Goldeagle1221 — Roleplayer Guild

Lalrial, Imperial Heartlands

Lilria, the 9th of Gerna 1200 AU

	The air was dusty and the lights were dim. Cracks of twilight managed to bleed pink through the dirty windows of the hovel, and the stench of rotting wood countered that of a peasant’s vegetable rich stew. Earthen colored clothes were piled on the many hunched bodies of those who occupied the hut of poverty. Several families sat together here, and together amassed at a large beaten table of wood and chipped bowls. 

	A shaking old woman had poured everyone their steaming stews and broke off a bite of bread for the hardest workers, among them was Gerald, the Imperial pigeon keeper. A content smile of a simple man broke across his chapped lips and he went to take a bite, savoring the smell a lot longer than the rest, who all had already begun to feast in a cacophony of slurping and belches.

Before Gerald's longing teeth could pinch the crust of the bread, the sick sound of retching overtook the boisterous slurping. Gerald dropped the bread in horror, his mouth hinged open as he watched everyone sitting at the table suddenly convulse violently. Hoarse moans of suffocation  wheezed from their throats as a gurgling liquid sound started to rush along with it. 

Almost instantly the gurgles erupted into vomit, as the violently thrashing crowd began to expel red chunks and liquids from their mouths. Gerald grew faint as he watched people flail into their bowls and furniture, the stew flying along with the grizzly vomit, wood splintering with explosive cracks, and muffled screams attempting to pass by the erupting red torrents. His eyes widened in terror, the macabre scene slowly coming to a still as the bodies fell to the floor one by one with a sick splash of unknown liquid. 

Gerald shook in fright, his fingers white as they dug into the table, eager to grasp reality from the sudden attack. His eyes scanned the room, the dead’s wide and bloated eyes staring back from puddles of food and vomit. 

“Ahem,” a scratchy voice beckoned. Gerald quickly looked opposite of his side of the table, and there sitting on the seat across was a figure clad in peasant's rags, a brown cloak concealing him much in the manner of the other hovel dwellers before the grim convulsion. 

“Who- Who are you?” Gerald managed to spit out.

“Ivoni, and you are?” The voice was casual yet sinister.

“G-Gerald. Are you Salvation?”

A white smile managed to catch the light of the windows, as Ivoni cackled evilly, “Oh, much, much worse.”

A stiff finger pointed to a wrinkled cloak that gleamed slightly in the corner of the room, “grab your cloak, and bring me to the pigeon coops.”

“But,” the pale faced Gerald resisted, “I had spilled lamp oil all over that cloak this morning, I can’t possibly go out with it, and without it I’ll be too co-”

Ivoni’s fist slammed into the table, “are you really arguing with me, amid a pool of your dead friends?” His teeth gritted in agitation, uncannily into a smile.

Gerald nearly fainted at the outburst, weakly standing up. Pinching his nose from the acrid stench of vomit, he slowly made his way for the cloak, Ivoni in tow. The large pigeon keeper slipped into his moist cloak, putting the hood up as Ivoni pointed to it. 

Like shadows the two slipped from the hovel, Gerald in the lead, with the vicious Ivoni behind, like a deer forced to lead a wolf, too frightened to move away. 

The walk was a silent one. Only the rare splashes of the bleeding sunset gave face to their silhouettes, and not a word was muttered between the two. Of course, Gerald’s boots squeaked for the first few steps, soaked with bodily fluids and rubbing against the cobblestone awkwardly. Soon their seemingly robotic forms found their way out of the slums, and to the massive tower, at which the top the coop was held, boxed in rickety wooden panels and allowed fresh air through unkept cracks in the infrastructure.

The steps up were steep and made out of cold stone, but the chill of the wind didn’t quite reach through Gerald’s oil soaked cloak until he swung open the trapdoor to the howling wind that circled the coop’s interior. The pigeons cooed angrily and flapped wildly in their simple cages when the two men emerged from the darkness below. Motes of dust and feathers lingered in the wind that was captured by the wooden panels, and spears of pink light shot through every available crack. The twilight air gasped from the thin paned window that the birds used as an exit.

Ivoni made his way to the wide window. It was as long as it was wide, coming down to Ivoni’s waist, and stretching a few feet above his head. It didn’t face the sun, giving the view outside a dark blue hue, and the ominous silence of the impending night. The man’s bright blue eyes scanned the scenery available from so high up, and his view spiraled to the cobblestone road so very far below. Quickly Gerald made his way to the ashen skinned man’s side, eager to figure out what was going on. 

“I brought you here,” Gerald stated.

Ivoni look up from the window and blinked at the man, “so you did.”
Ivoni turned from the window and sauntered off towards one of the standing cages, using his shoulder to lean against it. Gerald turned to face the man, the breeze of the window tickling through the back of his cloak. Casually Ivoni fished a square piece of paper from his cloak pocket. He folded it lightly in half before reaching back into his pocket to take out a pinch of brown, crushed leaves. After sprinkling them onto the paper he slowly started to roll it into a stick.

“Are you just going to leave me here in wonder?” Gerald persisted.

Taking the flint from an empty lantern that sat ontop of the cage, Ivoni sparked one end of his cigarette to life. The wind of the coop aided the ember, and Ivoni put the other end to his lips, sucking deeply. The ember glew happily from the inhaling breath. 

A cloud of acrid smoke, slightly flavored with a sweet spice, poofed from Ivoni’s lips. A wide grin formed on his face, “you are in charge of this coop, are you not?” Tendrils of smile creeped through Ivoni’s teeth as he spoke.

“I am,” Gerald answered, his fuzzy brow furrowed with confusion.

“And I’m sure you remember a certain visit from a cloaked man?”

A thick puff of Ivoni’s cigarette swarmed around Gerald’s face, forcing a cough. Gerald rubbed one of his eyes, “it was Salvation.”

Ivoni nodded slowly, the ember glowing intensely as he sucked in another breath. 

“I know,” Ivoni started, “I was just wondering if you knew.”

“Why? What are you going to do with me?”

The ashen skinned man squinted at Gerald’s paling face, “don’t you worry, you aren’t apart of my plans.”

“W-what.” Gerald looked stumped, “then what are your plans?”

Ivoni smiled as he exhaled, giving him the impression of a wicked dragon, “I suppose I could tell you. You seem like the tight lipped sort.”

“You have my word, not a word!” Gerald nodded vigorously, helplessly hoping to get home without a scratch from this strange encounter. The mysterious fright that Ivoni conjured seemed to swell in Gerald’s stomach, pushing out the sickly depression and terror that was forced into his head at the sight back at the hovel. 

Ivoni looked him over for a moment before shrugging, “very well. Listen closely for I will only explain once.”

“What? What?” Gerald asked hushedly, his eyes darting. 

“So I assume you heard the rumors?”

“About the death of Googus Valarien by the hands of Rapdori?”

Ivoni perked a brow and sucked in his cigarette, “quaint but no, the ones about Jakinius.”

“Ah! Yes I heard actually,” Gerald’s fear drained to give energy to the human nature of gossip, “he is going to take the throne by force! A few groups in the slums are already forming to take arms just in case the guards remain stupid.”

“Great!” Ivoni belched a puff of smoke.

“Great?”

“But of course, strife is what I like. After all, it was simply me who started the rumor.”

“You?” Gerald’s face drained, “so is it…”

“False… or as far as I know it is,” Ivoni smiled wickedly, “and a simple fragment of a plan I had brewing, which in turn was a simple fragment of a larger one.”

“What plan was that?” Gerald asked curiously.

“The smaller one? Well let me enlighten you,” Ivoni nodded, “how does one kill an empire?”

“That doesn’t sound very small,” Gerald’s eyes widened.

“Just answer me,” Ivoni puffed on his cigarette.

“I don’t know,” Gerald admitted.

“Fair enough, take a guess.”

“Kill the emperor?”

“And if the emperor is already  dead?”

“Kill whoever is in power?”

“And then I suppose I’ll have to kill the ones next in line and then the ones next in line after that, and after that, until not a soul lives. I don’t have that kind of time, besides any two bit with opposable thumbs can assassinate the electors, the emperor, the inquisition, whoever; no, that is not how you should kill an Empire.”

Gerald offered a blank look of confusion. Ivoni sighed, “if I killed those who held the title, simply more sheep would come to fill the role. It would be endless, truly. No, there are far better ways, for far better assassins.”

“Better?”

Ivoni simply smiled, “to kill a title, to kill a function, and idea. To kill peace, to kill something not seen or felt. To kill borders and invisible laws, this is how you kill an empire. Simply use a weapon not forged at the smithy, and one you are born with.”

Ivoni stuck out his tongue, and with it a stream of smoke. 

“You see? For example there was a plan, a weapon devised to kill the peace and mind of Lalrial, to make way for a even bigger plan. I was recently told to abandon the mission, for why I cannot say. I was told to abandon my post for bigger reasons, but I was not told why.”

	“How would you do that? Kill the peace of Lalrial?”

	“How many men do you think is needed to siege such a massive city?” Ivoni asked suddenly.

	“Hundreds of thousands,” Gerald answered. The fright slowly fading as he fell into the routine of the quesiton-answer conversation. He let his hands hold the lip of the window as he leaned back slightly.

	“I wager one man could siege the city, in fact, one man could probably destroy the empire, even if the empire has a one thousand and two hundred year head start.”

	“How?”

	“Simple, we have everyone else do it for us. You see, I am a finger of a greater society, a true heart of life. I move a small piece, add a small spice, improve or diminish one small whisker, and like water I form stone into my desired masterpiece. I brought the idea that Jakinius was going to siege the city, I was going to have the gates cut when he arrived, the banners burned. The farms were going to be in flames as he arrived, adamant in the idea I placed in his head, that the city was taken by rebels. I was going to incite rebellion in the slums, and the rebels were going to be defeated by a captain of the guard that I had a secret hand in getting him his job, unbeknownst to him. Why? Simply because I knew how he would react to this. He would hang the bodies of the criminals along the road as display to future criminals, but all Jakinius would see was the dead of the city among the scorched fields. Of course by this time I would have gotten Jakinius plenty of reinforcements to help him, if this plan was still active. You can guess what would happen next. My warehouses in the slums on fire, inflamed sesame seed oil poured down the streets, utter chaos, instigated guards, instigated rebels, instigated Jakinius, and me and my associates would be watching off to the side, laughing. Whatever is born out of that battle, would be in my hands to manipulate further. Of course, all the while that plan was being hatched, an equally devastating plot was being laid down, one that would devour the Inquisition from within, and kill the very order, and eventually… cut off the heads of Salvation just as cleanly as those of the Empire.”

	Gerald’s eyes widened at the thought of destroying all three entities, his mind birthing a fear akin to the one discovered when accidentally falling on a nest of poisonous snakes. He didn’t know this man, and he didn’t know who would want such chaos, “what are you?”

	“I am a Black Scorpion, finger of the Father of Lies, and I will not rest until not only do we succeed, but that all others fail!” Ivoni gnashed his teeth as he flicked cigarette at Gerald. Instantly the man erupted into orange flames and hideous screaming, his oil stained cloak roaring under the heat. The birds angrily screeched and flapped their wings. Feathers fueled the burning man’s misery.

“I move one thing, one small thing, I set the stage for the actors, I am the director,” Ivoni hissed as he knocked over the empty lantern by him, “and I don’t appreciate those who spill my oil, or my information so easily!” With a swift kick, the flaming body of Gerald went flailing out of the coop. Gurgling screams whistled from his melting throat, and only were silenced by the macabre crack of his body breaking over the cobblestone below. 

After the echoing thud of his body bouncing, only the whisper of a distant fire, and cackling of burning flesh remained to devour the otherwise silent night. Ivoni smiled wickedly as he turned from the window that had swallowed Gerald. Gently he flicked his finger against the bird cage, and the light metal squeaked open. Instantly the agitated birds rushed from their enclosure and streamed out of the coop in haste.

“Ivoni,” a deep growl sounded.

The ashen man turned to the voice. A figure with staring yellow eyes caught his sight. The owner of the voice was tall, and slightly hunched. From a dark hood stared the twisted face of man and beast. Patches of fur pocked the muscular and unsightly face of the half-gnoll. Long teeth poked from disturbed lips and underneath a flattened nose.

“Cassawah,” Ivoni replied.

“The Father has had another change of plans,” Cassawah snarled, “we are to stay and complete new orders.”

Ivoni’s eyes widened, like a starving dog by a feast. Cassawah let out a gurgling laugh, “we are to contact the worker of this tower.”

“Whoops,” Ivoni smiled evilly, “I’m afraid I already met him.”

“No matter, we continue our mission. For it is not sufficient that we succeed,” Cassawah started.

“But all others must fail.” The two finished.

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For the sole purpose of making sure people sleep tight tonight, not wondering how these two got out of a tower: They probably used an adjacent building. 

Alternative ending for the more skeptical: Illuminati

Final Disclaimer: I understand that Ivoni had broken character and went all super villain speech. I had done this purposefully because I felt the need to create a post commemorating the weeks of work I had put into a few intrigue plots that are now void and retracted. I mean if you think about it, he woulda just let Gerald eat the bread and vomit to death, but I wanted this.

_____

A gentle breeze carried Edgar’s mantle as he walked the gardens of the Duvards’ Heartlands estate. They'd used this property regularly when he was still a boy; when his parents and would-be in-laws met to discuss matters between their lands, and to determine which of their children to marry off. He remembered his siblings and the Valarien children playing amongst these flowers, and tried to picture himself running in-between the rows of lionheads at knee-height.

“Brings back memories, doesn't it?” he said, finally. He turned to Sopshi, whose arm was linked around his. “When I was first told we were to marry, I thought I’d gift you with a bundle of flowers from the garden. I got a swift reprimanding from the caretakers when they'd seen their handiwork ruined. How was little me supposed to know they weren't for picking?” 

	Sophsi laughed, “I had no idea either.” With a flourish she lifted a lone lionhead with her free hand and twirled it under her nose.

	“Smells pretty though,” she mentioned slightly absentmindedly.

	“I can think of something prettier,” Edgar pondered aloud. He smiled as he watched Sophsi breathe the plant’s aroma, whose petals matched her locks of gold. 

	“How did your visit with your father go? I suspect his duties have kept him busy, especially with the passing of Emperor Taramyth.”

	“He is understandably devastated. It ached my heart,” Sophsi let the flower glide to the grassy floor.

	She turned to her husband, letting a hint of depression break from tired eyes, “he is also wondering about hiers.” 

	Edgar let out a sigh. “I figured he’d ask about that again. Does he know? About our… complication?”

	Sophsi scrunched her face defensively, “I don’t think it is anyone’s business.”

	“No, I suppose not,” Edgar answered with a shrug, “but he is your father. As your own blood, I think it might be his right.” The prince’s eyes drifted unconsciously to Sophsi’s abdomen. They’d given it their best, but fate already claimed one of their would-be children. The decision to put their effort on hold was mutual. 

	“I’d understand if the news disappointed him. But he’s spent his whole life anticipating a grandchild. Don’t you think it would be harsh to keep him waiting for one who’ll never come?”

	“It could come,” Sophsi folded her arms across her chest, almost as if fighting a chill, “we could at some point -- you know --  bring an heir.”

	Edgar eyed his wife with a worried face. “Sophsi… If it happened again… do you think you could face that for a second time? I know we can’t predict the future, but we’ve already tried so hard.”

	“I don’t think I can face it for a second time,” Sophsi admitted, letting her arms slip to her sides, “there has to be another way, to you know, make sure.”

	“I’ll see if any of the magi academies can help. If anyone could, it’d probably be them.” Edgar put a reassuring hand around Sophsi’s shoulder. “If you’re serious about giving it another try, I’m right beside you.”

	“Just please be discreet,” Sophsi squeezed Edgar’s hand, “please.”

“Of course,” Edgar promised. The two of them stood there for several moments, Sophsi’s chin tucked over Edgar’s shoulder. The garden was so calm, and seeing the bees go about their work gave Edgar and odd sense of reassurance. If all of Ethica was like this, maybe everyone would forget about the warring and the politicking. 

The peace was broken by a “My liege! My liege!” Edgar spun to see a courtier jogging near, waving a hand. “Lord Edgar! Terrible news from Ignis.”

“What is it?” Edgar asked, face suddenly pale. 

“It’s Valoderro; the hamlet’s been wiped off the map by an army of vilespawn. It’s on the move east, toward the Xandrian border. If it’s kept loose, more villages will be in jeopardy.” Edgar swore. The vilespawn of Ignis had been largely dormant until now. A fine time to awake too, on the coming of the election. 

“Any word from my father? Guillame? Have troops been mobilized yet?”

“One can assume the king is doing what he can for his people. He’s given you instructions to stay here and oversee the situation in Lalrial. He and Guillame will deal with the vilespawn.”

“Dammit, I should be there instead of Guillame,” Edgar muttered. “That is all?”

“That’s it, my liege. Worry not, Guillame’s become a strong lad. Lord Roman will take care of him.” The man gave Edgar a bow, then turned and left the couple to the garden.

It was Sophsi’s turn to comfort her spouse as she patted his shoulders, letting her own worries fade in her mind ever so slightly. Mustering herself she offered words of comfort, “the fine men of Ignis won’t let this continue, you know that as well as I.”

Edgar linked his hands around Sophi’s waist, giving her a solemn smile. “I know they won’t. Father trusted us with out duties in Lalrial. I can only do the same for Guillame.”

“I suppose we should go do our duties then,” Sophsi remarked, her lips hinting at a smile.

[@Arsto] (posted)

Goldeagle1221 Member

I am Spartacus!

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