Suicharte
BlackRoseSiren
Lildear18
Carlyle
Fallenreaper
Ti
Jumbus
Silly
Echotech71
Astro
Ch. 1: Age Old Equation
It was Lepdes the eighteenth, and bells were ringing. Puffy white clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky and signs of the coup that had taken place in Ersand’Enise a mere week and a half earlier were visible only to those who sought them out.
Kaureerah Wenhan, the eeaiko songstress who had contributed her all to the uprising, now sat, cross-legged, upon the battlements, plucking at a cello. The instrument was new to her, but what was life if not an opportunity to try new things? Besides, she understood the fundamentals. The rest could be learned.
Yet, as that young woman sat there, sun on her skin, wind in her hair, and an exciting new instrument at her fingertips, all was not well in paradise. To one side she looked, and there was the city: busy and bustling. Reaching out with both senses and vision, she picked out what she thought was Leon, having an outfit tailored. They’d spent the morning together before going their separate ways and she couldn’t help but think metaphorically.
To the other side lay Bath House, but it was not as it usually was. All along the Godsroad, from the foot of the Queensgate, on past the Animal Farm and Wildside, past the Vermilion Swirl and into the distance, lay hundreds of tents and hovels. Bring me your wretched, your wounded, your starved and your wanting, said Oraff-Zept, and I shall take them in my arms and make them whole. Kaureerah had always thought the Quentic, Darhannic, and Chosen gods a contradiction. In holy books and sermons, they spoke in ways that sounded almost absurdly altruistic. Yet, their actions were all too often self-serving, vindictive, and neglectful.
This, then, underlay the issue of the refugees: both of their similar religions at once decreed that they should be cared for, leaving them with an expectation of charity, but also tacitly encouraged self-serving behaviour from their would-be saviours, guaranteeing that they would receive little. Her gaze roamed across the tents before turning away. It was twice as bad on the other side of the city, even if it was less visible. Belleville had been flooded with refugees, and there they remained, barred from passing the White Walls but for a privileged few who had the wealth or connections. She scowled and plucked a few sour notes, pizzicato.
“Penny for your thoughts?” asked… Penny. Usually, it was Yuliya up here with her but, ever since being outed as daughter of King Rouis, the Perrenchwoman had been increasingly avoidant of the greater scrutiny she found herself under. “Joost daumpeng aun yoor Quenteec releegeon,” Kaureerah replied with a snort, “Een my head.” She tapped her temple with a finger. Penny shook her head and smirked ruefully. “Charity?” she questioned, and Kaureerah nodded. “Eye heve meexed feelengs ebaut eet,” she admitted. “Helpeng peepel when yoo cen end eef yoo feel lyke eet es e good theeng. Eye theenk et’s e paurt auf oos.” She brushed some hair from her eyes. There was a bit of a breeze up here. “Baut mekeeng et en obligation…” She shook her head.
Penny seemed to consider, the wind catching her bronze-coloured hair and swishing it about. Sitting ‘cross-legged’, she pulled her foot in a bit close before fixing the mess. “It’s never been anything but an obligation for people like me,” she admitted, “but…” She shrugged. “I think you can enjoy even things that are obligations. The one doesn’t automatically rule out the other, right?”
Kaureerah considered as they sat, the sun momentarily disappearing behind a bank of clouds. “Yeah,” she allowed. “Meybee.” She nodded slowly, mulling it over. “Sey, Penny.” She turned quite suddenly to regard the other. “Yoo ever theenk ebaut Vaussooreeya?”
The Perrenchwoman furrowed her brow and nodded. “It’s hard not to. I died there, or I should’ve.” She threaded and unthreaded her fingers. “And I can’t help but think -” She paused and gazed out over the city. “That we left that place worse than it was when we arrived.”
Kaureerah plucked idly at a couple of strings and evaluated Penny. She swallowed. “Eye heve seemeelaur feelengs ebaut Retaun.” She stopped for a moment, watching as, down below, two men found themselves in a violent shoving match. “Why doo yoo theenk they sent aus?”
The one-legged girl shrugged, but then she paused to consider. “I think it was a way of having a force they could control on the ground, but one that they could also deny. We’re capable, but we’re young - naive in their minds, and bound to listen to them.”
Kaureerah snorted. “Shoold we heve?”
Penny shook her head. “They were stunningly incompetent, or just rotten otherwise.” Her eyes flicked over towards the Violet Enclave: under new management partially thanks to her martyrdom. Sometimes, Kaureerah thought that she liked Penny: the girl was smart, a good conversationalist, and a decent enough person. Sometimes, however, she couldn’t help but feel wary. Penny had known what she was going in for when she’d followed the Centuries at the soirée. She’d known and she’d done it. She was friends with almost everyone. She always seemed to be there when there was something to be gained in terms of power, and she’d managed to come out of the entire revolutionary ordeal squeaky clean: an innocent victim but not a pathetic one. While it was true that she’d emerged from her Tan-Zeno interview without an offer, Yvain had gotten one instead: a cousin who she cared about and a potential rival to the throne. Oh, how he would rise through the ranks here at the school: valued, respected, and safely apolitical. “I’m glad they’re gone,” she concluded, “at least as long as the new ones are better.”
“Whaut ever heppened too te ege oold equetioon thet ege eequels weesdaum?”
Penny smirked. “They did.” She shook her head. “They happened all over it. But, seriously, there are a lot of dumb old people. Age just gives you more experience. I don’t think it makes you smarter.”
Down below, the fight had been broken up by a trio of other yasoi. The city’s guards had refused to intervene in a matter outside of their walls. Kaureerah couldn’t help but think that it was about setting a precedent. The fight had been a fake or, at least she hadn’t sensed any of the anger biochemical signals that she should’ve. Intervene and you’ve acknowledged that they’re under your jurisdiction. Something about it disgusted her. She wasn’t sure why. How long can you just leave people that desperate, just hoping they’ll go away?
“Ya know,” said Penny, “I think the new admin is gonna act on things.” Kaureerah looked her way, arching an eyebrow quizzically. “I think they’re looking to reset some relationships and precedents: reassert themselves.” She nodded, unfolding her single leg, and stretched, letting out an unfiltered yawn. Her mouth stretched wide and open for a good couple seconds.
“Dregen Penny!” Kaureerah joked, and the other smiled. Another gust caught the eeaiko’s hair and caused it to billow. “Kaureerahbird!” Penny teased back, and they shared a chuckle. “Soo, prauphet, whaut doo yoo theenk thet’s goonneh look lyke?”
Dragon Penny smirked. She just smirked at her. “I think they’re gonna send us back into the field. I’d bet my title on it.”
“Yoo doon’t eeven lyke yoor tytel!”
“Well, that’s the point, birdbrain.” She flicked Kaureerah on the shoulder and the eeaiko shook her head. “Better then ‘feesh’ aull te tyme.”
“Nobody dares make fun of my leg anymore,” Penny sighed. “I kinda miss it and kinda don’t.”
“Shaut aup, creepel.”
“Fuck you.”
They both laughed, as Oraff gave way to Eshiran and ribbons of white smoke rose from the vast camps outside of the city: cooking fires at dinnertime. Kaureerah could see Penny watching them as well. Both young women watched. Soon, however, her mind wandered. It wandered back to what Penny had said: back into the field. Who would be stupid enough to accept after last time? Kaureerah pursed her lips, humming Green Perrence, and Penny punched her on the shoulder. Both grinned and shot sidelong glances at the other. Who, though, would be brave enough to refuse?
Ch. 2A: An Offer you Can Refuse
They were seated in the arboretum, with one of those nice antipasto boards laid out, and a good deal of wine. Motherfucker, Kaureerah couldn’t help but think. You were right. Giancarlo Silvestri sat across from her, answering a question from Maura. Of course, she, Kaureerah, and Penny had gotten together yesterday and discussed the latter’s theory. It was easy for her two friends, who’d ended up in the same apprentice group after the reshuffle. Kaureerah had been placed with Leon, Tku, and two others who already bored her. Regardless, each member of their trio was prepared.
“It’s a situation that requires some care,” the High Zeno was saying. “It’s an unprecedented wreck: easily five hundred feet in length and many thousands of tons. While salvage is a significant portion of the islanders’ income, it’s beached on an outlying atoll and they’ve no de jure right to the wreck.”
“But de facto?” Maura prodded, and their host scowled. “Traditionally, yes, but it’s something of a novel situation,” he explained. “The currents wash a lot of derelicts up in that area, but it’s remote, even for the islanders, and most salvage companies never bother. This find is incredible, though, and unique.” There was a twinkle in his eye, Kaureerah thought: a thrill. “The Royal Asper Salvage Company has filed for salvage rights with the crown of Palapar and been granted them.”
“Isn’t this in Kiluaho, though?” asked Mahal. “How does Palapar have jurisdiction there?”
“They don’t, per se,” Silvestri responded, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose, “but what they do have is a naval protection agreement with most of their Parynesian neighbours, Kiluaho included.”
“That’s just a Virangish tool to have a navy in the area.” She scowled.
The High Zeno shrugged, not disagreeing but not engaging either.
“And they’re exploiting that somehow,” Maura observed, “right?”
He nodded. “There are at least three pirate vessels on scene, including the notorious Black Adam, which I think you may be familiar with.”
It struck Kaureerah, immediately, that this could be a tangled web indeed. She glanced over at Penny and Maura. All three, in fact, exchanged glances.
“The Aspers are well armed and have resources, and the pirates and locals are unlikely to make common cause.” He stabbed at a piece of cheese with a tiny fork. “Caught in the middle of it all - likely to be fought over and lost, portioned, and damaged - is what could be the most valuable maritime find in a century.” His gaze swept over each student in turn. “This isn’t a clandestine mission like they were in the past. We’re done with that.” He bit down on the cheese and swallowed quickly. “You would be official representatives of the school: neutral arbiters listening to all sides and protecting the find, first and foremost. You would receive a full briefing and academic credit as well as being paid a handsome salary for your services.”
“Ersend’Eneese needs too reessert eetself, dausn’t eet?” Kaureerah observed.
Giancarlo Silvestri sent an examining look her way, and then nodded. “We have a vital role to play in the politics of this world, like it or not: a neutral and empowered one, and we cannot remain absent for long. People are looking to see what we’re about after our recent changes. We need to show them. That’s why I’ve personally requested each of you: you’re the best and the brightest this school has to offer. You’re experienced, and you deserve better than you’ve gotten in the past.” He regarded them each in turn. “I neither can nor wish to compel any of you to pursue this offer, but it is my hope that you do. Tomorrow morning, at 2:00 HS, I shall be waiting in the gazebo on Hedda’s Island.”
Ch. 2B: Standoff
It was the dead of night, and moonlight lay upon the reefs like jewelry. This was not a quiet time, however. Hundreds of torpedo threshers remained, in various stages of mating, spawning, or death. In truth, they were the sideshow this year.
All around the waters of Moatu Suva lay ships: great Virangish galleons and tenders, local catamarans and trimarans, Tarlonese thiis’elaaz, and even a Nikanese shuinsen. They were not alone, however. Hovering about the periphery were pirates: at least three ships, though it was hard to tell, for they often kept their distance and flew proxy flags. Not a week earlier had arrived the notorious Blue Adam, scourge of the West Ensollian, and it had proven the harbinger.
Now, it was a standoff, and torches - both magical and mundane - burned into the night. Crews moved about the decks. Spells and guns were kept at the ready and pointed at possible enemies, although who favoured who and which parties represented threats to which others remained unclear.
In the midst of all of them lay the object of their curiosity and desire, the very thing that had caused this entire standoff: an enormous rusting hulk, beached on one of the atolls, its massive slab sides towering above the broken palm trees and smaller ships. Five days ago, it had been claimed by the Royal Asper salvagers, after they had arrived and unceremoniously booted a small group of locals out at gunpoint.
But then, more had arrived, and the pirates with them. Now, the Nikanese and the Tarlonese. As of yet, none of the interested parties had gotten a look at what lay inside, and the Aspers had contented themselves with circling their ships and building a small fort and depot of reef rocks. They had not been seen to enter the wreck since they had started.
Maybe it was because they feared the pirates’ guns. Perhaps they were worried about angering the Tarlonese and Nikanese, both of whom had received permits from their own governments. Perhaps, however, it was something else. Some whispered that there were eeaiko in the water, but this atoll was too remote and their kind had never been seen around here.
Still, the torches and lanterns shone into the night. Focused beams swept the surface of the water. Every once in a while, they caught a glimpse of something moving. Rocks tumbled, occasionally, from the makeshift fortress and its still-setting mortar: too many to be incidental. Sailors gathered on deck, muttering amongst themselves that this place was foul and cursed. Locals warned of the ‘kanaka nahesa wai’ and left brightly coloured offering baskets on their quays and boats each night. Eerie noises, not unlike singing, could be faintly heard among the waves and wind, though there was every likelihood that they were merely manifestations of a growing paranoia. Yet, in the morning, when people woke, the fortress had been set back nearly a day’s worth of work and the offerings were gone.
Still, the immense wreck loomed over all, its metal hull burning with tropical heat, gulls and seabirds circling overhead, sharks and threshers hunkering in its shade or prowling about its battered lower reaches. Still, it held most of its secrets. It beckoned. It promised. It threatened.
Ch. 3A: Victims
“It’s a situation that requires some care,” the hooded man was saying. “They’re important people: merchants from Oiyac and the only ones who still ship to and from human lands.” He shook his head tightly. “They got to jump the queue because they had connections within the school’s admin.”
“Old admin or new?” prodded Penny.
“What business of mine is it?”
She did not voice her suspicions, though she knew that precious little had changed. This man was a zeno - just who, she could not quite determine - and this was another clandestine bit of dirty work for the school.
“But I don’t think their innocent son should suffer because they might have some unwarranted inside connections,” he continued. She could feel the subtle disapproval radiating off of him and allowed that there was a chance this wasn’t just more of the academy’s skullduggery.
“Whatever your experience with the school,” interjected Seviin in that holier-than-thou voice, “Our mysterious friend here has a point: the baseline good is saving a life from some murderous criminals.”
Niallus nodded along, giving away nothing about his intentions or who he was agreeing with. Penny could’ve rolled her eyes but she did not, for this was his custom, after all, and she was well used to it.
“If nothing else, it pays well,” Abdel observed, leaning against a wall nearby. He’d developed a surprisingly revolutionary streak of late, and this seemed like more of a conscious return to his mercenary roots. Penny scowled.
“Well, here’s the notice,” said the hooded man, thrusting it into Dory’s hands. The Feskan nearly fumbled it, but she managed to hold on and open it up a moment later. “If you’re interested, you’ll be making the world a better place and helping a family.” He took a few steps back as the youths leaned in and read. “I think the academy will understand, maybe even be grateful.”
“Gone,” said Oksana. It was a single word and, when the majority of the group looked up, their contact had disappeared. All that was left to do was to either respond to the plea or not. Weighty glances passed between them until, finally, Seviin broke the silence. “I will be going,” she announced. “These people, wealthy or not, are victims of my nation’s cruel war. I will not let them be victims again.”
Ch. 3B: Brothers (and Sisters)
“I’m sorry, Mr. Emerii, but we have given you an entire month to pay us what you borrowed.” Cherii made a pouty face. “It makes Mamah ever so sad when her friends abuse her generosity like this.”
“What Cherii means, Emrii, is that we’s gonna break yoah knees.” A tall, mean-looking yasoi with ginger hair and a crooked nose grinned and pounded a fist against his open palm. “Well, Daiyet is, anyway.”
“But the funds!” wailed their victim. “I’ve almost got them! Only two more days ‘til my next paycheck! I swear it!”
Cherii shook her head sadly. ”I’m sorry, Mr. Emerii, and I hope this doesn't hurt too much, but that’s what you said last time, and I just don’t believe you anymore.”
“No!” the makeshift shop owner wailed. “No no no! I have a family! Please! I’m an asset, please!”
For a moment, Diayet, absolute giant that he was, looked over at his sister. Cherii pursed her lips. Then, she shook her head tightly, turned on her heel daintily, and walked away. “You got it, bawss.” Daiyet set his jaw in a businesslike scowl and stalked forward. Mr. Emerii scrabbled back until he was grabbed, quite roughly, by a grinning Fantas. “This’ll go a lot easiah if ya stay still, ye know.” He wrenched the man square. “No!” he screamed. “I beg you, if you’ve any decency at all! I beg you in Oirase’s name! Please no!”
“Say, youse got a kinda… limited like… numbah of woids. What’s that called again?”
“Vocabulary,” grunted Daiyet, as he swung his bat. It connected with a satisfying crack and their truant debtor shrieked. “Yeeeah. Yeah! Vocabulary. Youse got a real limited vocabulary, Mistah Emrii.” Fantas held tightly onto him as he thrashed and Daiyet wound up for another crack: all seven feet and five hundred pounds of him. “Ain’t nuttin’ pehsonal there, chief,” He huffed, connecting again. “You just decided to fuck with Cola Brothahs -”
“And sistahs,” amended Fantas, thinking of Cherii and Coca.
“Doesn’t have the same ring.” Daiyet stepped back and scowled. Mr. Emerii lay broken on the floor, whimpering. “Anyway, you decided to fuck with the Cola Brothers, and Ma.” Daiyet crouched, handing Fantas the bat. “and we can’t juss let that go, yuhsee, or everyone’s gonna start doin’ it.”
Fantas nodded. “Now you uh… quit yoah whinin’ an’ go find yuhself a good bindah, ta patch you up, eh?” He paused and scowled for a moment. “Oh, and that’s two moah Magus ya owe us.”
Daiyet crossed his arms. “Labouh an’ service fee.” Fantas twirled the bat jauntily. Daiyet let out a snort. They turned and left the alley for their next task.
Cherii, of course, had left it some time ago, remanding Mr. Emerii to the care of her brothers. She stalked through the port district, a few of the yanii shooting her dirty looks, a few dirty old men following her a bit too closely with their eyes. She kept an eye out for who of course. That meant she had a lever she could use to manipulate them.
Eventually, she reached the print shop. Stopping and scowling, she buttoned up her blouse, fixed her hair, and tried to hide her pointed ears beneath her hat a little. The Colas had been here for months before the refugees started streaming in. It was why they were so well-positioned and even integrated, but a particularly acute bout of racism had gripped the town outside the city of late, and yaniis’ memories were as short as their ears. She took a deep breath, forced a smile, and pushed the door open. “Good morning, Sarah!” she chirped, and the girl at the front desk looked up at her warily, tucking something behind it. “Morning, Cherii.”
Despite the less-than-friendly greeting, Cherii kept up her smile. She’d find out what was behind the desk later. “Is your dad in right now?” she asked, as if it were just a casual request, and Sarah’s eyes met hers. For a moment, a powerful urge to violence welled up inside of her. Those looks - those fucking looks. They’d been friends at first - two girls around the same age - until the refugees had come, until Sarah had found out what the Colas did to make ends meet. Judgy little cunt. Let’s see you walk a mile in my shoes.
“I think he’s in the back. He might be in the middle of something. I’ll go get him.”
Quickened breathing, sweat, paling. Cherii translated body language in her head and waved off Sarah’s offer. “Oh, no need for you to waste your time and leave the front desk empty,” she replied cheerily. “You might have more customers Besides, one would hope I’d know my way around by now.” She met the huusoi’s gaze and smiled, rolling her eyes.
“Well, I don’t really mind and he’s um -”
Cherii brushed past her. “You wait here, Sarah.” She laid a hand upon the girl’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “This is business.” She strode into the back, alone, undoing the top button on her blouse and freeing her hair.
Mr. Marchand was at one of his machines, but he looked up when Cherii arrived. “Ah! Cherry darling!” She came to a stop, eyes flicking down toward her boots and then back up. She batted her eyelashes. “Good morning, Claude!” she replied in a singsong voice. “I got your summons.”
“Oh, hmm, yes!” He leaned in to embrace her, planting a kiss on each cheek. “So very nice to see you.” He drew back and his eyes swept over her from top to bottom. Cherii darling remained smiling, as she always did in the sight of others, and waited. “Ah, mhm! So, I had a job sent over from the city - rare these days, you’ll understand.”
Cherii stalked about the room, turning on the spot, her face hiding none of her interest in the topic. “Oh, truly?” she inquired. “Well, colour me intrigued.”
Claude nodded, his eyes on her before they flicked to the window and then to a shelf full of papers. He made his way over and plucked one out. “A missing boy - well, young man,” he amended. “Jackson Soul Doridax.”
The yasoi tried not to grimace at his butchering of her people’s names. Jaxan’suul’doridax She pondered for a moment. The Doridax name was well-known. Jaxan, though… who are you? Maybe he was the rich boy who’d come here slumming. She’d seen him once or twice, the last time in the company of some one-legged harlot. If scuttlebutt was to be believed, he’d been feeding the addicts. “Mind if I take a look?”
He looked down at the paper coyly and then up at her. There was the tiniest little flash of magic, and the door's lock bolted. “For you, ma cherie, anything.” The toady little man licked his lips and, all at once, she lunged forward, muscles augmented by the Gift, and snatched the notice from his hand. Claude’s eyes widened, and he stumbled a step or two back. Cherii’s eyes scanned the page and they widened as well. Promptly, to make amends, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You are worth your weight in gold,” she chirped, And that’s quite a bit, in your case. “That’s why,” she continued, “We take care of you for half-price this month!” Cherii backed up a step, brandishing her smile. “This is very helpful, Mr. Marchand. We have to stay abreast of what happens in the community so we can protect it!”
If he was disappointed by her lack of interest this time, he soon got over it upon hearing that he’d only have to pay half of his usual protection fee. A rich kid gone missing in Mudville. Cherii’s mind was racing. Parents looking and willing to pay. She grinned. Pepsii, Coca, and Mama would have to hear about this one, posthaste!
Ch. 4A: The Enemy, Including Our Friends
“This is a genuinely urgent matter,” Penny decided. Zarina was there as well, looking over one of her shoulders. Yvain was looking over the other. Guy, she knew, would have already heard about such a thing and would be desperate to stop her from going. She would go anyhow. Ren Baykara, who Zarina had warned her about, was somewhere within the Groove, though the Perrenchwoman had not yet spotted him and had only description to go on anyhow. “And if we know,” she continued, “it’s likely that the enemy does as well.”
“The enemy, including friends of ours?” Zarina countered.
“Friends of yours, maybe,” Penny allowed, but then she considered Maura and relented. “The people we know on the other side wouldn’t be involved in something like this. They’re decent and sensible.”
“So does that mean we aren’t?” Zarina replied.
“You’re just racking up the points on me today, aren’t you?” Penny shot back.
Zarina grinned for a moment, but it didn’t last. The situation described was a serious one: a colossal raging beast that had destroyed ships in the region and threatened the welfare and perhaps even survival of a friendly port. A Revidian ship had been sunk and now the enemy was sniffing about. To what end, Penny did not know, but it bore investigation. “Says we get a portal to and from. Should be a short matter.” She glanced about at the others. “And I think all of us could use the coin around this place…” She’d settled upon it, in truth. She was going. She’d seen a similar notice for the Revidians and allies. There was more to this than there appeared to be and there was nobody whom Penny trusted better than herself and perhaps Yvain to handle it.
Ch. 4B: Endgozu Coast
It was early in the morning. The fog rolling off of the ocean still coated much of Zengali in a thin, clammy layer of dew that sparkled as the nascent sun reached it. Yet, already, people were moving about. The last of the fishermen were still trickling in with their catches - sparse, as of late. The city’s three monasteries, up in the mountains, were already hives of activity, some monks and nuns bustling about on their morning errands, others praying with special fervor given what had been happening of late.
In the terraced fields of the foothills, where the jungle had been hacked and burnt back through the efforts of man, farmers were already hard at work, weeding the fields, planting what needed to be planted, and cutting what needed to be harvested. The city had become more dependent than ever on what they grew, after all.
Ships hunkered in port, well within the protected waters of Zengali Bay, and market stalls began to open. Print shops hummed, their presses stamping out the news and notices of the day and a couple of notaries dashed about, pulling old or unauthorized fliers from posts and notice boards, reusing the nails where possible to pin the new ones, still warm from the machines. While they would not last long in this climate, so hostile was it to paper, they were of the utmost necessity, given current circumstances. Already, insurers, travelers, and those ship captains who could read were gathering round. Hunters, sellswords, and whalers looked for any updates.
Out on the Endgozu Coast, on the far side of the peninsula that protected this great, remote city from the ocean swell, was a boy of about twelve. He was one of a dozen or so people - most human, some yasoi or eeaiko - who came down here each morning, as the tide rolled out, to pick through the detritus of the sea for all of its hidden treasures. The job had become grim, of late, given what was happening, but the finds had still been there, and so he and the others had continued to work.
The deep grey waters of the Australic Ocean frothed and pounded against the cobble shore, occasionally lapping over his feet. How many planks were now strewn across the beach! How many nails he had pulled from them, virtually unrusted, for resale! The fog gradually receded and the boy was not the only one who glanced uneasily out at the ocean. Planks! So many planks, and occasionally barrels. He glanced, and then he froze. The large rucksack he slung over his shoulder clattered to the damp ground and he just stood there. There were things - dark things - bobbing up and down on the waves. Presently, one thumped dully against the shore some twenty meters down. Already, crabs were picking at it and birds circling overhead. Bodies: dozens of human bodies. The beast had struck again.
Ch. 5: Instant of Insanity
It was a large, dark room. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were stone and there was something unnaturally cool about the place. Perhaps it was a wine cellar of some sort, though the series of steel doors, each one semicircular, each opening from the bottom, each regularly spaced along one wall, made for a rather odd place to store wine.
Then, there was the large locker. Separated by ghulthite bars from the rest of the room, it was filled with carefully separated articles, labeled and kept distinct. They were all sorts of things, really: clothing, weapons, personal keepsakes, cash, swabs of blood and samples of hair. Most queerly, perhaps, there were two apples: pitch black but not rotten. Each had a single bite taken out of it. These were kept near an unusually-designed pistol, in something like a small cage, with a note tied to its lock.
Every once in a while, this strange, dark little world was visited by people in uniforms and scientific types, one of the semicircular metal doors was opened, and a cadaver was slid out upon a bier and wheeled into another room. By and large, however, it had remained undisturbed since the flurry of activity immediately following the overthrow of the city’s administration. Of course, such a boast is an open invitation and, naturally, that was when there came a loud ‘clank’ - quickly muffled. The door opened, just a crack.
They were, by the reckoning of both Dami and Reshta, people utterly abandoned and, yet, they gathered in their multitudes before the Seagate these days. They were a sore sight: addicts, destitute, prostitutes, urchins, and war-wounded. Many were more than one at a time. Precisely why they had chosen Ersand’Enise as their refuge was the cause of much speculation and consternation alike, but the fact was that they had.
During the calamity of the uprising a week or so previous, hundreds had slipped into the white-walled city. Some had managed to stay. Most had been tossed back out, even angrier and more wretched than before. It was not easy for yasoi to fade into a human crowd and go unnoticed, after all. Even the school’s handful of yasoi students now had to carry around identification cards at all times. Already, there were fakes being sold in Mudville so that those young enough might have a chance of slipping through.
The night guard, following a brief reshuffle after the revolution, was back at full capacity, and they took their job seriously. If they were supposed to be more empathetic and equitable, the refugees would never have known it. So it was that, on this rainy night, they responded enthusiastically to the attempted robbery of a wagon waiting outside of the gate for the first hours of Shune. So it was that they left the regular guards to be temporarily supplemented by junior replacements. Finally, so it was that, when a fight broke out among the beggars closest to the gate - those too elderly, infirm, or juvenile to pose a threat - the junior replacements stayed at their posts but were suckered in and watched, while their seniors refrained from getting involved and moved to form a perimeter.
Thus, for a window of approximately ten to twenty seconds, depending on the potentialities of a number of confounding variables, only two lamplighters were left to keep watch over the Seagate. They did not pay much attention to the one-legged figure that rose unsteadily to its lone foot, hunched over and swathed in filthy scraps of cloth. Instead, they shouted as a second figure made a dash for one of the other guards, and the guard to the west side of the gate peeled off to go deal with him. That left only one and, when he noticed the beggar headed in his direction, he blinked and began to turn her way.
She found his kidneys. Adrenaline down eighty percent. She helped bind much of it away. In truth, she’d already been working on the guards at this gate, on this particular shift, for the past three days, passively altering their hormonal production. Their reaction times were a solid five hundred milliseconds slower than human average, and human average was already poor. In short, they were pathetic. Serotonin up three hundred percent. She helped spread it through the target’s circulatory system, and his production had already been spiked over the past hour. She bent the light around her, he blinked, and she was back sitting by the side of the road. He blinked again, considering sounding the alert but, all that emerged from his mouth was a long and drawn-out yawn. He’d barely slept the past two nights and the problem had resolved itself. He glared at the one-legged hag crouching by the roadside for a moment longer before yawning again and turning his attention back to the fracas before it was broken up.
Meanwhile, Ailet’yrash’andarii passed through the gate, her own adrenaline production up two hundred percent. She slipped to the side as quickly as she possibly could, disappearing from the main street and slinking through the back alleys of the Crafters’ District. After counting twenty seconds traveling at an estimated rate of 2.5 meters per second, she felt herself far enough from the gate to find a barrel, sit on it, and toss away her rags. She had optimized her breathing and heartrate using Tecniito models, but her heart still pounded and sweat still beaded on her forehead. The young woman scowled. Such were the energy inefficiencies of crutch-dependent ambulation.
Presently, she reached out with the Gift, sensing for any buildups of energy that might indicate a strong magic user, but there were none outside of the gate area and the rain dampened her own. The yasoi breathed and brought her heartrate under control, tamping down on both the adrenaline and endorphins. She drew from the materials of the raggedy outfit to both confiscate the evidence and create a pool of workable matter. Ailet did not wrinkle her nose at much - she simply inhibited her olfactory bulb when needed - but spending close to a week playing the role of beggar in those filthy scraps had done it. She stood, naked, in this stinking back alley, and synthesized a fast-acting soap on her skin. She let this seep in and drew the rain in a sudden cascade to rinse herself clean. A quick blast of heat finished the job before she pulled her clothing from the knapsack she had spent the past week using to simulate a hunched back. Not thirty seconds later, she was dressed and ready. Almost reverently, she extricated a pair of large, round-rimmed glasses from a little pocket and pushed them up her nose. She smelled faintly of lavender now, while the alley was a delectable miasma of smoke, mould, and the mixed excrements - both urine and feces - of a half-dozen species. Presently, she slipped on her gloves, adjusted the headband that conveniently hid her ears, and inhibited her sense of smell. There was a line, here, between alertness and masochism.
Emerging onto a larger road, Ailet had a good idea of where she was and, when she located Landmark 1A - the public forge - this solidified in its entirety. Senses alert, she made her way down the street at her standard walking pace, adjusted upward for some degree of excitement. All about her rose this supposedly great yanii city, and it was, to some degree, a wondrous moment. She had never been to one before, and Ersand’Enise was profoundly different from the Osaian town where she’d grown up. Her curiosity demanded that she glance in the direction of that colossal tower that seemed to hang above the rainy city like a sword. She scanned the little storefronts, translating in her head. The houses were so overlarge and singular, though, and the yasoi scowled. She was not here as a tourist. Perhaps someday, when the thousand year mission was complete. Then, she might relax. Then, she might travel as her ancestors had.
Reaching Rossoneri Street, she walked one further and turned right, taking the back route. Once again, her energy sense swept her surroundings, and there she felt two guards and an unnatural cold amid the constant disruption of the weather. One hundred meters west on Rossoneri. she remembered. This had to be it.
Stealth was easier in the dark and rain, and Ailet bent what little light she needed to as she walked. Coming to a stop some thirty meters from her target, she set down her crutches, sat beneath an awning, and created an energy amalgamation that could be a person heading into the house she was using for cover. Meanwhile, she diffused her energy signature as best she could and reached out with her senses. One guard was stationary, by the door, eating betel nuts out of a bag. The other patrolled the square complex clockwise in cycles of fifty seconds, with a standard deviation of two point five in either direction. That was… a lot of variance. Ailet pushed up her glasses. Fucking amateurs. She grinned, allowing seven minutes to tick by where she incrementally raised the serotonin levels of both guards while encouraging the patroller's cochlear hair to solidify. At the five minute mark, she began lowering and strengthening a sonic negation bubble around the complex. Finally, she waited until the half hour, when some change in routine would have been most likely and, when it was not forthcoming, Ailet palmed her crutches, rose, and strode briskly over, timing her approach to coincide with the patroller disappearing around the corner.
Kinetic for thrust. Arcane for heat. Binding for insurance. The door guard perked up, noticing her approach, for it was too much to maintain so many magics at once and her light bending failed her. Then, with a bit of help, the betel nut he’d just popped into his mouth shot back and lodged itself into his throat. He coughed and wheezed and, quickly, she drew the sonic bubble in tighter. Thirty seconds. Then, the other idiot would pass into visual range. She swept for his energies. He was tired. Good. Slow. Even better. The nut expanded, its fibres popping under a flash of heat. She encouraged that growth with her binding and, the next thing that the target knew, he was hammering at his chest and his eyes were bugging out.
Ailet bolted forward. Twenty-seven seconds. She passed the edge of the bubble. “Are you okay, sir!?” He was sinking to his knees and clawing at his throat. “I’ll use the Gift! I-I’ll squeeze it out!” Instead, she got behind him and slammed his head into the landing step. He slumped, unconscious, and she grabbed his keyring. Eighteen seconds. She’d already felt out the lock from afar and there were only two keys here that could fit it. She tried the first. Nothing. She tried the second. Pay dirt. Ten seconds. The door opened with a light creak and she returned the key to his belt. Hastily, with little time and expertise paling in comparison to Tarlon’s other agent in Ersand'Enise, she shut off his cortisol, scrambled some of his neural signals, and hoped that it would pass for short-term memory loss due to cranial trauma. Three seconds. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her just as she sensed the other guard rounding the corner, pausing in shock, and running over to his fallen companion. She’d already released the sonic bubble and, now, all that remained was to avoid detection. The eagle has landed. There was no hiding her smile, and it grew to truly enormous, even grotesque proportions. Ca-caw!
Quietly, the Tarlonese operative took a deep breath and exchanged her round-rimmed glasses for a pair of sirrahi ones she had found as a girl. Then, she went still, trying to diffuse her heat signature across the area. If nothing else, the rain all-but guaranteed that any kinetic energy from her direction would be near-impossible to detect. She waited in uncertainty, counting two full minutes in her head and wondering, absently, if the patroller would manage to save the door guard. Generally, Ailet only killed in the name of science. It was quite meaningless otherwise.
Once the time was up, she did a tentative energy sweep and, satisfied that there were two living figures outside - lucky bastard - and that neither was paying any attention to her, she set off down a pitch black hallway, navigating by energy sense alone and occasionally using her crutches as makeshift feelers. A little light won’t be the end, she counseled herself, conjuring a Torch of Shiin.
At the end of the hallway was a staircase, leading downwards, and that was where the bodies were. That was where all of the interesting things were. She made haste for it, barely remembering to stop and sweep for security measures, taking the stairs two at a time.
At the bottom was a door: a locked door, but it wasn’t going to stop her. Reaching out, feeling the mechanisms inside, she turned one, and then another, and then slid a bolt. It took Ailet a good three minutes to get matters right, and so fast did her heart beat during this period that she failed to even count them out.
Then… pay dirt. The door opened with a surprisingly loud ‘clank’ until she hurriedly dropped a sonic negation bubble. It swung open and a cold light from her fingertips illuminated the fog of her breath. The yasoi’s pupils dilated and she switched to her third pair of glasses. Her eyes flicked about the room. First, came the body. After a few false starts, she found it, perfectly preserved in Vault 7B. With a binder’s expertise, she went over it, but nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d been killed by a gunshot, clean through the head, at an angle, velocity, and spin rate that suggested a ricochet. She scowled and slid him back in.
It would have to be the articles, and it took her no more than a minute to jerry the simple padlock. Already, within a second cage, she could see the items of interest: two apples, each with one bite taken out of them. Ailet’s pulse quickened. They were perfectly black. She could feel the sweat from her palms on her crutch handles. She made haste over, cut the lock with a tiny, focused blade of fire, and tossed it aside. Already, she could sense the magics on these: dark and profound. How they hadn’t ended up in the city’s greatest vault was beyond her. There wasn’t a trace of rot and she took them, eagerly, in her gloved hands before sweeping the room for anything else of interest. The pistol was better than mundane, she supposed, though it did not particularly interest her. This, she strapped to her single leg in a thigh holster. One apple was carefully tucked into her bag. The other… she held onto for a moment longer.
She took a deep breath, allowing herself a triumphant smirk. Extraction time. She’d refrained from using higher order magics until now, as they might’ve alerted someone more formidable than a pair of regular guards. Besides, she’d always been rubbish at them anyhow. Ailet held the black apple up to her mouth mischievously, but she reached for the threads of space and time in earnest, finding them, seizing them, and…
Then, he stood before her: a monster among monsters. Though he was no taller than her, Joshe Intaba seemed to loom over the girl with a power and presence she could not dream of matching. “Put your stolen goods down and you don’t die here, Tarlonese.”
In what seemed an impossible small instant, he drew to capacity and Ailet could feel her stomach turn and her vision swim. How had he found her? How had he known or arrived so quickly!? Had it all been a trap!?
Joshe Intaba regarded Ailet’yrash’andarii, mighty and merciless. Ailet, whose reflexes had always been preternaturally fast and who could now, dimly, sense the surge of adrenaline roaring through her veins, suffered an instant of insanity. She began to raise her hands but, in the moment the apple was no more than two inches from her face, she lunged forward and bit it.
Act Six Particulars
Welcome to Act Six of The Hourglass Order! The dust has begun to settle following the revolution. Is the new administration any better than the old one? While they certainly seem to think so and are asking some of us to help them prove it, many seem skeptical, and not without cause. Ultimately, however, the world doesn't keep safe and orderly of its own accord and, once more, we are called into the fray? Will you answer or have you finally had enough?
This arc will cover the rest of our sophomore year and consist of a pair of short missions, separated by an intermission period that will see Jocasta's and Yalen's wedding (finally!) take place and will also see us undertake some... social activities. In terms of the missions, characters filtered into each have been selected based on preference or, if none was given, based on storyline potential and group distribution. While some positions are pointedly flexible, others are definitely preferred. If you'd like to make any changes or are new and wish to be placed, talk to myself or a Co-GM before the missions start and tell us why. We'll try to accomodate you if at all possible, of course!
That said, from this point onward, though we'll be coordinating, the two halves of White Thresher will be handled by none other than our own @dragonpiece while Ransom Demand will be run primarily by @Suicharte and @Jumbus. Please be nice to them and communicate if you won't be able to post for whatever reason. As this arc will be largely forum-focused as opposed to discord, there will be strict deadlines in effect to keep things moving, and players are actively encouraged to post more and shorter content. While longer posts that sum up discord events and add new material have the advantage of being rewardingly literary, they do not work well for quick back-and-forths and multiple actions that involve coordination with other characters. Keep this in mind and we should all have a great time with these missions and our sixth act. Below, you'll find the apprentice groups reposted for your convenience. Happy writing!
