So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8
likes
3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7
likes
3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4
likes
Bio
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
"Sing me a song, you're a singer. Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil..." Who could say what the angel's name was, and his song could scarcely be heard above the rattle of the chains. It carried all of the way up the great vaulted marble halls. "While the thrashing does add something of an aesthetic, mister Kavanaugh, I'll have you know that it shall work against you come judgement time." They had taken Tommy's voice and bound him in chains. The only resistance he could offer was to thrash, and it came naturally to him as it might a fish hauled up into the unfamiliar environment of a boat from its watery home. After a moment, the cherub began dragging him along again. At least the accursed singing had stopped. He had opted for humming instead.
"Good morning, your honour. The tall, beautiful angel of Ipté bowed deeply. Was it morning here? Who could say where the light came from... "This court will plainly show that the accused who now stands before you is guilty of the following fifty-seven crimes:" She cleared her throat and each one of Tommy's crimes against love, kinship, and beauty flashed before the court in every agonizing detail. "And yet, in his latter days, he learned to love. He held some care for his friends." A much shorter show played itself out before the five hooded figures who perched atop the dais in the distance. Still, he was muted. Still, he could not speak. There was an extended pause where only his actions could speak for him, and they were sorely wanting.
The figure on the left stood, and she was Edyta. She gazed upon him with hard eyes and, still, he could not speak. "We find the accused guilty on thirty-nine counts minus eight. We sentence him to a hell without love or beauty. May Shune have mercy on his soul." There was no an ounce of mercy to it.
"You were closer than we thought you'd be," the cherub allowed, dragging Tommy to the next of the Hourglass Courts. "Thirty one out of fifty-seven counts. Only three away from heaven." He grunted, the chains rattling again. Had the thrashing stopped? That was entirely up to the condemned. "Shune next. You're in with a shot, you know."
"Good morning, your honour." The lanky angel of Shune cleared his throat. "This court will plainly show that the accused who now stands before you is guilty of the following thirty-four crimes." Tommy's lies, moments of idiocy, and refusals to learn displayed themselves in no less depth and detail than his crimes against Ipté earlier. "However," the angel allowed, "He has shown some curiosity. He has asked questions and explored for information. He has learned how to learn." Some of his better moments played themselves out within the grand hall and the cowled figure at the right end of the five revealed himself to be Johann. He frowned and pondered before speaking. "We find the accused guilty on twenty-six counts minus ten. We grant him entrance to the heaven of learning."
"Told you you were in with a chance, boy. Didn't I?" Perhaps Tommy was no longer being dragged. "You need three out of the five, you know. Everything here works on simple majority." He jangled the chains. "Well, come on. We haven't got all day."
The second figure on the left stepped forward. It was still fresh in Tommy's head - all of it: the other kids shanked in a back alley, the fingers and jaws broken, the killing. Lady Avis' face had not left his mind's eye and there she was, the hooded figure. She was as impassive as any of the others and, yet, not so. "We declare the accused guilty of forty crimes against life, minus nothing." She regarded him unflinchingly. "We sentence him to burn for all eternity in hellfyre and death." Imperious, she concluded. "May Eshiran have mercy on his soul."
"I knew you were rough," the cherub remarked, "but I didn't think you were such a rotten one." He shook his head and, still, Tommy could not speak. Did he squirm a bit now? Did he thrash? "One more, and it's hell for you," the angel said evenly. "Both and there's no escaping." Eshiran was not long in coming.
It all came down to Eshiran. "Good afternoon, your honour." The tall, muscled pentangel bowed rigidly. "This day, we shall weigh the actions of the accused and determine if he is worthy or if he is a miserable coward and senseless killer." He twisted to regard the youth evaluatively before returning his gaze to the five hooded figures. "He stands accused of twelve counts of cowardice and senseless slaughter." They played themselves out as if they were true life, but there was nothing Tommy could say in his defense. "But he has been brave, as well, repeatedly. Often, he has shed blood for reasons that made sense in his situation." Tommy had to hope that those were enough. From the shadowed cowl emerged Desmond and he, too, was dispassionate. "We find him worthy of a warrior's heaven." He nodded, and there was - finally - a hint of a smile.
"All down to Dami, isn't it, kid?" The cherub interrupted his humming and, after a few moments, began singing again. "The devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you're a taker..." Tommy could hear every echo of his voice, every footstep, and every rattle of the chains against the towering marble pillars, those impassive floors and pillars, that ceiling so far above his reach. He had seen not a single other soul his entire time here.
There was no angel of Dami to stand beside Tommy and present his greatest failures and accomplishments. Even the cherub had backed off after prostrating himself, disappearing... the youth wasn't quite sure where. Instead, the central of the five shadowy figures rose. He rose and... continued to do so, spilling over the edge like a thin, oily waterfall of blackness, rising up towards the ceiling until he towered over everything else in the room. "You have been measured," declared a great, booming voice. "Your choices. Your justice. You judgement." He seemed to be leaning forward, over and above Tommy, and still, strangely, his face could not be seen. There was no reenactment this time. "You have been weighed in all measures of your being," he thundered, "and found wanting."
The ceiling began to black and swirl. A fiery glow began to emanate from it. "I consign thee to hell, Thomas Kavanaugh, where thou shalt burn until such time as thou art cleansed of the stench of sin from the disappointing life thou hath led." The hood fell back to reveal Tommy's own face, regarding him with unnerving disdain. His voice was returned to him in that moment, but it made no difference. Dami's judgement was final and absolute. The swirling vortex of the ceiling pulled him in. That was the last that he saw. That was the last thing that happened to him.
They had gotten it wrong! That had to be it! Instead of a burning hell or empty void of madness, Tommy had awoken on a field of soft green grass and dandelions. There was a faint smell of Stresia in the air, and birds chittering among the trees. He might've pinched himself to make sure that it wasn't some accursed hallucination, but he'd felt pain: real pain - just a little flash of it. For how long he was unsure, he simply wandered about, across endless green fields, through copses of trees, and across babbling brooks and streams. The sun warmed his skin. The wind ruffled his hair. If there was one thing missing, it was other people. He had seen not a single soul and, for a moment, there was some apprehension. He had been sentenced to hell, hadn't he? Was this it? The perfection was empty without companionship? Was this Ipté's Hell?
The sun began to dip, growing fat and golden, and it struck Tommy that he was rather thirsty. He would have to eat as well. Hunting was something that he could do. If he hadn't been trained in it like some of those noble kids, it couldn't have been that hard, could it? In the distance, as the sun's golden rays filtered through the tall grass, he caught sight of a creek winding its way through a small valley. Managing a light jog, he made it there in what he assumed was a couple of minutes. Surely it wasn't poisoned or full of parasites. Tommy was no master of chemical magic, but he couldn't sense anything wrong with the water and he was dead anyhow. He crouched on a rock, reached down, and cupped his hands, filling them with water. He lifted it to his lips and drank. Without thinking, he drank again, and some more.
His lips were still dry. His tongue remained sticky and his throat rough. A growing alarm rising inside of him, he took a slow, cautious sip. The water... felt like water, but it was only superficial. Beyond a feeling and a taste, it seemed to do... nothing. It gave him nothing. It was nothing. He sat back on the grass, only then beginning to realize the true nature of this hell.
Edyta Laska did not remember closing her eyes. She did not remember anything after biting the apple. She looked around and... well, she certainly wasn't in Ersand'Enise anymore. An idyllic wilderness stretched out before her eyes: hills and mountains, seas of trees and great green valleys. Throughout wound sparkling rivers, while opulent lodges perched on the hillsides. In the distance lay a great coliseum. She craned her neck to get a better look at it, and that was when she realized that she was a direstork.
She let out an alarmed squawk and flapped her wings. This had to be some sort of dream or... No, it wasn't! This was the back door into the heaven of Lord Eshiran. She could still think as if she were a woman and not a beast. This was the eternal hunt! She and... she twisted in her unfamiliar body to regard the honey badger relaxing in some nearby brambles - Desmond!? If she had been reformed as an animal in order to slip into this heaven, then... that had to be him, right? Oddly, she did not feel as awkward in this form as she should have. She hopped back a few steps and found it easy to cover ground. Direstorks were enormous birds, after all. Experimentally, she flapped her wings a couple of times and Honey Badger Desmond twisted to regard her. He snuffled around a bit, scratching at something with his paws, and rose.
Then, just as she was wondering how in Eshiran's green heaven they might communicate, there came a familiar sound echoing across the grassy hills: a gunshot, and then another. This was the hunt, and they were the beasts! Desmond's stubby little ears had perked up and he let out a long hissing growl. If only you'd been reformed here as a gun. Would've been oddly appropriate, Direstork Edyta thought to herself, and useful. she swallowed. What to do? Where to even begin!?
It was a most unlikely sight: more than a half-dozen students of the school jumping into the water. Anyone who had seen fit to watch them might've been alarmed, for they leapt into Hedda's Lake from a rock on the island and they did not resurface. Fortunately, there were few about the Arboretum at this early hour, when the sun was only just beginning to reach its glowing rays across the landscape of Ersand'Enise. Crate after crate went in after the students: was it junk or something more? None but the eight - or were there nine? - who'd leapt in knew. Whatever they may have contained, the crates, too, disappeared beneath the surface of the glorified pond in the Arboretum.
High Zeno Giancarlo Silvestri, head of the Archaeology Department at the Academy of Thaumaturgy, watched for a moment longer from beneath the small gazebo there. Then he turned, hands clasped behind his back, and walked away.
It was day ten of the standoff and the fingers of night crept across Moatu Suva. They started from Mauna Hekili and, as it cast its great shadow across Taoranga, the townspeople began to pack up for the night ahead. Next came the foothills of the main island, then those of the smaller ones, the tallest trees and buildings, then humbler things. Before those, however, came the the vast shadow that the moku make nui - the great hulk that lay off half-grounded on Mehameha - cast across this place. Before those, however, came the dark, skeletal shapes of the foreign ships' masts that had taken up residence in the lagoon, right beside the giant wreck.
The private contractors of Virang's Royal Asper Salvage Co., the soldiers of the Tarlonese empire, and the levies of the Diamyo of Toishima all clutched their guns, peered through their spyglasses, and paced anxiously. Threateningly close to each lurked the other and, finally, the Pyrates. The infamous Blue Adam of Mycormii unabashedly flew its flag, and there were more, anchored in the outer reaches of the island chain: waiting. The great bounty of threshers, uncaring as to the activities of their terrestrial neighbours, churned up the waters in their month-long mating orgy as the sun set and the winds began to pick up.
And then, unassumingly, it happened. They'd been so used to being 'on edge' that they were not truly on edge anymore. It took them a moment to notice but, when they did, shouts erupted on the decks of all three of the Asper ships. The Blue Adam, with no notice or warning, had unfurled its great black sails and caught the brisk evening wind. It was, that very moment, closing the gap at an alarming rate.
Bells rang and torches were lit. "She's underway!"
"Pyrates! East' Nor'east! Closin' fast!"
The bells were desperate. "All hands! All hands! People rushed up from below decks, groggy, dishevelled, and half-dressed.
Still, the Blue Adam closed. "Reports!" shouted a tall bearded man in an impeccable uniform and a feathered hat, still doing up the top handful of his buttons. "Where are my sails?" he shouted. "Helm!?" He scowled as sailors climbed into the rigging to give answer to his first question. "Gunnery!"
"We'll be underway in moments, Captain, sir!"
Metin Çelik, Captain of the Altın Oğul, finished with his buttons and held out a hand for his spyglass. "Damned knife-ears," he muttered. "What're they playing at?"
He looked over his shoulder, spotting the great hulk in the near distance. The three Asper ships had taken up positions closest to it, cutting off any others from reaching the wreck but, when they'd tried to board, the pirates and locals both had fired warning shots and the Tarlonese had moved in closer, to the edge of gunnery range. Now, the Nikanese had arrived as well. If the Royal Asper Salvage Company could outgun any single other party, they could not outgun them all. He shifted his lookout to the Güçlü Adam. There was movement on deck, but they were not even close to getting underway. "Anything from the Dalgıç and Güçlü?"
"Nothing yet, sir!"
"Flags, Balık! Tell them to get underway! Head her off!" Metin did not like being caught off-guard like this. He liked not knowing what the Blue Adam was up to even less. They couldn't possibly be considering an attack. They might outgun any one of the Virangish ships, but all three would massacre them. "Guns!" he ordered. "All guns! Signal the Dalgıç and Güçlü! We need everything!"
His people moved through the rigging with a grace, speed, and silence that their human counterparts could never have hoped to. It was because of their excellence that the Bish'Audam had caught its rivals cold. Now, the famed Mycormish pyrates, half a world away from their home, surged forward at a breakneck pace, cutting through the dusky waters on their way to the score of - potentially - a lifetime.
Anthal'dyros'tormiiyei, boatswain and son of the captain, perched on the bowsprit, eyes alight in anticipation. Holstered across his chest and at his hip were six pistols and a dagger. At his back lay the two hundred tons of the vessel known to yanii as the 'Blue Adam'. Smoke ribboned away rapidly from the pipe clenched between his teeth and the young pyrate grinned wickedly. This was when he could feel her - the ship: her every dip and rise, the tremble of her timbers, the thump of the ocean waves beneath her hull. His hair billowed in the wind and Ocean spray wet his cheeks. The grin became content and he rose.
Nimbly, the young pyrate raced down the bowsprit, dodging the jib, and sprung onto the deck. Beneath his feet, the deck was rumbling as cannons were loaded and shifted in preparation. The dash'teloi gunports creaked open and, not so far away from where he stood, the anchor was being readied. "Aye, yeh lazy sea rats! Tighten up the t'gallant! She's flappin' about like Enoxii in Amato!"
A chorus of affirmations, laughs, and jeers rained back his way and he strode on towards the quarterdeck, where he could see his father. "Cap'n."
"Junior." They exchanged nods. Meanwhile, the three Aspers were getting underway, the big one - the Altın Oğul - hanging back a bit and arraying its guns against them in broadside while its smaller peers moved to cut off the Audam's approach. "Yeh see that, boy-o? They wanna play chicken with us! Hah! Haha!" He shook his head.
"Others running on clock?"
"Clocked as ol' Roger last I checked."
"Hey Sanette!" Anthal called out to a figure sitting cross-legged and close-eyed near the stern. When there was no reply, he raised his voice. "Your ears crippled too, now?"
The eyes - an eerie periwinkle - flashed open. "I am concentrating, hyco'moila. It isn't easy to speak to people over miles of water and all your Ypti-cursed noise."
"Ah, it's just your social skills!" He bounded over. "Where are the others right now?"
She smiled devilishly. "Why don't you take out daddy's spyglass and look for yourself?"
The Adam was heading straight for the Dalgıç and Güçlü but, even if they somehow breached the Aspers' perimeter, what could they hope to do? They'd be surrounded. All three ships were underway now, but the Adam was hardly more than a couple hundred yards out and closing. Did it mean to ram one of the xebecs!?
Then, it came to him. "Crowsnest!" the captain shouted. "Get me eyes on both ends of Pelolia!" His order was relayed swiftly. "Guns ready!" For this, he used the Gift to amplify his voice.
"They can't truly mean for a pitched battle, sir," murmured Balık. "Pyrates never..."
"Likely not, but if they breach our perimeter, we don't hesitate. Are we clear?"
She swallowed and nodded, pretty young daughter of some Emir that she was. "Crystal, sir."
"Warning shot, Solak!" the captain ordered and, within the next few seconds, it was threading its way mere feet past the Dalgıç and splashing into the water short of the Adam's bow. Then, Aksoy rushed up, breathless. "Lookouts report more pyrates, sir! Nor an' South o' Pelolia!"
"Signal the Dalgıç and Güçlü: part for the Adam and then close. We'll trap her 'tween our flanks and she'll have only her chasers." (see here)
The first officer nodded and rushed off to carry out the order. Flags were raised. Still, the Adam closed and, now, Metin could see individual figures on the decks. All about him, the Altın Oğul was a hive of activity: sails being adjusted, guns being loaded - even the deck carronades - and mages pulling in all the energy they could from their surroundings.
Still the Adam closed. The Güçlü began to draw back.
There was no missing the sheer power of the casters aboard that Mycormishman and they would surely enhance their shot. For a moment, the captain wondered if it was truly worth risking death here, in some colonial backwater, subcontracted out to a crown corporation, for the sake of this wreck. the thought passed quickly, though Even if this was not a navy ship, he was a navy man and had been since his eleventh birthday.
The Adam was mere meters and seconds from impact. Desperately, the Dalgıç started to turn. The sheer balls on these fucking knife-ears! The captain shook his head. Brave, foolish, or something else, they were about to pay for it. "Men, steady!" he bellowed, as the Adam and its crew of shouting, mocking pirates squirted through the gap, plowing straight towards the Altın Oğul.
Immediately, the thiis'elaaz slewed sharply, her bow nearly static and stern swinging hard to port. "On my mark!" He raised an arm, eyes wide in fear, fury, and the sheer desire to make these cocky bastards eat lead. "She's comin' about!" rose the shouts. "How in the six hells!?"
"Öjeran spare us."
"Öjeran spare them!!"
"Vaşdal akbar!"
"Vaşdal akbar!!" It rose as a war cry.
"Fire!!!"
All twenty-eight cannon aboard the Altın Oğul unleashed a withering broadside. The cannonballs hurtled towards the Bish'Audam. It was at this precise moment, in between the two ships, that a rip in space and time opened. It was at this precise moment that eight - or perhaps nine - biros of Ersand'Enise appeared.
R E S O U R C E S
D E T A I L S
1. On this mission: Maura, Fiske, Tku, Marz, Raffie, Kaureerah, Zast, Mahal, Ren 2. Chapter Deadline: Wednesday, April 10, 2024, 6:00 PM EST 3. The Rolls: All characters rolled high enough to avoid being hit, though Rem and Kaureerah will have to actively dodge.
Marceline was seated at her desk - well, not truly hers, but the desk where she was staying - reviewing the mail that had built up over her two weeks of absence. Worthless, bothersome, worthless, worthless, ugh - okay, why!? She flipped through them quickly, recognizing addresses and seals and sorting them based on those. Bothersome, yes, worthless, yes, maybe, seriously? Generally, moments like this, where she sat in the light and warmth of the window, doing things with her hands, were the best. She could forget, for extended periods at a time, that half of her body didn't work and, when she forgot that, she could also forget that she had caused it all through her stupidity.
She stared at the last letter in the pile, successfully distracted indeed. It would've been the first to actually arrive after she'd been unable to check her mailbox, so it was likely almost two weeks old. Her heart beat a little faster and, instinctively, she made to push back her chair with her feet. Fuck. She glanced down and saw only the desk and the letters on it but, beneath, she knew they were there, motionless on her wheelchair's footrest unless one had slipped off from a careless maneuver or simply because they seemed to love doing so. She settled the letter on her lap, reached down to unlock her brakes, and pushed herself back up into a proper sitting position. The trick of it was to think of herself as only the portions she could feel, stacked on and connected to a bunch of deadweight below that was only useful insofar as it was a structure she had to account for. 'Balance with what you have' Jocasta had told her, and she tried to do it. 'Better to fall forward than back. Your range of motion will stop you.' If Marci hadn't mastered it, per se, she no longer existed in a constant state of instability, terrified of tipping over at any moment her arms weren't supporting her. And they all make it look so easy, somehow, she thought of her mother, of Jocasta, of Isabella, Luisa, and Felix with some jealousy. In the future, that would be her, she told herself. She'd adjust. She'd adapt. It'd be seamless enough that some other poor little crippled kid would look at her and take heart in a livable future. Fuck that. It provoked an immediate sour reaction. I hope there's no kid who ever has to deal with this.
Big, imprecise, cumbersome thing that she was now, Marceline turned on the spot and began 'pacing'. It was not a habit she wanted to lose, even if it felt unnatural right now, and it was good exercise anyhow. There was no missing the arms on her mother, Jocasta, Isabella, and the others, built up through years of wheeling themselves around. Just the thought of doing so should've made her tired, but the letter on her lap prevented it. "Dearest Nina," read the envelope, complete with the wax seal of House Hohenfelter, and she knew that it was not from Jurgen or - Manfred is gone. She reached the end of the room, released a big breath that puffed out her cheeks, and turned, rolling back almost absentmindedly. Yet, there was never anything absentminded about her limited movement these days. Everything was onerous and intentional and less than it had been.
She made two complete trips to the ends of the long room, Domino hopping out of his bowl and trying to pace her, before letting herself drift to a stop midway through the third, slewing slightly to one side. Her fingernails dug into the envelope and tore the top open, but she paused. Who could say what emotions the letter might stir up? Who could say she'd be in a state to write on the other matters she would need to once she read it? Dropping it onto her lap, her hands found her wheels and she rolled back to the desk, her ground octopus anticipating her and planting himself at its corner proudly. After petting him absently, she took out her quill and inkpot, dipped the former into the latter, and pulled a paper from the tray.
I am sorry. I shall dispense with the usual pleasantries and smalltalk, for they feel so very meaningless now. I am sorry that I did not tell you. I am sorry that I made a rash decision, the consequences of which I shall live with indefinitely. I am sorry that I have left you to fend for yourself, not that you aren't capable of such. I find that all I do these days is dwell and hope and be sorry for things. I do not wish to. I wish to simply return to you, to my friends, to my classes, responsibilities, and to our business. I wish to resume normalcy as if nothing were amiss - and were it really so! - but, even with the help of the Gift, the injuries I have suffered in my foolhardiness are of such severity that I currently cannot. I believe that Jocasta has spoken with you at some length on the subject and so you must recognize the scale of the adjustments that it now falls upon me to make. I cannot say, with certainty, when I shall return but, rest assured, that I shall.
You are a truer sister than I have ever had, though nothing so simple as blood binds us in twine, and I shall abide by you for as long as I live. I simply need... time. I need to heal - not physically for, with the aid of the Gift, I am as well as I shall ever be again - but in my mind and in my soul, if a creature such as I truly has one (that was a jest, by the by). I must have some time to mourn a self that once was and shall never be again, to mourn the myth of my own invincibility that I cultivated dangerously following a string of unlikely and at-times unwarranted successes, and to come to terms with the failure of my own vaunted genius, which Dami has seen fit to humble in a most emphatic way. I must be able to look myself in the mirror, reduced as I now am, and still have regard for the woman I see before I might expect others to have such for her out of anything more than courtesy.
I have been, latterly, in a wretched state but, these past two days have found something of a fire: some spark of determination. There is only so long one can wallow, after all. I wish to be effective upon my return. I know that I shall have to accept some assistance from time to time, but I am resolved to stand stand on my own merits and I refuse to burden anyone with more than the odd favour, such as one might expect between friends and family. To this end, I have received dispensation to travel via spatial portal to the Refuge of San Agustin de las Arenas, where I expect to undergo rigorous training and therapy so that I might be able to resume my duties, lifestyle, and friendships with full rigour and ability upon my return. Stay safe, stay happy, and rest knowing that I am with you in spirit until such time as I appear, quite unexpectedly, smiling at you from the other side of a table.
Yours truly,
Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau
Satisfied with her work, Marci took a moment to fold it into thirds, slide it into an envelope, and seal it. Briefly, she considered heading over to the kitchen for some salted jerky and a cup of water, but it was too much trouble and she already had the start of her next letter firmly in mind. She took out a second paper, dipped her quill again, and began.
I hope this letter finds you happy, healthy, and... I promise I had a third adjective in mind when I began! In any case, the sentiment still stands. I apologize, as a friend, for perhaps not making the time for you that I should have, of late. You are ever a ray of sunshine and I fear I have spent so much time focused on matters far grimmer that I convinced myself were of paramount importance. I really have been rather ghastly, I fear.
In any case, I wish to reaffirm that you are somebody whose friendship I treasure and to reassure you and others that, while I shall be away in Torragon for a couple of months at the Refuge of San Agustin de las Arenas, I plan to return a good deal healthier in mind, body, and spirit than when I left. Keep yourself well and feel free to use the sugars I've left in the pantry to make churros and tartas if you wish (I shall expect your best upon my return)!
I ask you to give my regards to Kaspar, Ashon, Rikard, Abdel, and Maura - most especially the latter. I may have been placed, through my own arrogance and subsequent misfortune, on a path to understand and admire her somewhat better than before. Stay safe, stay wonderful, and keep smiling, Ayla.
Yours Truly,
Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau
Domino had distracted her right near the start, but it was no great matter. This letter, too, she reread, folded, and sealed, placing it on the desk above the one to Zarina and the second towards the Méatan supplier she had unintentionally stood up. She cracked her knuckles and breathed deeply, the act nearly unsteadying her. Godsdammit. Fifteen going on Sixty. A third paper was pulled in anticipation by Domino. A quill was inked - not by Domino - and she set to work on her third and most difficult one.
I hope that this letter finds you well. Others have told me that you were healed fully after our disastrous intervention, but I now know well what the proverbial 'they' mean when they say that wounds of the heart and soul often outstrip those of the flesh. I shall not endeavour to sugarcoat matters: Juulet's reprise has rendered me a 'true tethered' now and half of my body is no longer mine to use. That is the hard truth of it. I shall not walk for as long as I live. It is something I am still coming to terms with, but I trust that, in due time, I shall reconcile myself to it and make the best of things.
More than anything, however, I do not want you to blame yourself. I do not want you to dwell on any mistakes you may have made. Going after Juulet was a foolhardy act, undertaken at my urging and under the auspices of my desire for revenge. It was arrogant and ill-advised and, more than once, you surely felt reservation about it though you were too much of a gentleman, too far caught up in the wake of my singleminded determination, to express such. I took advantage of that. I took advantage of you and used you for my ends. I am terribly sorry.
No matter what anybody says, you are a good person. I play at being one, but I am not. You're funny, clever, and decent-hearted beneath your veneer of roguishness. I know your truth. I, on the other hand, have become a soulless creature of greed and ambition that my mother would surely be ashamed of were she able to keep better tabs on me. I thought that I was smarter than everyone else. A few victories and near-victories had me looking down upon them. Perhaps such a humbling experience will change me, but I doubt it. One's nature is, to an extent, Dami's choice and hence immutable.
I will be gone for quite some time. I remain uncertain as to when I'll be back or even if I shall return. I love you, but I don't want you to wait for me. I know that you're in pain right now, but it will fade and you will be happy. This is, most of all, what I want. You deserve someone who can match the heart and soul you put into life, who can match you in mind, body, and spirit, and these are not things that I cannot do. Sail on, chin up. Live forever.
Love,
Your Marceline
Her breath came heavy and shaken and she blinked a couple of times. Her elbows rested on the desktop and, dully, she placed the quill back into the inkpot. Unceremoniously, Marci brushed the back of her wrist across her eyes, shook her head as if to clear it, and caught her balance once more. She hurt. She hurt but she tuned it out, sitting here at this damned desk by this damned window gazing out at the narrow streets of Mudville outside. Two weeks, it had been, since she'd felt the wind in her hair or the sun unfiltered on her skin. Two weeks, she'd been an upper body unable to adequately move itself about the world. Only in the last three days had the cabal of Isabella, Jocasta, Luisa, Felix, and Yalen allowed her to stay in the former's apartment alone while they went about their errands. If they could do it, then surely she could! She breathed again, against the mounting frustration. She breathed again, to practice keeping her balance. She breathed again - though it was so musty in here - to feel everything she could of her body. Domino had returned to his bowl, but she had one last letter to write.
I hope that this letter finds you well. I know that Manfred's passing was not easy for either of us, and I still think about him often. I am writing to you for two reasons. The first is to assure you of my continued regard and reassure you that my absence from the daily lives of friends and family such as yourself is not a permanent matter. As you know, Fiske and I sought our revenge on Juulet, the Mad Avatar, for the pain she caused me, you, him, and so many others. We wanted to rid the world of a tyrant and avenge Manfred. Instead, the gods saw fit to humble us for my arrogance. I am rather a 'true' tethered now, and shall remain so indefinitely. I am headed back to Torragon for some time to practice skills that I will need to learn and to acclimate to my new reality so that I might not be a burden upon my return.
This brings me to the second matter. Though I am clearly not equal to the task and have learned at great pains never again to fly too close to the sun, I believe with even greater certainty now that Juulet must be stopped. Her reign of terror needs to be checked by parties both powerful and determined before she can do further damage. You survived her the first time, and I find myself desirious of any insight you could offer on how one might do so. She has been telling the most vile of untruths, calling you murderer while trying to absolve herself. I find these attempts as farcical and pathetic as I'm sure most do, but they are backed up by the very real power and fear she commands, and you know what they say about a lie oft repeated. I had hoped to break her power but find that I have only burnished it. We need a coalition of the willing and the strong so that the threat she represents may finally be laid to rest, once and for all. If I am no longer fit to participate directly, at the very least, I shall offer everything else that I have.
Stay strong, Dorothea. Stay well. I very much hope that we shall speak upon my return.
In Solidarity,
Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau
No Apologies
Five sealed letters lay on her desk, ready to be sent, and the feeling of accomplishment that came with their completion filled Marci with the ambition to do more. She glanced out the window. It wasn't so very far to the post office and she certainly knew nobody in Mudville anyhow. She would just be, to them, some tethered girl rolling down the street on a quick errand. Something electric filled her at the thought. Two weeks cooped up inside. She breathed once more. She could do this - in fact, she needed to. She reached forward, snapped her wheelchair's brakes open, and backed up.
Then, it was was there, still on her lap. In truth, she'd forgotten all about the letter with the seal of House Hohenfelter. Shunedammit, Marceline cursed inwardly. It was already opened as well. All alone in this house save for Domino for perhaps another hour, the fifteen-year-old let out an audible groan. Why were they contacting her now? Had they somehow heard already or was it about Manfred? Letters like this often took months of travel unless they were sent by dragon or by portal. Sitting there, a couple of feet from the desk, Marci prevaricated. Surely, they knew that she did not wish to be called by that forgotten name, and they had done it anyhow. She swallowed. Okay, fuck you. Nothing's gonna ruin this mood. In one quick motion, she ripped the paper from the envelope, unfolded it, and read.
Your mother and I imagine that this correspondence might take some time to reach you, during which we hope that you will have had the opportunity to come to terms and make peace with the terrible loss that has befallen our family. Above all else, however, it has cast into stark relief the necessity of supporting one another amid the tumultuous sea that is life and death as the Gods will it. We are writing to offer our condolences and our support as parents and to reach out to you in the hopes that we might come together and be reconciled as your brother would've wanted.
Manfred wrote to us often and he spoke with pride about the accomplished young woman you have become. That is something your mother and I would very much like to see for ourselves, for the mistakes of the past have kept us too long apart and it is high time that those are set right. Much as we must accept that Eschiran has seen fit to claim a son and a brother, we also take this as a call that we must not lose our only daughter as well. From your brother's letters, we were so very heartened to hear that you have found treatment for your affliction and, in your sixteenth year, walk among your peers as any other. The tethering is a terrible test and we thank Oratz that you have overcome it and remain in good health. To then learn from your brothers that your coffee business in Ersand'Enise is thriving has only added to our joy. You have had to make your own way and, having set your noble privilege aside, have ventured into the merchant's world and proven your abilities and pedigree.
You were born a Hohenfelter of Meckelin-Thandau and, by all accounts, you yet go by the name. If it is perilous, then it is also an exciting new world we live in during these years of Dami-Zept. The full support of your parents and our house is available to you, and many options for your future remain on the table and might be discussed when we meet. We shall be arriving this Velleß the 33rd, for the Ahn-Zept festival, and we heartily look forward to seeing you.
Your Father,
Reichsgraf Jurgen Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau
For a moment, Marceline merely sat there, stiller than she had been while reading the letter. She had reacted, of course, with all manner of expressions and more than one audible snort. Now, however, she was frozen, and remained so for a handful of seconds. Then, with a suddenness that surprised even Domino, she folded the letter, tucked it back into the envelope, and tossed it into the rubbish bin by the desk, nearly pitching over in the process. She caught herself with her arms, but had missed her shot. She regarded the fallen envelope for a moment, resolved to simply leave it there, and drummed nervously on her wheels.
Her ground octopus slid down the leg of the table to retrieve it and, at that, Marci's expression brightened as if getting an idea. She rolled forward a couple of pushes, plucked it from his tentacles, and resealed it carefully with binding. Pulling back up to her desk, Marceline reached inside and took out the precious red ink she'd had Jocasta bring from her quarters on the Godsroad. This, she dipped her dried quill into and, with it, she underlined the name 'Nina Hohenfelter' and wrote a new message upon the envelope: Incorrect address. Return to Sender.And now it appears I have six letters to send: one for each of the gods plus another to make the Darhannics happy! She smiled, quite pleased with herself and, backing away from the desk, carefully set them upon her lap.
Foolhardy
At first, it went well. If she wasn't quite brave enough to carry herself in her wheelchair with telekinesis, Marci lifted off and floated to the bottom of the stairs before bringing it down after her and climbing in with the help of every ounce of upper body strength she had and (mostly) a healthy dose of kinetic magic. Gonna have arms like Mr. Secto in no time, she thought ruefully, but then there was the door and, outside, lay the sidewalk and the rest of the world. Fuck it. You've come this far. An electric sort of impulse took hold of her. You're gonna do it. It's not hard. You're gonna go outside on your own, and Jocasta's gonna pee herself out of surprise when she gets back. The idea of buying some bananas from the fruit market occurred to her, for such was the girl's momentary excitement and confidence, but it evaporated as soon as she opened the door.
Clumsily, she backed up, taking in the great blue sky before her, the step down to street level, and the miasma of smells, sights, and noises that made up a sidestreet in Fascino. For a moment, as she eased out of the doorway and onto the landing, she felt utterly inadequate to the task before her. It's a fucking quick walk over to the post office. She shook her head to clear it, used some more telekinesis to shut the door, and considered the step. She'd watched her mother or Jocasta pop a wheelie more times than she could count, effortlessly hopping down a curb or single step, but Luisa and Isabella always turned around and went in reverse, doubling over to keep their weight forward. There was a quick flash of something unwanted in her head, but then she cleared it. This'll be automatic before long. Figure it out. Marceline drew from her surroundings and simply lifted herself down with the Gift.
Then, for the first time, she was there on the street, in an area of Mudville she half-knew. A handful of locals passed by, glancing her way until she glanced back. Children played at the mouth of a nearby alley. Right. Marci looked up at the sky before twisting first one way and then the other. Left from here. Businesslike but eager, she set hands to wheels and... it was impossible. The road was little more than hard-packed dirt and, if it was blessedly dry, it was terribly uneven. She couldn't go so much as a single normal, straight-line push without one of her wheels hitting some bump or divot or getting stuck in a groove. The wagon ruts were ferocious. For about a hundred yards, she laboured, as people went to and fro about their business, heads turning to regard her, sometimes leaning in to whisper to each other, before moving on.
By the time that she had reached the Searoad and its wide, flat flagstones, Merceline's arms and shoulders were aching and every ounce of her earlier confidence had been siphoned. Here, there were hundreds: people, carts, horses and wagons: a chaos she hadn't even considered before. All about were the tents and hovels of the refugees, in places nearly blocking sideroads and shop entrances. It was... left from here, and any thought of bananas had long since disappeared. Marceline waited for an opening, pushed forward, and inserted herself into the flow of pedestrian traffic. Even here, it was not easy going. She could see little amid the sea of torsos, and some people missed her entirely. The road was sloped towards the gutters and she felt herself inevitably slewing in their direction such that she had to correct every second or third push, unable to even find a regular rhythm. Every once in a while, there was a gap between flagstones that stopped her dead or twisted her about. Her stupid feet were all too happy to dive off of their footrest at the slightest provocation when this happened, of course. In short, Marci found herself a general hazard as people swirled around her, playing an impromptu game of 'avoid the cripple', except when they didn't and nearly ran into her.
Samaritan
Then, as she caught a good flat stretch of road and found herself considering trying to pass a cluster of slow-moving elders, she was there. The Fascino Postal Office perched to her left at the outer edge of the emporium that gave the suburb its name. Marceline came to a stop, turned, and glanced down at her lap, alarmed for a second to see the letters gone before remembering that she had tucked them into the rucksack hanging off the back of her chair. There was one step up and she gathered herself for it, deciding to simply use the Gift to boost her over. That was when she felt a hand take hold of one of her wheels. "Oh! Girl!" offered a yasoi man, "I help you. Okay?" She hadn't asked for the help and was loath to take it, but then his other hand was on her other wheel. "I'm uh... quite okay!" she insisted, but he seemed both confused and implacable. "I help. No pay." As if she ever would've paid him for something she could manage herself!
Marci was about to protest further when he shot her the most pleading look and his eyes flicked ever so quickly over his shoulder to a trio of rough-looking characters waiting at the mouth of a sideroad across the street. All three were yasoi: one, a man with bright red hair and a twitchiness to him, the second a woman with black hair, sharp features, and the air of a leader, and the third a young man, enormous in every way possible. "Well, if I don't have to pay, then I won't say no," the tethered replied, hardly missing a beat. There was a mystery to be solved here and she wanted to solve it but, for now, she managed to get her front wheels up in a momentary wheely, and he pushed her up the step, rushing awkwardly around her to get the door. "Thank you kindly," she offered, rolling into the small office and keeping one hand on a wheel while twisting to retrieve the letters and her coinpurse from her bag.
"Oh, six?" he asked, and she looked up at him. "Yes. Lots of correspondence to catch up on."
"Busy life."
She pursed her lips, nodded, and made a noise of agreement, wheeling up to the end of the line. "So," she began, "What's happening with those three?" She tilted her head in the direction where they had been and surreptitiously reached out with her senses, getting a read on the big one before picking out the other two in the energetic noise of the street. They appeared to be huddling close, possibly talking.
Her unwanted 'helper' tilted his head quizzically and she took notice that he was a bloodchild. "Sorry. Not know."
The clerk finished with one customer and Marci moved up a bit, grateful for the smooth, flat wooden floor. She considered. "Three bad people," she tried, and he narrowed his eyes before nodding in tentative understanding. "Why?"
His eyes widened and he nodded more fully. "They say give money." He rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for cash. "Small money." He shook his head and gestured adamantly at himself. "I okay give."
Loansharks, Marci decided, or something like it.
"They tell more money. More give." He looked distressed and Marci pursed her lips. She could sense his shadowy pursuers moving but, then, more importantly, the line moved. "And they hurt you?" she asked, trying to speak slowly and clearly. She pounded her palm with her fist for emphasis and just barely caught her balance. For a moment, the yasoi's eyes seemed to evaluate her, but then he answered. "Yes. Very hurt. They get me. They break." he made a 'breaking' gesture with his hands.
"They do this to many people?"
He nodded eagerly. "Many! Much time." He shook his head. "Cola Brother."
"What's your name?" Marci asked.
"I Vanin." He tapped his chest proudly. "Come Tanso but Tarlonsoi break Tanso. Come here."
She nodded. "I'm sorry," the teen replied, grabbing hold of her wheels absently. "I understand losing a home."
He nodded slowly, partially understanding, and Marceline glanced up at the counter, where an old woman who had shot Vanin a couple of dirty looks earlier was taking unusually long. "Say, Vanin, will the Cola Brothers come and break me if I help you?"
He concentrated on her words for a moment and, deciphering them, shook his head adamantly. "Oh no no no," he promised. "You no live here. You Ersand'Enise. Tether." Up ahead, the old bat was finally almost done, counting her change before leaving. "They... scare you." He scowled. "Scare to you."
"Scared of me?"
He nodded. "No... hurt Ersand'Enise'soi. Big Eloam'soi come. Hurt he."
The old woman shuffled off and, gratefully, Marceline rolled up to the counter. Only her head and shoulders were really above it, but there was no missing the wary look sent in Vanin's direction. "Good afternoon, sir!" the girl chirped. "He's with me."
The clerk nodded, gesturing with a pencil. "Usually, we don't serve their kind in here." It was a refrain she'd heard more times than she cared to count, especially back in Kerremand, where such sentiment ran high. Certainly, Marci could understand it - Constantian Yasoi were simply more likely to commit crimes - but she had always believed in judging a person's worth based on merit and competence, two factors which she was no longer certain that she possessed. The teen pursed her lips. "Well, for what it's worth, it's me you'll be serving." She jerked a thumb in Vanin's direction. "He helps me with things." She sighed and glanced down at her lap. "I'm sure you understand." If life had dealt her the cripple card, Marci was ill-disposed to ignore whatever silver lining it might hold. She would play it for all it was worth. She smiled uncertainly and coaxed some blush in her cheeks.
"Right, erm... yes. Well, I see no problem, as long as he keeps to himself."
"Very good. Now, I have six pieces here." She handed them over one by one. "And postage fee..." she opened her coinpurse and took out a handful of Owls, practically feeling Vanin's eyes snap to it. She glanced back his way and, ashamed, he quickly looked away. This was never going to be free, she realized, else you'd prick my conscience with every fibre of your sad story. She wasn't categorically opposed to helping him out, however, so long as he earned it.
Business was conducted quickly, with a minimum of fuss and smalltalk, and only a couple of people appeared behind Marceline in line, their glances split between the girl in the wheelchair and the yasoi refugee who should not have been in here. She shelled out for dragon postage on the one to Méatu. Her friends were too close and the Hohenfelters not worth it. Then, she was finished and, taking back the coinpurse, she tucked it firmly under her legs. "Well, Vanin," she declared, making for the doorway, "Looks like those Cola thugs are gone."
He regarded her quizzically and she realized that any form of wit or colloquial speech would be wasted. "Colas gone. You are safe."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, rushing ahead of her to open the door, "Cola. Yes. Safe." She rolled through and reached out to hold it for him as he squeezed around her on the landing. "Qitoip! Thank you!" He bowed slightly as she caught herself by grabbing a wheel and nearly smacked into his shins. "Well, I'm... go home now," she said, trying to enunciate everything. In truth, the prospect was daunting and she would be relieved just to roll through the doorway. Jocasta would probably be along at anytime and they could eat dinner. Marceline had resolved to ask her about further temporal training. It was the only thing of interest she'd done in the past week and, counter to what many held, it had proven reasonably intuitive. "Thank you," she added. Vanin pursed his lips, scampering ahead of her as Marci decided to try reversing down the step Isabella's way. With only a bit of trepidation, she backed slowly up as a couple of passersby rubbernecked to watch.
It was so quick - too quick! Her wheels went off the step and, the next thing that Marci knew, she was pitching backwards. Then, she stopped, Vani's hand on her back. Marci's own shot out, gripping his shirt and, with the help of a small kinetic boost, pulling herself up. His other hand, which she imagined had grabbed her wheelchair near the front, retreated. Heart hammering, she heaved a couple of breaths. "Thank you," she panted, "Sorry."
"Okay!" he assured her, backing away. "No worry."
Marci smiled in thanks and settled her left foot, which had gone rogue, back onto the footrest. She pushed herself up on her arms to readjust her sitting position as he bowed and started fading into the crowd. Indeed, she now began to feel the prick of her conscience as she'd predicted she might. He'd saved her considerable embarrassment and she'd given him nothing but a momentary respite from those gangsters. "Hey!" she called, wheeling into the thick of the traffic, "How about you help me out for a bit longer -" He was already at the other side of the street, waving goodbye. "- and we'll forget the part about doing it for free!" Once again, she had forgotten, and she rolled forward, having to pause for a large wagon to go by. "You help more," she practically shouted, "I give money. Okay?" Now, he was out of sight and she searched with her energy sense. He was running. Marci's stomach crystallized and she reached under her legs: nothing. FUCK! She made it to the far side, pushed her way into an alcove, and lifted herself clean out of her wheelchair with the Gift. The coinpurse and the three magus it contained were gone. Idiot! she berated herself. Had she become feeble of mind as well as body?
Instinctively, she turned to hurry down the sideroad where Vanin - if that was even his true name - had vanished, tracking him with her energy sense while drawing liberally from the surrounding motion to boost her speed. The futility of such an effort became clear after only seconds. Even with magic, the rate at which he outpaced her was incredible and - one of her front caster wheels went straight into a divot and she pitched forward and hit the dirt. People around her stopped. A few gasped. Then, most started moving, leaning in and murmuring to each other, while a couple rushed over to help her up. Rudely, Marci waved them off. She flipped her wheelchair back upright with the Gift and lifted herself into it the same way. She'd done the same thing that she usually did: enhance her speed with siphoned kinetic energy and split her attention between movement and tracking. Angrily, Marci whirled on the spot. She'd lost him now: just one of hundreds of moving energy signatures, and he'd evidently stopped running, wherever he was. Not even caring to look if one of her feet had slipped free of the footrest, she pushed herself back onto the Searoad. She wasn't sure when the tears came, but they did. She didn't care if these strangers stared at her: the crying girl in the wheelchair. Soon, she'd be far away in Torragon and she might never come back. If she did, she'd learned her lesson: Unless your name is Jocasta Re, you're not a physical actor as a tethered. You just aren't. She knew what she should've done: she should've stayed put, taken him out from a distance, and then caught up at her leisure, but she'd become so used to having all the benefits of the tethering with none of the drawbacks. How she missed being fast! How she missed being able to do things! It was all so hard! It had to get easier, right!?
Cookie
Numbly, Marci rolled back to the entrance of Isabella's apartment, making a sort of game of assiduously avoiding obstacles - even the ones that looked small. She found Jocasta waiting at the foot of the stairs, eating a cookie, a small bag on her lap. "Not a banner day, huh?" she asked, and her younger counterpart, hair sweaty and dishevelled, snot dribbling from her nose, dried tears staining her cheeks, let out a snort. It turned into an ironic laugh. "I've had worse," she replied. "Three, to be exact."
"I don't suppose a cookie would help?" Jocasta offered, reaching into the small bag.
"Can it make me walk?"
The older tethered smiled, half in jest and half in sombre support. "Only if you're more special than me," she replied, brandishing her half-eaten sweet.
"Worth a shot."
Jocasta waved Marci in with her hands, and the younger girl remembered how to hug in a wheelchair, turning at the last second to be at a slight angle so they could reach each other. She squeezed Jocasta perhaps harder than she should've and found herself wishing, in some forbidden place, that she was hugging Zarina instead. "Hey kiddo." The senior tethered spoke into her shoulder. "You didn't do bad today."
"Fuck sake, Jo. At least don't lie to me," Marci murmured into her shoulder.
Jocasta pushed herself back a little to provide some separation. "I mean, I take it something bad happened, but you went out on your own for almost an hour."
"I got robbed," Marci groaned, deflating. "Three magus."
"Welcome to Belleville. You're officially a citizen."
Marci tried to laugh at the joke. It was true. This place was a dump. She couldn't, though. "But I got targeted in the first place because..." she trailed off, looking down at her legs and wrinkling her nose in disgust. She smacked the tops of her thighs. "This fucking bullshit." She shook her head. "And I couldn't even do anything! I mean, he just got away with it! The old me would've -"
Jocasta held a hand up to forestall further comment. "There's no 'old' you and 'new' you," she counselled firmly. "It's just you, Marce." She shook her head. "The same smart, inventive, secretly really caring little bugger I've known for far too long." She squeezed the girl's shoulder. "But your paradigm's paraplegic now and you have to train your mind and - yes - even your body, because it's not useless even if it's changed, to go about things differently." She thrust the cookie into Marci's hands. "Here. Nibble. It's good and you're hungry."
"Thanks, mom."
Jocasta sighed. "Wanna go for a little walk?" She tilted her head in the other direction where Marceline hadn't been. "We can talk."
"Walk?" Marci challenged.
"Same shit, and saying 'roll' just doesn't have the same ring to it."
"It's just so tiring."
"I bet, but didn't it feel good to be outside, to move a bit again, until things went wrong?"
It was Marci's turn to sigh. "Sure. I'll go for a roll."
Jocasta snorted and turned halfway, giving her younger counterpart a warm smile. "You know, it only gets easier. I do promise that, and you were doing things right on your way back, at least when I saw you."
"What? Wheeling along with my head down, staring at the ground like some kind of troglodyte?" She came up beside Jocasta, mimicking the act in an exaggerated manner, but the older girl just kind of shrugged. "It becomes sort of automatic after a while, like muscle memory." She shrugged, pulling ahead again, and glanced back and to the side. "You do a quick scan of the ground every five or so pushes and you just develop a sense for it."
"No way I can just skip to that point, huh?"
Jocasta glanced back, offered an apologetic smile, and shook her head. Marci pushed harder, endeavouring to catch up, and she pulled up beside her friend. "And I know I should've used my tethered range and taken the thief out first before trying to catch him. It was just instinct. It's like I have to... completely reset it. You know?"
Rolling along leisurely, Jocasta looked her way. She could see the other tethered's eyes quickly flick towards the ground first, doing that check she had told Marci would become automatic. The younger girl made a point of following suit. "That's exactly what you have to do," the blonde allowed, nodding slowly. "All of it - all the walking stuff - has to go out the window. Retrain everything. Retrain how you think of yourself, the world around you, and how you interact with it." Jocasta slowed for a moment and brushed some crumbs off of her lap as she waited for Marci, who had swerved around some wagon grooves.
The younger tethered considered, furrowing her brow. "That's good advice and I'll take it coming from you, but..." She grimaced. "It sounds like a ton," Jocasta interjected, "right?"
Marci nodded. "Yeah, kinda," she squeaked, coming to a stop. "I wanna believe I can do it. I wanna believe I can just feel like... me again, but it's this huge mountain and I don't know how to climb."
"One step at a time," Jocasta advised, swivelling around to face her, "trite as that sounds."
Marci rolled her eyes. "And there's another idiom about walking."
"You get used to it," came the reply, as the older girl took a moment to push herself up on her hands and sort of hang there for a moment.
"That thing you're doing," Marci queried, "That's not just to change your sitting position, is it?" Jocasta shook her head. "Ooh boy." She let out a low whistle. "You haven't learned about the fun fun fun that is pressure sores." She wriggled her eyebrows. "Good thing you're a binder," she concluded, letting herself back down and taking a moment to shift her feet.
Alarm pulsed through the younger tethered. "I know about them!" she retorted. "My mom was always worried about them." She glanced down worriedly at herself. "Should I be doing that too?"
Jocasta pursed her lips and considered, setting hands to wheels to start moving again. "Not essential yet," she allowed, "but you should probably start building the habit." Marci followed, starting to feel the burn of tired muscles again. "You've still got plenty of meat on your legs," she continued, reaching over and squeezing a thigh. "Nice big hammies here." She patted it a couple times and pulled back, having skewed a bit close to her younger friend. She brushed some hair from her face. "Only really becomes an issue once they wither and get all skinny from lack of use. Your bones will punch right through the bottom if you don't relieve the weight once in a while."
Marceline looked down in horror at her legs and Jocasta grimaced. "Maybe a bit much for a beginner-level course?"
The former bit her lower lip nervously. "Now you've got me living in fear of becoming a skeleton."
"Sorry, Marce." Jocasta offered, before waving the rest off. "Won't be an issue for like... months, and you're a good binder anyhow." She shook her head. "Shouldn't be a problem as long as you check regularly and don't do anything dumb."
Marci breathed in and out and forced something like a reassured smile. "Right, well, that's... comforting."
"Just gotta roll with it, you know?"
"Finally, some accessible idioms."
Jocasta grinned and let out a snort. "You know, I'm gonna start paying more attention to that stuff now."
"Baby steps," Marci replied jokingly.
"You're a magnificent little bitch, you know that?"
Marci let herself coast for a minute, eyes flicking at the ground to ensure it was safe. She raised her hands in a little heart-shape. "Aren't I, though?" She batted her eyelashes.
Accessible
Jocasta rolled her eyes and the two of them continued on in easy silence for the next minute or so. Above them, the sky was blue, birds perched on rooftops and laundry lines, chirping, and children played at the mouth of an alleyway. It struck Marceline, then, how good this moment was but, hot on its heels - another walking idiom - came the realization that it would've been even better with Zarina: the missing third member of their trio, and - hell - with Ayla, too! How much Marci missed just hanging out with them, eating those 'family' dinners in the dining room on Taldes evenings, doing homework - and inevitably goofing off - in the study well into the hours of Dami and even Ipte, playing cards or chess in the drawing room with a bit too much wine and Kaureerah's idle strumming as accompaniment. "Ipté!" she sighed, grabbing hold of her wheels and skidding most dramatically to a stop. "I've been just horrid."
"Oh Gods, no," groaned Jocasta. "Not another bout of self-loathing, please."
"Easy. Don't get your knickers in a knot, bruja." Marci rolled her eyes, turning about. "It's just coming to me that I've given almost no consideration to my literal best friend in the world."
"Yes, I was wondering when you might remember me."
"Oh fuck off. I love you." Marci swept some hair from her face and took a bite of the half-eaten cookie that had existed in purgatory on her lap for the past twenty minutes. "Iss Zawina," she grunted between chews, brandishing the sweet as if to add emphasis. "I fuckin' wuv hew." Presently, the fifteen-year-old swallowed. "And I miss her and I've been oh-so pigheaded because I didn't want her to see me at my worst."
"I mean, I'd argue you're -"
Marci glared daggers and Jocasta grinned, taking a couple of aimless pushes out of some sense of restless inertia. "But are you, still, in seriousness?"
The the younger girl took and released her umpteenth considered breath of the day and shrugged. "I'm good right now," she admitted, "borderline great, which kind of proves the whole idea that I need to surround myself with people I care about."
Jocasta smiled, genuinely and without a hint of teasing or playful malice. "Good. Good! Thank Ipté."
"But then who knows," Marceline admitted. "I'm up and down these days, though I think I need to get out more and that'll help." She looked about and pursed her lips. "'Cause then'll come the next time I need to go to the privy and that'll send me into another tailspin because I can't fuckin' pee like a normal person, Eshi forbid doing more than that."
The older tethered grimaced knowingly. "It gets better," she offered, "And you'll learn stuff back at that place."
"Or then I'll hit some crack or bump and faceplant," Marci continued, "Or get fed up with pity glances and 'poor thing' murmurs." She sighed. "Or it might just be nothing at all more than my regularly scheduled daily bout of self-pity and hatred."
"Sooo..." Jocasta trailed off. "That's a 'not ready', then?"
Marci wobbled her palm in a gesture of uncertainty. "It's a hot and cold," she admitted. "I wanna just launch right back in and move on and get to the point where I'm a happy little cripple going about my life with friends and loved ones, but I feel like I have so much I need to work on and I should set some time aside to work on it."
Jocasta, busy absently dribbling a rock with her front casters, looked up and nodded crisply. "Yeah," she agreed, "If you want me to be honest, I think your assessment is spot on." She continued nodding, absently, pensively, and her eyes darted to the road they'd been heading down for the past little while. "You know how I feel about that place," she admitted. I do, thought Marci. You can't even bring yourself to say its name or what it is. There were times when she just wanted to hug Jocasta, to heal those wounds that she knew lay deep in her quasi-sister's psyche, but it also felt ridiculous at the moment. Marci was the one in need of help right now. She would have to extricate herself from this pit she was in if she ever wanted to put herself in a position to help others again. "But it'll do you good," her senior was saying. "Your mom, Oscar, Laëlle, Ricardo, and the older tethered: they're good people and they'll put you through the crash course you need."
Marceline nodded and swallowed. "I know," she admitted. "I know, and I'm starting to actually really look forward to it."
"Good," came the reply.
"But, speaking of courses -"
"I've got the whole package: already dropped off at home." Jocasta paused. "Well, 'home'", she amended, adding airquotes with her hands.
"And I can hand them in at the end of the semester?"
"Long as you hand them in before the next semester starts, and not like... the day before."
Marci nodded. "I will. I promise." It would be okay. It would all be okay. She simply had tasks to do and she would do them, as she always had. "Thank you." She swallowed and smiled brightly, glancing up at the sky in relief. "Dami. I feel like it's actually achievable, like it can all be done."
"Watch you get a forty-nine on your final."
Marci cracked up. "Oh my Shune," she laughed, "Like that one guy that time. It was Niallus, right?"
Jocasta grimaced amid her laughter. "I think so! The big Eskandish boy toy."
The younger girl pursed her lips exaggeratedly. "Aren't they all, pretty much?"
"Good point," her senior allowed.
Jutsu
"Anyway," Marci released a last, mirthful breath and absently dusted some crumbs off of her lap. "I was also hoping you had more on temporal that you could teach me, or at least some more books and instructions, like exercises and stuff?"
Jocasta's face became concerned.
"Oh, don't gimme that look."
"It's playing with fire, Marce."
"Technically, that's pyromancy."
Jocasta wasn't smiling. "Are you gonna take this seriously?"
The younger girl recentered herself and nodded meekly. "Sorry."
"Temporal magic is powerful."
"That's why I need it."
"It's not a plaything."
"I don't wanna play with it. I wanna protect myself and the people I care about."
"You're not a little baby seven-point-one anymore. You're an eight-point-three tethered. Your actions have consequences."
Marci glanced down at her lap in pointed annoyance. "As I well know," she countered, and Jocasta softened somewhat. Everybody had a button that could be pushed, and much as she loved Jocasta - truly - like a sister, Marceline would not hesitate to push it as many times as she needed to get herself this. All of the monsters, all of the tyrants, and all of the heroes who stood up to them had it, and she would be at their mercy if she didn't. She didn't need to be a hero. She just wouldn't let herself become either of the other two. "Sorry, kiddo," the older tethered offered, perhaps knowing how it bothered her, "I don't mean to be harsh, but I can't have you fucking around with this stuff and causing aberrations and bringing down Knowers left, right, and center."
Marceline nodded. "No, you're right. I understand." She threaded and unthreaded her fingers, glancing down at them and then back up. "I have zero intention of using my magic stupidly or for personal gain to the detriment of others. I just... need to have it in my back pocket, you know?"
Jocasta seemed to study her for a moment, and Marci met her gaze evenly. At times like these, she seemed more a teacher than a friend or sister figure. "Mkay," the older tethered decided. "I've got some things for you for when we get back." She nodded slowly, as if digesting it. "Techniques I've only really taught Zarina."
Marci glanced in a random direction, into the distance, before reaching out with her senses and working her way to the Godsroad. Part of her lit up with nervous excitement at the prospect of her other sister figure being home and the two of them meeting up before she went to Torragon, but it was not to be. She'd recognize Zarina by energy from eight kilometers away. "She's not home, by the way," the younger teen offered, "So it looks like you won't be pulling my carcass along across the city today." She sighed. "I wish I hadn't gone all hermit. Like... wouldn't it be poetic if something happened to her instead of me and then I never got to -"
"Stop," Jocasta cut in. "Stop worrying." She came up at an angle and grasped Marci's shoulders. Absently, the latter realized that she was taller than her friend. It had never been a fair measurement before. "She's strong. She's no dummy. She's just killing some oversized lobster and, to my understanding, Ayla and Penny are both there too." She squeezed gently and Marci breathed. "You're right." She nodded, trying to convince herself. "But I should be there!" she protested. "We always have each other's backs and if something - "
"It won't," Jocasta said, cutting her off firmly, "and, if she does get overpowered, you can be sure there wasn't a damned thing you could've done about it if you were there."
Marci regarded her dubiously. "Are there any tethered on that crew?"
Jocasta furrowed her brow for a moment, thinking. She bit her lip by way of response. Marceline tilted her head and raised her brows knowingly. "Okay, it's also a city built into the seaside mountains," the former admonished. "You wanna wheel your ass around there for however many days?" She shook her head. "You're already huffing and puffing after an hour and a half on level ground."
"Hardly what I'd call level." Marci rolled her eyes, setting hands to wheels and pointedly butting her casters up against a rut. She glanced up at her counterpart.
"Lotta places, this passes as 'better than average'," Jocasta warned. "That's why you need the secret cripple no jutsu you'll learn in Torragon. You are far from being able to cope as you are now, lil' brandæble."
Marci glared again. "What the hell is 'no jutsu'?"
Jocasta grinned and paired it with a shrug. "Nikanese. Basically like a technique." She circled around the younger girl. "So, since we're not going on an adventure right now, back to the castle?" Already, she was wheeling ahead.
Marceline nodded, but then pulled up short and grimaced. "Guess so, yeah." She rolled her neck and rubbed at it. "I'm just so fucking sore: my neck, my hands, my back... Can we take it easy?"
Jocasta circled back until they were beside each other. She leaned over and patted Marceline on the back, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Come on, suunei. You've only got a few hours left here and I wanna make you a nice dinner. We'll grab Yalen and Isabella too."
"Who's cookin'?" Marci inquired, "You or the manwife?"
"Oh hoo hoooo, you little shit. Got a spicy tongue on you today, dontcha?"
"I'm supposedly a brandæble."
"S'pose I answered 'Domino," Jocasta countered, and it took the younger tethered a moment to grasp her meaning. "I'd cry," Marci replied and, after a snort, that seemed to take the wind from Jocasta's joke. "Yes," she answered belatedly, "the plan is to have Yalen cook."
"Oh happy day!"
"Unless I get home before you."
"Oh you fucking..."
Jocasta was already racing out ahead.
"I'm too slow!" wailed Marci, endeavouring to catch up.
"Your cripple no jutsu is soft and weak!" the senior tethered called over her shoulder, smile devilish.
"I'll fuckin' show you cripple no jutsu. Wait'll I catch up and break your legs!"
Home
In the end, Jocasta won. She took mercy on her defeated opponent mostly thanks to Domino deciding to cuddle with her once she was home. Before long, Yalen arrived, and Isabella appeared shortly thereafter. There was a sense of nervous anticipation in the air as they talked, they laughed, and they ate. It felt good - almost like Marci's real house and her real substitute family - but she could not stop thinking of Zarina, of Ayla, even of Ashon, Kaureerah, and Penny. Before the sun set, the young tethered found a few minutes to pack her better clothes, some essentials, and a small mountain of books. It wasn't enough. She was slow, even with basic tasks, and it only cast into starker relief how badly she needed to return to the motherland and learn. Isabella came over to help and, soon, it was a group effort. Domino's tub was temporarily emptied once he'd hydrated, and he clung to the bottom of Marci's wheelchair as had become his habit of late. She wished he'd have picked a spot that didn't leave her constantly worried that she'd run over a tentacle, but he was an idiosyncratic little fellow, and there was no un-convincing him once he'd made up his mind.
"Come here," ordered Jocasta, as the air began to hum with still-gathering temporal energies. "I won't get to hug you once I'm busy ripping up space and time." They came together at that slight angle that Marci had learned, and it was one last hug in the series: one that she should've shared with her housemates, too. "I love you, lil' brandæble, okay?"
Marceline did not begrudge her the hated nickname this time. "I love you too," she murmured into Jocasta's shoulder, probably drooling slightly on it. They released each other with one final squeeze, the senior of the two backing up and the magical hum intensifying. Isabella rolled up and dropped a stack of bound books on her lap, exchanging a quick hug and an admonishment not to dress like a bum while she was away. Yalen bent over and embraced her as well, settling a second set of books carefully atop the first. He held onto the ground octopus' tub a little bit longer, and Marci felt like nothing so much as a great, cumbersome, overloaded human shopping cart. The air began to swirl and, moments later, there was a hole in reality connecting the living room of Isabella's spare apartment to the courtyard of San Agustin de las Arenas. Marci took a deep breath, balancing the items on her lap with both her chin and some kinetic magic, and strained her arms as she pushed off. Expertly, Yalen threw the copper tub like a discus, and it sailed through the portal. Marceline rolled forward, barely audible on the smooth parquet floors of the apartment. The air grew cool and dry and she could hear the crunch of dirt beneath her wheels.
Hi all! Please remember to post something for this cycle before the deadline, now that we're moving back a bit more to forum-based. It doesn't have to be long, but this is effectively a check-in for this arc.
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.
Apprentice Groups
Olivier Masson: Zarina, Maura, Lunara, Guy, Penny Luumelan'tarii'oscuun: Ingrid, Seviin, Ayla, Esmii, Johann Mathijs Wolter Van de Waal: Fiske, Abdel, Ren, Mahal, Rikard Uehara Daigo: Oksana, Yvain, Niallus, Tommy, Edyta Malomen'antrii'suuzama: Cal, Taleja, Tku, Leon, Kaureerah Fades-in-Moonlight:Trypano, Isabella, Jomurr, Marlijn, Cozo-Zast Sectoxomactex: Yuliya, Ashon, Xiuyang, Marz, Sven Jurgen Mendenhoffer: Desmond, Roslyn, Raffie, Dory, Ciro Haurah Nekeenah Paireni: Tekah, Oweyn, Luisa, Felix, Tennaxi Not placed: Marceline, Samaxi, Pete, others
“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.”
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.”
Dory, Abdel, Ashon, Xiuyang, Seviin, Niallus, Oksana, Lunara, Johann
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.
Central Alliance: Leon, Ayla, Ciro, Trypano, Roslyn
Sovereign Pact: Zarina, Yvain, Guy, Penny, Taleja, Rikard
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.
Tommy, Desmond, Edyta, Ailette
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!
Apprentice Groups
Olivier Masson: Zarina, Maura, Lunara, Guy, Penny Luumelan'tarii'oscuun: Ingrid, Seviin, Ayla, Esmii, Johann Mathijs Wolter Van de Waal: Fiske, Abdel, Ren, Mahal, Rikard Uehara Daigo: Oksana, Yvain, Niallus, Tommy, Edyta Malomen'antrii'suuzama: Cal, Taleja, Tku, Leon, Kaureerah Fades-in-Moonlight:Trypano, Isabella, Jomurr, Marlijn, Cozo-Zast Sectoxomactex: Yuliya, Ashon, Xiuyang, Marz, Sven Jurgen Mendenhoffer: Desmond, Roslyn, Raffie, Dory, Ciro Haurah Nekeenah Paireni: Tekah, Oweyn, Luisa, Felix, Tennaxi Not placed: Marceline, Samaxi, Pete, others
This was war in the Empire of Tantiac, and it looked surprisingly normal. The wagon train between Tanythen, Soisanda, and Yandreluul saw business even at the worst of times but, with the ban on unsanctioned teleportation, it was suddenly booming. The nineteen-year-old leaned back in her seat, trying to catch something like sleep, but she'd have needed to chemically douse herself in serotonin to have so much as a chance.
Clunk.
Clatter.
Thump!
And then, a new sound: "Hah. Aaahah. Aaaaah Aaaahah. Whaaaaa!"
Momentarily, she thought about turning off her ears. On some level they still rang with the words of the general: equal parts commendation and rebuke. You charmed them, Dichora, like we hoped you would. How approving he'd sounded, for once. But these Ersand'Enise yanii have very short memories when it comes to the good and very long ones when it comes to the bad. She'd not known what to say, so she'd simply nodded. You sure you didn't let them charm you back? She'd spoken against the accusation, for that was effectively what it had been, even with its somewhat informal tone. She'd requested that she be sent into the theatre with Chad and Miret. Nowhere else I'd rather send you, kid, but I craft the tactics, not the strategies.
Request denied.
And so she'd asked if she might return home for a week, as a morale exercise, but Chad had been sent in her stead, as a member of the winning team at the Trials. Her performance, in comparison, had been an embarrassment. Fuck your embarrassment. Those people were tough. Plus, she'd sworn she'd do things differently from last time: no big dark magic, no intimidating or bullying people. She, Miret, and Chad had been sent there to both charm and succeed. They'd decided that Chad would succeed, and the cousins would charm. Tyrel would always be granted her gilded cage. Chad's status depended on his personal success.
Request denied.
They had been seen too much together recently, as if they were exclusively each other's in the fashion of yanii and some consoi. It was scandalous and, like a child, she needed to be managed for her own good and the two of them temporarily separated. Chad had done his part, bedding Juulet, Seviin, and half a dozen yanii girls. He'd have made a pass at Penny too were it not for Ashon. He'd done it to be convincing, she knew, and because it was right to share oneself and one's love, even if one kept a luush'elar. And yet... Tyrel thumped her head against the side of the passenger car, groaning as a baby continued to wail over the desperate coos of its mother, two old men yammered loudly in the dialect of Osai, and a trio of children continued to chase each other around halfheartedly, with nothing better to do. Who had Tyrel given the gift of herself to, the general had asked. If she were a bit more generous, he had added, then perhaps her leave could be considered...
Request denied.
She'd been offered leave for Saliac, where her aunt, uncle, and a few cousins lived. She'd been denied teleport permission, hence the wagon train. Avatar of the Fallen Goddess she scoffed inwardly, but it was something. Most people couldn't simply request leave for nothing other than a desire to see family in the midst of a war. All around flew the banners of the Siip'suuras. Children painted them in school between making maps of Consoi lands, learning about the people and the animals there, and training in war games. Jaadas, Juuras, Tan'daxii: the words were on everyone's lips. Victory, Justice, Deliverance. They were so eager to give up their luxuries. They were so eager to drill or work extended hours. They were so united in imagination at what they might finally achieve now that the thousand-year plan had been put into action. Tyrel knew, as she watched a little boy tag a little girl on the soldier - "Caught you, Yanii-jexoff!" - that it was not so simple a picture; nothing ever was. And yet... maybe they could do it. The consoi might hate them for it for some time. Some might fight back - she'd already seen where they had - but their kings were cruel and corrupt. Their nations were failed. Addiction, pestilence, poverty, and chaos stalked their lands. What did they fight for? Why did they fight? Was it for their own stubborn pride or was it something as nebulous and ill-defined as a sense of identity.
A high-pitched shriek from the baby caused her to drape her spare shirt over her head. She tapped her boot rhythmically on the floor in annoyance. "Hyco faiyiil luun'ithan..." she hummed to herself.
"Duun juu saluuv!" came a reply, and Tyrel cracked an eye open. It was 'Yanii'jexoff' from earlier. The little girl, unbidden, had slid into the empty seat to her right and was smiling tentatively up at her. She must've been no more than five or six. "Holum duul alax." The child grinned. "You look really sleepy. I'm sleepy too."
From a seat some ways down, a bedraggled-looking woman leaned forward. "Tyrel, leave the nice lady alone!"
The 'nice lady' started at that. Tyrel wasn't a rare name, but it was not common either. She pushed off from the soft upholstery and leaned forward. "Oh, it's no worry. I can't sleep anyhow, and she's being sweet."
The woman replied with a nod and a grateful look, twisting to shout at the boy. "Maxan! Maxan, here!" She twisted back to Tyrel - perhaps both Tyrels. "Sorry! And thank you." Her voice rose. "Tyrel!" The girl perked up and the teenager forced herself not to. "You don't bother her with silly things, okay?"
She rolled her eyes. "Okaaaayyy, mom." Then, it was just the two of them. "So, you're Tyrel, hmm?"
The girl arched an eyebrow and nodded. "What's your name?"
"Well, I'll give you a clue: it's something to do with winter."
"Telaxii?"
She shook her head.
"Well, mine's a winter name too. It means snow."
Tyrel the elder nodded. "I'll give you a second clue: when your mother called you, she called me too."
The girl's eyes widened. "Tyrel! You're Tyrel too!" Both Tyrels smiled at each other. "Well, I didn't think I'd meet another Tyrel today! I only know two: One's my grandmother and the other was in my class last year but now she's in a different class."
"I knew I'd meet another Tyrel today," the older of the two responded. "In fact, as soon as I saw you, I thought, 'that's another Tyrel, for sure.'"
The child looked skeptical. "Really?" she pressed, and Tyrel nodded. "They say we all come out when it's winter, you know."
"My mom calls me 'snow angel'," she confirmed, kicking her feet back and forth. If the bench had some nice upholstery - a necessity for what was effectively a sleeper wagon - It was still a basic thing, with empty space beneath. She kept kicking back and forth, humming a little tune and looking at her senior expectantly. "It's a way to practice music," she declared. "I use my legs to keep time." She glanced at Tyrel's lone leg. "Did you learn the same way?" she asked, and the teenager decided to mess with her a little bit by nodding. "I think everybody does."
"Oh," was all that she received in return and there was a long pause filled only with her slight disappointment. "Why do you have one leg?"
Kids. An adult would've blushed to ask such a question. A five-year-old did not. Tyrel felt a small finger poke her stump. "It's so squishy!" The girl made a face of endless amusement.
"Tyrel..."
"Yeah?"
"Did I say you could poke me?"
"Sorry." There was another pause. Then: "Sooo..."
"Well, you see there, buckaroo," the Avatar of Vyshta began, "one time, when I was just a weeeeee little nugget of a person, roundabout your age, I made me the mistake of gettin' a murderpenguin as a pet."
"You have a murderpenguin!?"
"Had, past tense, and I think you may be missing the point of this here story."
"Oh." The child shook her head. "It bited off your leg, right?"
Tyrel scowled. "Well now you've gone and ruined it."
"Sorry..."
"So anyways, I had me a great big honkin' murderpenguin, with flappy little wings and a long swingy neck and a sharp snappy beak."
"Well that's a nice name," Tyrel senior lied. It was boring. It was, in fact, only nice because an adorable little kid had clearly named it. "Anyhow, one day, I decided to take ol' Monty there for a swim."
"By yourself!?"
"Yeah," the teenager responded. "Why not?"
"But you said you were six?"
"Five, actually."
"But you said you were my age."
One mystery solved. "Oh. I thought you were five."
"Nuh-uh! I'm six and one quarter, actually."
"Well alrighty then. So, anyhow, I took him out for a swim -"
"You could swim?"
"Yes, Tyrel."
"Okay, Tyrel. Wow. I can't swim."
"Well, I could."
"I can run fast." She looked over at the older girl's missing leg smugly.
"Good for you. Have a cookie."
"Do you really have cookies or is that just some grownup thing to say?"
"Some grownup thing to say." She smiled tightly. "So, I was taking Monty out for a swim and -"
"My mom never lets me go out on my own."
"That's because you don't have a murderpenguin."
"Neither do you... anymore."
Child, I swear to Shiin, screw the story. I am going to destroy you with facts and logic. She went with something a touch more conciliatory, however. "Am I going to tell the story or are you gonna try to guess it?"
"What was it about, again?"
It was at that moment that Tyrel the elder knew she was beaten. "Oh, it was just about how badly I wanted murderpenguin eggs."
"Are they really yummy?" The child bounced up and down on her seat.
"I wouldn't know. I never got to eat them."
The girl's eyes widened. "Why?"
"Well, you see, I was an expert fisherman back then and -"
"Why not fishergirl?" Little Tyrel blinked in earnest curiosity. "Why's it always 'man' for everything?"
That was... actually not a bad point, the older Tyrel allowed. "Because, otherwise, men won't feel special and important, so we let them have it."
"That's dumb. How about girls?"
"Well, we're a bit tougher than them.'
The child nodded dubiously.
"So anyhow, I went swimmin' with that there murderpenguin Mortimer."
"Monty."
"Both names are okay."
"But you said Monty before."
"Whose penguin was he?"
Little Tyrel rolled her eyes.
"So, there's nothing that murderpenguins like better than tasselfish and I decided to catch me one o' them big suckers!"
"To feed Monty?"
Tyrel nodded. "Exactly! So I took out my bait and dangled it in the water. Can you guess what that bait was?"
"Miss? Are you the Avatar of Vyshta?"
With that, the last of Tyrel's confidence was shattered, though she wasn't quite certain if it was confidence in herself or in children. She sighed. "Nope," she lied, aware of her duty to not be noticed. "Just some random girl with one leg."
"Oh," the child replied. "Are you sure?"
Tyrel arched an eyebrow. "I think I know who I am." Immediately, profound questions leapt to mind. Immediately, she brushed past them.
"Oh, it's just 'cause I'm named after her and she's my hero."
Tyrel swallowed. Shit. "Tyrel, lean in close for a second." The girl did so and she whispered something in her ear. Their eyes met, the smaller one's wide. "You can't tell anyone, okay?"
It was a cold somnes, snow already coating the ground. Behind Tyrel, the wagon was receding into the distance, its flickering lamps becoming faint. Three other figures - anonymous people - had separated almost immediately, hurrying home in the cold and the dark, arms wrapped around themselves. The teenager's breath came out in wispy white puffs and her footsteps crunched in the fresh white snow. She twisted on the spot, eyes roving about her surroundings: the distant line of leafless trees, the glowing partial orbs of the moons, and the line of footprints she had left to connect her to the wagonway station. She knew the way back by heart. Likely, she could navigate it blindfolded. In the distance, perched amid the giant branches of Aldreth, Daxodreth, and Luudreth lay Saliac. There, lay her old home and Miret's. There, people knew her. There, she could simply be Tyrel.
Chad sat at his desk as Alta Sansuul went on. "Why don't you introduce yourself to the class, dear?"
He watched her walk. He wasn't the only one. The class always erupted in speculation whenever there was to be a new student. Alta Sansuul usually heard a few days ahead of time and let slip the juicy secret to whoever had scored the highest on the weekly exam. This time, nobody had known. This time, the usual crescendo of murmurs and excited whispers was notably absent. Every student could hear every awkward click-thump, click-thump of the new girl's one legged steps as she made her way towards the teacher's desk. Her eyes flicked nervously their way for a moment and Chad thought he caught them before they escaped to the safety of the floor. He saw her throat tighten as she swallowed and, suddenly, it was as if he was in her shoes - shoe - and absorbing every bit of the mind-racing terror she must've been in. Still, he watched. Eyes continued to dart among the students.
It wasn't as if he hadn't seen a one-legged person before. Everyone had. There were statues of the fallen goddess Vyshta. Then, there were the discards who came back from the frontiers from time to time: ones who'd survived some sort of animal attack, writhing tree, or other unknown horror. There was lots that hadn't been discovered yet deep in the Writhing Wood. Chad watched the new girl come to a stop. She wasn't just missing a foot or anything either: it was her entire leg. He paused, trying to recall right and left. My left, he remembered, her right. There was only a tiny bit of it left and he watched it just kind of dangle there as she stood, jiggling slightly when she turned on the spot. He found himself burning with curiosity and he could not have been alone. He'd never actually known anyone with such a gnarly injury. What had happened? What was the story? He remembered not to stare. His father had told him not to.
The silence hung ripe and heavy and Alta Sansuul's eyes momentarily joined those of her students in glancing the one-legged girl's way expectantly. She opened her mouth as if to speak but, then, all at once, the new arrival took a deep breath and: "I'm Tyrel and I just got here last night from all the way out in Saliac and I'm tireder than you could imagine... but I'm happy to be here." She flashed a nervous smile, as if having to remind herself to do so. Her eyes flicked up and searched the class and Chad tried to give her a reassuring look. At least she sounded just like any other girl, really. Why would she not have?
"Well, we'll get you caught up soon enough," promised the teacher. "And perhaps be a tiny bit lenient if we see any yawns or daydreaming in class."
Tyrel's big green eyes darted to Alta Sansuul's. "Thank you Alta," she replied, and her voice was kind of nice, "But I promise you won't need to." Now, there were a couple of whispers - a couple of murmurs. The new girl had given them something else to chew on besides a missing leg. The teacher looked at her questioningly and there was a hind of something in the girl's eyes that reminded him of his brother Darien when he was about to - "I always try to put my best foot forward."
There was a collective intake of breath. Eyes widened among the smarter kids and the teacher clammed up. A couple burst out in nervous giggles and snickers. "And I always succeed, too," concluded Tyrel with a straight face. In an instant, Chad reevaluated her entirely. He grinned. The girl smiled back. Was it at him, specifically?
Alta Sansuul smiled as well, in that way that adults did when they were reacting to something unexpected from kids. "Oh? she remarked, "Then I shall expect much from you Tyrel'dichora."
The girl bit her lower lip as if stifling a grin. Then she smiled up at the teacher. "I'll do my best, Alta Sansuul," she promised, "But I'm not like... some goody two-shoes," She replied, and now even the dullest among her audience could not doubt what she was doing it on purpose. The teacher let out a snort of amusement. "Well, it seems that year three has yet another original."
Tyrel shifted on the spot, resting the little stump of her leg on one of her crutch handles. That seemed to bring everyone back to what they'd noticed first about her, before she'd been funny. "Well, instead of me asking you to keep talking about yourself," the teacher offered, "We're going to let the class ask."
Tyrel nodded.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she called out in her singsong voice, "What kind of questions are we going to ask?"
Chad knew the answer to this. It was an easy way to win points with Alta Sansuul, so his hand shot up along with a half dozen others'. As usual, one of the girls with ribbons in her hair was picked. "Relevant, Respectful, and Reasonable," she chirped and the teacher nodded. "Exactly, class!" She clapped her hands together before turning to Tyrel, speaking in a low voice. "If there's anything you're uncomfortable answering, you don't have to," she promised.
"Okay," the girl replied sheepishly, and the chorus of whispers only grew. From behind Chad, Ashon tapped him on the shoulder. "I dare you to ask it," he whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief and a hint of malevolence as Chad twisted to face him. A couple of others were looking his way as well.
"Uh huh?" came Tyrel's voice suddenly, and Chad turned back around. She was pointing at Emiin. "What is your favourite colour?" she asked, and Tyrel furrowed her brow. After a moment she shrugged. "Magenta," she declared, "And then maybe light green."
"I like magenta too," Emiin lied, or maybe it wasn't a lie. Chad didn't know her favourite colour and it probably changed every weak, realistically.
Three more hands shot up. "Do you have Titan sloths in Saliac?" came Samon's question.
Tyrel nodded vigorously. "We do, and they're huge!"
"Have you seen one?"
The girl seemed a bit lost for response for a moment and Velani whispered from the desk beside Samon. "Of course she has if she just said they're huge, dumbass."
Samon shrunk two sizes and something flashed in Tyrel's eyes. "Actually, I didn't just see one," she replied, "I got to ride on one once."
People shifted in their seats and conversation rose. Either Tyrel was one of those kids who told a lot of ridiculous stories or she'd had a really interesting life. Of course, the most interesting question hadn't been asked yet, as if everyone was just waiting for someone else to ask it.
"What other animals did you see there? Oh, are there writhing trees?"
Tyrel nodded and, all at once, she lifted her stump off of her crutch handle so she could grab it. She took a small step. "There are, and we need to hack them back every day. Saliac's not quite on the frontier, but it's close. A lot of mundanes come through it on their way there."
It was like they were sharks, ever more certainly circling in towards the question they wanted to ask, trying to make it seem natural so it wasn't rude, as if by collective agreement. Chad raised his hand and was chosen immediately. "Have you ever been to the Writhing Wood?" he asked daringly, and people leaned forward on their elbows or lifted their butts off of their seats.
With a small, close-lipped smile, Tyrel nodded. "A couple times. It was..." She trailed off. "scary but amazing."
Chad was going to ask a follow-up, but Thandar was practically falling out of his seat in eagerness to ask the next question and Tyrel picked him with a nervous but good-natured smile. "Did any of them try to eat you?" People bounced up and down nervously. Alta Sansuul's eyes scanned the room warningly, but Tyrel shook her head. "Not really. Sometimes, their branches move a bit in your direction but, as long as you keep moving, you're fine."
"Well, since we're going to be learning about the different regions of Tarlon starting tomorrow," the teacher interjected, "It'll be very nice to have someone who's lived in such a different one." She smiled. "Maybe Tyrel will really have a chance to put her best foot forward and help us with some of our wonderings."
There were a dozen hands up now. "You ever see any really dangerous animals?" asked Sandii, kneeling on her seat until a venomous look from the teacher forced her to sit properly. Tyrel nodded. "Yeah, but mostly just in the distance."
Jasco was next. "How 'bout when you saw 'em not in the distance? Were you scared? Did you fight them?"
Tyrel arched an eyebrow, taking one of her weird steps back. "Of course I was scared. I was with my dad and brother." She shrugged. "I ran away."
A few pairs of eyes went to her leg, or lack thereof, once more. How do you run? They were all thinking it, but none asked.
"What's your brother's name?" came a reprieve from Lyla.
"Calidan!"
"That's my brother's name!"
"How old is he?"
"Fourteen," Tyrel replied, eyes roving about the sea of hands and faces.
"Did he outrun you?" Thandar's question was particularly brazen, and a few people shot him annoyed looks. "Um." Tyrel's eyes flicked the teacher's way, but she didn't ask for help. That was the worst thing she could do and she seemed to know it. "I mean, he's a lot older than me, so what do you think?"
Velani made the 'poop' sign at Thandar and rolled her eyes. A few people laughed and he opened his mouth to protest. "You know what I was trying to ask!" he retorted. "I just wanted to -"
Alta Sansuul clapped and, out of reflex, Chad clapped back with the others. "Thandar, quiet time one!" she singsonged. There were two more claps. "Velani, quiet time two!" Clap clap. "Class! Three 'R's!"
As one, they recited, even Tyrel, Chad noted, tentatively.
"Exactly, everyone!" She cleared her throat as Thandar and Velani glared daggers at each other for as long as they could until retreating into their opposite-corner wall-facing exiles. "Now, do we have any more questions that follow our three 'R's or are we finished, class?" Chad wanted to die. There were so many dumb people. He raised his hand and Tyrel, scanning the crowd, chose him again. Emiin let out a frustrated huff. "So, if it's okay with you, I'm just gonna ask the thing I think everyone wants to." He wasn't trying to be rude, but he was pretty sure it was rude anyway. He plowed forward regardless, despite Alta Sansuul's warning look. "So, um..." He was starting to clam up. He never clammed up. Why did he suddenly care so much about this random girl? She'd probably be like all the other girls in the class once the novelty wore off and they'd only ever talk to each other when they were paired up for stuff. "What happened to your leg?"
Gasps and murmurs. Chad had done it again, of course: the thing everyone else had wanted to do, and at just the right moment. Ironically, he hadn't really been meaning to. He'd just honestly started feeling bad for Tyrel, having to put up with so many dumb questions. Maybe you're not so bad, for a girl, like Velani. Maybe we can kind of be friends.
"Oh," replied Tyrel after a moment, and everyone went dead silent. "It was anklechewers," she admitted, "I think you call them kneebiters here?" She looked at Alta Sansuul and the teacher nodded, along with a few other people. "I was five and I got lost in the forest and bitten. I wasn't supposed to be there and I didn't want my parents to know so I didn't tell them."
"Well that's stupid," Chad could hear Samon whisper to Ashon, and he made a note to punch the former at recess. Tyrel's eyes flicked his way, too, as if she might've heard, and he pretended to be looking elsewhere.
"It was pretty dumb," she addressed him indirectly, "but I was five and five-year-olds are dumb. Anyway, the eggs spread and they had to cut my leg off or I probably would've died." She shrugged again, only a little bit uncomfortable. "Honestly, I'm used to it and, most of the time, it isn't that bad." She sniffed and glanced about, eyes finding the teacher momentarily before returning to her peers. "Honestly, I know I'm kind of a rare thing, so if you wanna know anything, you can just ask. It doesn't bug me."
Alta Sansuul nodded approvingly at Tyrel and, momentarily, at Chad as well. He would get a checkmark today. He could feel it. For a moment, whispering and murmured conversation held the class, but then there were more hands. "You said you ran. How do you run?" There were plenty of nods and more murmurs.
"I can show you at recess," Tyrel replied eagerly. "There's two ways: the like... jogging run and the hundred percent run for your life run." She shook her head. "They're totally different."
"And, speaking of recess," the teacher interjected, "We need to get started on today's arithmetic before we run out of time." She turned to the new girl. "Tyrel?"
"Yes, Alta?"
"Thank you very much for your informative and amusing answers."
"You're very welcome, Alta Sansuul."
"Boys and girls!" the teacher singsonged, and they all perked up. "Let's all give our new student a big round of applause and make her feel very welcome today."
Chad clapped along with the others. Ashon's claps were obnoxiously loud, as usual, as if he thought it was some sort of competition.
"The empty desk near the door is yours," Alta Sansuul was telling Tyrel. "You'll find a slate inside."
Tyrel bowed her head. "Thank you," she replied in a small, sweet voice, making her way over. A few people watched, but the novelty was already beginning to wear off now that their burning question had been answered. She took her seat, pulled out her slate, and that seemed to be the cue for everyone else to do so. Velani and Thandar were called back belatedly to join in and class routine returned to its norm: waiting for the clock to tick its way to 1:00 HO so that recess could begin.
Chad had earned some goodwill, and so he was chosen for a few questions. Duly, he calculated his equations, erased with his rag and not his sleeve, and flipped his board when asked to. Alta Sansuul tried to call upon everyone at least once and, when Tyrel stood to give her answer, people took a bit more interest, just to see if she was smart. Chad found himself a bit disappointed not in her response, but in the fact that she was so far from him. He felt like he'd made kind of a friend, and he didn't want to have to wait until recess when the other girls would inevitably steal her away and she'd be busy demonstrating how she ran - not that he wasn't curious himself.
The minutes faded one into the other, and so did the equations. Times tables were easy. That was when he felt a gentle tap on his side: it was a note, passed surreptitiously by Sandii, and he took it with the smallest nod. He opened it and quickly closed it up, warmth rising in his cheeks. His eyes shot Tyrel's way and hers flicked over to meet them. Did she give a hint of a smile or did she follow the unspoken code that one did not acknowledge sending such letters. He wasn't sure. He opened it again. Then, feeling guilty, he folded it gently, tucked it deep into his desk, and decided to keep it.
The people of the village of Porto dell'Alba - at least those who were not currently at sea - looked out of their homes one warm dordian morning to witness something unexpected: there was a girl, running down the single dirt road that passed through one end of their tiny settlement and out the other. A couple made comments and went back to their routines, for people are nothing if not beholden to their norms.
Had they looked closer, they might've noticed that she was not human, like every single one of them, but eeaiko. Her long dark hair, half-gathered in a ponytail, bounced and flicked behind her as she ran in that slightly awkward way that her people did. Perhaps, they might've wondered why she was in such a hurry and where she might've been going but, if they did, they said nothing and merely remarked on the queerness of it.
Kaureerah wasn't sure why she had decided to run today. She brought with her no lute. She left no message for her friends. The bare earth fell away from her feet in the language of footsteps. The clean, crisp air filled her lungs. The sun warmed her skin and sweat beaded on her forehead She ran past the little fishing village until she came to a low promontory that she had been to a handful of times before. There, she stopped, chest heaving, hair pasted in wet bands to the sides of her face and back of her neck. There she stopped: one small woman away from the sight of all but the gods. In the grassy field around her, butterflies flickered from flower to flower, fragile and beautiful amid the shifting sea of green. In the vast sky above, puffy white clouds drifted languidly in the breeze, impossibly huge and yet gentle amid the serene blue. In the churning sea at her feet, waves rose and crashed upon the rocks, cool and refreshing and welcoming her into their cerulean world.
The people of Porto dell'Alba did not see the girl dive into the water. She swam and darted and caught the fish with her bare hands as she had done in her distant home: a place that she hated, a place that she missed. Soon, she would return to her new home, and she reflected that it was so very different from the original but, in some ways, just the same. She didn't have to go back yet.
Jocasta looked out of sorts. Rikard could sense it and it wasn't because he spent an awful lot of time looking at her. Presently, he averted his eyes and focused on his work. They were just so big and perfectly shaped and her pretty voice and smile and tiny little waist... His cheeks flushed with shame. It wasn't all about how she looked. She was smart, and didn't talk to people condescendingly. She always had some witty commentary or way to make class interesting. She was strong, too: really strong, and she knew her stuff. You're good people, Zeno Re, he told himself, Not just a pretty face. Presently, she reached up to scrawl something in chalk on the board - a basic equation for time pressure that he already knew - and her dress stretched extra tight around her chest. His eyes couldn't help it, but he reminded himself that he respected her. That she was a cool person and a good thaumaturge. If he just wanted to steal glances like a pervert, there was Trypano, and Esmii, and kind of Marci. Well, the first two, anyhow. The third was... more of a friend, though she'd sort of just disappeared lately.
Still, he stuck by his initial observation and it distracted him, even as Jocasta rolled between rows of desks with a smile and an encouraging voice that only slipped into ironic tones when she was dealing with some of the dumber students. She hadn't cracked a single joke. There was no 'bounce' to her 'step'. He'd noticed a habit that she had when she was happy or excited: every third push of her wheels, she'd push herself up a little as well. "Daydreaming again, Rikster." Suddenly, she wasn't where he'd perceived her to be; she was right beside him, leaning over and resting her chin on a hand and her elbow on his desk. "Benny for your thoughts?"
Flummoxed, he straightened in his seat until they were nearly at eye level. "No, Zeno Re."
"Is that a no to the daydreaming or can I not pay you to disgorge your innermost secrets?"
He'd been put on the spot. He was being made a fool of! Sometimes, he hated her for this! "The daydreaming, ma'am. I was just running some numbers in my head."
She smiled knowingly. "Well, then I'm sorry to interrupt." She lowered her voice. "Listen, it's okay if you're a little out of it. It's our first week back. I think a lot of us are."
Rikard nodded dumbly. "A bit," he admitted. Then, he, too, lowered his voice. "Are...you okay, Tan-Zeno?"
Jocasta paused and blinked, seemingly taken by surprise. "Not exactly, Rikard, but we manage, don't we?"
He swallowed and nodded and she rolled on to the next desk. "Pop challenge!" she called out suddenly, in her chipper Jocasta voice. "Books closed, wands ready!"
That night, he dreamt that he was in class, and that Jocasta was there, but she was the only one he recognized and, for some reason, his mind was telling him that she was... Emma? Enna? Something like that. It was weird. He didn't know anyone by that name, but he felt, fleetingly, like he did. She wasn't a teacher, either, but a fellow student, like him. They were seated together near the front, on account of his eagerness to learn and her wheelchair. After class, they went to the great hall for dinner instead of back to their dorms, and there was a yasoi girl who looked a bit like Miret, and a boy who looked like Benedetto, and another who he didn't recognize, though something about him reminded Rikard slightly of... Juulet? He knew them, as well, or had the sense that he did. Who could really say what dreams were about?
He awoke to find himself standing outside of a random dorm that he did not recognize. He was standing there, in his nightgown. A stray cat was looking up at him strangely. He cast about, but there was nobody else. Surreptitiously, the youth pinched himself, but he was most certainly awake now. Disturbed and exhausted, Rikard gathered his magic and returned to his own bed as quickly as he could.
It was the third night of the standoff and Joshe Intaba - at least the statue of him - looked as hideous as ever. Biros, junior faculty, and regular citizens had gathered round, holding torches and placards, waving banners, and chanting for the return of Penny Pellerin, the resignation of Arch-Zeno Tojarra, and the reinstatement of Eloise, Yvette, and Jean-Marc. As of the past few hours, however, they had taken on a new and dangerous bent. There was talk of storming the Enclave. There was talk of a coup.
Now, as the final rays of sun began to fade from the sky and Eshiran looked towards Dami, the city's hundreds of bells sounded. Was it simply the passing of an hour or a call to arms? The swollen mob, feeding off of its own energy, had tried, more than once, to march towards the Violet Enclave, where the true seat of the academy's power lay. An army of mercenaries, City Guards, and constructed golems faced them, interspersed with Zenos, Tan-Zenos, Centuries, and even a few Lamplighters.
These blocked every path they could find between the angry mass and their employers but, every once in a while, someone got through, slipping off into the dusky depths of the Arboretum. Every once in a while, one appeared outside of the Enclave. They began to gather. The defenders began to split their forces. The enormous city gates closed for the first time in years, sealing off all contact with the outside world on this night - this destined night - of Lepdes, the thirteenth of Velles, DZ55. It was in Dami's hands, or perhaps even Reshta's now.
GREYSKIES
What happened on the night of Lepdes, the 13th of Velles? That there had been some sort of fight - some sort of violence - was a fact to all who lived within the walls of Ersand'Enise. Those who lived without had seen, clearly, the fires lighting up the darkness into the wee hours of the morning. They had seen the great beacon at the top of the Forked Tower flicker and disappear. People were left without sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, and others who had not upped and died for no reason. It was generally accepted that there had been a revolution and that the revolution had not been broadcast. The white walls held firm.
Yet, the vast majority of students had played only a lesser role in the fighting. They may have cut down a handful of mercenaries. They may have found themselves rushing and shouting through the hallowed halls of the Violet Enclave with torches in hand and anger in their hearts, but they had not done much more. There were mysteries at the heart of everything that they would never receive answers to: what had happened to Claresse Upta, the undoubtedly corrupt and biased but genuinely peace-loving Zenith? Why would she have called mercenaries against them? What had taken place in the Forked Tower - Ersand'Enise's centre of power? Some swore they'd seen demons swarming out of it. Others had awoken in infirmaries after trying to infiltrate the double-towered prison known as the Nashorn. Clearly, it was no normal prison, but a place of infamy. Finally, what of Alassa Tojarra, who had precipitated this entire conflict? None knew her whereabouts, and it was the topic of endless speculation.
It was mostly the rebelling Zenos, Tan-Zenos, and a particular group of about thirty students who'd been involved in clandestine work for these in the past who seemed to know more about these mysteries. Yet, perhaps some did not wish to remember and, as the magic of master internal chemists was used upon much of the city to... soften their memories of the uprising, these thirty were given a choice: keep their knowledge of the horrors they had encountered or return to blissful semi-ignorance.
BLUESKIES
That, indeed, seemed to be the operative word for much of the city. The swathes of the Arboretum that had lain in ashes for the first twenty hours following the violence were restored with speed and a degree of imperfection. They were not trying to hide, in its entirety, that something consequential had happened. They were merely trying to return matters to a semblance of normalcy. The towers and rooftops and warehouses were restored in short order. Pardons were issued to all but the most egregious of offenders, and the wards of the Violet Enclave returned, and stronger than before. The port was first to reopen, and then the gates - but not to the refugees of Tanso, Parmoy, and Yarsoc. Businesses were back at full capacity or something like it within a week, as classes were placed temporarily on hold. The scouts of the Perrench Legion, who had made camp outside, turned back once they were satisfied that the Princess Royal was safe. In retrospect, the events leading up to her arrest had been such a comedy of errors that it ought to have raised questions.
Classes remained suspended for a further week as the faculty voted upon, implemented, and announced a sweeping series of changes. Claresse Upta had been stripped of her office, position, and pension. Declared Anto, she had been sent back to Joru in disgrace. The same had gone for Riu Kai-Tan. Giacomo Giarrone had announced his retirement, scheduled for the end of the year, to give him time to wrap up his duties and move to an emeritus position. Joshe Intaba had been promoted into the role of Zenith over his own misgivings. The position of Paradigm was made formal, and not merely the purview of retired Zeniths as it had been before Hugo Hunghorasz had made something of the office. Karim Harrarchora remained ensconced there, but there were greater changes as well. While Arderedelle Latvar had fallen on the right side of history and retained her position as Arch-Zeno, she was now joined by a pair of newly-promoted High Zenos in the form of Sigmund Bastañer and João Fabio. Tarthas'talix'tuura and Sienna Afraval had been promoted straight from the rank of Zeno, which was highly irregular, and the disbarred Vaughn Marbrand had been reinstated not as a Zeno, but as an Arch-Zeno. Finally, the council had been expanded, with its two new positions going to recently-promoted High Zenos Olivier Masson and Giancarlo Silvestri. Much was done to balance matters between those two great political alliances of the outside world: Sovereign Pact and Central Alliance. Much was done to placate the latter that this was not simply a coup of the former. Much was done to assure the former that their position would, indeed, improve.
Yet, there was still more. Numerous Tan-Zenos found themselves preemptively promoted to full communion and pressed into teaching duties, a fact that a handful grumbled about. Administration decided to fill the gaps left in the same way that it had with one of these - Jocasta Re - by holding a series of interviews for 'Advanced Placement', allowing students seventeen years of age or older who demonstrated levels of maturity, magical understanding, and ability that significantly outstripped their peers' to test and interview for Tan-Zeno positions. Thus, it was, as the conflict that had torn the academy and city apart slipped from immediacy to recency, as dorrad sweltered, refugees gathered at the gates, and trade once again bustled, the tryouts were held and classes resumed. There seemed, once more, to be something to look forward to.
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Stay awesome, people.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?<br><br>Stay awesome, people.</div>
pantothenic
Jumbus
Crimson Flame
princess
Suicharte
Fallenreaper
Lildear18
BlackRoseSiren
Carlyle
