Fallenreaper
Ti
Jumbus
Silly
Echotech71
Astro
Kuro
Chronic
Lildear18
pantothenic
Part One_________ __ __ _ _
Did people’s true colours finally come to light when they stepped into the Chamber of Greed, or was it afterwards, during Right or Spite?
Every single prize was claimed, even the hidden ones. At least a few of the youths were clever. The remainder were either strong or found themselves flattened as their fought tooth and nail over the chamber’s treasures. In the end, it was the teams of Zenos Fades-in-Moonlight and Zander Mozaru who came away with most of the treasures, greatly enriching themselves, but it was their counterparts in Sectoxomactex’s and Luria Colloy’s apprentice groups who contested first position, with the former winning out. Oh, how alliances were made and tested, friendships strengthened or ruined, and schemes put into play.
The result was a razor-thin finish between the top seven teams, all out of Ersand’Enise, and doing the academy proud by asserting its superiority over its lesser peers. The prize appeared to be the Heartstoppers, much to Sectoxomactex’s delight, for he had boldly predicted just such an outcome beforehand. Yet, here it was the trickery of one student - the powergazer Silas Reiger - that pulled off the greatest heist that The Trials had seen in a century. Spinning a web of promises, guilt, and incentives, he persuaded four separate teams to trade votes with his in their entirety, honouring precisely none of these agreements. In the end, Zeno Hamir Zemana’s group leapfrogged all of the others from a dubious sixth into first place. You should have seen how they scrambled over each other, stepped on their fellow students' dreams, and pushed aside their better natures in the name of profit. Perhaps, in some sense, they had never truly left the Chamber of Greed.
Yet, there were other matters of great and - in truth - greater import afoot. Some arrived grandly, others simply, and a few even meekly, but the delegations and leaders of nations appeared in Ersand’Enise for the conclusion of The Trials. In truth, they stood on the city state’s neutral ground in the hope of averting (or perhaps igniting) a war.
The Sage and the Scoundrel_________ __ __ _ _
“Brother, I’m going to have to appear for the both of us, aren’t I?”
The Sage did not move. He continued to sit, cross-legged, meditating.
“Ah, so I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then.”
The Sage did not move. There remained no answer.
The Scoundrel decided to take drastic measures. With the speed of a striking serpent, he reached out to slap the top of his brother’s bald head. “Why do you insist on asking if you know the answer?” replied the Sage, catching the Scoundrel’s hand. The latter blinked. After a moment, he chuckled in soft amusement and shrugged, sitting down with an almost childlike ease beside his brother. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Call it a silly little thing like hope.” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe someday you won’t be a total bore.”
“Maybe someday, you will be wise.”
The Scoundrel burst out laughing.
President Atundo Yibozo_________ __ __ _ _
The heat of Yabusa was already stifling this time of year. The rainy season was coming to an end, but much of its humidity lingered, increasingly supplanted by the dry scorching heat rolling in from the sahel. President Yibozo was in his study, busily packing a luggage full of items he might need during his stay in Ersand’Enise while swatting halfheartedly at the flies that had come in through an opened window. He supposed it would be a brief stay and he was glad of it. The city of magicians hung like a sword on a string above the heads of nations, his most especially.
With little ceremony, he threw on his jacket - an unbearable garment in this heat, or even that of the southern city, but a necessary one. The kings and queens, relics that they were, had normalized a particular dress code. If he would not adhere to it, Atundo could not entirely flout it either. As with all things in this new democratic government, it was a matter of careful balance, and it was tiring. How the weevils had come out of the woodwork since his election! How they had offered him crowns of many sorts.
Deciding that he was finished, the President stepped outside, closing the door behind himself, luggage hanging from his wrist as he finished buttoning his overcoat. He took a deep breath, brushed himself off, and headed down the Long Hall, servants - civil or otherwise - nodding deferentially his way. He had never trusted portals, but he was to arrive by one, like a king would - only, Atundo Yibozo was no king.
Empress Namiri I of Belzagg_________ __ __ _ _
“I shall be wearing black.”
“But, your radiance, the official mourning period is at an end. Perhaps, if I may recommend, it might do to display the erm… full majesty of Belzagg through other choices?”
Namiri’s chin was held high, as she had been taught since childhood, and she turned with measured grace to glance her lady-in-waiting’s way. “I understand, Megola. Nonetheless, I shall be wearing black.”
The four ladies attending her glanced among themselves uneasily. “Some say it would not do for Belzagg to remain too long in mourning, your radiance. It may send the message that -”
Namiri whirled on the speaker. It was Lady Kali - that plaything of the Kikusi. “Who says, Lady Kali, or are you too craven to take ownership of your own thoughts?” The empress spun on the spot and how they backed away, bowing profusely and joining their hands before their foreheads in gestures of atonement. “Need We remind you what happened the last time that a monarch of Belzagg ventured south to the City of the Bells? Need We remind you how they stood aside and let Jobanzaggah, our noble father, be butchered like a common thief!” She hid the trembling of her lip. She drew away the moisture in her eyes and the desire within her to hold someone. An empress must not show weakness. She whirled again to face the mirror, chin held high, gaze dispassionate down the bridge of her nose. “No, We shall make them feel what they deserve to feel for their transgressions against us. They shall be made to remember.”
Ekra was the first to come forward. She bowed respectfully, hands knitted before her. “Then I shall dress your radiance in black.”
Namiri smiled. “Thank you -” my friend “Ekra, and we shall dress most provocatively, I think.”
One of the older ladies pointedly hid a scowl. Sometimes, it was amusing to purposely ignore their subtle gestures until they were forced to either concede or lay bare their intent but, in this case, the empress decided to indulge Lady Jesaan. “I am under no illusions, my valued coterie, so steel yourselves against them as well: I am young, I am a woman, and I have not yet sat the Ivory Throne for but a month.” She began to peel out of her dress and they rushed to help her. “They shall attempt to seat me at the children’s table. They shall attempt to seat Belzagg there, else they will look to fill my impressionable young mind with their self-serving notions.”
The garment slid off of her and she stood, nearly naked, before the mirror. “We shall not entertain these.” Imperiously, she held a hand out for the appropriate dress. Each of her ladies approached holding one. “No,” she dismissed one. “No, no, yes… no. Lady Ekra, step forward.” She plucked it from her childhood friend’s hands. “The rest of you may leave. Lady Ekra, you may remain and assist me. You have pleased me this day.” Bowing respectfully, they departed, and the two youths were left in each other’s company. “Your radiance, if I may be so bold…”
Namiri blinked. Sometimes it was still strange to hear Ekra speak this way. Sometimes, she mourned it. “Of course, my friend.” She could say ‘friend’, at least, without the others listening. Ekra smiled demurely, as was her way, but then her expression settled. “They do not deserve to gaze upon your radiance.” She shook her head tightly. “Those lecherous old men.” Namiri could see the muscles in her jaw clenching.
“I… appreciate your concern,” the empress indulged, “but that is precisely why I shall do it. If I am to be in mourning, it shall not be the meek mourning of a thing that hides beneath thick shrouds of darkness, but the accusation of a lioness.”
Ekra stopped herself from raising an eyebrow, and it was not a pointed action. Namiri cracked a slight grin. “Too much?”
“You speak ever so grandly these days, you know.”
“We are Belzagg.” The newly crowned empress shrugged. She smiled tightly. “And more than one mere girl, I fear.”
“Nami…”
Namiri shot her a warning look. “It is ‘Namiri’ now, when we are alone like this, or else ‘your radiance’.”
“Yes, your radiance.”
The empress shot her friend a small, appreciative smile - almost an apology, for she could no longer offer those - waiting for her to continue.
“I… accept that matters between us must be different now,” Ekra advised, “but you don’t have to do this alone. A forest stands stronger against the wind than a lone tree, even a great one.”
How they had embraced each other when the news of her father’s death had arrived. How Ekra had been there, soothing her: an absolute rock, calm and steady amid the tempest that had been those days of uncertainty. Namiri embraced her in spirit now. “Then I accept your offer, Lady Ekra, wholeheartedly.” She smiled. “Now, let us figure out how to turn some heads. I shall see where the eyes of these old men find themselves and just what I can learn of them as a result.”
Namiri was young, and not unattractive. They could both lust after her and learn to fear and respect her. The more potent the mix of emotions that she engendered, the less control they would have and, consequently, the more that she would. “A ruler holds the leashes of her friends and rivals alike. She holds the leashes of everyone as if they are beasts that might attack both her and each other. This is why one alone is not enough. It stops them from pulling in one direction, but does nothing against others.” Those had been her father’s words to her upon her fifteenth birthday. “When it is your turn to sit the Ivory Throne, you must remember this: hold many leashes over the strongest beasts, and then they will hold the others.”
It was early in the hours of Ishun and the cavernous expanse of the Radiant Hall was thick with incense and the sounds of tambourines, flutes, and drums. Various courtiers, nobles, and servants stood about in their hastily-dressed finest, busy rubbing sleep from their eyes and conversing in whispers and murmurs. Then, there was a clank, and the colossal doors at one end of the great chamber opened. “Namiri, first of her name,” thundered the crier, “Queen of the Zangyewo, Warden of the Ivory Throne, Mistress of Sedge and Bee, and Empress regnant of Belzagg!” They blinked and covered their eyes as she emerged from the rising sun, a growing spot of utter contrast amid the brilliant rays.
The young ruler wore a loose black dress with golden clasps, accents, and collar. Slit high up on each thigh, it deferred to her in every movement, gathered about her waist, and bared the entirety of her back. Namiri did not so much walk as she glided, head held high, hair carefully braided into a great circular halo that framed her young and noble face. She paused before the raised dais where the Ivory Throne lay and turned to face her court. “We shall not be seated today,” she announced. “My trusted advisor, Kejammah of Ikon, shall act in our stead. Let none doubt his authority.”
They bowed and raised their hands to their foreheads in acceptance of her decree. She lifted her right hand and the third and fourth fingers on it and they rose. Behind her came a surge of Temporal energy. From the courtiers emerged twenty escorts, chosen for their power with the Gift and their loyalty. The empress turned and now stood before the swirling nothingness of a portal. The escorts preceded her and Namiri followed, five more bringing up the rear behind her. Then, she stood beneath a large gazebo. A great green lawn stretched about the empress and her retinue and, beyond it, the school she had so desperately wanted to attend before circumstance had decreed otherwise.
Rouis XI_________ __ __ _ _
“Oh no,” proclaimed the king, “I shall not be attending their little desperation meeting. I am Perrence and Perrence does not stoop. Let them scramble.” He grinned smugly, skewering a slice of his eggplant with the tip of his knife and shoving it into his mouth.
“But… father, you shall be in the city,” protested one of his sons - one of the lesser ones. Rouis had half a mind to correct him - it’s ‘your majesty’ - but he did not. Sometimes, one needed to indulge even his less preferred children. “I shall be in the city, Charles,” replied the king, swallowing, “in an unofficial capacity. None shall know of my presence but those who need to. I shall send Arcel in my stead. It is known as a calculated insult.” He gestured with his knife. “You’d do well to learn.”
The boy stood and bowed tightly at the waist. “I shall endeavour to do so.” This one was not made of kingly stuff and, unlike his father, was unlikely to learn it. Rouis at the same age would’ve challenged his father or grandfather immediately as to the reasons for such a slight and as to the nature of their business. A king does not ask, he demands and - if he is any true king whatsoever - his demands are met. “Good man,” the elder Perrenchman replied, “now begone and let me eat my meal in peace.”
“As you wish, your majesty.” How submissive they all were. How it tore him up inside.
Sancho de Torragòn_________ __ __ _ _
A king paced before his guardsmen, hands clasped at the small of his back, the plumes on his wide-brimmed hat fluttering in the stiff breeze of Torragòn. “We do not come as conquerors this time, but a show of force is still required, to remind them who we are.” He paused, pivoting crisply on his heel and starting back the way he had come. He looked up to address the four hundred. “I do not trust our enemies to play with honour. I trust some of our allies even less, but we must appear to trust them, so we enter through the front gate but have a plan to leave through the rear on a moment’s notice. If they wish to fight, then they will fight, but Torragòn will make its own terms.”
King Sancho’s personal guard, standing beside their horses, saluted. Their monarch nodded. He made the Sign of the Pentad and they followed. “Now,” he announced, coming to a stop beside Vencedor, his great black warhorse, “that is all I have to say, so we go!” In a single, smooth motion, he swung himself into the saddle, hitched up his gloves, and took the reins. “¡Adelante, a la boca del dragón!”
Prospero Malatesta_________ __ __ _ _
A king stepped onto the dock. He did not call himself a king, though he was, and he did not arrive by portal, though he could have. Perhaps it was a way to remind people how very close to Ersand’Enise Revidia and its capital were. Perhaps it was to demonstrate that he was not some distant monarch, but merely a man, same as any other. Regardless of its intent, it was most certainly planned. Everything was planned with Prospero Malatesta.
What was not, however, were the signs and papers plastered about Mudville and the port: pinned to wooden posts, walls, and noticeboards, they pegged him for a war criminal, a greedy and grasping robber baron, and a lying despot. His guard attempted to take the offending pamphlets down in his presence, but the doge forestalled these efforts. Calmly, he walked up to one, plucked it from its place, and examined it, letting out an amused snort. He folded it and stuffed it into a pocket. “It appears they’ve debunked me, Rodrigo.” He smiled tightly and was on his way. Out, beyond the harbour, where gulls bleated and wheeled under the morning sun, anchored two dozen ships of the Illustre Marina della Confederazione di Revidia.
Part Two Arriving Tomorrow!_________ __ __ _ _
