscretions are the result of the softening of the mind so often equated with age," She piped up not impolitely to Diende. "And I see you have, valiantly, shown in your own special way how much your nation values its trade relationship with the Green Kingdom," She gestured to the man's wooden teeth. "We continue to appreciate your custom and place in this empire, naturally, but not your continual and I must say wearisome professions of hatred for a system from which you gain so much,"
"I find it quite interesting that despite all your professions of hatred towards the Ethican Empire, you have forged your way valiantly here in an attempt to suck what sweet-milk you can from its over-bloated teat," She turned her attention to Allianna. "Princess," She said with a smile. Haldetrude and Eadgifu curtsied while Aethlar and Hiltruda merely bowed their heads. "Pay this man little mind - the mosquitoes and humidity of the southerly reaches have no doubt softened his mind to the point of madness," She said, offering Allianna a reassuring smirk.
Terminus Valarien was not a man suited to frivolous engagements of wine and song, a fact that was clear as Kammeth's flame as the inquisitor tried his best to stay away from interacting with the party’s audience. But much like every Valarien still breathing it was not only expected of him to be in attendance but also required, and not just by his kin either. Whilst Terminus was the second-born and held some political clout on that fact alone, his true reputation came not from his bloodline but what he had earned as an agent of The Argentum and servant of Kammeth.
“We need you to investigate your family's affairs and keep your eyes open. There is something going on beyond simple votes and favors in Lalrial.”
The words of the Elder Council were never ones to take lightly— though he wondered what sort of things were happening in Lalrial that were so important to stop him from investigating a vilespawn infestation that he believed could’ve been a telling precedent that was far more important than wine, promises, and condescension. But while he was not a political animal or spy, the wisdom of his betters was difficult for him to dismiss and ignore outright. He’d carry on and do as he was asked but… he wasn’t sure what he would notice outside of uncouth pretension and arrogance. As for his relationship with his family and him bringing his perception with their affairs in mind? He wasn’t sure what he could learn given that his relationship with his kin was distant at best; especially the two Valarien’s that had put the most coin into this superfluous event.
Out of the two, he still held a relationship with Allianna though it was hardly an “active” relationship. She had been the youngest of their father’s children and while Ralltene was off playing merchant prince she was the one who had to fight for everything she had while Terminus and Jakinius put sword in front of the realm’s enemies. In many ways, she was much smarter and braver than he had been.
"I say this to you. As Arch Elector, I will vote for Ralltene Valarien, if the electors should reach a tipping point in choice between him and either you or Jakinius. Unless you make me a sufficient offer, now, right this moment. Not later. If you make an excuse and walk away to attend to something else, that will be all. If you want to be elected by House Chalarensis, I shall only give you this one moment to sway me."
The voice of Diende snapped Terminus out of his isolated thoughts as he “announced” such disrespect towards the very person Terminus had been reflecting on; and at someone who was above him— his sister. Had it been at anyone other than Allianna he may have been able to ignore it idly. His hand went directly to the hilt of his inquisitor’s blade as his expression obviously went from distant to aware and irate. How anyone could be such a contemptuous and impolite fool was beyond his reason though Terminus certainly felt he shouldn’t have been surprised considering the reputation of the most irrelevant house in all of the elector seats. Terminus had dealt with lesser nobility who skirted the line of heretical and foolhardy for the past dozen or so years that passed, but he never thought anyone would try to play with fire in such a way here and now. Perhaps this is what The Argentum meant with keeping his eyes open?
Both my family and my faith would not want me to give in to wrath so easily. But he needs to learn his manners.
Terminus took a heavy breath as he lessened the grip on his blade’s hilt before moving the goblet he held in his opposite hand to his lips— the taste of Cedfield apples aged with honey, ginger, and other spices running down his throat. Depending on his sister’s reaction or other words spoken only then would he act— but as per the current scene he would only act with clarity and not with foolish zeal— Kammeth had chosen him to be a guardian of his children and would not look kindly on him acting in his name inappropriately.
And he refused to act inappropriately, unlike others in attendance.
12th of Gerna, 1200 AU Location: The Steel Palace of Khomeria(Royal Palace)
The wind howled outside as if wolves had gathered at the windows of the palace searching for suitable prey. A young man with snow white hair and blue eyes sat on the throne, staring outside the window as if searching for answers to a question that hadn't even shown itself to him.
"I see your duties as king have already taken you far away, dear brother." A sweet voice spoke, it came from a beautiful white haired lady that had just entered the throne room. She wore a white silken dress decorated with many beautiful patterns and with encrusted with a few jewels in it. "Sometimes, I wished that our elder brother had not left and became king, that way, you would've been able to smile all the times without the politics of this realm wearing you out."
The young king sighed in defeat and turned his sight towards his sister, smiling wearily "I wish that too, that way, I would've been able to join the defense of the north, or of the south, either way, I would've sat somewhere else other than this cold throne all day." he said. "But I assume that you have not come here to speak about old times, sister, what is it you wish?"
"Have you heard?" she asked. "Emperor Taramyth is dead, and a election will be held to decide the new emperor." she said, a empty smile forming on her lips.
"Yes, I have, it's partly the reason why I was in such deep thought." the king spoke, a frown forming on his face. "Kammeth knows that I wanted Taramyth to live so that I didn't have to vote for someone who will either rule us closely and only for their benefit, or be like Taramyth and not rule us at all."
"And for who... or rather, who will you tell Alemia to vote for?" she asks, the same empty smile adorning her lips.
"Normally, I would choose either Jakinius or Terminus as they are both strong and respected warriors, but..."
"But?" his sister asked, knowing what his brother would say, though still feigning ignorance.
"But, neither of them have much knowledge about things other than war, so they'll make for poor actuall rulers... also, they will be replaced with someone less competent if they become emperors." he says, entering a thoughtful state again. "So I will have Alemia vote for Allianna, however, not before I squeeze something out of her that will benefit us, something that will make our kingdom even more autonomous than it already is."
"Brother, I see you've been watching me, hmmm?" she asks with a chuckle. "Though she won't be the easiest to fool, she's spent her entire life in the capital, politics run through her veins like blood runs through ours." she says smiling. "You need to make sure that Alemia doesn't lose her cool even for a moment if this is plan of yours is to succeed."
"If it won't succeed, then I'll throw my vote with Jakinius and be done." He says, a slight frown forming on his face. "I do not wish to disturb you sister, but do you mind if you write the letter to Alemia?" he asks. "I have to get prepared for the meeting with the three lords."
"Don't worry, it will be the least I can do, my dear brother!"
13th of Gerna, 1200 AU Location: Prime Estate of Khomeria, Larial
Normally, thanks to the rahter xenophobic nature of the Khomerians, the Prime Estate of Khomeria in Larial was devoid of people aside from servants cleaning the building and the Prime Magistrate herself, however, this time, the building was rather rowdy as several people of the famed Phoenix Guard were inside at the table normally reserved for nobles and the Prime Magistrate.
"And then, the little bastard lunged his toothpick of a sword at me, thinking that even if I was drunk he would be able to rob me and now, let's just say that he's sleeping in the dungeon bruised and battered and in chains!" one of the Phoenix Guards spoke, his helmet resting on the table in front of him, the man looked to be in his late twenties, his hair cut very short, his cheeks were quite flushed from all the wine and wide proud grin adorning his face.
Most of the other Phoenix Guards there were a shifting nervously, one of them gathered some courage to speak to the man, the second in command of the Phoenix Guard. "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but..." however the man who had just spoken cut him off.
"If you don't mean to disrespect me, then sit down and down your wine, rookie!" the man said in a rather harsh tone. "Now stop yapping and let me finish my story!"
The young man, discouraged, sat down and lowered his head in disgrace for attempting to speak to a superior, however, another woman, no older than 24 put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. She too had her helmet taken off, and she was a beauty that many would think they would find in their room sowing and singing poems, not drinking with the Phoenix Guard. "Leikar, I think the young man wanted to ask when we're going to get on with our duties as the Emperor's bodyguard." she said in a polite tone to the tipsy man."
"What duty, Marianna?" the drunken man asked frowning. "That geezer of a emperor died a little while back, we're free to do whatever we damn want until a new one sits his or her ass on the throne!" the man said grumbling, taking a few gulps of wine directly from a rather expensive looking bottle. However, the other guards beside Marianna looked a bit shocked at the sudden reveal as they had to find out. "Ah, don't look so shocked, that guy was just begging to be die on all the expeditions and sailing he did."
From the floor above were heard steps descending on the location of guards. A woman wearing a intricate sort of black armor came down, clearly displeased. She about as old as Laikar, however, much more beautiful than the man, so much so that she stole the sights of several of the younger guards. "For Kammeth's sake, Laikar, this is the Prime Estate of Khomeria, not your personal wine stash!" the woman said, a frown on her face. "Now get up and do your duty in guarding the damn city!"
"Ah, shut up, you bi..." however, before Laikar could spout obscenities at the Prime Magistrate Marianna intervened and said in a polite tone.
"We're sorry, but with the death the of the emperor and ongoing elections we really don't have what to do now and this is the only place where us Khomerians are treated without glares from the other people." she answered.
Alemia sighed in defeat and said to the group. "Well, fine, but drink, don't shout like this is a tavern, you're scaring the servants." she said looking at the group and asked, a tad curious. "I know why Mardanis wouldn't come here, but why didn't Morgon come with you, I mean he likes a drink more than the Drunk Phoenix here, though he can actually hold them" she said glaring at Laikar.
"Well, he still feels ashamed for leaving like that ten years ago and really doesn't want to come meet you, thinking you'd be really dissapointed in him, since you were so close siblings and all." Marianna answered, taking a sip from a cup of wine. "Though it's odd, you usually don't come to us until Laikar starts shouting like a maniac, what's wrong?"
"The big guy still feels guilty eh..." she says shaking her head, a smile forming on her lips. "I have to invite Lady Allianna here to talk to her about the elections and what she can give to us if we vote for her." Alemia says joining in and takes the bottle from Laikar's hands and pours herself some wine in a cup.
"I thought that Dorias would vote either for Jakinius or Terminus." Marianna said, her interest piqued.
"I thought so too, but apparently his highness thinks that only he would vote for the either as the two aren't exactly skilled in politics... unlike Lady Allianna who spent her life in this place." Alemia said, taking a sip of wine. "Honestly, no matter who King Dorias votes for, it's going to be a pain because I have to talk to them." She grumbles a tad displeased.
After her displeased comment, silence falls as everyone there seemingly begins to brood over this, however, the silence wasn't meant to last as the door to the estate opens and a man in his early thirties with snow white hair enters, accompanied by two more Phoenix Guards.
"I thought I would find you two here!" the white haired Phoenix Guard said, quite angry. "Get up, we have our duty to the empire to do and guard the emperor!"
The heir to the Kingdom of Xandria had only been to Lalrial twice in his lifetime thus making the imperial election his third experience with the imperial capital. His wife, Adelheid Amrothan, had remained still on the voyage from Harrow some three or four days prior. Alexander could feel it in the air, in the stillness of her movement, and how she was tiptoeing around certain topics— she was not happy with him and whilst she had not discussed Alexander’s intention to journey to the north he knew she wanted to talk about it. He had not married a coward or a mute. But Alex was not foolish and decided to take his conversation outside to where they could have some degree of privacy.
“So are you going to mention your feelings about it or keep quiet until the end of days?”
Adelheid turned to look at her husband. He had finally asked, she knew that he would. Even here, he sought a confrontation, though it was not one of malice, of course. There were battles to be fought everywhere in life, and this was now her frontline. She had already foreseen the likely outcome. She let a hand reach up and brush aside a lock of her red hair - red, she reminded herself, ginger was far too rustic and provincial a term to be used outside of Dreiben, she quietly thought, resenting that erstwhile comment from some foreigner she had overheard some years ago.
“Will they change your mind in the slightest? I expect everyone hopes so, but I very much doubt that even I will ever hold so mighty a power over you, dearest Alex.” She responded, letting the half-compliment half-barb come forth. She knew it was a useless thing to say, but it was how she felt. It was truly something that would likely remain beyond her, to challenge him so when a decision was made. She was still deciding whether she liked it or would someday come to despise herself for it.
Alexander took a heavy breath as he turned around to look at the view in the distance. Her teeth had not dulled, that much was for sure; he was glad for that. She also wasn’t entirely wrong about his opinion regarding the issue. Alexander was rarely decided or swayed by the words of diplomats and his wife was cut from the same cloth as his brother— a cloth that hadn’t changed his mind about his quest in the courtyard at Ebonheart and he was sure it wouldn’t change his mind here in Lalrial even with the importance of the party that was going on inside. But he had no reason to cause pointless bruises between his wife and he.
“Do you know why I decided on it?” He asked blankly.
Adelheid considered the question briefly, it was not the one she had expected and it required a moment’s thought. She wondered if it mattered, or whether he wanted to at least offer the recompense of a justification, such as it was. She sighed.
“I believe no one really does, even if you have explained yourself. It is difficult to understand, particularly for anyone close to you. You remind me of Reimar in that way, but you are very different in how you choose to go about avoiding things.” She realised that wasn’t accurate, and so didn’t wait for a response.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I don’t know if you’re avoiding anything or not. I shouldn’t judge you by another man’s character. Go on, then, tell me.” She finished, mentally chastising herself.
“The Nordheim are going unchecked.” He stated as his blue eyes looked out in the distance. “The imperial garrisons in the northeast are in complete disarray to the point they are becoming ruined shambles as the men in those garrisons exponentially diminish day by day. Imperial support isn’t there and they don’t have a cohesive defensive barrier like the northwest does. People are dying to the sword as barbarians of sin move into hamlets and villages; raping, maiming, and murdering. Back home in Xandria we have problems with vilespawn and the rare occasion of piracy. They seem invisible in comparison.”
Alex frowned as he thought about it, ever since he started reading about the north in the last four or so years he began to learn vast amounts of wisdom that he really couldn’t stomach to ignore. In the minds of many he was probably perceived as a warmongering brute but he did this because the realm needed it and his talks with Lord Zarand only confirmed such beliefs. How long could a child of Kammeth allow senseless genocide. His wife, like his brother, probably believed that he didn’t need to go himself but only support the defense instead but Alexander didn’t find that ideal or honorable in the slightest. He wasn’t a man to sit behind a desk and let others endanger their lives where he was too afraid to do it himself. That kind of fear was made of dishonorable cowardice. He refused to facilitate such a trait.
“They need it. Especially if Jakinus does not get elected to the imperial throne.”
Adelheid considered what she believed to be an honest response. She understood, but understanding and accepting were not the same thing, which was something she expected was somewhat of a subtlety that Alex had a mind to overlook.
“I see. I understand your reasonings, no doubt they have served as a cause for many a man through time. Most of them are no doubt forgotten, but we owe them much. Alex, you are not someone that can simply head off to combat the threat of the Nordheim without consequence, what if the worst were to happen to your father? Would you abandon your newfound duty and return to your people when they need you, or will you find another cause to rally behind, allow your duty to fall to your siblings? To William? Have you really considered all of that which is placed upon you? Upon us?” She stopped, frustrated. “Did you even think about me when you made your decision?” She let it out, that burning question. She had nothing else to ask.
“As I told William, my father may be nearly a cripple and growing in age but he is not a dead man yet. But yes, I weighed my options and considered much. Sitting in Ebonheart drinking wine and working towards an heir would be the easy decision; but true Kings make hard decisions.”
He turned away from his glance towards the skies as he looked at his wife. “I did not think to go about this half-hearted. Believe me when I say this, I love my family and you especially. Consider that this conversation… this explanation is something unique to you. I told them what I was doing and that was the end— with you I tell you why.”
Adelheid met his gaze, just for a moment, before turning away. She let out a frustrated, defeated sigh. “What truly bothers me is not that you’ve decided to go North, not that you won’t listen to all those who would tell you to stay, the gods know you wouldn’t be you if you did, no, what bothers me, what hurts, is that you never came to me when you were making this decision. Instead, it’s made and like the day turns to night it cannot, will not, must not be changed. That’s what cuts deep. I can’t see this, us, working like that if we truly love each other.”
“You’re right.” He admitted, though he wasn’t particularly proud of it. He always had a hard time gauging and dealing with the emotional aspect of others even before his mother died. It was times like this where he wished he could be like William where he could make sense of others and their feelings.
“There’s no question about that.” He added after a brief pause, his admittance likely catching his wife off guard. “I have no excuse for not coming to you before I made off and told my father. There were plenty of occasions where I could have. But I did not. That is my failing.”
She turned back, letting a sympathetic smile accentuate her face. She considered what to say next, but knew it best to not overthink the matter.
“We all have our failings, though I know you, out of anyone I know, will overcome them.” She let her acknowledgement and his admittance be joined, before they became a closed chapter in their joint history.
“Your father is going to be very disappointed in me. No doubt, my father is going to be just as upset when he hears I’m going with you. And don’t even think about trying to change my mind. I won’t hear of it. Rumors are I’m taking after my husband’s stubborn side as of late.” She let a small semblance of laughter spill forth, she needed it, that ambrosia of light humor.
“It will give you a good reason to stay alive and prevent my grisly demise at the hands of the barbarian horde, at least.” She finished, adding an unnecessary softness to her voice that belied a sense that she wasn’t being too serious, though she like any knew the potential dangers the Nordheim could pose.
He smiled warmly, “In the beginning it will just seem like a colder Ebonheart, I’m sure. We’ll be honored guests of Lord Lorant Zarand in Ziele for some time. My father’s military support won’t likely arrive until some weeks later.”
“A Valian and an Amrothan, the good Lord Zarand may very well have a heart attack.” She joked.
“I think the Cragmore will do him right in.”
“Was that.. a joke?” She responded, almost incredulous.
“A rare performance, indeed.” He chuckled. “That aside, I suppose we should enjoy Lalrial while we are here.”
“No better time than now, we may even run into my own kin. All it takes is the death of the Emperor to bring everyone together, it seems. At least for now.”
“I can relate, the last time my father and myself were here it was to bury my uncle, Alester. It is strange how the rites bring us back full circle.”
“Death has a way of motivating people, at least, for good or ill. They used to bury the Horse Lords in mounds back in Dreiben, before they decided that wasn’t quite holy enough. They once entombed some poor lord while he was still alive. I’m sure there’s some applicable homely tale in that somewhere.” She offered, searching for wisdom where there perhaps was none.
“We have a few tales like that dating back to Ancient Xanditharima, where the lords were entombed into the great trees within The Viridian Sea. Supposedly there are trees out there in the sea that are the reincarnations of my ancestors. Some say if you harvest them they bleed like any man.” Alexander recalled, sharing the particular morbid anecdote.
“Thankfully I don’t think we’ll be needing to deal with either here, just a few days where our worst concern will be which noble we offend the most.” She said, as if looking forward to the latter.
“So, let us find a noble to offend then.” He chuckled following a nod.
“Lead on, my dear. I’ll keep roomy mounds and deadwood off the shopping list for now. Probably.” She flashed him a quick smile.
Countless thoughts crossed the mind of Matthias Soleander as he lay in a pool of his own blood, his senses submerged in the horrors of the treacherous carnage taking place around him. His was a mind that had never truly rested, not even in his rare moments of placidity, and even now, even here, he could not help but think. And he thought of his wounds, of the traitors who had inflicted them, of the lifelong friends he was losing before his very eyes, of the reasons that could drive a patrician to betray everything and everyone in the Sonveld with a single act of savagery... but all those thoughts were swept away when one oft neglected part of his spirit, the most human part of him, reminded him that he had a son, who was still young, and needed his father.
Some would have wept.
Some would have screamed.
He did neither.
Instead, he rose. His body had never felt heavier. His legs had never felt weaker. But he rose all the same, and he reached for his rapier, and he thought of his son.
Thunder roared outside. In the Sonveld, all storms sounded like there were great lions roaring in the sky, beyond the clouds, reminding the land below which creature ruled supreme above all others.
The Protector sat in silence, quill in hand, and stared at the flashes of pale violet light that would fill the windows of his personal solar. Sunlight had come and gone, yet his letter remained unfinished, the name of Alexandra only half-written.
He glanced down at the expensive paper, and the quill broke in his hand as he squeezed it. So, for a moment, there was sound inside the solar. For a moment, there was life. And then it faded back into stillness. Grief could make corpses of the living, or so had Willemina once said, many years before, when the world had taken her own beloved from her. He could not deny she had been right, as he now found himself feeling that not a single inch of him had any of that spark that had always been there, from the moment they had all been brought to this world, which fueled the fires of the mind, the spirit, the heart and the whole body.
Thunder roared outside.
The woman who entered his solar was not a servant. There were no servants in the Sonveld. She did, however, work in the Sunstone, keeping watch of the halls and rooms during the night, preserving order in a way that only an unarmed woman of a certain age could. She had been here since his father's days, and had carried his brothers in her arms as babes.
"Your excellency, pardon the intrusion..." She said as she held a new moving, whimpering bundle of cloth in her arms. She did not bow, because the patricians were not nobles, and the workers of the palace were not serfs. She did not wait for him to give her leave to approach, for she did not need it. She merely walked towards him, her every step as firm as her hold on that which he had almost allowed his grief to erase from his spirit. Her expression allowed for no dissent, even from the ruler of the Sonveld, as she stood beside him and presented the bundle to him.
Matthias Soleander did not even glance at her from the corner of his eyes. When he spoke, his voice sounded as lifeless as he felt. "Why have you removed it from its cradle?"
"No child should live its first few moments as an orphan, your excellency. Not if it has a father only a few rooms away." She said, and she did not mask her scorn or her sadness. "Hold your son, your excellency. Let him know he has not lost his father as well."
He said nothing, but he did turn his face towards the woman, and looked at the little pink head that could be seen, peaking from the warm fabric. He realized he had not looked at his son, his wife's son, since the day of his birth. He had not bothered to see what he looked like, whether he was the spitting image of his father, his mother, or perhaps both at once. He had not wondered to himself if he would have Alexandra's beautiful brown eyes, or her button nose. He had not thought of his son at all.
His son was pressed into his arms, and Matthias allowed it without a single protest. He only gave the woman a cold stare and a nod, and she departed with a nod of her own. The door closed, and soon thunder roared again beyond the windows, eliciting a cry from the child in his arms. At last, he allowed himself to look, to think of something other than his mourning, and he saw that the child had a bit of his mother in him. Not all, or even most, but some.
By the time the bundle in his arms grew quiet, his letter was finished.
Thunder ceased to roar outside.
The rapier had not felt as heavy in his hand since his first day of training, nor had his movements felt as sluggish since then. That, however, did not stop him from slashing at Anton Keelmanen's back, then stabbing him in the stomach as he turned around. Matthias did not wait for his body to fall to the blood-soaked marble of the floor, but he marched on, his free hand pounding a bleeding gash on his side.
Jonathan was not too far away, an arrow head poking through his right shoulder, swinging his own rapier around, trying to cut his way to his uncle and patrician. Despite all the complaints he might have had about the boy's father, Matthias could never have thought of his oldest nephew as anything less than admirable. He had bravery, strength of spirit, and loyalty, and the Protector could only reward him in kind, piercing another Keelmanen's back just as he was about to deal a dishonourable stab to Jonathan's back.
"Your excellency! Here!" Shouted young Bongani Imbasala as he severed Nikolas Muirmoran's hand with a third and final stroke of his heavily ornamented rapier. The Imbasala's patrician grandson was covered in deep cuts, his clothes hanging in tatters from his body. Matthias tripped on the body one of the young man's uncles as he tried to reach him, and he fell. A half-broken wine glass, covered in wine and blood alike, broke under the weight of his arm, the pieces piercing the skin and pushing into his flesh. Then, an arrow hit him in the back.
Jonathan and Bongani growled with fury.
Thunder roared outside, but Matthias paid no attention to it, or the cold. A gold mine had collapsed, and men had died. The whims of the sky were not important. He read the letter from the mine's overseer meticulously, made notes on a piece of paper beside it, and now and then glanced at a map of known and potential gold deposits.
He saw the little shadow on the wall long before he heard the tiny whimper, right in the space between a grand portrait of Thomas III and his family, and a rather underwhelming tapestry depicting a pride of lions chasing gazelles. The whimper, however, gave him pause.
He turned around in his carved amaranth chair, and eyed the small figure standing on the threshold between the long hall and his solar. The head full of long blond hair was unmistakable, as were the bright green eyes that peaked from beneath the thick furs wrapped around its body like a cloak. Matthias' eyes narrowed, something that was commonly regarded as an ill omen.
"Felix. You should be in bed." He said, and with the tinge of a lion's rumbling in his voice, and the deliberate tone with which he spoke every syllable, it all sounded like an indisputable statement, closed to any sort of discussion. That the boy either missed that underlying meaning, or knowingly disregarded, was something that Matthias was starting to grow painfully used to, much as it bewildered him.
"Can't sleep. I'm scared." The Protector's five-year-old son spoke up, his almost mewling voice muffled by the furs.
Matthias' eyes narrowed even further and he pursed his lips, while his fingers began to drum on his great desk's glass surface. Only the sound of the drumming reigned in the solar. Father and son did not move a single muscle more. They just stared at each other, until the boy finally yielded, and turned his eyes to the books on a nearby table, then a painting of merchants in a harbour, then the red stone floor.
Satisfied, the Protector of the Sonveld rose from his seat and walked to his son with his head held up high. As he spoke, his face remained expressionless.
"Very well. I shall have Bernharda bring us some warm milk." He said, marching past his son and into the hall, not glancing back once as he walked away. "I expect to see you on the window seat when I return, with a tome of your own choice in hand."
Moments later, as the storm continued to rage outside, and Matthias began to suspect he would be hearing of floods soon enough, father and son sat on the window seat, an open book on the boy's lap. The two held their cups of warm milk differently, Matthias' grip more praticed and robust, but both drank the liquid at the same deliberate pace, in comfortable quietness.
"Is thunder from Kammeth?" His son asked, breaking their unspoken vow of silence. "Is He angry?"
Matthias humphed. "Perhaps. Although one wonders what He could possibly be angry about, and why His wrath is so aimless."
Thunder roared outside, and Felix Soleander shifted in his seat, pressing his trembling self against his father's side.
Growling, he tried to rise again.
He failed.
The butchery continued, and he lied there, forgotten, bleeding profusely.
He growled once more, louder, and pushed himself up. Heavy and sluggish as they felt, his arms still had enough strength to get him on his knees, and as he mustered the strength to get back on his feet, he gripped his rapier tight. Old and wounded, the lion still had claws.
It took long, far too long for his liking, but he rose, and he walked, and he fought. He held onto Jonathan's shoulder as they limped their way past friends and foes, shoving their rapiers at anyone who dared cross their path. Bongani followed them, covering their escape. The door was not too far away.
Many more corpses lied on the floor when they reached it. Many of those corpses belonged to women and children. Women like his Alexandra, and children like his Felix.
The door had been sealed shut from the outside.
More arrows flew, and Bongani perished behind the two Soleanders, as Jonathan pounded on the carved wood, tried to kick it open. The next few arrows hit them both, and they fell.
For a brief moment, Matthias wanted nothing more than to roar again. A lion should not die whimpering in agony, a mad part of him told him. The man, famed for being sternly reasonable, always practical, was succumbing to the madness that filled the whole hall like a miasma.
"Go on. Pet her." Said Dumisani Imbasala, gently holding the blond boy's hand, guiding it slowly towards the lioness' side. His son's eyes had not narrowed one bit since the Imbasala patrician had told him he would get to touch a real lion. Even now, those emerald eyes were filled with disbelief, and a healthy bit of fear.
Matthias stood behind them, watching closely. The lioness was a magnificent creature, bred within the gardens of Insimu Lezinkanyezi, always living in the company of humans. A truly tamed beast, if he had ever seen one, although his feelings on that matter were rather ambiguous. Matthias Soleander had spent much of his life firmly believing that lions were not meant to be tamed.
His son squirmed in his wheeled chair just as he was but an inch away from feeling a living lion's fur for the first time. There was a nervous smile on his lips, and the elderly Dumisani barely suppressed a chuckle, although his dark face belied his amusement. Young Felix, only a few months away from his twelfth nameday, was nothing like his father had been at that age. Dumisani still remembered how nonchalant young Matthias had been about his first time petting a lion, at least until his aunt made some passing, and definitely false comment, about her late husband almost losing a hand to that lion.
As the boy's bony hand met the lioness' soft fur, all tension vanished from the air with the relieved sigh that came from the Soleander youth. There was no danger. The lioness simply glanced at him, then continued to groom herself.
"See? No lioness would dare hurt your cub, Matthias." Said Dumisani, sporting a wide grin as he patted his peer on the shoulder. He turned to the other Soleander, whose enthusiasm was beginning to show, as he leaned out of his wheeled chair and stroked the lioness' fur with both hands. He too was grinning.
"I want one." He suddenly said, smiling up at his father, with tinges of playful mischief in his eyes.
"No." Was his father's small, but monolithic reply. Like all his short answers, it allowed for no dissenting opinions, no further demands, and no honeyed pleads. "You may, however, have a cat."
His son nodded, satisfied. "Agreed."
The petting of the lioness resumed in full, as Felix scratched her neck and the back of her ears. Dumisani joined him, stroking the top of her head.
As he watched the two of them, it occurred to Matthias that his son had grown quite taller as of late. Soon, he would be a cub no longer, but a lion.
Later, as the two were reading in their shared solar in Insimu Lezinkanyezi, he wondered what sort of lion he would be. Would he remain, as he was now, fond of philosophy and poetry? Would his innocence grow into naivety or true virtue? Would he roar, even as he sat on a wheeled chair? Matthias was uncertain as to whether he wanted his son to change at all, but he knew beyond any doubt that he would, much like he himself had changed.
He was broken out of his reverie as his son finished reading his book, carefully adding it to the growing pile he had already devoured during their journey to Insimu Lezinkanyezi. He let out a sigh, turned at his father, and smiled broadly.
"I have reconsidered. I think I would rather have a bird."
Since the passing of Matthias Soleander's beloved Alexandra, few had seen him smile. When he did, his smiles were small, brief, slightly amused, and usually reserved for his cub. The smile he gave him in return was no exception."
Jonathan gave out his last breath as Matthias' sight began to clear again. With that breath came a dribbling of blood from his mouth, and Matthias stared. In his own mouth he could taste blood as well.
The Sunborn dragged him to the middle of the hall, were those who had not died yet were being held. Above them all stood a middle aged Dawnbringer, with Dumisani Imbasala's rapier in his hand. The man had come with the Keelmanens, and Matthias had noticed a distinctly Heartlandish look to him.
"Matthias Soleander, look upon the fruits of your heresy." Said the Dawnbringer, pointing the tip of the rapier at him. "You, who would claim for yourself an authority higher than that of the gods themselves, have witnessed the just wrath of Kammeth Himself... but you may still redeem yourself in his eyes."
Matthias spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and looked up, straight into the Dawnbringer's eyes. He looked at him with his green Soleander eyes, and his look contained everything that had made Matthias Soleander who he was: pride, strength, dignity. Matthias Soleander, the stern man, the pragmatic leader, the committed patrician, and the formidable Protector. Matthias Soleander, the ever-grieving widower and dutiful father.
When he spoke, his voice did not waver. It rumbled menacingly, like a lion ready to pounce its prey. "My son... will kill you. All of you."
"Your crippled kitten will face Kammeth's justice as well, soon enough." Said the Dawnbringer, leaning down until his face was inches from his own.
"Kitten?" Matthias humphed, and he almost seemed to smile fondly, lowering his eyes to the blood-soaked floor. "No... He is a lion's cub. He... is a Soleander."
He looked up again, one last time, and his smile was undeniable, and it was filled with pride and the promise of retribution.
"He... is... my son." Growled the Protector of the Sonveld, and he spat in the Dawnbringer's face.
The Dawnbringer flinched, enraged, and lashed out with the rapier, shouting some incomprehensible nonsense about Kammeth as the fine steel cut through Matthias Soleander's throat.
He could feel the blood filling his throat and rising to his mouth until it overflew, and then he was drowning.
Had he been able to speak one last time, he would have whispered Alexandra's name.
Much of Insimu Lezinkanyezi burned that night, including parts of the gardens, killing Dumisani Imbasala's favourite lioness, as well as a solar in which a patrician and his son had once shared a smile.
Gerard Soleander screamed when the news reached him, and he pounded the glass surface of his desk until it broke and shattered into countless little pieces. His hands were left scarred for life.
It was said that Willemina Soleander did not say or do anything when she was told. She just sat on a chair in a gallery of the Lion's Grave, and stared at the sky from dusk until dawn.
Matthias' only son, his bright and sensitive cub, did not eat for days, and spent the nights sobbing curses at everything and everyone. When a thunderstorm came to the Sunstone, he entered his father's solar, tore books and paintings to shreds, and sat in the window seat, trembling under his furs, until the storm passed.
The large herd of gazelles fled from the lionesses, away from the small cluster of trees, through the pale green of the field. In the sunlight, their coats shone almost as blindingly bright as the pond not too far away.
The rhinoceros sleeping under the tree was, surprisingly, the most difficult to depict. The shadows made it difficult to perceive its more detailed features, and the artist had never painted one before.
Half a dozen other artists had taken advantage of the clear sky to come out from the Sunstone's gilded halls and recreate the landscape's wild beauty in their canvases. Beneath the gardens' lemon and orange trees, as many poets and philosophers spoke to one another in hushed tones, while holding books and scrolls in their hands. From the nearby gallery, where the air was cooler, a musician from Dreiben composed his masterpiece, note by note, searching for that one melody that would never be forgotten.
The rest of the gardens had been claimed by a multitude of children for their own games. Their joyful shouting was the morning's melody, everything else being little more than background noise. The palace's gardens had always been open to all the children of the surrounding cities, as a gesture of gratitude from the Soleanders to the community that had made them patricians and built them their grand and beautiful home.
Beneath one of the larger orange trees, a few feet away from the red balustrade that separated the gardens of the Sunstone from the wilderness beneath, a small group of philosophers sat around a small gilded table. Their debate was not particularly heated, but there was a certain tension to it, due in no small part to the comely young man who had suddenly joined them.
There was a frailty to his look as he sat on a carved wheeled chair, yet his ornaments spoke of great power, and his voice had a gentle underlying rumbling to it. He delivered his thoughts with pure enthusiasm, devoid of any hesitation, yet fits of coughing interrupted him every so often. Taller than many of them, he wore a pristine white tunic, and attached to the neck of it was a golden brooch, but neither added much bulk to his slender frame.
"Only reason in its purest form, uncorrupted by the vices of the material, can help one elucidate the truth, your excellency." Said the young Silvanus Coultren of Riffleford, smiling with satisfaction. The debate, though it had stretched through most of the morning, had not lacked for richness. As he continued to speak, his fingers tapped on the cover of an old tome. "Crescentius Julien proved as much with his examination of how the understanding of the world possessed by some barbarians only grew larger and deeper when they abandoned their explorations of the wilderness, and instead dedicated themselves completely to pondering in seclusion, in the company of their spirits alone."
Felix II Soleander gazed at the stack of books and scrolls on the gilded table, and produced a small, warm smile of his own. "It is true that Crescentius Julien observed as much, yet even he admitted that perpetual seclusion could lead to our reason festering, lost within the terrible spiral of its own spiritual vices."
Some nodded in agreement, while others grumbled their dissent.
"Your excellency, are you asserting that the empirical is fundamental to the elucidation of the truth?" Questioned Leopold Elegrand as he held a small orange, which had interrupted their debate a few moments before by falling from its tree branch and onto his head.
"Perhaps..." Answered Felix II, his smile turning mischievous for a moment. "Though I might need more empirical experience to reach a definitive conclusion."
The comment prompted some chuckling from Silvanus, and amused smirks from some of those present. There was a brief period of silence, and Felix II used it to relish the perfume of the orange and lemon trees, carried over to him by a gentle breeze. His long golden hair swayed gently with it, and it was one of the many soothing pleasures of the gardens.
The sound of wood hitting stone behind him caught his attention, and that of the gathered philosopher. Turning their eyes towards the sound, they saw two women, one young and one old, approaching them them.
Willemina Soleander, the revered patrician of the Lion's Grave, had arrived, and she demanded to be noticed. Her granddaughter, Claudia, the sister that Felix II had always wished for, held Willemina's arm as they walked side by side past the many artists, philosophers and children scattered through the garden. Both women wore dresses with the Soleander colours, and let their manes fall down their shoulders freely.
The philosophers born in the Sonveld greeted the two of them as was expected of them, holding each woman's hand for an instant and giving them a polite nod. Some's hold on Claudia's hand lingered just slightly longer than on Willemina's, but that was to be expected. The foreign philosophers, on the other hand, rushed to bow before them, eliciting an exasperated scoff from the plump elderly woman as she moved to stand beside the young Protector of the Sonveld.
"Dear lads, I am no queen, you are not my serfs, and you are in the Sonveld. Your courtly reverences have no place here." Willemina intoned, her grip on her amaranth cane as menacing as the fierce look in her eyes. "If another one of you bows in my presence again, I shall strike the lot of you."
The Protector chuckled, and then those fierce green eyes were upon him, unsoftened.
"And you, my dear, should be inside, resting, and trying to pay some attention to the correspondence you receive." She said to him, her voice rumbling much like his, before sitting on a gilded chair beside him. Felix II reached for her hand, which she allowed with a sideways glance.
"Dear aunt, I apologise." He said, leaning forward in his wheeled chair, reaching for one of the books on the table. "Would you care to join us in our discussion?"
Willemina scoffed again. "Not before lunch, and not before we discuss those."
She nodded at a few unopened letters on the table, trapped beneath the books. Felix II had all but forgotten about them, entranced as he had been by the many small delights that had filled his morning. It all had distracted him from the sudden bouts of physical ailments that had always been a part of his life, and from his often burdensome duties as Protector and patrician.
"You know of their content." He asserted, instead of asking. Willemina often learned of important matters before he did. That much had not changed since the days of his father's rule.
"News and rumours always reach the Lion's Grave quicker, for some reason." Said Willemina, picking one of the letters up, the tip of her finger caressing the wax seal on it. "All for the better, I should say. Otherwise, we would lose precious time, of which I have far less than you do."
Their green eyes met as she handed him the letter, and he spared an apologetic look for the gathered philosophers. They understood his intent well enough, and departed. Only Claudia and Felix II's personal guard remained, the young woman taking a seat of her own across from the two patricians. She played with some leaves that had fallen on the table's marble surface.
The letter was finally opened and read, and the look in Felix II's eyes became an ambiguous blend of many emotions and thoughts. His great aunt did not let him dwell on them for long.
"Taramyth had the decency not to amass too much power and responsibilities, so the void that must be filled is not as large as..." She hesitated for a moment, pursing her lips. She glanced at the young man beside her, a part of her still struggling to accept the fact that he was no longer a boy. "Well... as large the void your father left. A poor choice on your part, as Arch Elector, may not spell doom for the whole continent."
Felix II lifted his eyes from the paper. The grief in them was mild, a grief born from solidarity, rather than a sense of personal loss. He had never met the Emperor in person, and from what he knew, the man had barely been a proper ruler, letting others govern in his stead while he sailed the seas. Nevertheless, a man had died, and the continent had lost its sovereign.
Foremost among his emotions, however, was uncertainty. He was Arch Elector, but he could send someone to speak on his behalf. A part of him thought that it was the better choice. His uncle Adrian, and his patrician accomplices, were gathering strength somewhere in the deep wilderness. The man himself had not been seen in his estate for weeks, and his letters fell only a few words short from promising an armed rebellion if Felix II did not step down as Protector and patrician.
Another part of him, the dutiful one, that had been nurtured by the principles of virtuous rule, thought otherwise. He was the Protector, the person tasked with speaking on behalf of his fellow patricians, and the communities of the Sonveld, and he could not afford to cower within the Sunstone.
Willemina would not have expected anything less of him.
"I can protect the Sunstone in your absence, my dear." She said, and there were tinges of something warm in her tone. "Stephan will gladly lend a hand in keeping Adrian at bay if I need him to."
"I am still surprised that you simply call the Vaelander patrician 'Stephan', grandmother." Said Claudia, flicking a leaf into the air. It glided for a time, then fell at the feet of one of the guards.
The older woman smiled. "Stephan and I have been friends for many decades, sweet Claudia. Furthermore, I would feel quite uncomfortable referring to a man with whom I have spent so many nights of passion by his pompous full name."
The two younger Soleanders did not restrain their chuckling, and neither did she, as she felt the temptation to join them.
"I hope that, one day, the two of you can marry a person half as lovely as him."
Claudia scoffed, and for a moment she sounded just like Willemina. "Grandmother, be subtle."
"I am too old to be subtle, my dear." Retorted Willemina, leaning back on her chair. Behind them, a group of little children threw a remarkably large orange back and forth between them. When it finally went flying into a wall, and exploding into a splatter of fragrant juice that soaked a nearby guard, she chuckled again. She remembered seeing many Soleander children play the same games, with the same results. "Now, sweet nephew, I assume you have made a decision on the course of action you will pursue, so I would suggest we have lunch."
Indeed, Felix II had made a decision, and though he felt anxious about it, he smiled and nodded. As the three Soleanders entered the great palace, the Protector's wheeled chair carefully pushed forward by one of his guards, he gazed at the gardens and the wilderness below, and at the still unread letters he now had on his lap. After lunch, his life as Protector of the Sonveld would resume, and the philosophical spirit he possessed would give way to the virtuous tyrant that the world required him to be.
While Matthias Soleander had been a man fully committed to his role as a tyrant, he had quickly learned the value of delegating. His son, Gerard had found, was no different. Once his aunt Willemina had departed, the young Protector had resumed his duties and began to make arrangements for his journey to Lalrial.
Gerard had his objections to that journey. Strong as his nephew's spirit was, his body remained weak, and long travels to foreign lands could be most unkind to people in such conditions. And while he understood the rationale for personally attending the Imperial Summit, it would inevitably embolden his rebellious brother, and Gerard had no desire to lead a punitive expedition against his own kin if circumstances became even further complicated.
Nonetheless, regardless of his reservations, Gerard obeyed his nephew and, with lunch concluded, he proceeded to write all the necessary letters. Foremost among them were an expression of mourning in the late Emperor's honour, a perfunctory response to Diende Tribal, and a note summoning Zola Thusini, the required artist, to the Sunstone.
The Chalarensis request had taken both Gerard and his nephew aback, albeit for entirely different reasons. For Felix II, it had prompted an ethical dilemma over whether it was correct to help those known to be lacking in virtue. For Gerard, it had raised suspicions. The Chalarensis and the Soleanders did not have much shared history, but both families were certainly aware of each other, and each other's history. Gerard was not certain he wanted a valued artist, and specially Zola herself, to live in service of the Chalarensis.
As he finished the last of his letters and put his quill back in his place, he contemplated his late brother's solar. He had not expected Felix II to part with it, let alone insist that his youngest uncle took over it, but perhaps his decision had been his way of dealing with his grief. The decision, however, had done little to lessen Gerard's own grief. In the past few years, he had barely touched any of his brother's books or trinkets, and he had chosen to bring in a new desk, rather than use Matthias', to do his work as justiciar.
Looking at it now, Gerard saw that much of the solar had gathered a lot of dust, and it hurt. Perhaps a lot less than it would have four years before, when the wounds of loss were still wide open, but it hurt nevertheless. It hurt, because even now, with the dust literally settled, the Sonveld still had not found peace, and the conflict had come from within their own bloodline.
And now, the Emperor of all Ethica was dead, and his nephew would have to play his part in deciding the future of the continent. It occurred to Gerard that most of Felix II's predecessors would have likely abstained, or voted for a doomed candidate. Not his nephew, however, and probably not Matthias either.
As soon as the wax was warm, he sealed every letter with the golden flower and crown of thorns that were the symbols of the Sonveld, and let out a sigh.
Somewhere in the most remote corner of the Sonveld's untamed lands, a small citadel stood, long deprived of a community and patrician, now inhabited once again.
Two thousand men filled its abandoned buildings and gardens, and three oliphants stood by the dusty walls, feeding on fresh hay.
From the the top of the highest tower, the banner of the Soleanders flew. On top of its roaring head, the red lion wore an elaborate golden crown.
Within, Adrian Soleander sat on a carved wooden chair, wearing a crude crown of his own on top of his head, surrounded by a handful of patricians and foreigners. His armour was polished, and his sword was sharpened.
The caravan of ornamented carriages moved through the streets of the great city like a procession of creatures of many colours. They were made from all sorts of woods and silks, with plenty of gilded details, with red, green and gold dominating above all others. There were no oliphants in sight, but the more knowledgeable onlookers had no trouble recognizing the fine sort of workmanship that could only be found in one place in the world. And so the people of the Imperial capital knew that the Sonveld had arrived.
Within the carriage at the fore of the caravan, surrounded by silks, cushions, books and treats, the Protector of the Sonveld sat alongside his cousin and the Dovelder artist named Zola, gazing upon the crowded streets from a small window. Buried beneath warm sheets, he coughed lightly as sights both overwhelmingly grand and disturbingly miserable appeared before his eyes.
Felix II's father had visited Lalrial twice in his life, and had never had much to tell his son about it, other than predictable complains about the frivolity and undue sense of entitlement that, in his view, ran rampant in the Imperial court. Places such as this were as far removed from the world he had been born into as he could imagine.
Leaving the savannas of the Sonveld behind, watching the untamed wildnerness give way to forests and rolling hills, had had a far more profound effect on him than he had imagined. He had always been aware of the Empire, its shadow looming over every important decision his father had made as Protector, but only now, by abandoning his homeland, and witnessing the world beyond with his own emerald eyes, had he understood his circumstances, his responsibilities, his place, in the world.
For some reason, this understanding did not frighten him. Rather, it excited him. It fanned the flames of his spiritual passions, but also broaden the horizons of his sense of duty. And he wanted to be a part of this great moment.
The journey itself had not been pleasant, but he had survived, and Claudia had found ways to comfort him when his health had worsened noticeably. Now that they had arrived at last to Lalrial, he felt like basking in his small victory, at least as soon his coughing fit ceased.
Zola had originally had a carriage of her own, provided by the Imbasala patrician, but halfway through their journey, Felix II had insisted on spending more time in her company. After all, she was the author of the one portrait of his parents that the young patrician had always cherished the most. Kept in the main dinning hall of the Sunstone, it showed his father and mother on the day of their wedding, both of them smiling placidly while holding each other's hands. That painting was the only depiction Felix II had ever seen of his father that actually showed him smiling.
She was at least twice Felix II's age, yet she had always possessed an aura of youth that often spilled into her work. The Imbasala's had been swift to offer her patronage when they first discovered her talents, and her only work for the Soleanders had been little more than a wedding gift from a lifelong friend.
As a respite from politics, his conversations with her had been a much needed balm for his anxious spirit.
"I wonder what this Diende Tribal wants of me." The artist said, breaking the silence that reigned within the carriage. "I have never painted for foreigners."
"Grandmother was quite clear on her opinion on the matter." Said Claudia. "Probably something shoddy, bordering on scandalous."
"Age has made her mistrustful of strangers." Interjected Felix II without taking his eyes off the streets of the sprawling capital, feeling a clenching in his heart as he watched a small girl, dressed in filthy rags, begging in a corner. "But I am not ignorant of his dynasty's past. Some caution would not be unwarranted."
That principle, he thought, probably applied to everything in this city.
The caravan continued its journey with no incidents. The Protector's entourage, comprised of a handful of patricians, artists and philosophers, was protected by a few Knights Solar and habeldiers, the latter gladly provided by 'Stephan' as, apparently, one of his many personal gifts for Willemina. Felix II did not dwell on the matter.
The Soleanders had never owned any property in Lalrial, and neither did their patrician allies. Gold and diamonds, however, had easily provided them with a modest manor for the duration of their stay. With some time left to spare within its rooms, the men and women of the Sonveld rested for a few moments, and Felix II prepared for the pre-summit party taking place in one of the Valariens' estates. His finest wheeled chair, made of beautifully carved amaranth wood and green silk, decorated with gold, had been brought as part of his luggage for the occasion, along with a fine green tunic and cloak, with matching gloves.
Not much later, a single carriage quietly left the manor and returned to the streets of the great city, surrounded by the Knights Solar and Vaelander habeldiers. The sun continued to shine bright above and, inside the carriage, Felix II Soleander placed the tip of his fingers on his Protector's brooch, the symbol of his position as the sole legitimate ruler of the great sunlit fields of his homeland.
"His excellency, Felix II Soleander, Protector of the Sonveld and Patrician of the Sunstone!" Bellowed the servant-herald as he tried not to stare at the young man in the wheeled chair. The janitor had barely succeeded before him.
The young man in question had never heard his name spoken in such fashion. The position of Protector was held in high regard by the patricians, but few had any tolerance for pompous presentations, and only the arrogant ones enjoyed having their titles being spoken of in the same tone as those of foreign nobles.
Nevertheless, Felix II Soleander's polite smile did not falter. All the contrary, it widened at the sight of the opulent beauty that now surrounded him, and of the people who had already arrived. For a brief instant, he almost felt at home, although he had a most peculiar feeling that the Sunstone's gardens and halls had never possessed.
A Vaelander habeldier pushed his chair forward, and Zola walked beside him, far more lost in the decorations than he had been. There was a judging look in her eyes, as if she were examining the frescos in the portico for unforgivable flaws. Felix II, on the other hand, shifted his attention towards a loud voice, and ignored the stares from the less discreet of those present. He had suffered his fair share of stares when he had been presented as candidate for Protector.
An elderly man, as it turned out, was causing a stir among those present while addressing a younger woman who, as it turned out, was the host of this gathering. A Valarien princess and aspiring Empress, being publicly disrespected by an older person of lower rank. That was something Felix II was painfully familiar with, but he knew not to directly involve himself in the scandal.
With a nod of his head, he had the habeldier bring him a glass of wine, which he drank in small sips, then had him take further into the courtyard. He held his head up high, like a proper Soleander, and kept his attention on the argument taking place, until he noticed a certain man.
Felix II's father had had few good things to say about his encounters with Ethica's feudal nobility. Two of such things had been his first and second impressions of a certain Valarien man. A young but promising kuman on the path to becoming inquisitor, his father had praised Terminus Valarien's commitment and prowess. And he had described the Valarien prince well enough for Felix II to recognize him.
"Forgive me, sir, for bothering you, but might you be Terminus Valarien?" He enquired, smiling up at the man from his wheeled chair. "My father, Matthias Soleander, spoke well of you."
He allowed himself to glance at the continued polemic, which now included an imposing Caernavir woman, who could only be the Queen-Mother herself. Felix II had not met her, but his great aunt had. Her opinion on the mother of the ruler of Gwethydd had been mixed, to say the least, with criticisms aplenty, yet brimming with respect.
"Had such a man spoken to my father in such terms, he would have been banished to the wilderness." He said, more to himself than to the Valarien man. Indeed, Matthias Soleander had barely tolerated needless pleasantries and sycophancy, but he had shown a fearsome disdain towards gross expressions of disrespect. Felix II remembered how, at the age of six, he had watched his father calmly sentence a patrician's son to spending a night in the wilderness, without any weapons, for calling another patrician a "fat coward". Years later, his great aunt would claim that the patrician's son had lost a foot to a crocodile.
It was the sunniest, most cloudless day of spring thus far. The young Anice Gracieux, who would soon become the heir to her family's power and fortune, was even younger: a shy, but cheery, six year old girl. The heir to House Gracieux was neither Anice nor her mother Victoria; that title still belonged to her aunt, Zoé Gracieux, Victoria's elder sister. Anice's grandfather Frank had not yet passed away, and Zoé was the heir presumptive, residing in the House Gracieux seat of Fleur de Violette, assisting the ageing Duke Frank in his twilight years. Anice lived with her parents in her father's seat, Sunvale, a castle perched on the coast of an island in southern Xandria. The island was ruled by House Dustin, of whom her father, Trent Dustin, was Duke. House Dustin of Sunvale was a prominent family in Xandria, wealthy and well respected. Their island seat's ports were filled with merchant vessels and war-galleys alike, the masters of the Xandrian seas. Anice did not know or even comprehend that it was for this prominence at sea that her parents had wed. Duke Frank had always desired to achieve continental breadth for his republic’s navy, and marrying his second daughter off to the patriarch of House Dustin—no matter how foul the dynasty’s reputation—would help achieve this goal. It was a necessary step for the aging Duke to take, to ensure his legacy.
Beyond owning a great many ships, Anice was not exactly sure what the Dustins did. She knew, however, that it had something to do with grapes. Sunvale, and all of the rest of the island that Anice had ever seen, was practically overgrown with grapevines, constantly tended to and watched over by an endless bustle of servants. It was as if the entire island was one huge garden, and all of its people gardeners. This was much to Anice's liking; the warm weather of Sunvale, and the vineyard's pleasant scent, had enticed the young girl into an appreciation for plants and nature. The island’s prime industry was a wonderful distraction, to draw her thoughts away from what went on in Sunvale underneath the veil of the sun.
Anice's mother, Victoria Dustin, who would in four years be known across Ethica as the imperious Duchess Victoria Gracieux, with an ambition for the Imperial Throne, for now had only one ambition: escape. Every night, far past Anice's bedtime, Victoria would enter her young daughter's bedroom, freshly bathed, but crying. Sometimes she would limp, and sometimes she would wear makeup over her face, to hide her wounds from her beloved daughter. Anice would almost always wake when her mother crawled into her bed, but rarely would she speak, or even open her eyes. If ever she moved or made a sound, it would be to whisper a soft goodnight, or hug her mother more tightly. Anice didn't know why her mother visited her at night, always crying, but she had heard from servants she’d asked that her mother was sick. She hoped she would feel better soon.
Young Anice would have her wish on that fateful, cloudless day, the first in over six years whose night would hold no tears for Victoria. Duke Trent Dustin, Anice's father, had been drinking all day. His cups were filled with something Anice had never tasted before, but smelled often. She had learned that it was a special grape juice, only for grownups, and Victoria had always been sure to tell Anice that she wouldn't be allowed to have any until she was older. Trent sometimes poured his daughter a glass anyway, but it would always go to waste. Anice trusted her mother's judgement, and she was fine with drinking the same grape juice as the other children. Besides heeding her mother’s advice, however, Anice had other reasons not to taste what her father offered her. The juice would sometimes make Trent very happy, but other times, if he drank too much, he would be very mad. Anice would always leave and hide in her room if that happened. Her Dad was always loud, but when he drank too much, he would be even louder, and sometimes storm down the halls of his own castle, stumbling over and breaking things, making a ruckus. That night, however, would be the first time he'd ever gone to Anice's room in such a state.
"Victoria!" Trent hollered to his wife angrily, as he pushed open the doors to his daughter's bedroom, some of the contents of his cup spilling onto the floor as he did. He was shocked for a second, finding the room smaller than he remembered and all of the furniture out of order, but after a few moments he realized he'd stormed into the wrong room. His stupor was too strong for him to care, though, and the drunkard Duke Trent decided he didn't talk to his daughter as much as he should.
"You know, girl..." he began, sitting on Anice's bed next to her, and staring down at the floor. "You're six years old, now.” Trent held up six fingers, barely keeping hold of his cup as he did, and spilling another few drops onto the ground. He then lowered the finger on his off-hand, reducing the count to five. “Over five years your mother has had to make you a brother, and she can't. I’ve tried and tried every night, but it’s like the woman is barren. I’ve had bastards since you were born, so I know my seed is strong. And all the healers I’ve paid to take a look at her say all her bits are working fine. There’s no good reason I can think of, not a one, for her belly to be empty. You want a brother, don't you Anice?"
The young girl squirmed uncomfortably, scooting down her bed a little further from her drunken father. "Maybe a sister, daddy?" she asked, quietly, staring in curiosity down at the same spot on the floor that her father seemed to be fixated on.
Trent took a few seconds to reply, smacking his lips and grumbling under his breath before any words escaped. He spoke to Anice, but seemed more to be verbalizing his own thoughts. Even had he been sober, he would not have expected his young daughter to understand all that he said. Neither did he expect her to understand what he was about to do. "Another girl wouldn't do me any good. If I died right now my brother's son would become the Lord, you know? I don't know how it works in Violette, but there isn't such thing as a Duchess here. There's never been a 'Duchess of Sunvale', except for the wives of the Dukes. So you..." Trent trailed off, turning suddenly to grab hold of his daughter, closing his hands around her small arms and pushing her down onto the bed. "You are completely useless to me. And for as long as you’re here, your mother won’t bear me a son." He released her left arm, only to use his hand to strike her, smashing a fist against the child's face. His ring cut into her cheek, leaving a gash that immediately started bleeding, heavily. Both of his hands were then around her neck, squeezing it, strangling the life out of his daughter. He spoke to her as he strangled her, staring into her eyes, utterly filled with hate. Anice didn’t hear what he said next. She couldn't see or hear or even feel much of anything, except the wound on her cheek and the tightening around her neck. "You had a brother, you know. Or maybe the sister that you wanted. Probably more than one. But she got rid of them, didn’t want to spawn any more children of mine.” He burst into tears, screaming and crying hysterically as his nails began to cut into his daughter's neck from the force of his stranglehold. “Your mother, your fucking cunt of a mother, she killed them. She could bear me sons, and she did, but she killed them all.” Trent’s anger was not subsiding as much as he’d hoped, and he dug his claws deeper into his daughter’s neck, glaring at her with a seething and ever growing hatred, seeing Victoria’s eyes look back at him. He screamed loud enough to shake the castle. “She murdered my sons!"
Suddenly, Anice could breathe again, but only slightly. Her father's hands had left her neck, and he had broken out into tears, collapsing onto the floor next to the bed. Anice felt like crying too, but she hurt too much to cry. Her father's screaming had attracted the attention of a small crowd of servants and guards outside, but they didn't dare open the door, for fear of their lives. It wasn't until Victoria arrived, having grown tired of waiting in Trent's bed, that she opened the door herself. The sight of her daughter, bloodied and gasping for air, sparked an instinct in her that sprung instantly, without a thought. She grabbed a candelabra off of Anice's bedside table and smashed it over her husband's head, crushing his skull and killing him instantly. Falling out of his robes as he limped to the side, dead, was an empty vial, containing only a few remaining drops of a peculiar black liquid. The guards did nothing to stop the Duchess of Sunvale as she carried her barely conscious Anice out of the room and away. That was the last part Anice remembered.
Violette, Republic of Violette
13th of Gerna, 1200 AU
"Anice?" "Anice?" "Hello?" The third word was accompanied by a gentle poke to her cousin's shoulder as Tsirine tried to get her attention. Her face showed an expression of confusion and concern. Was something wrong? She didn't normally just sit there staring. Tsirine knew all sorts of things that could be wrong, she'd looked through one of her mom's books on healing a few times and sometimes people's heads just stopped working and they died. The nervous young girl was about to go get her mother when Anice finally responded.
"I'm sorry. I was looking out the window, and it was so sunny today. I'm okay."
Gathering herself and moving her thoughts away from the past and into the present, Anice Graxieux returned her gaze to the chess board assembled before her. It was made of some sort of fancy glass from across the ocean, one side's pieces tinted violet and the other's tinted gold. She still didn't fully understand the game, but the sunlight from the window reflecting off the glass sure made it look pretty.
Reaching forward, Anice grabbed a rook off of the board and moved the piece to the right, defending her King from Tsirine's Queen. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a legal move or not, but she trusted that Tsirine would tell her if it wasn't. She rubbed the scar on her cheek idly, waiting for her cousin to take her turn.
Tsirine nodded, but her eyes lingered on her cousin's face for a long moment as if looking for any sign that there was really something wrong. She knew what had happened to Anice, she also knew she wasn't supposed to talk about it, her mom had been very clear with her. And if Anice said she was okay...
She looked down then at the chessboard and frowned a bit as she took in the current boardstate and what her cousin had done. Then she reached out with a hand and pointed to the rook. "If you do that then I can do this," She picked up a knight and moved it over to put Anice's king in check again while also threatening the rook.
"You always have to look for opportunities like that. And not just ways you can get my pieces trapped, but also how I can try to trap yours if you make a move." Tsirine nodded again as she tried to explain. "It's part of the fun, thinking ahead."
Anice pouted, frowning slightly, not quite bored so much as disappointed in herself. "I don't like this game. It seems like there are so many different things that you can do, but none of them is the right thing. I don't know how my mother thinks moving around bits of glass is supposed to teach me how to rule. I bet she never played this when she was little, and now she's going to be Empress."
"If Raltene wins the most support she will be Empress." Tsirine corrected instinctively. "That might not happen." She pointed to the chess board. "My dad said that chess was like life, you take the best possible move and try to guess what your opponent will do but you never know for sure and you should plan for everything. I bet even if she doesn't win she'll have a plan." Tsirine smiled then. "Don't be too hard on yourself, you are doing better than I did when I was first starting to play and you won't make the same mistake again."
Determined not to lose, Anice carefully looked over every piece on the board, analyzing every move she could move and every move Tsirine could make after her. It seemed as though none of her king's soldiers could save him, though, and so the king had to save himself. Grabbing a hold of her king piece, Anice moved him out of the way of Tsirine's knight, and carefully ensured she hadn't trapped herself before releasing her hand.
"Another part is making your opponent have as few options as possible." Tsirine spoke as she reached out to move her knight again, this time to take the rook she had set up with her previous move. "You only could move your king which meant I was guaranteed to be able to take your rook."
Raising an eyebrow and sighing, Anice crossed her arms over her chest and grumbled. She didn’t like chess, but she was too polite a girl to be blunt. "Can we play again sometime later? I'm tired of this game. Auntie Ari!" Anice turned away from the chess table and Tsirine and towards the Ariette, sitting off in the far corner of the room. She had been adjusting the strings of an embellished lute idly, half listening to the conversation of the two girls. "Did your brother ever play chess when he was little? Do you need to be good at chess to be a good ruler?"
Ariette glanced up and stirred from her chair, lifting her head up as she looked away from the instrument to consider the question for a moment, appraising her daughter and her niece in the slightly evaluative but always kindly way that she so often seemed to. "Aethlar never enjoyed those games. He was always out galloping across the fields from village to village in his shining armour and his cloak. Our father was a bookish man, not a warrior, and so my brother decided that to be a real king you needed to joust, eat and galavant in equal measure,” she paused momentarily, running a hand through her moust brown hair.
“He could have used some more chess; his wife, Queen Hiltruda, was a marvel at the game. She used to sit up with the king’s sister Alissera long into the night strategizing,” Ariette’s eyes flashed mischievously at the two girls and she gave a sad smirk. “I'm almost absolutely sure she still does,” She winked at Tsirine, then turned her gaze to the window.
Tsirine looked across the table at her cousin and said softly. "Okay. We can play something else if you want."
Anice thought about all of the different games the two of them could play there in Fleur de Violette. The lavish island-palace was home to every game ever conceived in Ethica or beyond. Much to Anice’s dismay, though, they all had rules, strict formulas to be followed that denied more clever avenues of success. It didn’t take long for the heir to House Gracieux to suggest a less regimented game. "I know!" She called, reached over and tagging Tsirine on the shoulder, then running away laughing. "You're it!"
Tsirine scrambled up to her feet and chased after her cousin in a hurry. Ariette smirked to herself for a moment, then sighed deeply and contentedly, before beginning to pluck out a melodic, loping Gwethyn tune from her own childhood on the newly tuned lute. She vaguely recalled that the words that accompanied it told the story of a shepherd falling in love with a wolf in the guise of a woman. ---
Even after several days of being appointed as “Lord Regent” he still felt it an uncomfort that he wasn’t sure how to feel about. His brother had gone off to the imperial capital, Lalrial, with his father in a silent rush. No words had been spoken to him by his father or his brother or by the council about the decision; as if it was “how things should be” and that it was completely acceptable. He wondered if the same reaction was met well when Duncan Cragmore prepared to do the same. Then again William saw King Kenten Cragmore as a bit of a drunken oaf and equally as psychotic as his heir. William had once heard that the King of Erayis fornicated with goats in front of guests to assert dominance over them. He was sure it was a lie, but the fact those kind of words were said made him look at the Cragmore’s twice— and his sister, Imara, was marrying into that lot.
Benjamin Cragmore had been educated in Ebonheart some years back, but something bothered him about him. He was too different than his family to the point of surrealism and on top of that it reminded him of his brother, Rodan, who was sort of a problem when they were younger. Not the abrasive type of problem Alexander was, but more of the “I just had a druid cast a spell on you and you should stay away from water.” problem. He had been too scared to bathe for four weeks after that happened and when it rained… he didn’t even want to remember it. But Rodan did change from his darker temperament and the word was that he was a more kinder and honorable sort as he operated in Lalrial in many ways.
He sighed as he looked over to his wife who seemed to look equally as awkward sitting in the long empty seat of the Queen of Xandria.
“You look how I feel.” William said with a nervous chuckle. “Not sure how anybody can get used to this.”
Aristal looked over, “it wouldn’t be so bad.” She paused and looked around before hushing her voice. “But the queen’s seat is a little dented inward around the bum.”
His brother would’ve scolded her for that comment, he was certain. But really, this was one of the reasons why he loved Aristal Valarien. It wasn’t that it lacked manners or tact, but really straddled the line of appropriate and the right kind of humor to make a room more breathable. He was biased, of course, considering his title of “The Jester Prince” as bestowed to him early in life. But it was here, in the throne room, she didn’t even bat an eyelash to say such a thing albeit at a hushed volume. Him in the same position probably wouldn’t have the same confidence and nerve. But then again, “The Jester Prince” had been absent from William’s voice for reasons that were due to his mother’s death twelve or so years ago. But meeting Aristal and falling in with her had brought it back out, like it never was gone in the first place. She was like a fuel that reignited a dying flame.
William blinked, his brow raised at the remark. “You just said that. Out loud.”
A look of horror crossed Aristal’s face, her eyes in a slight panic. Her voice softened even more into a whisper, “Should I not have?”
William laughed as he witnessed her expression. “I wouldn’t worry about, there’s nobody here to hear it. Well, outside of me, the guards… and the ghosts.”
Aristal made a face and swung a fist into the air playfully, mock hitting William, “I’m not that gullible! It’s just something I’m not used to is all. At the very least, these ghosts could fix the seats of our chairs. What are we even sitting for, waiting on visitors? I feel like a grandmother who doesn’t get any visits from her children but remains doubtfully hopeful.”
“You’re right.” He paused for a moment as he stood up from the throne. “Well, I suppose the only answer I can give you is that I’m not sure what else to do. I’m Lord Regent, and I have nothing to… well, regent. Xandria’s dukes do a lot of the ‘heavy pulling’ which leaves only one fourth of the nation needing the King unless circumstances warrant it. I mean I can set in ordinances and decrees. I could knight you if you’d like, that’d be a riot.”
Aristal looked around again, as if there was a sudden secret audience she was wary of. A smile crept over her face. “Can you really?”
A loud audible groan came from one of the others in the throne room as William averted his attention to the source of the discontent.
“Lord-Regent William can indeed, do such a thing. But I would not advise such frivolous mockeries of knighthood and I would remind him of his duty.” The comment came from William’s personal guardian, Ser Irdana Qwynt, a member of House Valian’s royal guard.
William frowned, “Oh come on, Irdana, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“I will continue being a stick-in-the-mud until one of us is gone and buried as is my oath.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I know you are trying to find entertainment out of your boredom, but believe me you should be doing something far more kingly.”
“Like what?” Aristal interjected, “I think we are doing great so far. We’ve sat down, we complained, we almost ordained a knight.”
She looked over to William, perhaps for reassurance of her statement, or perhaps waiting for a smile from her joke; either way she smiled contentedly with her rebuttal.
“From my ears? He could do something about the vilespawn nest that was detected downriver, the sandseed infestation in our ports… there are more than a handful of options, my lady.”
“We could probably figure something out.” Aristal looked intently at William, “Right?”
William nodded as he reached for the goblet of wine that was to his left. “Well I g—”
The throne room’s doors suddenly opened, effectively stopping William dead in his sentence, to see a young page.
“My apologies Lord-Regent, but Princess Emilia Valian requests an audience.”
It was a strange thing to hear in the midst of the discussion, but he was now distracted by his curiosity. Emilia was his youngest sister, albeit the fiercest of the three daughters of his father. The fact she wanted an official audience with him as Lord-Regent was odd indeed. What had she been waiting the last few days to address to him in official capacity? What was she unable to tell their father? He thought for a moment before looking to the courtier who had announced such to him.
“My sister? Right, weird, I approve of course. Let her in.”
Few moments passed as Emilia Valian marched in with her guardian at her side. She looked as determined as Alexander had when they discussed his plans only a few days prior… a fact that set him in unease. Emilia already had a reputation of a militant ranger who was cut from the same cloth as Alexander, though with more talent in archery than the entire current Valian line combined; William was skilled in archery and he didn’t even come close to her ability and he was twice her age. It almost made a man sinfully envious. Almost. He kept his mouth shut as he waited for her to go through the courtesies and then speak her case.
“Lord-Regent.” She spoke calmly and clearly.
“Right. Well, so you have your audience, Emilia. Is there something on your mind?” As William spoke, Aristal seemed to sink back into her chair, eager to not get in the way of family matters.
“Yes. As you know I am fourteen years past my nameday now. With our elder brother’s intentions to travel north I wish to join a honorable expedition of interest to me. I ask you this as Lord-Regent to know that I am an adult now and should be allowed to make my own decisions. I have no interest staying in Ebonheart when there is a whole world out there. So in full, I wish to be allowed to do this quest and pursue my freedom. If you could respect my wishes and support me I will be eternally grateful.” Emilia’s declaration had a bite to it as her presence from her march inward into the throne room had only suggested beforehand.
“I see. This is quite the thing you are asking.” William took a breath to clear his mind as he took a drink from the goblet. “Father will most certainly be unhappy. Were you afraid to tell him?”
It was a bit of a trick of changing the conversation but William wasn’t quite sure how to address the situation. His sister was the least flowey of the Valian women and this was her being clear. He still remembered when she was asked what she wanted to do in life and she said “ranger” without battling an eye. She was seven at that time. He didn’t even find archery interesting until he was eleven and that was quite the years of difference. But she had been compared to their mother’s sister, Rymira, on many occasion— probably a reason why she had been educated by the experienced knight-ranger. It really came to no surprise that she wanted to adventure and not be thrown into a political marriage at this point their house didn’t need in the present considering their Taullruian, Valarien, Amrothan, and Duvard ties. Honestly, if he didn’t have his father and perhaps the royal council to worry about he would’ve just said yes right out of the door.
“Father has been sullen and depressed for the entirety of my life. Endangering myself would risk breaking him.”
“So you leave it to me to be the one who does.” William retorted, a bit more abrasive then he would’ve liked.
“While I can accept your request, I won’t. The way I see it is if you are truly an adult as you say, you will be direct and honest with father when he returns; just as Alexander was. You can be patient until then.”
Emilia’s demeanor took a step back as she choked on her own words. “I… I understand, Lord-Regent.”
“Good girl. You are dismissed.”
As Emilia a bit sullen from his remarks began to make for the door he spoke one more time. “And Emilia? I completely understand. I will support you when you ask father.”
Her frown returned to a smile and she nodded as she left the throne room. “Thank you, Will.”
The Lord-Regent waved his hand in a shooing motion, “Yeah, yeah. Go shoot a kobold or something.”
It was with that the younger Valian departed from the throne room, William eyed Ser Irdana who had the biggest and smuggest grin on her face that he had seen in sometime; and he had looked in the mirror this morning! With that done with he looked around at the throne room wondering if he was done bearing this boring and frustrating activity for the day. He placed the goblet back down and let out a slight chuckle. “Father’s not going to be thrilled when we talk about this. But then again, maybe he’ll accept it. It’s been a long time since me and Alex were playing with wood swords in the courtyard. The oaf always beat me, it was totally unfair.”
“I bet I could beat you, and it’d be fair.” Aristal challenged lightly, plucking at her fingers and cleaning underneath her nail.
“That’s not fair, I’m a pretty mundane swordsman! I prefer the bow, really.”
“Well so do I!” Aristal smirked, continuing her endeavor.
“And my sister could outshoot us both, blindfolded. Now, that’s unfair.”
“Can’t win them all I suppose.” Aristal turned to William, her back popping in her seat.
“Ahhh… the restlessness.” She complained.
“Yeah, I’m about done with sitting on a throne for the day. Let’s find us something more productive to do.” William said as he stood up from his seat.
Allianna’s lips rippled slightly while the older Diende practically shouted contemptuous threats and instigations at her. The man had charged her with his words in a manner an armor clad knight might charge an idle freeman relaxing in his fields. She herself was caught off guard by the attack, nearly letting her surprise conquer her face. Her years of court life seemed to cool any surprise immediately, allowing her to pull a calm and neutral face from the situation.
“I’m sorry,” she started, putting forth a softly sympathetic smile, “but it seems to be clear to me that my letters did not reach you nor your house. I had desperately been trying to get ahold of the islands, and it would seem once more in a few days I’ll receive my own words in my own mailings. Terribly inefficient I’m afraid, but it does prove useful here in the heartlands, as it is common practice and inside humor to mail reminders to the Kawachian Islands so in a few weeks time we may be alerted by our own letters return to complete whatever we were trying to remember, and with a fine no less.”
Allianna shook her head as if physically throwing her words to the side, “but it is good we get to talk now. You can rest your head knowing that I ruminate about House Chalarensis as I do all the other houses of Ethica, and I can confidently say that the Empire would be happy to deliver all that the hard work and loyalty your house has earned it.”
Her mouth opened slightly to add another remark when the Caernavir party had gallantly swooped in to dissipate the conversation. After silently listening to their apology and sympathetic dashes at Diende, Allianna raised a palm and let her voice flow loudly.
“But if this man wishes to bully, bribe and corrupt the fair system of our traditions and politics, then perhaps he truly is better off in my brother Ralltene’s corner, because I for one do not stand for the corruption of politics or the deceit of blackmail and favoritism.” A lighted unsaid hint fluttered behind Allianna’s gaze as she connected her last words while looking directly into Diende’s elderly visage.
A booming trumpet of a voice broke the conversation and invaded the open peristylium. The voice was hoarse and clearly used to giving commands, as it came from the hidden mouth of a Phoenix guard.
“Announcing the arrival of our hero, First Prince and Imperial Centurion of The Third Regiment Jakinius Valarien, his wife, Princess Anastázie, Lady of the Courts Sophsi, and her husband Prince Edgar Duvard, heir to Ignis and Duke of Iorica!”
All at once the guards that lined the walls of the portico slapped a metal fisted clanging salute to their chest as they stomped their right foot and presented an overwhelming amount of respect, enough to cause a slight look of irritation in Allianna’s left eye.
Gracefully and confidently Jakinius and Sophsi were the first to appear from the doorway. They stood almost shoulder to shoulder and their image caused any stubborn chatter that may have been going on to halt. Sophsi was adorned in a legendary armored costume that any learned eye would recognize it as Laliafa’s own, if not just a very great recreation of her renown outfit. A armored leather corset hugged her torso and lined it with thick armored hides and canvas across the chest. Her abdomen was protected under black boiled leather with brown squares on each side, bearing the mark of the Valarien phoenix. Underneath a warrior’s white, gambit-style tunic hung out from under the thick belt that connected the bottom of the cuirass to her torso, and flowed into a loose split knee length gown that was trimmed with gold. The same white tunic stretched to her elbows and tapered into a golden trim with her lower legs begin covered by thick white trousers and tall leather boots. Leather straps guarded her shoulders and were feathered with golden tassels, with the edge of the shoulder guards connecting to a long flowing silver cloak, split directly down the middle to resemble wings. Even her own honey colored hair was changed for the occasion to fit the silvery hair often associated with Laliafa’s and pulled back into a pony-tail.
Allianna fumed on the inside at the sight, while everyone else seemed taken aback by the unsaid challenge by the nostalgic act. Even Jakinius wore a gambeson slightly reminiscent to an older time.
Amid the shock and awe of the sudden arrival, Allianna took it upon herself to divert her eyes from her childhood rival and turned back to Diende, “we can talk later, excuse me would you?”
Just as her words left her mouth, she was already on her way to confront Sophsi. Just as her quickened steps approached Sophsi, who was in the middle of acknowledging the myriad of bows she was receiving from the guards that lined the walls, the rest of Sophsi’s and Jakinius’ party had arrived. While Edgar and Anastázie Duvard didn’t quite match the shock and awe of the previous entries of their spouses, they still were definitely primped to look the part of higher nobility and even ancient birthright.
Caught in the crowd that had surrounded the arrivals and the crowd of the arrivals themselves, Allianna was forced to cross her arms in turn to approach Sophsi, something that Sophsi noticed and even acknowledged with a sly wink towards Allianna.
4th of Gerna, 1200 A.U. The Kingdom of Acitha The City of Corzina The Winking Mermaid Tavern
"You do realize this is sketchy as fuck, right?" Anastassia asked as she and her companion stepped into the Winking Mermaid.
"Verily." Lucile answered as she pulled her winged helm off. "And this is quite possibly the tenth time you've said as much." She eyed the tavern's occupants warily, half expecting some lowlife to make an attempt on the two Valkyries. Honest people tended to stay away from this part of the docks. At least if they preferred keeping their lives and coins.
The two Valkyries certainly caught the attention of the tavern's occupants, though most present quickly returned back to what they had previously been doing. Anastassia shot Lucile a questioning look before shrugging and following her companion to the bar. Both Valkyries kept a hand close to their swords' hilts.
"Wha' can I do 'er for?" The barkeep asked as the two women approached.
"We are looking for a man known as Firan." Lucile said as she placed a piece of parchment on the bartop. Not a moment later they both heard the sound of somebody spitting cheap ale from their mouth and the clatter of wood as a chair overturned behind them. Both shield sisters turned as one to look for the source of the commotion just in time to see a figure in a darkened, hooded cloak tearing straight out the inn's door, a cloud of wafting playing cards falling to the ground behind him while the other patrons at the table he had just abandoned began to shout angrily.
"Hah!" Anastassia shouted as she dashed after the figure, Lucile close on her heels. "I told you this was sketchy as fuck!"
"I know!" Lucile shot back as they reached the door. The two shield sisters looked down opposite sides of the street. "There he is!" Lucile said, spotting the man just before he darted around a corner. The two women broke into a sprint after him, Lucile shouting "Halt!" as they caught sight of him again. Not even turning to face them, he stopped at an intersection, turning to look in both directions hurried.
Lucile and Anastassia were catching up to the man, slowly, but there was the very real chance that they could still lose track of him. Anastassia, spotting a pair of city guards further down the road shouted "Stop him!"
The guards shot her a look just as the man started running again and darted past them, not sure who they were supposed to stop. The Valkyrie's quarry turned left and ran up the left of the intersection, a causeway built for small pushcarts. Anastassia cursed under her breath, muttering about how the guards were useless as always. Lucile couldn't help but let a smile spread across her face.
"Go down that way" Lucile pointed at an upcoming allyway. "I'll see if I can herd him your way." Ahead of them, they heard several people shouting angrily from the direction they had seen the man run. "Be as the wind on my back," Lucile said. "And aid me in my chase."
The Valkyrie picked up speed, feeling lighter as a soft breeze pushed on her back, as her prayer took affect. The breeze seemed to propel her forward to speeds that seemed to defy how much force the wind could actually have. Lucile was catching up to the man and so would Anastassia, assuming she had used a similar prayer.
She turned the corner and looked up the causeway, the runner not too far up the path. To the side of the street, a woman was lying on the ground clutching a bleeding nose, while a hunch-backed elder was ineffectually shouting at the dark-cloaked man - as he overturned the pushcart the pedestrians had been drawing, upending the wooden barrels inside and sending them bouncing and rolling down the street Lucille's way.
"You have got to be kidding." Lucile muttered as the barrels hurdled towards her. She reached out with one hand as if to touch them, despite there still being quite the distance between her and the closest barrel, and shouted "Fall asunder!" The first barrel broke into pieces as if it had slammed into an invisible wall, spilling ale across the paving stones. Lucile then veered to the left, the next barrel just barely missing her leg. The other barrels missed her entirely, either smashing into other people or simply rolling down the opposite side of the road. The man in the cloak then turned to his right and ran down a side alley,
...only to crash headlong into Anatassia before he even fully cleared the street. Not being made as firmly as the muscled and armored Valkyrie, he fell to the side against the the alley wall in surprise.
"Don't move" Anastassia said as she pointed the tip of her sword at the man's throat. She kept her gaze locked on him, only averting her attention away as Lucile approached. "You uh... lost your helmet" She said, taking her own head.
"Wha- Oh! Ra-hun-ru take me!" Lucile cursed.
"Want to go back to the tavern for it?"
"No" Lucile said as she approached the man, resting a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Its probably gone already." She frowned as she looked at the man. "Now then... why don't we have this man tell us why he darted the moment we mentioned Firan."
"Pure coincidence, I just remembered that I left the fire going back home, and in my rush to get back I accidentally ran into that other woman in the street - she slapped me, and I got angry." The man was speaking very quickly, and as the two Valkyries got a better look at his face they saw that it was a darker hue than was typically seen this far up North - meaning he was likely from the Southern Coast, or maybe even the isles.
"Sounds like something a criminal would make up" Anastassia commented.
"Or a spy" Lucile agreed. "Both of which we would be compelled to punish. Severely."
"Implying you tracked me down for some reason other than to torture and then kill me. Just get it over with already. At least I will not have to spend another rotten minute in this freezing shithole of a city fleecing petty criminals for their stolen money playing cards." To his credit, the man looked unafraid as he snarled the words at them - though his lips and arms were trembling.
"The city isn't that bad." Anastassia commented.
"Yes it is." Lucile countered. She sighed as she held the piece of parchment she had tried to show to the barkeep earlier in front of the man's face. "Does this look familiar? Some of my fellow sisters answered this ad. We haven't heard from them since." The scrap of paper was worn in tattered, both from exposure and from having been accidentally thrown away once by the sisters.
WANTED Seeking brave and valorous warriors of great merit and praiseworthy martial prowess to engage and shatter vilespawn hordes for great honor. Minimum job payout (upon completion) is 500 Ammacre Pearls, will negotiate. Contact Firan at the Winking Mermaid inn at Corzina for more details.
"Oh. Yes, well, do you promise not to hurt me when I tell you what happened to them?" The man asked, the hint of a smile - albeit a terrified one - playing across his face.
"Have you done anything that is punishable?" Lucile questioned.
"I've been cheating at cards for seven years. Does that count?" He asked back.
"We don't give a damn at your card games!" Anastassia snapped. Lucile shot her a look before returning her gaze to the man.
"Firan is it?" She began. "We aren't interested in anything petty like that."
"Well, Firan is an alias, but yeah that's me." The man - Firan admitted, who was now starting to look relieved. "I know this whole business looks rather shady, but it's exactly what the flyer says. About three or four months ago your women came in asking after the job, and about two weeks later I got word they had all presumably been killed. Either that or cursed into living, abominable mounts using vilespawn magic."
"See, that wasn't so hard" Lucile said. She gave her fellow Valkyrie a look, prompting her to sheath her sword.
"I thought you were here to torture and then kill me for whatever it is you thought I had done to them! I hadn't gotten around to putting all the flyers back up, I didn't know you had the one they had used." The man got up from where he was sitting against the wall and started to rub the grime from the pavement off his hands as he spoke. "I mean, why else would you possibly be here? I figured it would be obvious enough they had all gone to Kammeth, or that other god you Northerners like to worship."
"Well five hundred Ammacre Pearls is a rather tempting sum." Lucile commented.
"So tempting the last two guys sent to host for the job got knifed on the assumption they were actually just carrying them aroun-wait." He frowned at the two Valkyries, perplexion briefly rippling across his face - followed shortly by disbelief. "You're here to take the job?!?" He asked disbelievingly.
"You know I was asking her something similar to that not too long ago." Anastassia commented.
"You shouldn't be that surprised" Lucile stated. "You are the one trying to hire people after all."
"You're serious." Firan half-asked, his tone turning flat. "What makes you think you'll do any better than the last group? The request for warriors to fight through hordes of vilespawn is not exaggeration. The last batch were probably overwhelmed, captured, tortured, and then sacrificed to Azueral."
"We are Valkyries. There is nothing in this world we have cause to dread." Lucile answered.
"I wish I shared your faith." Anastassia muttered under her breath.
"Yeah, me too. Not like this job has been posted for thirty years or anything." Firan quipped. "But if you really want to see what lies beyond this life, I can accommodate. I have a ship where we can discuss the job in more detail...I assume it's more than just the two of you? How long will you need to get your affairs in order? We can depart whenever you're ready, once the tide is flowing."
"We shall depart tomorrow then." Lucile answered. "How many can your ship carry?"
"The one can carry perhaps thirty passengers. The others can carry more, if we need them." Catching their looks, he added, "We were expecting large groups of volunteers."
"Perhaps we should see if we can wrangle up a few extra hands?" Anastassia gave Lucile a questioning look.
"No. Those under my command will be sufficient." Lucile answered with a shake of her head. "Tomorrow then Firan."
"Right then. Just come to my ship at the nearest dock to the Winking Mermaid. I'll be aboard Deep Fires." Firan said, a bemused expression on his face. "Also, before you do that, make sure to tell the rest of your order not to torture and then kill me when you lot never come back."
13th of Gerna, 1200 A.U. The Grand Duchy of the Kawachian Islands The Island of Verbera The City of Turris Outskirts Port
They had sailed for over a week, with naught but suspicions on where they were heading. Firan had proven exceedingly tight-lipped about his and now the Valkyries' employer, saying merely that they would become fully acquainted with them upon arrival at their destination.
Towards the end of the journey when they had sailed past one island in the distance and then started sailing by a coast South of where the mainland should have been, everybody got a pretty good idea of who they had decided to sell their services to. When the ship pulled to port and they say palm trees, the notion became more definite.
"Right then you lot." Once they had disembarked, they were met by a man wearing a jack cuirass and a long leather cap. Those amongst their number more familiar with foreign military orders pegged him as a Kawachian Pilot. "You are all granted special dispensation and immunity while here, got that? But keep your heads down. The natives have no notion of chivalry or common sense. Treat women like cattle, and they may attack you if you're sending out the wrong signs. Not that you'll be talkin' with them - you're headed straight for the citadel, and there's nowhere on this earth where you'll be better off. Save Indignor of course. If you brought anything with you, be sure you have it here - that boat will be gone in a few minutes."
The port they had pulled into had been a smaller one, some distance away from the city proper for some reason. The pilot led them along a road past several fields of strange trees bearing foreign fruit, and as he had indicated the peasantry seemed to be eying them tensely. Perhaps more unnervingly, so were the women amongst their number. A few individuals even started walking up to the road, until the pilot barked at them in a tongue none of the Valkyries recognized, forcing the natives to flinch as though struck and retreat.
The city itself, which the pilot introduced as Turris, was different. There were armed soldiers everywhere, who uniformly stopped paying attention to the group of Shield Sisters once they saw the pilot leading them. The whole place looked like a massive barracks, which given the isles, it probably was. The citadel they were led to was of an unfamiliar design to any of them, different to those in the North or elsewhere on the mainland. The walls were squatter, seeming to come up shorter than was normal with concave surfaces, and they were arranged in a curious starburst pattern. Within, things were more recognizable and familiar. They were led to an inner keep and to a great hall within where they were told to wait. The place seemed curiously empty, although they heard distant bustling from other parts of the citadel. Some food and drink had been laid out for them in advance, but had been served somewhat cool. The only form of decor was the single enlarged crest of House Chalarensis mounted on the rear wall, the hall otherwise appearing barren.
"I'm loving the hospitality" Anastassia commented as she eyed the cold food. "Feels just like home."
"Ana" Lucile shot her fellow Valkyrie a disapproving look, "not today. At least not when we are in earshot of our hosts."
"What was up with those people earlier?" Anastassia continued.
"You mean the villagers?" Another Valkyrie asked. "Weird right?"
"Enough" Lucile said before anyone else could reply. "We'll talk about this later."
Her warning was aptly timed, as the double doors leading into the hall opened a crack and a finely dressed servant stepped in, and spoke - rigidly, appearing faintly terrified and standing straighter than an iron rod.
"Now announcing the arrival of Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, Lord Steward and Khagan of the Kawachian Islands, Malefactor Advocate to the Emperor of Ethica, Despot of the Island of Verbera, Khan of the Island of Acantha, Anax of the Island of Balatro, Emir of the Island of Iecur, Jagir of the Island of Cetus, Supreme Sentinel of the Southern Sea, True Ruler of the Province of Ignis, the Province of Dreiben, and the Sun Isles by Right of Conquest and Merit, Grand Admiral of the Kawachian Navy, Fleet Admiral of the First Fleet of Kawachia, and Grand Marshal of the Ducal Forces of Kawachia."
The door opened fully, and a small crowd of people filed into the room. First came a procession of four guards, all pilots like the first one. Then came two individuals wearing Kawachian kaftan, denoting them as members of House Chalarensis. Finally, the Lord of the islands himself strode into the room, dressed in full chain-mail and bearing a gilded heavy cavalry saber, followed by two more pilots who closed the doors behind them.
The pilot-guards all parted as Grand Duke Ormoneric approached the Valkyries, staring at them intently. It was hard to guage the man - his expression was one of faint irritation, although from the shape of his features that was likely his default expression. Finally, he turned and spoke to one one of the other house members.
"Why on earth are these women here?" He demanded. "I thought someone surely must have sent an order to desist after the last band failed."
"They apparently independently tracked down our agent." The woman replied. She looked somewhat harried, but her voice was both firm and clear. "Also, they are not quite like the last band. These are Valkyries. Sorceresses, and accomplished knights. They represent the elite of the Shield Sisters."
"I see." He turned back to the gathered Valkyries. "One should hope they will prove merely as impertinent as their predeccesors were effective." He advanced somewhat, the pilot-guards moving to flank the central table.
"Who amongst your number leads? Speak." Ormoneric demanded.
"I do your Grace." Lucile stepped forward. "It is an honor and pleasure to meet you. I am Valkyrie Commander Lucile of the Sisters of the Silver Shield." She swept into a low bow.
"A thousand deaths that I might be spared your honor." The expression upon Ormoneric's face was utterly flat. "I have done nothing yet to earn such a thing. It should be I who is honoring you - accomplished warriors of the North, who keep the mainland safe...and now my islands, it would seem. Firstly, I must inform you that the bodies of your sisters were not recovered. Reports by my surveyors also could not identify their bodies. They have very likely been either eaten or...transformed. I am sorry."
"I appreciate the sentiment." Lucile answered. Several of her companions winced at the thought of their fellows being eaten, but for the most part the group of shield sisters remained impassive.
"Secondly, I am afraid that this quest will require your briefing on matters sensitive to the strategic bearing of my hold. As such, I cannot - should not, rather - inform you of the precise details until after you have formally agreed to the task and each individually signed a formal contract - though I will freely volunteer that you shall be facing overwhelming odds and numbers of vilespawn, without possibility of quarter or escape should you not prove their equal. Any negotiation for pay must also be done beforehand. Am I understood?"
"We understand." Lucile answered. She could hear Anastassia draw breath as if to say something, but the other Valkyrie chose to remain quiet. "We have fought vilespawn before and we are used to being outnumbered."
The Grand Duke favored her with a singularly unpleasant smile.
"You have never fought vilespawn like these before. Huaghray, if you would?"
The second oddly-dressed house member stepped forward. A somewhat obese man, his chest was clustered with army merits and awards, and in his arms were heaped a pile of tomes and parchment. Approaching the Valkyries without pause, he hefted the mound directly onto the great table, and then sat down right next to one of them at its end.
"A high honor to meet you fine lasses! I am Haughray Phano, and though my own merits are many, today I am the foremost expert in the land in concerns to the vilespawn creature known as a Mongerl. Do tell me, have any of you broads heard of such a thing, eh?"
"Skilled fighters and riders." One of the shield sisters answered. "I've fought against them once in the Heartlands."
"Aye, both of those are true." Haughray nodded jovially, as though they were discussing a the menu of a banquet. "Now, I would like you to empty that precious mind of yours of everything and anything you have heard of them - if not quite everything you saw of them. The Mongerls of the island are a breed apart from the louts on the mainland. As far apart from them as we are from Imperials! Ha!" He took one of the parchments from the pile before him and unfurled it, revealing an inscribed drawing of what was presumably a Mongerl - with a man drawn beside it for comparison.
The creature appeared to be a full two heads taller than any human, with arms thicker than a grown adult's body and almost as long as they were tall, with fists the size of beer kegs and claws the size of dirks. Their faces bore long snouts that bristled not only with teeth, but also with two long fangs near the front and another two long tusks that curled up from the sides of their mouths. Their body, covered in fur and lacking any kind of genitals, instead featured spines like those from a porcupine sprouting from their backs and along their shoulders. Far more worrisome though, was the third eye planted in the center of their foreheads - for though their normal eyes were drawn in the normal fashion, the third was drawn as a solid mass of pitch.
"Now firstly, do not permit their physical size give you any false impressions - they are better climbers than any man, and much, much faster. Even in the denser areas of the jungle here, they can move almost unhindered in a straight line at full speed, whether it be hurdlin' over it or else barrelin' through it. The only thing they can't do quite as well as us is turn - they can't really go on a copper piece, and you never have to worry about wild haymakers swinging around from behind. They need to build up a lot of power in order to swing themselves around. That said, I would not fancy trying to attack them from the rear unless you're usin' a mace - those spines on their backs are adhered to a skeletal plate thicker than skulls. No piercin' through that. Their arms block up a lot of their flank, they possess no vitals around the groin, and they just get angry if you cut off their legs. Their arms are too big to really be worth attacking. It won't kill them and it probably won't stop them from using it. No, you ladies will want to go straight for the throat and ribs - or the inside of the mouth, if you can get it. I know the eye looks like a big sopping wet spot, but don't try that unless you're desperate. A sure strike might not pierce the skull and get stuck, and then there's the bit where if you make eye contact you'll send them into a rage state. Not the best of experiences, let me tell you. I only lived because that one threw me out of the jungle, over a cliff, and into the ocean. Finally then of course, each one is nearly as clever as a man. I say clever, in that they can use tools and aren't afraid of fire, and don't fall for the standard sorts of tricks most animals and babes do. They aren't smart compared to the likes of us, rest assured, and unless they're mounted up they won't use anything resembling tactics, thankfully. Oh, except they will definitely ambush you. Yesse, that they will. They especially like doin' it from above. They'll either hang up in canopies or else jump straight off cliffs to land on top of you. Quite the sight if the shockwave doesn't knock you out." He looked up from the manuscript with something approaching ecstasy on his face. "Quite a thing, eh? Any questions? Aside from their magic. Even after twenty years of fightin' em I barely know anything about it. You probably know more about it than I do."
At that comment, the Grand Duke - looking faintly bored but otherwise standing at bay patiently - coughed notably.
"Oh. Err, except I'm to tell ya their magic only works by line o' sight. If they can't see you, you're safe. Even if it's just a big fern. So how about it?"
"What kind of magic have they been observed using?" Anastassia asked.
"Well I'm no mage, so I can't classify it to you by magical orders or whatnot, but they've got a couple of stage favorites. The big one is the thing where they hold you down, spit blood onto you, and then scream at you nonstop until your entire body slowly implodes and twists into an abominable thing they use as a mount. Here's a picture!" He unfurled a second scroll, detailing in brilliant detail each significant stage of transformation, the user's face realistically contorted in various stages of anguish - up until the thing that had been a human grew two more faces that shifted around to one of its undersides, somewhere thankfully out of the perspective view of the drawing.
"Almost as fascinating as the Mongerls are." Haughray said, practically enraptured in tone. "Not much stronger or faster than a human, and just as vulnerable. The curse multiplies their vitals as much as it multiples everything else I think. Just be aware, the multiple arms and hands means they have much better leverage for grappling. Very easy to underestimate their strength and then get pinned. Oh, and incidentally, if they were male before the transformation, they will also try to rape you if they pin you. Fair warning." He said cheerfully.
"Besides that crowd-pleaser, there's also this trick where they roar and produce some kind of shockwave - you won't feel it, but it corrodes a lot of metals. Castle-forged steel will usually be fine unless a lot of them use it over time, but lots of lesser metals - iron, copper, bronze, the lot - sometime they'll just crumble to dust. Worthless."
"Then finally, they can also do this thing with their third eye. It'll light up like the sun for a second. If you happen to be lookin' at their face, it's bad - can blind you for a bit. Sometimes moments. Sometimes hours or days. Sometimes permanently."
"There are more. Loads more. But those are the three I've seen more than once." He finished. "They're always springing new, awful things on us. Wonderful natural talent, aye? Any other questions?"
"I think that will do for now" Lucile answered after the Valkyries had collectively shared a look. "We may wish to speak with you again before we depart though."
"I'll look forward to it! I'll leave these materials here for your perusal, eh? Don't stay up too late reading them!" He laughed gaily as he rose from the table. Then performed a second take. "Oh, except this one, come to think of it." He said hastilty, grabbing one of the tomes near the bottom of the pile. The title 'Codex Malignance' was neatly titled on the spine in what was hopefully merely dark brown ink. "Er. Bye." He hurried from the room, the pilot-guards at attention near the doors opening and closing them for him.
"With that...unique briefing out of the way," Ormoneric said in a neutral tone of voice, "We can now discuss the issue of pay. One of my accountants, Aechalchlea Argider, will negotiate."
"The reward was decided upon by the predecessor to Grand Duke Ormoneric, the then Grand Duke Brarnis Vagost." The woman in the kaftan stepped forward this time, though hers was unadorned with any king of merit. "He was noted for his...eccentricities. In hindsight, I still would not have agreed with a whole five-hundred, but since I was not made aware of that issue until four months ago I did not think to change it accordingly. The Grand Duchy of Kawachia is prepared to honor a minimum task payout of five-hundred Ammacre Pearls, due to the high risk inherent and due to the preclusion of negotiation upon acceptance. Even if," Aeschalchlea glanced back at Ormoneric, "most of the pearls we do have are what the worth of our chits and orders of balance are backed by and that outrageous amount reflects a significant worth of the entire Duchy.
"Yes... Let's." Lucile agreed.
"Isn't just one worth an absurd amount of money?" Anastassia asked.
"I know I can count on you to state the obvious" Lucile muttered after letting out a sigh. "Your Grace," she returned her attention to Aechalchlea, "I would like to negotiate certain rights for the Sisters of the Silver Shield."
"I have no title and am not of noble blood. There is no need to call me grace. As to your request, I have been granted certain liberties of sovereignty for the express purpose of this negotiation, so I may officiate the establishment of some rights for your order here in Kawachia. Not, however, elsewhere in the world." Aechalchlea responded. "Although I do feel obligated as a practitioner of the court's law, some of what you ask for may either be impossible or else inadvisable due to local polity. With that out of the way...what did you have in mind?"
"First" Lucile began, "the right to establish a permanent presence in your territory. Second: the right to proselytize within your territory. Third: the right to recruit inhabitants of your territory to join the Sisters of the Silver Shield. And last of all we request that we be granted the right and authority to root out evil where ever it may be found in your lands."
"I can permit you rights to establish legal property in the eyes of House Chalarensis anywhere in the isles where its boundaries may not overlap with that of our own, and so long as its size and the number of such establishments do not exceed particular parameters to be agreed upon at a later date. You may proselytize as you see fit without its inclusion within this negotiation and I will not count it amongst yours term; the natives will likely attack you for preaching religion while being a woman however. We will not extend proselytizers protection by wit of force by House militias. I wholly reject your fourth request without possibility for appeal or revisitation." Aechalchlea rattled off her list of answers in a monotone, almost as if she had practiced the speech - or said the whole thing before.
After a moment of thought Lucile asked "Would the fourth item be acceptable if the Grand Duke had the ability to.... temporarily revoke it?"
"As Grand Duke of the Kawachian Islands, I overrule your motion to revoke the whole rejection of the fourth request. Proceed with your demands, and do not test my patience." Ormoneric said. He gave Lucile a sharp look.
"Very well your Grace." Lucile didn't quite wince. "Would it be too much to presume that the movement of any shield sisters between the islands of Kawachia and to and from the mainland will not be hindered in any way?"
"I am afraid that short of special dispensation for immigration and exportation to singular islands of permanent residence, no member of the Shield Sisters may move freely between the Kawachian Islands in accordance with preexisting polity. This will also apply to members of the native population inducted into your order." Aechalchlea issued in a clipped tone.
"What about between the island and the mainland?" Lucile asked.
"As I said, members of your orders shall possess special dispensation for immigration and exportation to and from the particular island of permanent residence. The whole order, including inducted members, may move between their select island of residence and the mainland freely and at their convenience. So long as it is understood, of course, that all members of and inducted into your order are necessarily women."
"Very well. I find these terms acceptable. Any complaints?" That last bit was directed at her fellow Valkyries, none of which spoke up. Turning her attention back to Aechalchlea she asked "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"
"Perhaps just a brief inquiry as to whether all your affairs are in order." Aechalclea smiled thinly. "Otherwise," she snapped her fingers, and one of the pilots came forward possessing a stack of parchments, setting them on the table. Each one appeared to detail a lengthy agreement, with two underlined spaces for signatures - one signed by the Grand Duke. "Each of you needs to sign one of these. As a friendly warning, this is your last chance to back out."
"Sure." Lucile said, signing the document without hesitation. Most of the shield sisters followed her lead, though a few were more hesitant. Anastassia carefully read the parchment with a cocked eyebrow, but was wholly overwhelmed by the contents. Even as a priestess trained to read all kinds of inscriptions and arcane symbols, the terminology of the agreement was so esoteric the larger meaning of it escaped her.
"I wrote the original copy myself." Aechalclea volunteered, the same thin smile still on her lips.
"That doesn't surprise me whatsoever." Anastassia mirrored Aechalclea's smile with one of her own. She went over the document several times more in a vain attempt to gain something nearing comprehension as to what it was actually saying. Finally she just sighed and signed the parchment.
"Now that you have all signed, I may finally brief you on the actual quest." The Grand Duke said, gesturing for Aechalclea to take the documents and leave. "Approximately thirty years ago, around the time aerial bladders were developed, one of our league surveyors of the time was brought low from the sky by means of arcane forces wielded by suspected Azueral cultists based in an old native ruin. At the time, and to this day, we have been unable to assemble a sufficient force to storm the ruins due to the intraversable nature of the Tafrit mountain range. The region is only accessible by individuals using highly specialized equipment, or else by aerial bladder. Although the bladder was downed, the surveyors of the time still required technical manuals needed for their operation and the mountains in the region are volcanic. It is feared that the cultists may or may already be working to attempt harvesting their own Helium in order to refill the bladder and send Mongerls into the air - at which point, they could potentially curse whole provinces at once with their magic by line of sight. Your instructions are to infiltrate the ruins, fight through the infestation of Mongerls therein, and destroy any trace remnants of the bladder, as well as any form of documentation you discover that might yield information as to either its operation or creation. You are also to kill any cultists you find, naturally, but destruction of the bladder and its materials is the foremost goal in order to limit the possible danger they represent. The twenty of you together cannot hope to actually wipe out the infestation of mongerls in that area, and that is no failing or insult to your skill so do not argue with me."
"Right so..." Anastassia spoke up before Lucile could draw breath. "Find this bladder. Destroy it and anything related to it, and return. Simple and probably excruciatingly difficult. Understood."
"Quite. You will be ferried to the area by bladder, at which point you will be on the own. You will have precisely a week to accomplish your task. Every day, the bladder will return and look for firelight produce by these." He made a gesture with his right hand, and another pilot advanced with a bundle of yellow, foul-smelling candles wrapped in string.
"Brimstone candles. They produce a clear, deep blue flame when lit. If, and only if, the pilot sees these burning, at the specific extraction point, will he land. I will not risk a second balloon falling into cultist hands. If you are not specifically there, at the right time, and do not light these candles within seven days - you will be left in that region. Repeat to me what I have just conveyed so I am sure you understand."
"We have seven days to complete the task and light one of these candles" Lucile gestured towards the brimstone candles.
"At the specific extraction point specified by the bladder pilot." Affirmed Ormoneric. "Now, as I mentioned earlier, this quest concerns strategic information of import to my hold. You are to destroy any documents you find. You are not to bring them back with you. They contain information which cannot become public knowledge - for the sake of not only Kawachian, but Imperial safety. Do you understand?"
"Destroy, not retrieve. We understand." Anastassia answered. "We shall ensure that their contents are known to none beyond those who have already seen them."
"You had best." The words Ormoneric said were faint, but supremely clear, ringing like a gong in clarity and conveying with perfect transparency the threat of an undignified and lonely death.
With that, he turned and left the room, his guards trailing behind him.
"We will give you all three days to rest and prepare for the quest." Aechalclea said to Lucile. "I imagine being cooped up in a courier boat for a whole week is not the most conducive environment to staying fit if you are not a sailor. You have been given run of this citadel's central keep for the duration of your stay. Just..." She gave the Valkyrie a look. "Do not try to leave. I will attend your lunches and dinners, should you have any further questions. Do you have any before I leave for today?"
"I have one" One of the more quiet shield sisters spoke up. "On our way here the natives were giving us odd looks. Why was that?"
Aechalclea had the decency to look momentarily embarrassed. "The House families here all have dark skin. You do not...and they only associate ornate and fanciful clothing worn by women not of our house with a particular strain of unseemly practices."
"Wha-? Oh... Oh!" The shield sister's cheeks turn on a crimson hint as the implications sunk in. Anastassia couldn't contain her laughter, earning her a solid jab in the ribs from Lucile.
"I think" Lucile said, "that we are fine for now."
The Estate of Grevis Valarien
"And I see you have, valiantly, shown in your own special way how much your nation values its trade relationship with the Green Kingdom," She gestured to the man's wooden teeth. "We continue to appreciate your custom and place in this empire, naturally, but not your continual and I must say wearisome professions of hatred for a system from which you gain so much,"
"You should hope so, but these are in truth from the province of Ignis. Their carpentry and craftsmanship are simply...better. Diende replied matter of factly.
“I’m sorry,” she started, putting forth a softly sympathetic smile, “but it seems to be clear to me that my letters did not reach you nor your house. I had desperately been trying to get ahold of the islands, and it would seem once more in a few days I’ll receive my own words in my own mailings. Terribly inefficient I’m afraid, but it does prove useful here in the heartlands, as it is common practice and inside humor to mail reminders to the Kawachian Islands so in a few weeks time we may be alerted by our own letters return to complete whatever we were trying to remember, and with a fine no less.”
Allianna shook her head as if physically throwing her words to the side, “but it is good we get to talk now. You can rest your head knowing that I ruminate about House Chalarensis as I do all the other houses of Ethica, and I can confidently say that the Empire would be happy to deliver all that the hard work and loyalty your house has earned it.”
"The Grand Duke does maintain the title of Malefactor Advocate to the Phoenix King. We strive to service the Imperial Throne in keeping with how it has rewarded our house in the past." Diende treated Allianna to another smile filled with wooden teeth. "There must be equanimity in these matters, and the scales have been tipped for centuries now. You could be the one to begin mending relations. Do not spurn my offer out of hand - it is a serious one."
“But if this man wishes to bully, bribe and corrupt the fair system of our traditions and politics, then perhaps he truly is better off in my brother Ralltene’s corner, because I for one do not stand for the corruption of politics or the deceit of blackmail and favoritism.” A lighted unsaid hint fluttered behind Allianna’s gaze as she connected her last words while looking directly into Diende’s elderly visage.
"A spat of favoritism certain could do my house some measure of good. I must say you are not helping your case with your words." Diende commented, though his smile had faltered significantly.
Sophsi was adorned in a legendary armored costume that any learned eye would recognize it as Laliafa’s own, if not just a very great recreation of her renown outfit. A armored leather corset hugged her torso and lined it with thick armored hides and canvas across the chest. Her abdomen was protected under black boiled leather with brown squares on each side, bearing the mark of the Valarien phoenix. Underneath a warrior’s white, gambit-style tunic hung out from under the thick belt that connected the bottom of the cuirass to her torso, and flowed into a loose split knee length gown that was trimmed with gold. The same white tunic stretched to her elbows and tapered into a golden trim with her lower legs begin covered by thick white trousers and tall leather boots. Leather straps guarded her shoulders and were feathered with golden tassels, with the edge of the shoulder guards connecting to a long flowing silver cloak, split directly down the middle to resemble wings. Even her own honey colored hair was changed for the occasion to fit the silvery hair often associated with Laliafa’s and pulled back into a pony-tail.
Diende's one good eye narrowed faintly as he turned to look at Sophsi with lips curled in irritation. He had no idea who this harlot was, but he - as must have everyone upon the portico - recognized the outfit surely enough. Diende had made many acquaintances and studied many lineages in his time, and his memory was no longer what it used to be - but he made a point of knowing every army and navy officer of significant note in the realm, and this floozy was not one of them. Yet she dared to dress as a conqueror and project the visage of a warrior - in his presence, with merits and awards of military orders hanging from his kaftan in plain view.
He had no idea who she was, but he would certainly find out - and he was going to make her regret her choice in dress. One way or another.
He turned back to Allianna, and saw the flash of pure contempt on her face as she also stared at the newcomer who had arrived with Jakinius. He opened his mouth to say that, perhaps, they could afford to put aside their animosity...
Amid the shock and awe of the sudden arrival, Allianna took it upon herself to divert her eyes from her childhood rival and turned back to Diende, “we can talk later, excuse me would you?”
Diende's mouth snapped shut as his thoughts of reconciliation vanished amid a flurry of ineffectual rage. He stared at her retreating head for a moment before calling out one final time to her.
"When Ralltene Valarien is elected Phoenix King, I want you to remember this moment!" He cried. Then, in a huff, he turned and retreated from the portico to the large garden surrounding the estate, heading for a stone bench underneath an awning of leaves in order to cool off.
Both Hiltruda and Aethlar bore witness to the entire sordid scene - though apparently, somebody had been watching them in turn.
"Your Grace." A light and airy feminine voice addressed Hiltruda from behind. Turning, the Dowager Queen would see Sarapis Tribal standing a polite distance away, holding a stein of wine in her left hand. With her right, she made a peculiar motion, drawing it from her left hip across her waist and then raising it through the air as it slid to the woman's right. It was the Kawachian equivalent of a formal bow presented to royalty, specifically made up so that the user did not actually have to incline their body. While predictably incourteous of House Chalarensis, they did tend to only use it in the presence of actual royalty - and Diende's omission of the same gesture had likely been another deliberate insult to Allianna. As far as gestures went, it was the closest anyone short of the Phoenix King or Queen was ever likely to receive.
"I am Sarapis Tribal, Governor of Acantha. I must apologize for my fourth-great-grand-uncle's impertinence. He is the eldest member of the House, and so is necessarily entitled to the position of representative whenever the Grand Duke is unavailable. I commend you for your honorable defense of Lady Allianna, and I am certain nobody expected anything less from your Majesty, as your pedigree and grace in handling such delicate affairs speaks for themselves." The woman paused briefly for effect.
"With the arrival of Prince Jakinius and his..." Sarapis glanced at Sophsi briefly. "...chatelaine, I imagine everyone else may be concerning themselves with their address. In the intervening time, if it is no inconvenience to your Majesty, there are a number of affairs I might speak with you of that may prove to be mutually beneficial to our houses. They would be necessarily external to the proceedings of the summit, but I shall endeavor not to unduly restrict your time. If it pleases your Majesty, there may also be some utility in including the venerable Master Graeton for our purposes." Sarapis' voice was like the same cool wind blowing through the portico. Soft, steady, smooth, and with an underlying chill of the now passing winter season. Her tone was the very definition of courteous, her expression neutral and businesslike - though was was something vaguely offputting about the way the woman seemed to be looking through the Dowager Queen rather than directly at her.
Across the portico nearer to the doorway, Zola Thusini's contemplation of the frescos - or perhaps of the new entrant's outfits - was interrupted by the approach of Rame.
"You are Zola Thusini, yes?" He asked her as he stepped into her field of vision. "Sorry if I'm a bit forward; I was instructed to keep an eye out for you. The name is Rame Mountebank, Pilot." He nodded at her, once. A friendly and easy smile was on his lips, but his eyes and expression were both calculating. "I studied art at Eldva, specifically portraiture. I don't fancy I have a patch on the likes of your skills, of course, but my Lord determined I should be at hand to evaluate your materials and technique." He leaned forward and spoke in a falsetto whisper. "...And I am sorry about that. The House is somewhat suspicious of anybody from the mainland. I have heard the Grand Duke himself comment favorably in regards to your past work, if that makes you feel better."
“Now announcing Her Highness Princess Lynette Zarand, First Princess of Acitha and second in line to the throne, Marshal of Acitha, and Defender of the realm. And His Highness Prince Aldrick Zarand, Second Prince of Acitha and third in line to the throne, Prime Magistrate and Ambassador to the Heartlands. And Count Lakatos Zarand of Taros.” The three mentioned nobles stepped into the room, Lynette in the lead with Aldrick to her right and Lakatos on her left. For her part Lynette did a somewhat decent job at not looking uncomfortable despite the fact that her brother had insisted that we wore a more dedicate dress than she would have liked.
"Who is that?” She gestured towards the woman who was dressed quite differently than any other present. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at the outfit of the same design as Laliafa was said to have worn.
Aldrick looked at the woman for a moment, a frown spreading across his face, before answering “That is Lady Sophsi of House Valarian. She is-”
“No warrior.” Lynette cut him off.
“No she is most certainly not. I doubt she has ever even held a sword before. Now wait!” He placed a restraining hand on Lynette’s arm before the woman could head over toward Sophsi. “Do try and keep it civil.”
“Can’t you overlook this?” Lakatos inquired, earning a scowl from Lynette.
“I won’t bite her” Lynette said to Aldrick, choosing to ignore Lakatos’ request. She then shook off Aldrick’s grip and started towards Sophsi.
“Oh by Ra-hun-ru why won’t that girl listen?” Lakatos muttered. “What are you going to do?” He turned to Aldrick.
“Why converse with the other guests of course” Aldrick answered.
“Well do try and pay some attention to the male guests as well.”
“Yes, yes.” Aldrick said as he looked about for a person of interest. “We’ll talk later” He said as he spotted one such person and started off in her direction. It was Isa Valarien, the young prodigee magician of the house. She stood slightly off to the corner, having arrived almost unnoticed behind Jakinius’ party, and took easily to standing in the shade of the portico, admiring the flowers of the peristylium at a distance with red wine in hand. A content smile dwelled on her porcelain face, almost hiding from the direct sun whose color matched her formal dress, almost giving her meeker frame the look of a slim flame from a white candle.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of introducing myself before” Aldrick said as he approached her. He swept into a low bow as he said “I am Aldrick Zarand. May I ask who you are?”
“Well it makes sense,” Isa tilted her head in acknowledgement, her content smile changing to one of welcome, “because we never met before. I am Isa Valarien.”
“Lady Isa, it might be presumptuous, but I must say that dress you are wearing certainly brings out your natural beauty. But I must ask, what is a lady such as yourself doing tucked away in a corner such as this?”
Slightly caught off guard by the sudden compliment, Isa stumbled to provide a thank you before suddenly descending into an awkward silence.
“Well,” after a second she was quick to defend herself, “it is a peristylium, it’s all corners.” Her smile returned, content with her answer, as if scoring a point in some invisible sport.
“Ah” Aldrick said, his smile widening further. “So your physical beauty is matched by your quick wits.” He paused for a moment before adding “Then if this is all corners,” He made a vague gesture towards their surroundings, “why pick this specific corner?”
“She was saving my spot, and you’re standing in it,” a defensive grunt snorted from behind Aldrick, the eyes of Gowa digging into the intruders back. A suppressed laugh was caught in Isa’s throat, and her eyes drifted to the leather clad warrior woman behind the man.
“Lady Gowa!” Aldrick legitimately looked and sounded startled. He quickly recovered himself as he stepped to the side as if to return Gowa her reserved spot. “How great it is to see you again. I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you and Duchess Allianna for visiting me when I was recovering. How have the two of you been?” He eyed her armor, quietly thanking Lyriel that he had been able to convince his own sister to come in more proper attire.
“We’ve been just fine, it’s good to see-” Gowi looked Aldrick up and down, almost skeptically, “it’s good to see you’re doing better than last time.”
“He was just telling me about my wit,” Isa said with a smile, inviting Gowa into the previous conversation. Gowa smiled at Isa, and then at Aldrick, “what about me? How is mine?” Her voice was almost teasing, and malicious.
“You know how the saying goes” Aldrick answered, “birds of a feather flock together. That certainly seems to be the case for you two. Not often do I get the opportunity to speak to two ladies as fair as yourselves.” He seemed to contemplate something before adding “I’m sure you two must be quite skilled at fending off unwanted suitors by this point.”
“What do you think this is for?” Gowi tugged on the sword belted to her hip while Isa rolled her eyes.
“Yes well… please don’t use that on me. I’ve already seen more healers this month than I’d like.” He held his hands up in front of himself, although his warm smile and tone indicated that he was speaking in jest. “Joking aside, I must say that it pleases me to see a woman such as yourself. At times I fear that there are not enough strong women in the Empire. Seeing ladies such as yourselves help allay this fear.”
“Are you afraid often?” Isa asked, just as Gowa opened her mouth.
“Ouch” Aldrick said with a wince. “So the rose has thorns. Well I suppose I walked into that one. In a more serious note, yes I do feel fear often for the well being of my homeland.” His voice seemed to lose its jovial tone.
“Oh no!” Isa’s entire demeanor turned to guilt, “don’t worry about your home! It is safe under the phoenix wing.”
“If only that was true” Aldrick said with a shake of his head. Unfortunately the north has been largely left to fend for itself as of late. And I am not confident that all who seek the throne cares about the north.”
“I don’t think you should doubt the heartlands and the Empire so quickly,” Gowa offered a serious consultation. “A lot of our northern bound forces were stunted five years ago, and while it is slow to recover, we are recovering, and do see the need in every corner of the Empire.”
“Perhaps” Aldrick said after a moment. “But while we are safe here men and women, not too different than you and I, are dying to ensure that safety. And I need not remind you who I believe to be the cause for my recent injuries.” He leaned in towards Gowa. “I am not keen on seeing what direction he takes the empire in, all things considered.”
Isa looked horrified and lost in thought as Gowa put on a more stone faced expression, even crossing her arms, “I’m aware of the horrific events of the borders, we are doing what we can and we hope to do more as soon as this summit passes. Please don’t think ill of Imperial intention, the border lands are of the utmost importance to us.”
“I know” Aldrick said after a moment. “And I appreciate it. Still, it is difficult to shake the feeling of abandonment. And I fear that that feeling is starting to seep into every crevice in Acitha. To make matters worse she” He gestured towards his sister, “is here instead of leading our troops back home. Although it shows just how important father thinks this election will be, having her here instead of there is only increasing the number of casualties.”
Gowa went silence behind her stone faced facade, imitating Isa’s silence. After a short exhale from her nostrils, all that was said was, “I’m sorry.”
“If anyone should apologize it is I.” Aldrick said, allowing a bit of a smile to return to his face. “I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Neither of you are at fault for any of this. Though I must admit that I do feel a little better after speaking my mind, so I must thank you for listening to me.”
“Of course,” Gowa nodded stoically, “well, I hope you are enjoying the party and yourself.” A forced smile formed and dissipated on her face.
“Probably not as much as others, but it is a nice distraction nevertheless.” Aldrick responded. There was no sign of the earlier tension on his face or in his tone. “And, if nothing else, speaking to two fair ladies such as yourselves has made this party worthwhile.”
“I’m glad,” Gowa replied, “at the very least, there is some happiness the Valariens can dish out during such trying times.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” Isa wedged her opinion in, optimistically, “we rise, strength in unity!”
“We stand ready” Aldrick answered with his house’s saying. He flashed Isa a smile, thankful for the shift in tone her comment brought to the conversation.
Gowa pursed her lips, “I’m happy that your people do.” Her ears seemed to suddenly perk, and her brow furrowed, “seems I am needed elsewhere!”
The woman suddenly bounded off towards the Duvard party, leaving Isa and Aldrick alone and confused.
Isa shrugged her confused expression away, “she can get a little touchy with some subjects.”
“So can my sister” Aldrick said with a laugh. “If only you could have seen her face when she caught sight of Lady Sophsi. It was… well priceless.” We waved at a passing servant and asked for a glass of wine. “On the subject of sisters,” He said as he took the glass the servant offered, “where in the grand Valarian family tree are you from?”
“From a far off marriage between the Imperial line and a local noble family long extinct now that arose from a Duvard family line even longer past, with a few more houses sprinkled in over the years, and yet a Valarien,” Isa paused, “comes from a lot of Valarien males, in fact… only Valarien males is the reason I am a Valarien. I’m not as contemporary as the other Valarien lines, and it might die with my marriage.” Isa remembered her long standing glass of wine and took a narrow sip, “as opposed to the many growing branches of the other Valarien lines.”
“Interesting” Aldrick said as he stroked his chin. “No siblings?”
“Several, but one has been missing since before I was born, and the other two died shortly after a twin birth along with my mother,” Isa added cleanly and without emotion, “I wasn’t very old when that happened though and have no recollection of it.”
“I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me to ask.” He seemed to be genuinely distraught over having broached the subject. He took a long sip of his wine before attempting a change in topic. “Lady Gowa mentioned you were something of a prodigy in regards to magic, no?”
“She said that?!” Isa exclaimed, her mouth opening in shock, “she always tries to bring that to attention for some reason. It’s nothing really.”
Isa furrowed her brow and let her posture break and fall against a column lazily, “I practice divine magic through prayers.”
“Ah. So the chosen one of a god. My aunt used to serve the shield sisters as a Valkyrie, so it’s not as if I am unfamiliar with the concept.” He shifted his stance slightly to favor his right foot. “So can you use healing magic? Or does your talents lay elsewhere?”
“I can give strength where it is needed and close wounds,” Isa remarked, attempting a quiet and humble tone, “a lot of things with the body or mind really, Kammeth willing.”
“Well darn. I’d much rather have had you tend to my wounds than the old man that had” Aldrick commented. “I suspect you have a much better bedside manner than he did. If nothing else you aren’t hard on the eyes” He said with a wink. “Still I wish he had done a better job on my arm. It still hurts quite a bit.”
“You’re probably using it too rigorously,” Isa commented seriously, a slight curl giving hint to an underlying joke, “rest is the best of magics for healing.”
Ah, well I never could rest that well so far from home,” Aldrick scrunched his nose in a dismissive thought, “everything just seems different sometimes, puts one on edge.”
“I can imagine,” Isa frowned slightly in empathy.
“I miss the lakes by my home, you know? Glistening black waters and white swans. They are true sights to behold in the winter when the water freezes.” Aldrick’s eyes had focused on something that wasn’t there as his thoughts turned to home. “It might be hard to comprehend how I could come to love the winters of my homeland, even my siblings don’t seem to understand, but the freezing winds of winter changing to the warm breeze of spring is a thing of true beauty.”
“That does sound beautiful,” Isa’s eyes were like saucers as she stared intensely into the open air, imagining the scene, “it almost reminds me of this little pond I used to go to as a child.”
“Hopefully someday you will get the opportunity to witness it” Aldrick said. After a moment he perked up. “Actually… I do have some of my brother’s paintings back at my house’s estate. I could show you them if you’d like.”
“Oh that sounds lovely!” Isa lit up at the mention of paintings, “I sure would.”
“Excellent!” Aldrick said with a smile. “How does the day after tomorrow sound?”
“Yeah!” Isa smiled wide, clearly excited, “I bet Gowa could come too!”
“Oh? I didn’t realize she was interested in paintings.” Aldrick said after a moment.
“She isn’t,” Isa laughed, “but come on, it sounds fun!”
“If you’d like you could invite Duchess Allianna to come as well.” Aldrick said. “I’m sure that, if nothing else, my sister would love to have the opportunity to speak to you three in a more private setting.”
“Yes,” Isa agreed immediately, “this is gonna be great.”
Aethlar bristled uncomfortably as Allianna was disrespected again, but as Diende vowed to vote for Ralltene she allowed herself a small smirk. She leant into her son for a moment as the old man departed, the beads and pearls that held her greying brown hair in place clinking softly against each other. "You do know that, should it arise that the Merchant-Prince becomes Emperor, your cousin-by-marriage Victoria shall be Empress?" She said simply, her green eyes twinkling for a moment. Aethlar merely frowned and sulked away to join his sisters as Sarapis made her overtures.
The Queen-Dowager turned imperiously to face Sarapis, taking a not-insignificant swig of amber wine as she did so. She acknowledged the peculiarly egotistical way that the Kawachians showed respect with outward grace and appreciation. Inwardly, she thought it thin-skinned of them to be so averse to bowing, but years of experience had proven to her that any sign of respect from someone from the ruling houses of the most southerly isles of the Empire was something to be recognised and cherished when it did so rarely show itself.
"I thank you for your greeting, Madame-Governor," Hiltruda ruminated as Sarapis spoke for a moment. Her mouth drew itself taut for a moment and then relaxed. She took another slow sip of wine. "My defence of the Princess was nothing but protocol. My voting intentions in this election aside, I remain firmly convinced that we must respect the system of this Empire for it to benefit us all," She regarded Sarapis coolly for a moment.
It was at that moment that Prince Jakinius and Sophsi entered, along with their erstwhile spouses. Aethlar, Haldetrude and Eadgifu turned to face them, and Hiltruda too was momentarily distracted from her conversation with Sarapis as a hush descended over the room. Aethlar, who had been busy filling a glass to the very top with wine, narrowed his eyes as the procession made its way across the room. His face reddened as he saw Sophsi's costume, and he rounded on Eadgifu, whispering in low but deadly tones. "What affront is this...?"
Eadgifu paused, running a hand through her silvery hair as she observed Sophsi's own dyed mane. "I am not sure. Whatever it is, it's quite sad,"
"It's like a girl playing dress up with her mother's clothes," Haldetrude observed primly, her nose firmly in the air. She and Eadgifu nonetheless gave the appropriate curtseys - though they were aimed mostly at Jakinius, for he outranked them more than Sophsi. Aethlar turned to his mother, who raised a silent finger to her lips to silence him and shook her head ever so slightly. He sighed, deflated, and turned back to Eadgifu, engaging her in animated conversation.
Hiltruda's lips were firmly pursed for a few more moments as she coldly ran her eyes up and down Jakinius and Sophsi's figures. "Dear," She said at last, turning back to Sophsi. "I feel our royal scions have made something of a misstep,"
"That is not the Prince's 'chatelaine' as you so tactfully put it though, Madame-Governor. It is his cousin, Sophsi," Hiltruda took another long sip of wine. "She is in contention for the title of Empress too.... or should I say was?" Hiltruda's laugh rang out momentarily across the courtyard.
"But yes, I should be well pleased to hear of whatsoever it is with which the House Caernavir can aid you. The Kingdom of Gwethydd," She said pointedly, arching an eyebrow. "Is always happy to help its compatriots and allies within this illustrious Empire. If you wish for the assistance of Master Graeton you shall have to write to him yourself, however. He is, I am afraid, often too indispensable to leave Gwethydd for long. His capacity as Chancellor of the Eldva entitles him to also serve on the King's Council as his Temple-Master," Hiltruda snapped her fingers for a servant to refill her wine glass.
"Tell me, did you ever spend time at the Eldva? I hear so often how enterprising Kawachian students are in their study of the sciences in particular. Truly an underrated academic powerhouse," She said with a soft and accommodating smile. In contrast to Sarapis' chilly demeanour, Hiltruda's was warm and almost kindly. There was something unruly and slightly mischievous about the twinkle in her eye, but the way that she held herself was a projection of her station, filling her corner of the room with her elaborately styled hair and not insignificant size.
***
Castle Austri-Heinder, Autrisia, County of Ygris, Kingdom of Gwethydd
8th of Gerna | 1200 AU
Autrisia was the capital of the County of Ygris, a windswept and relatively small city encircled by a low granite wall and dominated by the towering black spires of Castle Austri-Heinder, one of the only stone buildings in a settlement where most of the population lived in timer framed homes. Its position in the centre of the great Adrathine Plain meant that it was one of the agricultural centres of the entire Kingdom of Gwethydd and its population could swell to over 30,000 during the harvest season as scores of rural farmers flogged their wares in its enormous markets. Today however, it was much less populated, and the streets felt almost empty in comparison to the bustling and boisterous atmosphere of Harksmoor.
Queen Eadrith sat in a window seat in one of the tallest spires of the castle, her hands poised protectively over her swollen stomach. The sixteen year old Queen-Consort of Gwethydd was watching the comings and goings of the Ygrissians far below, who moved slowly and easily through the empty streets about their business. The sky was overcast and there was a chill in the air outside, but the lodging that she had been provided was heated by a myriad of imported woollen blankets and a roaring fire.
The Queen-Consort had been sent into a confinement in Autrisia for the final stages of her pregnancy - the windy plain was said to be good for removing foul humours from the air, and the fact that Eadrith was so heavy with child and so slim and small herself had been a cause for concern for the King. Separated from her husband and from her court for a few months now, Eadrith had found it increasingly hard to stay active.
The Count of Ygris, Magwin di Reckmansworth, had a brutish and bovine appearance, but was beginning to show his sixty-three years as his face began to sag. He was, nonetheless, a jovial if not somewhat distant host, and had accounted for all of the luxuries that a Queen could need in a castle as illustrious as his own. His wife, the Countess who had been born Princess Gerberga as the eldest child of King Lethlin II, was a handsome woman with an enormous bosom and a permanently ruddy complexion - the counterpart of her brother King Aethlar V and her Veletian sister Ariette rather than the once delicate beauty of her deformed sister Alissera. She had welcomed Eadrith most warmly of all, but the Queen had caught a wariness in her eye when she gave Gerberga the thanks and warm sentiments of Queen Hiltruda and Princess Alissera.
Eadrith turned her head away from the window and into the room. Three of her ladies were accompanying her there, including Lady Alysandra di Reckmansworth, the Count's only daughter. Her brother Valdemar served on the council in the capital, but Alysandra had been a pariah and an exile from the royal court ever since her defilement and pregnancies at the hands of King Aethlar V. She was beautiful, with long silvery hair and sad green eyes with a more refined beauty than her licentious daughter Lady Eadgifu and none of the sturdiness of her parents. She was playing the lute beautifully, plucking the strings to a melodic tune as another of the ladies sang for the Queen.
Eadrith smiled warmly and raised a hand for silence. "My ladies," She said, brushing a strand of her auburn hair across her front. "How do you think the king fares in the capital?"
Lady Adela di Cantaviri, perchance one of Queen Hiltruda's nieces, spoke up first. "I should love to visit the imperial court in Lalrial one day,"
"And you will," Said Eadrith with a smile. "All of you. When the children are born I shall travel there with Aethlar surely to pay homage to the new Emperor,"
"...Or Empress," Alysandra said. Her voice was melodic but slightly gravelly. Her eyes lolled slightly when she looked at Eadrith, and her hand grasped for the glass of red wine on the table next to her seat. "It could always be an Empress,"
"You are right, dear cousin Alysandra," Eadrith smiled to herself. It always brought her great pleasure that women were not confined in the entire empire as much as they were in Gwethydd. "There is always that chance. I do hope it is so,"
"Could you not write a letter to the king and tell him to make it so?" Teased Adela, jumping up and taking an orange from a nearby fruit bowl. She was stout like her aunt the dowager, but as daft as a brush and nowhere near as cunning as the rest of her family. Eadrith supposed.
"Perhaps. I shall tell hi--" Eadrith was cut off by a sharp and sudden pain that ricocheted through her entire body. There was a gurgling tension inside of her body, and suddenly the cushion on the window seat was soaking wet. The Queen's eyes widened.
"Majesty?" Alysandra noticed first, rising from her seat and quickening her step towards Eadrith. The Queen looked up, her eyes glazing over for a moment.
"I think it's time," Came the reply, barely audible in the now silent room.
The orange thudded into the carpet as Adela went skittering out into the corridor and flying down the stairs to find the physician from the Eldva that the Queen's party had brought with her.
Alysandra stroked Eadrith's hair as the pain returned. "The king..." The Queen muttered as stars began to fill her vision, and then everything went black as the whispers in the room turned to panicked shouts.
The chapel of Kammeth was a modest structure within the city of Vandaster. A building of tilrinic Heartlander design that bespoke of its Imperial craftsmanship. It was a single story temple possessing one large chamber and a smaller closed off section to the rear that held a few rooms. Pews fashioned from wood - likely of southern origin- stood in six rows in total. The altar rose up three large steps, centered there was the heart of every temple of Kammeth. A bronze bowl-shaped brazier, one fashioned so that intricate motifs and symbols circled its circumference. The flame within the brazier glowed brightly; the fire meant to accept what offerings the faithful provided. The many candles around it and the feet of the statue having each been lit by a prevoius visitor.
Transgressions were often written on a piece of paper and thrown into the fire to be consumed. So that the sin would always be between man and god. Though it was not uncommon for those illiterate to merely cast an offering of food or wood. Jakinius Valarien had not come to ask for forgiveness this day, however, but guidance.
On his knees before the sanctified flames of Kammeth, hands clasped together before him he was as unmoving as the statue of his ancestor standing behind the lit brazier. She stood tall and proud with a single blade held in hand. Dressed in the garb of royalty and a breastplate though any learned fool knew the true Lalaifia had never worn armor in battle as a testament to her faith. It was news of his father's passing that had brought Jakinius here-- the news had filled him with both grief and doubt. He felt lost adrift at sea and so he had sought the unmoving grace of Kammeth to which to anchor himself. All his life. As long as he could remember he had sought the acceptance of his father that his youngest brother had seemingly so easily earned.
He had never known why exactly he had been so distant with his father and emperor. Sure they had shared different ideas and goals yet something more had driven them apart. Perhaps it was because he had spent the least time with Taramyth, growing up largely under the care and training of House Zarand. They had almost become a second family to him. When he had returned to the Capital - a full grown man- he felt like a stranger returned to a place unfamiliar. Filled with strangers who shared only blood. At least, he had gotten on well with his uncles. One of the many reasons for his going to the north at all was because of Carles urging. His father more interested in trade and finding new lands or the building of ever more ships.
The doors of the chapel creaked open with an audible groan that awoke Jak from his reverie. Lokhagos Metinnus Jaroaria -adorned in his segmented imperial armor - entered the modest temple of Kammeth. The double wooden doors began creaking shut behind him as he walked down the aisle to the still kneeling prince of Lalrial. Metinnus looked about the fairly empty temple and whistled.
“And they say the south of the Septentrion is more devoted…” Metinnus said under his breath more to himself than anything.
Jakinius rose to his feet with a sigh, “I take it preparations for the ship are complete?”
The High Captain of the Riffleford company nodded though the prince with his back still turned could not see the gesture. “Aye, my apologies milord, I did’a not mean to disturb you. But yes everything is underway, we’re ready when you are.”
Jakinius looked up at the statue of Kammeth. The unblinking figure of stone imposing in its stern stare, yet the craftsmen had done remarkably well in capturing the compassionate air of their god. “You know you needn't be so formal with me Metinnus.” A touch of amusement in his words.
“Ah well, a force of habit I picked up from being around nobles all me life I suppose.” The older man smiled. “Still might’in be a good habit to keep should you take the throne.”
At the mention of the throne and the election to follow in the coming days Jakinius frowned. Shifting he turned to meet Metinnus in the eyes and for the first time the company captain saw the uncertainty in his once and now former soldiers eyes. “Is this really the right move to make Metinnus? I feel I would better serve here as I always have, not on a warm safe throne countless leagues away.”
Metinnus understood his comrade's anxiety all too well. The two had known each other for many years after all. They had first met before Jakinius’s identity had ever been revealed. So of course, Metinnus had treated him no differently than any of the other men under his command. In fact, after he realized the boy's potential he had pushed him harder in the months of drills and training as they prepared for the north.
“Aye, but that is not just any ass warmer Jakinius,” his former captain pointed out, “it's the seat that keeps this whole damn realm from falling apart and being scattered in the wind. I can’t imagine any man more worthy or capable of sitting on the gilded throne then ye’self.”
As usual, his former captain’s advice was crude and blunt- but exactly the truth of it as he understood it, nothing more or less. Jakinius merely inclined his head in understanding, his eyes falling to the fires that still burned in the brazier. He felt the hand of Metinnus fall on his right shoulder.
“Still unsure?” the captain more stated than asked.
“I am.”
“Good.”
Jakinius turned a puzzled gaze to the grizzled veteran. “How is that good?”
Metinnus only smiled. “Cause it means you don’t want the throne or its power. And those who don’t seek only power are less inclined to abuse it. Now come, the ship awaits and the sooner we’re off the better.”
The Heartlands
House Valarien
Ceveut, 12th of Gerna | 1200 AU Location: The Phoenix Tower in Lalrial
Shamgar Valarien breathed in the soothing fumes of his wooden pipe as he made his way down a well-decorated hallway found on the higher floors of the Phoenix tower Walking not far behind him was his personal aide and scribe Nirlowyn Puronus. At the current moment, the boy carried in his arms a scroll from which he read from several key pieces of news. Shamgar listened intently though his eyes were often looking toward the windows they passed by. Faded silver-grey eyes that still held a sharpness to them despite his old age. He wore his robes of bright white inlined with crimson. Under his left arm, he carried a heavily wrapped bundle tied with hemp cords.
“-once m-more t-there is reports of more d-di-discontent in the White Flower di-district. Apparently a Prime Magistrate was attacked by an un-unruly mob of men supporting Ralltene for the throne.” The boy stuttered out his sentence in a seemingly nervous spatter. He had always had trouble say full and complete sentences. Thankfully it did not affect his writing in the least. Better with a quill then words as it were.
Shamgar shook his head as he chewed at the end of his pipe thoughtfully. “Madness. Since when have the smallfolk cared so deeply on who sat on the gilded throne?”
The light of the sun shone brightly from the stain glass windows, casting long shadows from the pair as the neared the end of the long rounded hallway. Like many of the passages in the Tower of the Phoenix, it curved noticeably from the staircase in a circuit.
“How have the watch responded?” Shamgar inquired, blowing smoke from his nose.
“As e-e-expected milord increased patrols along wi-with i-i-i-i-i-imp-implementing a tight curfew until the election. Time will only tell if this dies d-down or worsens after we know who wears the krow-crown.”
The came to an archway that possessed a thick wooden portal made with the common eye-catching skill the tilrinic’s were known for. Shamgar began to push his way through the doors but paused for a moment and regarded his aid.
"Bring word back to the watch captain that if he has managed to take any of these roughens into custody I would dearly like a word. We need to get a handle on who is invoking these outbreaks."
"O-of course Lord Regent." He said with a bow before turning on his heel and walking the other way.
Shamgar continued through the doors into a room that possessed little in the way of furnishing. It held only one painting over a fireplace, one of Emperor Mandred IV Valarien. A single rounded table sat in the rooms center bare of any notable decoration save for a vase with a single red rose in full bloom standing in its glass prison. Beside the fireplace leaning with his back against the wall was Jakinius Valarien. Arms crossed and his head staring downward to the ground. The moment the doors opened the Centurions eyes flickered upward, his natural state ever on guard.
Upon seeing it was Shamgar he visibly relaxed and stood straighter. In that moment, the patriarch of House Valarien regarded his younger nephew. He his pose radiated strength as ever, he obviously carried with him the natural charm and stature that made lesser men want to follow him. That much Shamgar could see easily enough. But he also noted the lines under his eyes, how he seemed to droop as if there was a weight on his shoulders.
The doors closed in behind him and Shamgar entered the room proper as he made his way to the table. He carefully set his bundle down on the table and pulled out a chair gesturing for his nephew to take a seat as well as he sat down. Jakiniuswalked his way slowly to the table and rested a hand on the chairs head. However, he did not immediately take a seat. Seemingly more comfortable standing. Shamgar allowed it seeing no reason not too. He contributed it to his nephews natural restlessness.
"Lord Regent Shamgar," Jakinius began. "It has been overlong since we last saw each other, I'm glad to see you in good health."
Pulling from his pipe before exhaling Shamgar allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, yes, there is no need to such formality Jakinius. We're the only ones here."
Jakinius shifted from one foot then the other as he nodded his understanding. Years of court training and then military discipline had ingrained an almost over politeness in the man in Shamgar's experience. He ranked higher than any Arch Elector or king within Ethica, yet from what Shamgar heard he always treated everyone he met with all the due respect of their office. From minor lords to even mere peasants, all earned equal amounts of respect from him. Unlike the political animals born in the Captial and the south at large. His always felt shockingly genuine.
"Now," Shamgar said getting to matters at hand. "I imagine you wonder as to why I have asked to meet with you?"
"The thought crossed my mind Mil-...uncle Shamgar. But I can't honestly say I know why."
Tapping a finger on his pipe Shamgar responded, "understandable. It is well known I have often tried to remove myself from the political landscape of the Captial. Tried and failed of course. Yet, our meeting here has little to do with the election."
Jakinius seemed to stand a little more at ease at hearing that, yet his face formed into that of confusion. "Then why, dear uncle, have you called upon me? If I may so ask."
"You may, and the answer to that is simple." He waved a hand to the wrapped bundle on the table. "Open it."
Nodding once despite still squinting his eyes in curiosity. Jakinius took hold of the object in question and began to unravel the cloth once he undid the tie holding it together. He pulled it open and his eyes shot open in surprise. There now in plain sight was a sword currently in a scabbard of stunning make. Jewels encrusted its length, silver lining the edges of the wooden sheath along with countless motifs of rising phoenixes. The handle itself was fashioned to resemble a bird in flight, the guard like golden wings, the pommel appeared to look exactly like the head of a noble bird of prey. The wings spread around the grip in such a way as to offer an excellent degree of protection to one's hand while at the same tome giving one plenty of room to use the blade effectively.
As if it was made of the most delicate glass in all the realm Jakinius lifted the blade up gingerly into his hands. A bewildered look on his face as he regarded Shamgar.
A merely waved a hand. "Pull it free." Was his only response.
Looking as if he was in a daze he slowly pulled the weapon free, halfway out from its scabbard the silvery white metal that made the swords blade shone with an unearthly light. Shining a bright golden hue that pulsed like the heart of some great beast suddenly stirred to wakefulness. Jakinius's breath caught in his throat despite himself at the sight as he peered down at the most beautiful piece of art he had ever seen. Beauty caught in solid form no tilrinic or guvelder could hope to match.
The prince knew instantly what he held in his hands. There could be no mistake. The Eventide’s Edge was, after all, the most famous and perhaps powerful gift of the gods to grace Ethica. Still dumbfounded Jakinius looked back to Shamgar as he slowly sheathed the blade.
"Why did you bring this?"
Shamgar blew smoke as he answered, "because I'm giving it to you. I thought that much obvious."
The prince quickly shook his head as he placed the sword gently, if a little regretfully, back on the table. "I cannot accept it-- it is too grand a gift and one I certainly do not deserve. Perhaps in the hands of the emperor or empress to be but not mine."
It was Shamgar's turn to shake his head, his face deadly serious. "No. Perhaps in days before our time, but no it is you who has been chosen."
"Me? But why? Why not Terminus, or Allianna or Ralltenne even?"
"Aye, Terminus would have been a sensible choice. Yet his work is one within shadows, a vital one to the realm all the same. Ever has the Eventide been more than a simple weapon, it is a symbol of strength, passion, and unity." A hand rested on the finely crafted god forged blade. "The decision is also not wholly mine to make, after all, this sword is not our houses. It is a pact given shape, one older than the empire or any realm within it. One between Kammeth and mankind. And for whatever reason, he has chosen you to be its bearer. It is more than just a tool or weapon. Why you? Why indeed? But it is not my place to question such things. I follow my heart as it were, and what I believe is his will. Clearly he has plans for you yet. And I doubt they have anything to do with that ugly seat. Forces have already begun to move against us, the time for vigilance has come."
Watered eyes looked from Shamgar to the sword still sitting on the table. A weapon gifted to his long late ancestor. How could he ever measure up to such a legendary figure? It boggled the mind. He still felt it did not belong in his hands. He looked to Shamgar after a moment's pause but he stopped short when he noticed the alarmed look now on his uncle's face. Suddenly, much quicker than a man his age should be able to move, Shamgar was on his feet his mouth opened as if in warning but at that moment, he suddenly flew off his feet and struck the wall on the far side of the room out of Jakinius's reach.
He was for once utterly caught off guard as Shamgar hit the wall and cried out in pain. Instincts took over and he whirled around. Suddenly standing there was a figure hooded and cloaked in shadow black. His face covered in strange dark smokey black. Upon seeing the intruder Jakinius's hand fell toward the only weapon in reach. His fingers, however, came half a second short of the weapons grip before he too was sent flying, his back striking the wall with an audible thump. The figure had apparently gestured with his outstretched left hand. He had not even noticed if the figure, male judging from the cut of his clothing, had cast some spell.
He attempted to move but found doing so impossible. As if great unseen iron chains had locked his arms and legs in place. He strained desperately against the force but it availed him little as there was zero give in whatever mystical entrapment had been used. A laugh gained his attention from the other side of the room as the figure walked forward. He was lean and walked a little awkwardly. Yet Jakinius certainly did not recognize him. He stood beside the table now seemingly pleased with himself.
"And my brothers believed it folly, ha." The man eyes gave away his smile beneath his face covering.
"Who in the abyss are you," Jakinius managed to speak despite the crushing force against his chest. Too his left Shamgar called for the guards. However the man merely laughed.
"Who I am is not important, and I'd save your breath-- I'll be long gone before help arrives." The hooded looked to the table as a juggled a crown between his knuckles in his left hand. He raised his right hand to grasp the hilt of Eventide, yet the moment his hand touched the grip he cursed and drew back his hand as spark leapt from where his hand had been. "A pity, such poetry it would have been to slay a Valarien with their own heirloom."
The man's gloved hand went to his belt were a wickedly curved dagger was held. He drew it in one smooth motion as he closed the distance. "I suppose I'll have to go with something less symbolic."
As he closed the distance his eyes suddenly widened and he stumbled forward as a loud thump pounded through the air. A ripping wooden shaft tipped with steel rammed through the man’s back and poked out from his chest grimly. The obvious sounds of a crossbow cranking to allow a new bolt taunted from behind. Spinning to meet the intruder, his eyes locked with those of Sophsi’s, her eye squinted behind the aim of a loaded crossbow. As soon as their eyes met, the string slapped the bow of the machine once more, launching another bolt.
The second bolt struck the mains left thigh causing him to cry out in alarm and pain. At that moment Jakinius felt the unseen bindings holding him loosen then vanish all together. He immediately took advantage as be sprung forward-- leaping into the back of the hooded figure as he tackled the man to the ground. Raising a fist he grabbed at the dark black cloth then…
Paused in confusion as he stared down at a tunic bereft a wearer. At his knees was the discarded remains of clothing the man had been wearing but the man in question was nowhere to be seen! Shamgar stumbled forward and joining Jakinius in staring incredulously at the pile of clothing.
Jakinius cursed as he tossed the piece of cloth to the side as he stood, “who in the abyss?! And how…”
Shamgar caught his breath as answered simply, “I do not know, but we have Sophsi to thank for our survival no doubt.” He walked toward the table and took hold of Eventide by its sheath and turned toward Jakinius. “We must call the guard and have them search the tower quickly. I am no magi but I know there is no magic that allows a man to simply vanish into thin air.”
He stepped toward Jakinius and offered Eventide to him hilt first. “Perhaps you will believe my paranoia now.”
"Forgive me, sir, for bothering you, but might you be Terminus Valarien? My father, Matthias Soleander, spoke well of you. Had such a man spoken to my father in such terms, he would have been banished to the wilderness.”
Matthias Soleander was a name Terminus Valarien had not heard in a long time.
But it wasn’t exactly a name he was particular fond towards given the shared experience Terminus and Matthias had back in that cold winter ago. He may have been young at the time, and was most certainly overeager, but the lack of clout and respect that was given to him by Matthias Soleander when he stepped into the Sonveld was something he most definitely had not forgotten. For someone who thought they were above the church— above Kammeth to tell him to leave and to tell him that his mission was not just had caused a near incident in the halls of Matthias’ own castle. Terminus remembered how young he was as the “Lord” tried to make him back down with veiled threats, bold presumptions, and disrespectful assertions— but then again, Terminus had only been fifteen years past his nameday at the time and had a hunger in his stomach with fangs to match so it wasn’t like he had went into the situation with political caution and the respect he should have. He had grown a lot in his time since then and if Matthias could look back and see him favorably he could at least offer the same olive branch to Matthias’ son. There was no reason not to; there was a time for zealous fervor and this was not one of them.
“I am.” Terminus replied as he looked back over to the old relic who had dared think age equated to universal respect.
There were a lot of things said about those from the islands that were scattered beneath the imperial heartlands, but very few of them were worth anything of note. Terminus viewed House Chalarensis as little more than arrogant bottom feeders that held no purpose to the realm but be a nice distraction for islandic vilespawn and lowly pirates— they brought little respect, honor, or integrity to the table and they lacked any resources that made them worthwhile. In many ways it was like a mangy mutt you kept around to feed and care for because of an aged old promise. In his darkest moments he often prayed that there would be a heresy revealed in the islands so he could personally bring Valarien justice to them to remind them of how far in the dirt they really were.
“Helstar will judge him in due time; that much I am sure.” He replied before taking another drink from the goblet before looking back to the person who was addressing him.
“My deepest condolences to your house for what had happened to your father. I was not aware he thought very much of me considering… our past together— we had not spoken in many years.”
A crowd began to form, one Terminus noticed as he heard the announcement that introduced the presence of his brother and cousin to the party. A light smirk came to his face as he saw the “show” that came with such an entry, but also seemed a bit conflicted at his cousin’s audacity. Arrogance was a pitfall of sin and there seemed to be an abundance of it on disaply— perhaps he would have to have words with them had an explanation not properly given; but he would not do it here in front of others. He took another drink from his goblet, running it dry, as he continued thinking about events that were going on at this party as he awaited a reply.
Dressed in a form-fitting and elaborately designed long sleeved tunic; shaded black with a silver lining. Ralltene Valarien enjoyed the short carriage ride to the estate his sister had chosen as the site of this little get-together. An excellent chance to gain the support of those Arch Electors still on the fence or so he assumed was his sister's thinking. A rather interesting move on her part. The carriage Victoria and Ralltene found themselves in was flanked by an escort of Gendarmerie. Looking out the carriages window in the direction of the high sun Ralltene allowed his mind to wonder as he thought of ways to use this party to his advantage. There would need to be inroads made to the Prime Magistrate of Acitha given recent events. Something perhaps more easily said than done he feared but it would be the wisest move.
Victoria’s eyes were locked on the carriage’s window, staring out into the countryside of the Heartlands. The sun was high in the sky, but headed towards the horizon in the west, as the late afternoon hours waned. It was a perfectly clear, sunny day, the kind typical of both the Imperial Heartlands and Victoria’s homeland, Violette, among other less savoury places. As the carriage rode along, Victoria found her mind wandering to the events that lay ahead, beyond the election and her husband’s coronation. The political structure of the imperial province was quite drastically different from her native republic’s, but if Victoria found herself Empress, and Lalrial her new seat, she could at least content herself with the similarity of the weather.
The four horses pulling the carriage slowed their trot until they came to a complete stop before the rising steps that lead to the portico. A gendarmer stepping down from his steed made his way to the side carriage door and opened it with a slight and practiced bow. Ralltene stepped out first before turning and offering a hand to Victoria to help her down. The sunlight illuminated the various gemstones adorning the golden jewelry around Victoria’s neck, the exuberant so-called ‘gilded bouquet’, House Gracieux’s artefact. The daylight, too, reached the fine fabric of the Duchess of Violette’s violet dress, the flowing silk stopping just short of the ground as its wearer exited the carriage and took her husband’s hand. The two made their way to the two pillars at the end of the steps that marked the entrance proper.
"My sister was ever over fond of parties among the imperial ministers," Ralltene began as he climbed the steps. "At the very least we might be able to use this little gathering to our advantage."
“Mhmm,” Victoria replied, simply, her gaze straight ahead as the gendarmes followed close behind her. They were dressed in their standard garb, quite similar in colour to Victoria’s attire: purple, with decorations of gold, mimicking House Gracieux’s banners. “There are plenty of individuals who still require a sharper stick and a larger carrot to follow along, I am sure.” As Victoria spoke and walked, her gait did not falter, and she did not stumble. She moved unyieldingly confidently, regally almost; she carried herself was though she was already a sovereign. As the pair approached the doors to the estate, her eyes turned to her husband, looking over his outfit. An unimpressed expression lingered on the lining of his tunic. “Why silver? Gold would match my necklace and my men’s uniforms”.
"Neutrality of course," Ralletene responded easily. "No need to constantly remind everyone of my connections with Violette. A fruitless endeavor perhaps but still..."
They soon reached the top of the stairs, allowing Ralltene a moment to study the ongoing party with a discerning eye. Quickly making note of who was with who, the manner as they spoke to one elector or contender. Many might have seen a simple gathering of the empire's most powerful men or woman, but Ralltene saw it for the battlefield it was. One quite unlike the ones his eldest brother might be so familiar with. It was one he was ready for all the same.
They soon reached the top of the stairs, allowing Ralltene a moment to study the ongoing party with a discerning eye. Quickly making note of who was with who, the manner as they spoke to one elector or contender. Many might have seen a simple gathering of the empire's most powerful men or woman, but Ralltene saw it for the battlefield it was. One quite unlike the ones his eldest brother might be so familiar with. It was one he was ready for all the same.
Part of that battle was approaching Ralltene at that very moment. A dark skinned and wizened elder wearing a kaftan that bristled with military merits - obviously a member of the Kawachian delegation - stepped into view, his approach heralded by the loud thud of his cane hitting the ground. Or rather the actual saber the old man was using as a cane, its sheath appearing to have been modified for that express purpose. Scanning the remainder of the crowd within the portico, Ralltene only saw one other individual wearing a kaftan - a woman conversing with Dowager Queen Hiltruda. That meant Grand Duke Ormoneric of many tasteless titles had either been unable to make it, or else was running late.
"Your Grace." The old man treated Ralltene to the same manner of bow Sarapis had presented to Hiltruda, substituting his left arm in place of the right due to the need to grip the hilt of his unorthodox cane. "I am Diende Argider. My second-great-grandson Grand Duke Ormoneric was unable to attend, and as the senior member of House Chalarensis I am here acting as his representative in the capacity of Arch-Elector." He treated Ralltene with a faint smile that did not show off nearly as much of his wooden dentures as he had shown to Alliana, and he had strategically closed his left eye to hide the unnerving glass prosthesis.
"Given my extended families' displeasure with the manner in which Emperor Taramyth's administration has treated the Isles, I am pleased to inform you that House Chalarensis intends to elect you and support your candidacy for Phoenix King and Emperor of all Ethica." He paused momentarily for effect. "We believe your experience as an administrator and influence within economic circles makes you the logical choice. I will not pretend that my House is liked by anyone, but we nonetheless do good business with the many peoples of the mainland...and the Dawn in your pocket is a Crown in ours, as they say. That and, to be honest, you cannot do any worse to us than the other contenders shall, should they be elected." Diende bobbed his head pleasantly and blinked his one good, opened eye in an approximation of a knowing wink.
"If there is anything that I or my delegation can do to aid you in your bid...anything at all...I should see it done. If you will trust us. If you have no current use of me or would merely like to get away from this old man and mingle, I do have a matter of business I would be most grateful to speak of with your wife, the Duchess of Violette...if it would please her Grace, of course." Diende turned and inclined his head to Victoria.
"Tell me, did you ever spend time at the Eldva? I hear so often how enterprising Kawachian students are in their study of the sciences in particular. Truly an underrated academic powerhouse," She said with a soft and accommodating smile. In contrast to Sarapis' chilly demeanour, Hiltruda's was warm and almost kindly. There was something unruly and slightly mischievous about the twinkle in her eye, but the way that she held herself was a projection of her station, filling her corner of the room with her elaborately styled hair and not insignificant size.
"Unlike most of my extended family, I had the privilege of studying mathematics and architecture at Eldva, amongst other things." Sarapis replied coolly, setting her stein of wine on a nearby table and reaching into her kaftan as she spoke. "Bear in mind that my House consists of thirty six separate families. Only the most prominent regularly send their kin to the university. If there should seem to be many of House Chalarensis there, it is likely merely because there are more amongst our number relative to Houses with less...diverse lineages."
Sarapis then withdrew a tied bundle of herbal sprigs from her kaftan, the small stems topped with pale-blue flowers. Sarapis took one of them and proceeded to grind it into a mushy powder between the palm of one hand and the heel of the other before dumping it into her wine.
"As for the matter at hand...as governor of Acantha, I am responsible for the largest gas harvesting industry in the Grand Duchy, as well as in all of Ethica. However, products such as isolated Helium, Brimstone, and Vitriol Humors make up only a small percentage of what we acquire. More than nine parts in ten of all the substances and gasses we harvest, we release into the air or else drain into the ocean. Every day, my surveyors and laborers discover new substances found nowhere else in all of Ethica...but we have little in the way of alchemical knowledge. I have decided that an expert, potentially several, in alchemy need to come to the isles in order to establish a study of the various volcanic materials we handle - that we might discern their uses and exploit them." She took a long sip from her stein, allowing Hiltruda to take everything in.
"Should those same experts then eventually return to the mainland and begin teaching nobles from other houses of their discoveries, and if the new substances harvested thusly have some use of some demand, and if there exists a market for such substances - quite a profit stands to be made. House Chalarensis is prepared to share its wealth and knowledge in this instance. We have little to fear of such an arrangement, as we would necessarily control all supply. We would require the cooperation of the university, the Conclave, and the Convocation of Farlook Post. If you can promise your assistance through use of your influence in this matter, I can assure you of a generous and mutually profitable arrangement between our lands for some time. The odds are favorable, in my opinion. Though the substances we waste are often highly toxic or else too esoteric to study through conventional means, I am oft presented with reports of humors and liquids of remarkable properties that we know too little about to appropriately handle or isolate."
Sarapis then turned to glance briefly at Ralltene and Victoria as they entered the portico. "...Although it be none of my concern, as I am no elector, I feel compelled to say that the choice of next Phoenix King...or queen...might affect any particular arrangement we might come to. Emperor Taramyth's administration was responsible for many tariffs and customs levied expressly against my House. Should the next ruler of Ethica not possess the appropriate experience, returns are expected to be marginal after consideration of the inherent use and value of any substances we manage to isolate...understanding that such an arrangement is necessarily long term."
Lalrial's Northern Gate
The guardsman that Mottay Vagost was currently looming over and leering at was standing with his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face. As an imperial garrison trooper, he was always treading on eggshells going out of his way to avoid offending noble travelers, with them always insisting on being called any number of ridiculous things - all the time, both by address and in response. However, the ruling House of Kawachia barely even pretended to be true nobility most of the time, and the guardsman intended to milk that - and his orders - for all they were worth in order to stick it to the overbearing pig of a man. By calling him sir.
"Sir," He said emphatically. "I have received a note from the port authority telling me to not permit your passage through this here gate. I have a second note from the Royal Guard saying that they have already acknowledged receipt of every member of the Kawachian summit delegation, and sir was not included amongst them. An I also do not like the way you are lookin' at me, sir. So you are not to pass through the this here gate."
Though Mottay was both taller and wider than the guardsman, not to mention the fact that he had an actual flanged mace strapped to the stump of his right arm, the guard was not worried. He had the entire garrison for the North Gate backing him up - many of them were already watching the scene develop tensely. The guardsman almost hoped this Vagost fellow would start something so that he had an excuse to throw the dark-skinned brute into some dank pit - something he could laugh at over a drink with some of his friends and a wench at the nearby tavern later that evening.
Mottay was dark-skinned like most other Kawachians, but his face had nonetheless visibly turned a ruddy shade, and his was the expression of a man about to commit massive parallel murder. "I am heading there on official business between House Chalarensis and House Cragmore! I have documentation to that effect here, and I intend to set out and enforce its terms you pissant landlubber!"
The guardsman looked on with some bemusement at the 'document' Mottay was waving around in his one hand. It was a piece of burlap, likely torn from an actual sack, and looked to have been written on using charcoal. Even he could tell that there was no way the thing was legally binding...but then again, nobles - even minor, nobles-in-name-only nobles - had thrown bigger fits over even less in the past and still gotten away with it. Still, there was no way he was about to humor the giant Southerner.
"Which children's game was this you supposedly won again, sir? The one where you throw eggs at the wall? I bet ya did it nice and proper alright.' The guardsman maintained an effortless grin even as Mottay's nostrils flared and the muscles of his right shoulder began to visibly tense up. "Anyway, if you really have business with the goat fu-ahhhhouse Cragmore, you can stand to wait a few days in the city for them to show up for the summit and tournament later and deal with them then."
"Tournament?" Mottay's voice was dangerously low and quiet, although the gleam in his eyes had shifted - his was now looking past the guardsman rather than at him.
"Yeah, I guess all the other houses wanted a chance to show each other up so long as they were all in one place. I guess yours just was not special enough to get that notice, eh?"
Mottay had already turned around and was walking away, his thoughts elsewhere. Shaking his head slightly, the guardsmen went to report the confrontation to his captain - and ensure the rest of the garrison knew not to let Mottay or any of his thugs through.
