YummyYummy

The Hourglass Order

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Light had returned for the first time in centuries to Fountain Square. Leon’s and Pluurii’s sky lights persisted as a beacon to all those lost in the decrepit city and the oppressive fog that threatened to consume those that strayed from the paths. This halo among the frigid black and blues of Halge Larchelon had inadvertently saved their sibling groups who had progressively reunited with the musical trio after trudging through the litter of bodies, most of which obliterated by the Tarlonese’s shots.

First was the trio of Yvain, Seviin and Yuliya, covered in dust and dirt from their altercation with a foe that could not be harmed. They were, overall, fine with minor scratches treated by Seviin’s limited abilities in binding. More grievous wounds would have required organic matter with the limitations imposed by the very air they breathed, and luckily they had piles of unnaturally preserved corpse meat to work with.

The second group emerged from the bowels of the city after a challenging climb through an old service ladder. Juulet was, surprisingly, the faster one given the other was Xiuyang with her shattered arm and limited ways to stifle the pain. The Yasoi kept a healthy distance from the human that made her animosity clearer than the ball of translucent light in the sky, but she always offered the butt of her spear as help to get her up. If only out of a sense of preservation.

“Finally, you are one unit.”

The radio at the top of the broken fountain spoke again after they had been given time to catch up and assess their situation. It had timed its ‘return’ when it deemed that they had gathered enough of their bearings.

“Congratulations. None have made it as far as you. You have been kept responsible for one-another for a very specific reason: You all serve a vital role in this venture. And you have not failed to deliver on this caveat. I invite you all to rejoice before we proceed. We are not finished.”

They had taken different arteries through the city to arrive at what was, more or less, the center of Halge Larchelon. The Forge was further North, or rather the obelisk-like structure that towered over everything else by a significant margin. Given they were closer, its form was clearer through the walls of fog that veiled it. The very tip scratched the gargantuan cloud that served as a defensive dome to the city, the only thing truly touching that wicked curtain.

“We will be infiltrating the Forge. To do so, two failsafes must be realized.”

The loud speakers screeched as the radio seemingly connected to them and started to speak through these unnervingly loud contraptions.

“One fell into the flooded depths that once purified the waters of the ocean for these very people. Another at the peak of the tilted tower that safeguard this prosperous civilization from invaders, second only to the monument you see before you.”

In spite of how loud he was, nothing stirred in the darkness. Those that roamed the streets, neither dead nor alive, had truly been put to slumber, it seemed.

“Now, the Forge itself. Once the tower is awakened, those that ventured through the fog will have a brief window to enter. Opening the gates for your comrades should be relatively simple once within. I recommend keeping your main group strong, for the fog may lead some of you astray. We want at least one of you to make it through. Soon, this curse will be lifted.”

A brief pause emphasized just how silent even the wind had become ever since the sirens rang.

“May fortune favour you all.”

Action Opportunities

You have a choice on how to split yourselves to complete the following tasks:
1- Activate the flooded failsafe.
2- Activate the failsafe in the leaning tower.
3- Push through the fog and enter the Forge once the tower is awakened.

It is strongly recommended to keep the above two small and the last one with as many people as possible to maximize the chances of someone making it through the fog without getting lost.

You are also free to talk to the radio. Because it is connected to the loud speaker network, if one is close to the many speakers, they may get an answer from the radio.

How this will play out:
For 1 and 2, I will actually play them out. They should be short, with one of them being rather simple (opportunities for character interactions).
For 3, this will be an opportunity for a prompt. The fog induces hallucinations that can vary from parlour tricks to a deep dream-like state with lingering effects afterwards as seen with Yvain. You may have it be a dream sequence, or a fight against lethargic but still somewhat aggressive thralls that take on different shapes, or even be a way to write a solo post you’ve always wanted that’s deep within your character’s memories.

This will be the first part of this chapter and I intend for it to go quickly. Those inactive will be lost in the fog, most likely. The second part will be more interactive.

The Hourglass Order

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"Have you ever heard of the Elder's Embrace?"

Deafened by the gunshot that pierced her lung, Zarina heard the words of Sultan Osman the Prudent within the fog of tinnitus and the wet wheezes. She fell to one knee, right before the viceroy she had taken a hit for, and let her head slump down. Her armor had failed her and now it felt unbelievably heavy. And cold, too cold. Was she dying? How was there so much blood already? Normally, she would be healing …

"It is a parasite."

That’s right, she had risked her life for that vapid creature, Kashani, while he let her die. Her mother’s words echoed as a crude reminder of the nature of this whole island - an exalted prize that would cost them everything. But it was her duty to preserve this man’s life. A duty with the goal to resolve the problem she had come to help fix. A duty that would deliver returns to her and her family, she was convinced. All such vain maybes and ambitions, most of which were beyond the inexperienced and bullheaded Zarina.

"It's too late for her!" uttered the viceroy with a regretful tone, one even the semi-conscious Al-Nader saw for what it was.

She was going to die for some greater picture. That was her role, she thought, as she found it impossible to even speak. A martyr to restore order.

"Miss Al-Nader, are you okay!?" cried out lady Emel. "Zarina!!"

"How many more?! When there are no nobles left in all of Sipenta, and Tarlon enslaves you all, will you be satisfied then?!" cried and screamed Raffaella.

No, that wasn’t the only reason she fought. Her beliefs remained the same, even when stuck within the wicked gears of politics and social woes. Lady Emel, Lady Demet, Raffaella … They were at least worthy of a chance. She was going to fight and defend her fellow Virangish, even the less worthy, from barbary. A display of resolve in the moment, a worthwhile investment if she were to survive.

The wounded dragon limped away, carrying Emel the best she could and getting away from the political sophisms she could hardly stand without a hole in her chest. She collapsed a few meters away. Everything was fading and the puddle of blood under her grew rapidly. It was hard to even try to breathe.

"You will be treated more fairly than you treated us."

The words of the supposed head of the operation, Dani, were the last she heard before succumbing. Not dead, Tku wasn’t going to allow it, but passed out and in rough shape. She could rest, partially relieved that her mission was at least a partial success. Even if she didn’t want to die.

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Sultan’s Lement

"Tell me something and speak truly, for I will not judge you and I will know if you are lying." Osman took a seat beside them on the simple bench at the back of the musalah. "How much do you believe in the Gods?"

Zarina sat as if it was normal for her to be here. She instinctively tapped the right side of her chest occasionally, feeling the memory of a dull pain, but otherwise all felt in its place.

Ren was the first to answer the Sultan’s question.

"I find that everyone wants to believe in something bigger than themselves, my Sultan. Peasants look to knights, knights look to lords and lords look to you, in hope that they escape the burden of responsibility. Pious men think that they are above the natural order, but they are not." he paused, and smiled earnestly for once at the man. "I believe in them, somewhat. But I do not admire or revere them, for that's the furthest state from understanding."

“I'm not quite sure.” Zarina answered, eyes still on the pattern. “To be perfectly honest, I think it has wavered since my departure to the South. More and more,” she furrowed her eyebrows as memories flooded in, but not everything needed to be shared. “as I learn about the world and their influence on it, they feel like people. Not perfect and almighty Gods, just special and influential people.”

"People who might crush us if we upset them." Osman nodded. "I met them as a young man, in the Forked Tower." He smiled so that the laugh lines about his eyes crinkled in a grandfatherly way.

It fell away quickly.

"They were good but, as you suppose, imperfect." He nodded sagely. "And, when all is weighed and measured, the true source of power is the ability to provide and the ability to destroy." He clasped his hands in his lap and looked over at the two youths. "That is something they hold over us."

Incense continued to burn. The stained glass windows threw their multicoloured shadows across the floor. "Our faith is a tool to move people's hearts and minds, so that we might rule them and they might be the better for living in an organized society under wise leadership."

He rose slowly and walked over towards one of the sticks that had gone out. "It is one of many that we possess, but it is among our strongest and one that we must wield responsibly, thinking of more than our obligation to the Gods and our own glory." A tiny wisp of flame appeared above the aged man's fingertip and he held it on the stick of incense until it smoked once more. "I ask you, now, how we might use this in our present situation."

Ren was taken aback. He acknowledged that such beings might exist - but the idea that they existed and were simply people brought a smile to his face. New steps to climb. Still, he did not let it hold as he listened to his ruler speak - and he let that smile return, only this time it was far more malevolent. He did not need to think long for an idea, especially when prompted by the Sultan. This was practically an invitation to do as he wished, and he would be a fool not to take it.

"When I examined Palapar, the 'people' there did not enjoy our attempts to save their souls. In fact, it was one of the primary reasons for their tantrums." he paused, and looked at the Sultan, gauging the reaction. "The good people of Darhanna take their faith very seriously. If this were to be threatened by a roaming band of rebels, it would become our neighbours problem, not just ours. A volunteer army of the most fervent believers would be more than enough to crush the revolt, wouldn't you say?"

“He's right.” decided Zarina, her attention veering back to the two powerful men. “If we want this done fast and without spreading ourselves thin, an army cheaply made from ardent believers is the way.” a gut wrenching admission, but a pragmatic one she believed. “However, Palapar isn't some holy land. It's where we get our coffee. Far too material and remote to fan even an ember of passion.” she sit down on her mat, giving her knees some rest and crossed her legs. She pondered.

“The rebels need to make a serious and blasphemous mistake-” and then it hit her. “Or ... We make that mistake happen.”

"This is, sadly, the reality of our world," Osman the Prudent remarked. "People can love. They will remember and respond to your generosity." he stood in profile, lighting a second incense. "But they remember the negative far better." He pivoted on the spot, studying them with ancient and calculating eyes. "Ensure it comes from elsewhere and not yourself and, if the latter in unavoidable, ensure that there are none who will speak of it."

"When people use religion for the Gods or for themselves, its benefit is lost." He shook his head. "It should ever be put to use to help the people rule and control themselves." For a moment, he appeared simply an old man, but one would've been a fool at this point to see only that much. "There is one in Palapar who makes this mistake. One who resides in our most sacred place there. Do you know of whom I speak, that we might strike down two wolves with one arrow?"

Stone faced and with a nonchalant voice, Zarina gave her answer. “The Imam of the Bluestar Idasque.” she did not know his name, but the Darhannic wonder was general culture to her people. “Guilty of committing the sin of fulfilling his holy duty selflessly. A proper martyr.” she determined, still barren of emotions. “We will be rallying the faithful over an egregious lie. It's ...” a trembling hand shakily rose to cover her lips, that had so far managed to utter words without turbulence. “Is this our only course of action if we want to win?”

For a moment, Osman regarded her, looking every one of his eighty-two years. Was there a flash of regret on his face at a final bit of innocence lost, or a final bit of regard? "It may not be," he admitted, "but nobody in that meeting that we just wasted so much of our precious hourglasses on had a better one and, in any case, I cannot think of one either." The Sultan shook his head sadly.

"There is a place of rich reward in heaven for men like Imam Tikli." He bowed his head. "Among the living, however, they do only so much good before their efforts harm something larger that they cannot see." He clasped his hands at the small of his back and the regret left his voice. "He will serve that greater purpose one last time, however, though he does not know it, and he will serve it well. The purpose of all things, ultimately, is to be used, whether they use themselves or are used by others, so let us use him for something good."

Ren nodded toward Osman, feeling a sense of kinship with the man and his philosophy. All things did indeed exist to be used, and very few understood that policy. He'd met Imam Tikli before, and he figured that this was a far kinder fate than the man deserved. "I stand in agreement with the Sultan." he spoke enthusiastically, rising from his position of prayer and outstretching his hands towards the multiple colorful streams of light. "To die a martyr is a blessing, and a most merciful fate you would bestow upon him. His name would live forever in song and in the hearts of our people."

He took a deep breath in and was truly thankful. Osman the Prudent ever lived up to his reputation, even at his old age. This girl, however, was soft. She'd spent far too long at the school. "Is there a problem? he asked calmly, walking closer to her. She stood a few inches taller, but not enough to crane his neck. Even gazing up, he still felt above her.

This was a person they were talking about. One beloved by many, and likely adored by those close to him too. Even if it wasn't the case, to rationalize sacrificing someone that had done absolutely nothing wrong in a moral or even professional sense made Zarina's stomach turn. It was too hard to hide and both men caught onto it. The realities of war, the idea of making hard decisions and the cold blooded nature of those in a position of power weren't alien to her, but to see such callous approval from her peer instigated a primal fear in her. This was all a mistake, she thought. She should have said no to her mother.

Only her amber eyes turned toward Ren, her head kept still. “None, except-” a brief pause. A hesitation, consideration for her position, her family's and her country's. Her heart wanted to speak, but it would be her practical mind that took precedence, bringing a hardened and unshaken voice with it. “If this gets out, not only will we be damned, but the entire Darhannic world will be in revolt. Decimation wouldn't be something we could even mitigate. Is Palapar worth this gargantuan risk? Because we are risking it all.”

Zarina was not a bad actor. She had fooled plenty in the past when needed, but she could not fool Osman the Prudent. He nodded as she spoke, but then he sat once more and bade her do the same. "My dear girl." He smiled sadly. "Do not be ashamed of your kind heart." He squeezed his knees and glanced her way. "Rather, be proud that you can yet maintain it, that you can allow yourself to feel the pain of what we must do and yet know that it is necessary." He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them, he looked every one of his eighty-two years and, perhaps, more. "Every decision that I make is for the good of our people and, where possible, the world at large. The real world is neither a storybook nor a legend of old." He sighed. "Sometimes, one must sacrifice the few to save the many."

Osman the Prudent nodded with more certainty. "Suffice to say that Imam Tikli shall be honoured, for he has acted with a pure heart, but a man who wields his worldly power cannot afford to act on conscience alone, lest he grasp at every straw until he runs out of them, lest he show softness to those who would harm us, lest he set the precedent that we give without reservation or end in a world where we cannot afford to." He laid a gentle hand on Zarina's shoulder. "He knows this and, yet, it is a duty that he will not carry out." After a moment, he removed it, and he began to rise. "Hence, from a more practical perspective, he is not a good man at all. What seems like a kindness in the small picture is often a curse in the grand scheme of things." He shook his head as he stood. "That is a lesson I have learned over more than sixty years sitting the chair that I do, so learn it from me now and save yourself much heartache in the future."

He turned to Ren. "So greatly has Fashdal dreamt of a grand role for you and blessed you accordingly." He laid a brief hand on the youth's shoulder. "I know that you will do the hard things if they are necessary, but do not lose your humanity in the process. One should never relish killing or be satisfied with one act in a process. One should breathe deeply in the achievement of his goals." Their eyes met for a moment before the old man moved on, towards the curtained doorway. "I shall provide you with the resources," he promised. "I trust that you will see to matters. The future of all that is Virang depends on it."

The Martyr

With the final words from this vivid memory that had haunted Zarina ever since she had set foot in Palapar, a new perspective was given to her. No longer was the Imam the martyr, but she was. A far less worthwhile one, would anyone rally behind her death if she had truly passed?

The moment of clarity altered the very recollection she was experiencing. Ren was gone and the Sultan’s face had changed right before her eyes. He was now Imam Tilki, sat across from her and surrounded by an entourage all too familiar to her. Aira, the Tan Keoulan, her assistant Faisal that Zarina subconsciously tried to blot out of memory, the queen herself and finally …

"Zarina, do you remember what we fought for in An Zenui?”

Tku. Her very friend, here of all places. Zarina had said something, surely, but here she could not speak. It was one of those dreams where she effectively had no mouth. All she could do was stare and listen.

Don’t you dare compare them. Don’t you dare paint me as a hypocrite.

"But you can easily substitute one for another. The people of Palapar are Classa, Sazan, and Tennaxi. A handful have found a level of comfort, some work in the house but will still lose it all at one issue, and most lose their legs to circumstances. The Dowager is simply the interest of a few people. They gain immensely from owning Palapar similar to the Dowager. In the end, all are still not free."

Easily substitute?! It’s easy for you to say! Here, you have no duty. You have no family to fight for. You have no country to love! You’re an outsider who knows nothing of my people!

No words ever came out, however.

The Imam shrugged. "I will admit to not knowing very much of An Zenui, but I do know that people were subjugated there for the gain of others, just as they are here." He shook his head. "Do not the holy books say that the experiences of all contribute towards the dream?" He paused. "Or the nightmare."

Tku gave his opinion. "I believe what happens here adds to a nightmare, a terrible one."

I’m fighting for the dream just as much as you. If not more.

"I wanted to visit a place after being told about it by a certain princess. I am given the ability to dream because I am blessed by many. I just wish to give others the same chance. Can you agree with that, Zarina?"

What kind of question is that?! Of course! What madman would say otherwise?! Your way, an outsider’s who knows little of my people, is not necessarily the right one!

She was screaming internally. So many things she had wished she had said. So much anger and frustration, and yet her subconscious refused to release it, even in her own mind. Her hatred, after all, was not directed at her friend, in spite of how misguided she saw him.

More had happened. Retorts on spirituality, the queen’s place in all of it, even Faiskal’s brief interjection. But all was quiet instead. Everyone just stared at Zarina.

If you’d just let me do my job …! I’ll fix everything …! Just, stop making this so. Much. Harder!!

The pain returned to her chest and shoulder. Finally she could speak, but only to wheeze and gurgle. Nobody moved to help her - they just continued staring.

Gods it hurts …

She looked up. They all changed again, except for the Imam. Faiskal was Celik, bleeding continuously from his head. Emel was painting in Tku’s stead, using the blood from her abdomen as material for her work. And where the queen sat was Lady Demet, covered in splatters of blood.

The Imam smiled. He was also Kashani. It was impossible to explain why. She saw both simultaneously. Both were men that were meant to die.

If both had died, the pain would be gone. If both had died, all these people would be fine. If I had just listened …

Click, clack. Click, clack.

Zarina recognized those footsteps. The pain was suddenly gone.

Raffie!

She twisted to witness the arrival of her friend.

Zarina’s eyes fluttered open, just barely, to see wood and fabrics strewn over it. Her body felt numb but she could feel the constant bumps of the carriage she was in. It felt warm, perhaps because of all the layers of sheets she was in. She peered up slightly to see the greenery just outside the opening, over the coachman’s shoulder.

There were many wooden tools hanging above her, constantly clicking and clacking as they rode through rough terrain.

There was a woman by her, sitting down and looking outside too. Eventually she caught Zarina’s eyes open and her body squirming. A panicked look took her expression.

“She’s waking! What do I do?!”

The Virangish didn’t understand, it was the local tongue. But she fear and urgency didn’t require any sort of fluency or literacy.

“Get the powder! Get the powder!”

Zarina groaned, the pain hitting her slowly as whatever kept her sedated was running out. Before she could actually move, however, a yellow dust was blown into her face.

She coughed for a second, and then fell back into slumber. A collective and synchronized sight of relief from the two escorts led to a bit of laughter among them. Plushtail oil was later administered, just in case.

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The Near Future

“What’s weighing on your mind, Zarina?”

She was back home. Finally, she was home. No more of the infernal overthinking and unfamiliar territories every single day. Just the drawing room she had sat in since she was six with the same odours and humidity. It was perfect. And yet her mother was right, there was something that brought an absent look in her eyes.

Zarina took a sip from her wine and regarded Saoussen, sat opposite and the picture of relaxed. She also indulged in some vintage.

“I take it you’ve been told something you’re not very happy with.”

The mere twitch in Zarina cheek as she moved her gaze to the side for just a second was enough to prompt a nod from the matriarch.

“In order to live as comfortably - we of Gandacar - a plethora of these uncomfortably discreet moments with our king were done. I want you to understand that it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”

“To let an innocent man die for a ‘maybe’? Is that normal?” inquired an irritated and confused teenager.

“Yes. Things like that. Hard decisions. The ability to make them is what separates the worthy from the ‘worthy’. You may have merit, but …” she took a hearty drink off her glass before serving herself once more. “To decide how things are, and how they should be, takes both the best and the worst of us.” Saoussen spoke with experience and her daughter knew. The latter mimicked her parent’s drinking.

“I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to kill an innocent man, even more so a holy one.”

Saoussen shrugged. “Then don’t.”

There was silence. The older of the two continued to enjoy her sips and even took this pause to stand and get some recently made local pastries without soliciting a servant.

“Then what should I do? Let it happen? It’s just as bad, mom.”

Again, another shrug. “Don’t let it happen if you can help it, then. That sounds heroic to me.”

Baffled by the answer, Zarina turned her head and regarded her mother with great scepticism.

“I don’t get it. If I’m not going to follow the plan, then why should I even go there?”

“You’re focusing on a big picture you hardly even understand, despite your work. Think on a smaller, personal scale, dove.” Saoussen let her back sag against her seat, one arm around her abdomen while the other held her pastry close to her mouth.

“I’m not following.”

“Big picture. Tsk tsk. You should leave that to me. So I’ll explain why - the world is rapidly changing, ours included. And with these changes comes a chance for those worthy enough to gain a voice. To get the job done.”

A sonic bubble was warranted, just in case.

“Osman’s reign is reaching its end. He may not die in the near future, but his health will warrant an heir to act as regent, a fine opportunity to train him or her. During such transitions, instability and power struggles become abundant. It is important to reach a certain proximity to the king’s garden if one wishes to exercise influence on what the world will look like.” her finger pointed right at Zarina. “I’ve managed to place you this far, part of it was you too, and now it is time to act.”

“So you think if I do my job in Palapar, it’d get me in good graces? What if we fail? It sounds like a total mess over there …”

A third shrug from Saoussen, this one with a light grimace to emphasize her indifference.

“The outcome of this problem will rely on more than just you. Regardless of whether you succeed or fail, what will matter is how you’ll be perceived. The men and women of Virang that reside in Palapar are remote, but they have sway. Have them see you favourably, as the mighty hero-thaumaturge you’ve always wanted to be, and they’ll want you around them. They’ll want you to shine.”

Zarina swallowed, a tad overwhelmed by the notions presented to her. She was being asked to gain the eyes of important people - nobles of her nation - with the ultimate goal of recognition and acceptance. Never had it occurred to her.

“I’m having a hard time understanding why I should care. You’re doing just fine without sucking up and earning titles.”

“No titles, you’re right, but I do suck up. I get things done. But I’m not a one-of-a-kind dragon. Nor am I an unmarried and pretty youth.”

Both remarks seemed to stagger Zarina just as much, in spite of the extreme nature of the former.

“Yeah, of course I know. If the Torragonese were made to know, we’d be too. It’s the main reason you were brought to the garden.” the matriarch gestured in dismissal. “I’m going to reiterate.” she leaned her, her voice solemn.

“If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Zarina instinctively pressed her back against her seat. No amount of power could make her feel less intimidated by her mother, a near-mirror image of herself, only a tad shorter and unmarked skin.

“Qarim had the right idea. And now he holds the most influential position in the world. Now you too, Zarina, have this chance to actually have a say. Make a home that you’d truly want for you and everyone that matters to you. A chance to make something better than we have.”

“I don’t know i-”

“You do. You’re scared you’ll be terrible at it. And you will without learning first.”

Saoussen took the wine bottle and refilled her daughter’s glass.

“You’ve a mother who’s done it all already. And you’ve got a network even more potent than anything in the past few generations. Do things right, and these awful decisions involving martyrdom and sacrifice may not even be necessary.”

“I don’t think I want to. Mom, sorry but I’m happy with just-”

“Then you’d be fine with following the vision of those like Ren Baykara?”

Zarina perked up and scowled. There were no words, her mother knew this was going to elicit emotion. And the youth had nothing to say, for it was an obvious truth. People like Ren were bound to reach some sort of social apotheosis if people like Zarina stood by idly.

A reassuring smile was then given to Zarina. The teen reeked of indecision.

“What should I do, then?”

“Do what you think is right. For you, for your home and for the people over there.”

Zarina, in turn, smiled. A wry smile, but the unease had been shaved off a tad.

“There is one thing that’s paramount, however -” a shift in tone, one charged with authority and a subtle business-like demeanour Zarina recognized immediately. It put her on edge. “Both the Viceroy and the Vizier cannot be butchered by the animals. That is your job.”

Zarina blinked. The last part hit her with a delay.

“Mom, what the fuck. Why?!”

“Not literally. But if you want to have a chance at getting the best optics AND salvage what we have, the best way to start is to be the one to deliver justice.”

A sudden realization hit Zarina.

“... Just like Osman did when our laws were being corrupted.”

Like the Elder’s Embrace, there was a parasite. In Palapar, it was the rotten core of self-indulgence. For Virang, it was Palapar, or rather what would come of it if left alone, but the true rot was what would emerge from it. Would it be Ren and his stranglehold on all beneath him, or Zarina’s reform?

“There we go. Rather than let the slave class make a show of their resolve, our nation delivered never before seen justice.”

“Rebuild some trust and spread the reform of the mainland. This really is a big optics thing, isn’t it?”

“Which is why a dreg like me can’t get any higher. But YOU.” she leaned over the table, her hand tapping the table all of a sudden. “You, Zarina, are something they can’t ignore or relegate to hidden privileges. Show them your worth. Both in power and as a person.”

Zarina exhaled, eyes in the vintage again. She saw her reflection, a still innocent if increasingly experienced young woman. One day, likely soon, those hopeful eyes would likely never be the same again.

“I’ll try.”

“I know you will, dove.”

Zarina prepared to stand. She needed air.

“Ah, before you go-”

Her lips flapped but all Zarina could hear was-

Ting-ting-ting-ting.

Ting-ting-ting-ting.

Zarina awoke, eyes up to a wooden ceiling. No handing tools or bumps in the road. Mostly just humidity, enough to feel like she was underwater. There was a glassless window by her, shining bright with midday light, perhaps skewing more to the morning. The bed she was in was made of treated leaves, though the pillow was a finer quality - perhaps imported from a bigger city. The sheets were similar, though clearly older than both the leaves and the cushion.

She was in a hut, the door left wide open to let the air current flow and the space was wide enough to accommodate the bed and then half a metre more. Overall decent for an area that still had dirt for flooring. Her clothes were of acceptable quality, though clearly made for a man. Colourful, though.

As Zarina tried to sit up, she winced. There were bandages over her shoulder and around her chest. The wound had partially healed, but was purposefully left untreated. Additionally, she could feel the familiar sensation of plushtail coursing through her. Though if it wasn’t enough, the bottle by her bed made it clear they intended for her to keep up the regiment. As she peered out the window it became evident why.

Ting-ting-ting-ting.

Woes of wildbloods aside, she twisted to look out the door where the metallic noise was coming from. Her eyes met with a young boy’s, around ten and clearly a local. His were wide while Zaz’s remained groggy and half-lidded.

“Gising na siya!”

Zarina stood barefoot, slow as she found her balance and tried to walk. It wasn’t easy. The young boy remained by the door, watching her with fascination.

“Mukha siyang lasing at sobrang tangkad!”

“Totally agree, little man.”

“Haha, machete lady!”

“Eh?”

The Hourglass Order

---

"Did you need a hand, miss?" A man addressed a girl in Avincian, her status as a foreigner clearly apparent. It was better that way, she had decided. It made her a less likely target for either side. "A foot might be better," Marceline replied with a rueful smile, waving him off. The magistrate was, at this moment, asking the guilty to make their peace with the Gods. All that she could see was a sea of backs, heads, and shoulders, but she knew that there were five on the platform and that they were standing at the ends of nooses. It was a sight she preferred to leave to her imagination.

Six days by coach into Malanques, five more down the Mererrapora and southern coast, and then a teleport from Varrahasta into San Sameno. She could still feel the awful floaty sensation of being on that boat: the way she would just start to roll whenever she didn't have her brakes locked. Were it not for chemical magic, she'd surely have spilled even more of her meals into the water than the two that she had.

A moment later came the awful clunk and clatter and she balled her hands up in her skirts and looked down at her knees as gasps, jeers, and murmurs arose from the crowd surrounding her. They gave the tethered a reasonably wide berth, which had its uses in not being jostled, bumped, or blocked, and she was able to spend some moments focused on the chemical patterns they exhibited. Fear, she acknowledged, just as expected, but there were other more complex feelings at work too. Emotional-chemical reading was as much art as science, and inexact, but there was anger there. It hadn't faded. There was... disgust. She focused her senses on some of the more interesting ones. ...Excitement! Did the sixteen year old visibly scowl? If she had, she fixed it quickly, for she was a better master of her face than that. Why excitement? she wondered, pinpointing a particular cluster of mostly men who were standing together.

Reaching down to release her brakes, Marci's intention was to make her way over and snoop, but one crooked push of her wheels and a couple of glances from her porters disavowed her of the notion. The square was all cobble, and every movement on it jostled her about and made her arms ache. Instead, she twisted on the spot, trying to make note of any distinctive features in their energy, and made a mental note of the strange incident. Perhaps coming here with a plan to play the other side wouldn't be the fool's errand she had feared it would be.

In any event, she made her way, with some difficulty, from Ortaklık Square, a great deal on her mind. The mass executions had supposedly ended last week, but there were still occasional spasms of persecution. These shook but did not shatter Ceboyan and Arangal, for their lifeblood was to be distribution points, where the valuable goods of Palapar came to meet the world they would go out into. All manner of people milled about in the streets: from human, eeaiko, and even yasoi locals, to their Virangish upper crust and merchants from afar. The heat was sweltering, even more so than San Agustin for the humidity, but this was quickly giving way to dry season and, already, the first bushels of bamboo were being carted in from the countryside, stacked impossibly high on human and mule-drawn wagons. Marceline supposed that she might make a decent wagon in a pinch.

In any case, it was naught but an hour later when she rolled up to a large green door in the Virangish quarter, arms and shoulders burning from the uphill. Inside was Zarina. She recognized the chemical signature, and had been following it for the past four kilometers. "Thank you, Matu," she told the man who'd been following with her bags. "I'll take it from here now." She paid him, watched him leave, and squared her shoulders. Then, Marci reached up and knocked.

The door opened right before Marceline's knuckles could meet with the door. In a country where rebels sought one's death, Zarina could only see herself as incompetent if she wasn't frequently on high alert. Her hair was damp and she wore but a few layers of cloth on her chest, leaving the rest of her torso bare to cope with the increased heat. Her trousers were baggy dark harems pants for air flow and house green house shoes.

“Are the Torragonese making the move already?” she inquired with a twinge of noticeable sass in her voice as she acknowledged her friend's arrival. As cool as she may have seemed, she was quick to lean forward and quickly check the surroundings before gesturing Marci to come in quick. “Not the best place for a happy reunion. Something big happen?”

It was the first time they'd seen each other in months. Zarina did not make a big deal of it and, suddenly, everything else Marci had been wondering whether or not she should say simply died in her throat. She looked up at her friend - way up - and nodded. Two months at San Agustin had been more like a year for her body thanks to metabolic boosting magic, but muscle memory was a bit slower, especially when faced with...

She shook her head and popped a wheelie, levering herself carefully through the door with the help of some kinetic magic. "We Torragonese are always making moves," she responded in the same tone, injecting a bit more of an accent into her speech. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she rolled across the threshold. "Do you think you can get the door for me?" the tethered inquired. "We have... a lot to talk about."

Once Marceline was through the threshold, the door was closed right behind her. “We do.” answered Zarina. “But first thing's first.” a chair was seized with a single hand and crudely placed right in front of the wheelchair-bound girl and the Virangish teen took a seat. Her golden eyes pierced right into the Torragonese's. “When we first properly met, how did our encounter end?”

Marceline arched an eyebrow. "With me drawing baths for you?" There was no embrace. In fact, there was an edge. "Gimme the straight goods, Zaz," she said, not half as tough-sounding as she'd wanted to be. "You look like a paranoid wreck." She tilted her head, not used to having to crane her neck like this, until Zarina sat. "Why?"

Marceline pursed her lips. 'Calculating' was something that she could do. 'Strategic' was in her wheelhouse. She had so much to say to Zarina, of course, and no idea of where to begin. This was... easier. "And that's why I'm here." She straightened some of the folds in her dress, glancing down at her lap before looking unflinching up at Zarina. "Our future is threatened by hotheaded people doing stupid things." She shook her head. "These streets are gonna run with blood and then we're losing our supply chain." The tethered shrugged. "I've learned better than to try to intervene when forces beyond me are determined to kill and keep on killing." She shrugged helplessly, bothered but perhaps realistic about it. "I'm here to ride this wave and to take care of the things that I can." Calculating as ever, but not entirely unsympathetic, she regarded the closest person she had to a sister. "But I need you."

A deep inhale. Zarina let a silent linger for a while. She needed time to ponder a situation that was well beyond her and Marceline had articulated a similar sentiment. Her conclusion, however, differed. “I can't leave my post, Marci.” she answered, her eyes peering up to the tethered, eyes slightly veiled by her unkempt locks of hair. “My country needs me too. My people need me. Now more than ever, I'd reckon.”

Marceline smirked in response. "Good thing I'm stateless, then, huh?" The mirth faded quickly, however. "I'll be straight with you, Zaz. I don't like any of this. I don't like what Virang's doing here, but I don't have much faith that what these rebels want to build will be any better." Her eyes turned calculating. "We have to account for the possibility that they'll win. She shook her head. "Personal feelings aside, we have to." A tentative smirk returned. "And I just happen to look like I've rolled right out of a hacienda."

Zarina did not reciprocate any sort of playfulness. “I'm not accounting for failure. I'm putting everything into avoiding that, Marci. This isn't about Zenobucks.” dry, solemn and the lack of a friend in those tired, golden eyes. “If that's what you're here for, I just can't help you. But-” she brushed some of her hair that veiled her visage. Her features softened. “If you're here for me, I appreciate it.” still, there lacked the sisterly air she was once good for.

"Only a fool doesn't plan for all eventualities, Zarina." Marci tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, even as they flicked meaningfully to her lap and the now-useless legs that comprised it. "I never knew you to be one, and I am here for you - for our dream." Her hands were tight around her wheels, eyes somewhere between empathetic, pained, and evaluative. At least it saved her from having to figure out what to do with them. Presently, they migrated to her skirts, gripping the fabric tightly and bunching it up. "The thing we were supposed to do together. Remember?"

Zarina peered down to follow those overly agitated hands. Her eyes narrowed without making contact with Marceline's. “Our dream-” she looked up and glared. “The one you left me to carry alone when things just got worse and worse.” where there was once a glimmer of that soft heart a minute ago there was now only a hardened wall of distrust and a sense of betrayal. “Dreaming is a privilege I cannot afford when I'm the only one still thinking of my country's - my home's best interests. It's all that matters.”

Marceline took a deep breath, but she trembled ever so slightly. Was it fear, rage, betrayal, or something else? "Left you..." she said quietly, a strange note in her voice. "We all say things we don't think through sometimes." Her eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, but she seemed to tamp down on them. This was another monster, she knew, strong like Juulet: well above her. One did not mess with those above herself if she wanted to survive.

Yet, whatever their conflict, it did not end there. It was almost twenty minutes later when Marci bumped roughly down the front step, hair disheveled and face red. Perhaps she had at some point, but she was not crying. Her arms and shoulders were stiff and one of her feet hung halfway off of her footrest. "Shune knows I tried, you idiot," she growled under her breath, shooting a venomous look back at the door as it slammed. "Dami, too." She shook her head angrily, cutting an arduous path across the cobblestones. Her knuckles were white around her rims and, frustrated with her slow progress, there was a surge of energy and she leapt forward, barely skimming the ground as she raced away. "Can't save the stupid from themselves." she muttered, quickly swallowed by the crowds of a busy street.

---

. . .

---

Zarina threw the door to its frame, nearly slamming it shut, in pure frustration. Her cheeks were red and a pillow had to be quickly found for copious amounts of face-buried screaming. The poor pillow became a feathery cloud when the author of this tantrum had forgotten that sonic magic was still something she was not the most proficient in. An emotional stifle that'd set her back half a day. With only a delusional Raffaella as her tangible ally, it was hard for one teen to even know where to begin if she were to try and take on a threat hidden well enough to dupe her betters.

But one of her main virtues was immense tenacity. Inevitable rebuffing from superiors - reactions ranging from polite denials to crude reminders of her place in the pecking order were things she grew increasingly tolerant to. She had almost wished she had experienced the chain of command when she had started Zenobucks. The deals would have certainly been better. The arduous process of ruffling the nest met her with an ultimatum: Stop now, or be sent home. All she heard was 'one more go'.

The channels she was closest to did not work, but there was one captain - a woman, too - who she found potential in. One that could see what she sees. Cpt. Selma Balik had her own allocated abode where she could work administration in peace when she wasn't out with her underlings. Without any formal referral or even a middleman, Zarina just showed up with a humble but firm request for an audience with the captain.

It wasn't a servant who opened the door. The fine clothing made that clear. Rather, the woman on the other side was - in some world - a mirror image of Zarina. She was a little older - though still no more than seven and twenty - and a little more refined, but she was tall, dark-haired, and angular: in short, martial in bearing. She looked the youth up and down, though she did not make a show of it. "You're Al-Nader, right?" she proposed, not waiting for an answer as she stepped back from the open door. "That's a Zaqhory name." She gestured her junior inside.

Zarina, on the other hand, made herself distinct by keeping herself as a civilian. It had its boons and she was neither military nor of exalted blood. Green and dull yellow silks were her go-to today. She took in the uncanny resemblances and stepped in. “Probably. Yours is well-known.” she shrugged, erecting a veil of indifference to the weight of her name, though it had been more of a burden than anything in her most recent endeavour. The focus on it brought a certain unease from the get-go. “Captain Balik. You likely know why I'm here.” she didn't dilly daddle and take in her environment. She had precious little time and recourse left and she was going to act the part regardless of formalities. “I believe our job here's unfinished. And I don't have the resources to do anything about it. Or the pull.”

It was, by and large, a Spalkan place, save for a few extremely rich embellishments left on end tables or tucked away in corners. Perhaps that spoke of its occupant's ambivalence towards her storied name. Perhaps she simply had less use for pretty things.

"Take your shoes off and sit first," the captain decided, pursing her lips and nodding. She would allow this conversation. It was a necessary one, perhaps even something that she had been waiting for. "I'm neither surprised that you're here nor surprised by your forwardness." She nodded, turning halfway and moving for the drawing room. "I might even welcome it, but we need to establish a few things first."

Zarina did exactly as told. Her shoes, yellow with red outlines and a curved tip, was carefully but quickly tugged off with her hands and set nearly by the entrance's carpet. With a proper nod, she entered the drawing room with her feet now bare and found the closest seat in the same mentality of wasting as little time as possible. “I'm all ears.”

There was the subtle tingle of magic use and Zarina could practically feel a sonic bubble enveloping them. "Good," said Balik, "and I will hope so, because I suspect you won't like much of what I have to say." She took a seat across from the younger woman, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. A small table with two glasses and a bottle of red wine in a bucket of ice separated them. "The pull you're looking for?" She shook her head. "I don't have it, or I'd be out there fucking those rebels and you'd be on my team." She scowled and reached for the bottle. "You drink red?"

Zarina remained stoic when the response was both as expected - a dud - but also completely unexpected. She was actually entertained, but she too had been in an impasse. “Red's fine.” a brief glance was dedicated to the bottle. She had seen a few of that same vineyard among the brass and she had indulged too more than a few times during the day. This one, however, seemed a bit older. Likely reserved for those of higher value to the military. “But there's clearly a problem here, if we both agree.” the teen spoke up with immense naiveté to be found in her voice. Where she once held a stone-cold expression, the moment she had to express herself the inexperience in political matters and people management became apparent just in her disposition and intonation. She looked a little restless, like she was holding back some explosive gestures. “What's the solution here? Rebel to take down the rebels?” she forced a chuckle on that one before taking a hearty sip out of her glass.

Selma regarded her evaluatively for a moment, before shrugging. She glanced down to pour some wine for the both of them and the hint of a smile creased the corner of her lips. "This is the part you're not going to like," she admitted, looking up as she handed Zarina a fluted crystal glass. "But I'm only gonna give you the straight goods here." She leaned back and took a sip, considering either the red or how to phrase what she was about to say.

"You and I, we're daughters instead of sons." she paused for the ghost of a moment. "But we're doing sons' work." She shook her head. "And we're young." She took another sip. "And we're telling them things they don't want to hear." There was a distasteful scowl. "We need ammunition - a proven track record of having said something and been right about it." She snorted, narrowing her eyes. "Then, they need to see it happen, just like we warned, before they'll listen to us." She downed the rest of her dainty glass.

Zarina indeed did not like what she was hearing. Her jaw clenched and her eyes found something to focus on that wasn't Selma. In those golden hues one could see just how livid she was. “Just do nothing. Let people die.” she didn't scream these words. It sounded more like she was quoting something. She shook her head and let out a defeated chuckle. “You're not the first one to tell me that, you know. To work off the backs of those that eat shit in order to win.” a twinge of disgust could be found in her voice and she had to wash it down with the vintage. “People are going to get hurt, captain, over petty inconveniences. How can I just let that happen?”

"Because you have no other choice," the captain intoned, reaching for the bottle to pour a second glass. "And people will die regardless." She shrugged. "Our people - their people." She puckered her own look of distaste. "All equal in Vasdal's dream." Something in her tone wasn't right, though. She quickly moved on.

"You see, that's the trouble with you merchant types." Selma shook her head. "And - truly - I mean no offense." Perhaps she did, though? Just a little bit? "You're very good at the details. You catch things us more... political families might miss." She shook her head. "But you don't see the bigger picture. The men in charge here - beard-stroking old fools whose minds have gone soft in this tropical hell - will never admit that you're right." She swirled her wine in its glass. "They'll never give you a fuckin' sniff of influence on their own."

Her tone was bitter as she continued. "Everyone's a degenerate here, and that's the sad truth. There are locals who sacrifice goats to their primitive gods and believe that fans can steal your soul away." She rolled her eyes. "There are administrators who've never even visited the properties they're in charge of." She tossed some more of her drink back. "They all drink and fuck their days away." She regarded Zarina darkly, from the corners of her eyes. "We need to go right over their heads, but we need proof to make it stick and, if you ask me, a few of them dying in assassinations or some provincial rebellion might actually do this place good."

Zarina resented every bit of truth Selma had been feeding her. None of it could be countered, she even felt an uneasy parallel with those 'degenerates' for more than one reason, one of which being her inexperience. Her once stoic and hardened demeanour faltered completely, her emotions now worn on her sleeve. “It's not a merchant issue.” she spoke, somewhat meekly. “We're actually the ones to advise cutting losses for the grander end.” she shook her head again and reached out to serve herself some more wine. “In the eyes of Dami, we all deal with capital, at the end of the day. No, this is a me issue, captain. I resent sacrificing lives. I HATE giving an inch to those against me. I want to WIN.”

After letting out more than she had intended, the Virangish teen let herself sag into her seat. “If I go against the brass and take matters into my own hands, what will happen, captain Balik?” her eyes searched for Selma's. In spite of her protest, she seemed close to just relenting. It was why she was brought to this woman's doorstep, after all. “I just need something to work with.”

Selma watched Zarina drink. She watched and let out a sigh of vexation. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she squared her shoulders, set down her glass, and began ticking points off on her fingers. "Firstly, you'll fail," she announced in no uncertain terms. "Well -" she softened her initial stance, "- you'll fail if there's any real teeth to this." She shook her head. "If there isn't, then it's not worth stopping."

She regarded Zarina evenly. "You're stronger than me," she admitted, taking a small sip, "but you're no Hugo Hunghorasz. You're no Ren Baykara. Even..." She trailed off rather suddenly and her eyes, after looking away for a pointed moment, returned to Zarina full of wary evaluativeness.

With each finger propping up, the scowl on Zarina's face grew. From a light twitch of her cheek to her teeth gritting at the mention of Ren. She had felt powerless during her entire endeavour to speak up against the brass, but it had reached its very low here. More truths, some she just didn't have the emotional maturity to digest fully. She was about to say something, lips parted and air inhaled, only to instead finish her second glass as a last second decision to keep her thoughts to herself.

Good wine, it was. Good enough to give her more sensible mind that had, in fact, experienced things and had been moulded by journeys few could ever live. She mused, silently, before giving a calculated response. “The men and women you command, are they loyal to you or the chain of command that pays them?” it was her turn to shoot an evaluative look to her better.

It was a dangerous question: one that most wouldn't have dared ask, but it didn't bother her, in truth, and deserved a considered response. "Some may be loyal to me, personally, but I've been here only a couple of months. Some are loyal strictly to the chain of command or someone within it." She shook her head. "What I can guarantee you in this pit of vipers is that each is strictly loyal to himself and what will benefit him." Her eyes narrowed. "No grander cause unless he's personally affected."

“Then this could be an opportunity for them too.” said Zarina with growing confidence. She had adapted, it seemed. She even scoffed at the focus on 'men'. “If we're going to do a 'I told you so', then we may as well look good while doing it.” it was time for a third serving of wine, although this time she paused to give a considerate glance to Selma and if she had permission. “The ball they've announced. If there's one place to send a message, it's there and in only a few days. Do you reckon have a few trustworthy-ish men at the ready could be something you pull off? If these rebels are bound to have their way, we may as well make it not-so-easy for them and be heroes while doing it.”

Selma tilted her head, regarding Zarina with a mix of admiration and annoyance. She nodded, however, to indicate that they'd might as well finish the bottle at this point.

"You just don't understand," she admonished, "do you?" She shook her head. "If there's anything left more than embers - and I can't be certain that isn't the case - then it has the backing of Revidia, Tarlon, Retan, Tor - well, they've actually been reasonable, so maybe not Torragon, but you've got the idea."

They split the last bit of wine evenly between them. "Half of my squad is fucking gone." She shook her head and her bearing, despite the obvious inebriation behind her words, became quite firmly serious for a moment. "A Revidian Century - a full on century in shining silver armour - was guarding that little chapel with the memorial, as if they knew, as if they'd planned it." She leaned back, downing the last bit straight from the bottle. "We do this, we might be fucking with something way above our grade. We may not live to take that action you want to see so badly."

Zarina was about to match her superior's pace, equally as loose lipped by the drink. But there was a specific detail that had her just stop. She downright flinched. “A century?” she left the glass on the table and crossed her arms under her chest. There was immense skepticism and bewilderment in her eyes. “Those ones are supposed to be neutral, like the nation that's contracted them. That's-” she raised her thumb to bite her yellow-painted nail. “Not good.” a deep inhale. Her inebriated mind had managed to connect some dots. “No wonder we both came to the same conclusion.”

The teen huffed and needed a moment to gather herself. The world spun and her back felt a little numb. “We've got to show some balls, captain.” she decided, head canted slightly with her lips pursed. “In a man's world, we demoiselles need to have bigger nuts than the limpdicks to get a point across. Yeah, we'll be ready for those nasty fuckers this time.”

"We need to be seen to do something, but I warn you that I won't overcommit while we have nothing." Selma shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "Real life isn't some tale from Firrazene Nights or an Eskandish saga." She heaved herself to her feet, snapping the bottle to her palm with some kinetic magic. "If something happens at the ball, we choose a handful of priority targets, protect them, and cover ourselves in glory. We let the bad ones get dealt with, and then we scream 'I told you so' at those old men and get ourselves some real pull around here." She picked up her glass, starting to turn, but she stopped and met Zarina's eyes. "Comprende?"

An intense grin grew larger and larger on Zarina's face as captain Balik eased herself into the idea with her own brand of dominance. Inspired and drunk, Zarina raised her glass. “Aye-aye.” and then she drank to the simple plan. “Comperende. I could, like, have you arrested for malthink, or something. Oh, wait ...” she gestured her glass toward the woman. “They're kinda good guys now, right? Guess that's okay, then.”

The Hourglass Order

---

---

---

♫

Juulet glared at the obscured monstrosity choking her with a hand buried in layers of copper and black wrapping, showing very little of what was inside. From the little bit of breathing she could muster it was determined that it reeked of something that had been spoiled for a long time. A dry and mouldy stench. The Yasoi wanted out so badly. Instead of physically resisting, she glared at the thing as if she could kill with a simple look.

In a second, hellfire would take all near her. This headless would return to nothing just as all who stand before the one true Goddess.

Nothing happened, not even a spark. Mortality made clear in a single flash. She started to fade.

But the monster’s grip faltered as it fell. Tremors below took the stone they had been relying on to cross the chasm, and so too was the anomalous being. And so too was the Mad Avatar. It took about half a second for her to realize what was going on. By then, Juulet had fallen a few meters already, no way to get back up. A terminal scenario for any without any substantial magic. An inevitable end.

Fuck this.

She could not accept that. Not her death, no it wasn’t about her mortality. She could not accept the notion that she was anything but unexceptional.

I am Juulet’oli’mustii’zan!

The paltry amount of energy she had failed to make any noticeable use of finally beared fruit. Her eyes darted all over to find where to direct it. She had precious little time - time, even that betrayed her in her moment of need.

And I won’t die in some hole!

There it was! A small opening along the cliffside. The air vent to this master plan to kill her. Overdrawing to the point of causing a small nosebleed, she had managed to warp at the very edge of her limited range - just barely - into a large, pipe-shaped opening. An entrance to a sewer, once connected to the industrial district and now severed by whatever caused the fissure so long ago.

“Fuck!”

Juulet had fallen on her back, the landing softened by a practiced use of the spatial school. It didn’t make the landing less sore, but she was alive.

“Fuuuuuuck!” she held her head with both hands. “I almost fucking died. In a HOLE!” the close call of falling from one edge brought her to the edge of another: her mind. She had NO control of the situation and she utterly hated it. She hated ALL of this.

“Fucking crutch is gone too, jamboi poca shit fuck FUCK!”

At least she still had a spear and the old faithful arcane school for lighting. The only way through was the lost toilet of the lost city.

Fun …

The bridge crumbled down to nothing. Juulet watched every piece fall, morbidly curious to see if any of those that let her fall would fall in turn. Curious, or maybe concerned?

---

♫

Amidst the immense pain Yvain felt on his shoulder, he also sensed the familiar vibration running through his sword of a successful impalement. Whatever this imagery of Yuliya was, it had been hit. The bite stagnated, there was no sucking or grinding of the wound. In fact, the jaw eventually relented.

A bloody mouth ascended, with difficulty, to whisper something to Perrenchman’s ear. The reek of metal had never been stronger and the release of pressure on the gash added to the pain he was convinced was real.

“You will always-”

The stench was mixed with what was undoubtedly his friend’s odour. There was a distinct lack of a rasp from the pain she should be feeling and the excessive fluids in her mouth. She had never been clearer.

“fall short.”

The weight of the body felt like ten tons of bricks, forcing the magically disabled nobleman to fall back on his rear. As he did so, he crossed the border of the fog. A plume of the stuff escaped along with him, surrounding him with a mist-like effect that stuck close to the ground as he gathered himself.

He was on a rooftop. Not too high up, maybe three floors of a residential building, and could overlook the district itself. His blade was still in his hand, clean of any blood as was he. Yuliya was gone and along with his wound. All of it had just vanished once he had gone out of the fog. Except for the lingering, dull pain in his shoulder.

The roof overlooked the residential district. It all looked the same, really. More old. More dust. More darkness. Except …

Yuliya, along with Seviin and Xiuyang. There was a ring of flames closing in on the latter and a luminescent entity right up the Vossoriyan’s face. A lightshow impossible to miss, just like the lingering pain on his shoulder.

---

♫

Xiuyang ran, the other two were not so immediate in their reactions. The resemblance to the blonde human among them was quickly noticed. If it could take on Yuliya’s reflection then surely it knew of their presence. Or was it all a trick of the eye?

The how of it would matter little when, the moment this ghostly apparition’s luminescence had shifted from bright white to dimming into a deep black with the exception of its eyes and forearms shining a vivid crimson. A massive concentration of energy formed between the runner and those that did not react as quickly. In an instant, a tall wall of intense flames separated the group.

Soundless still, the crimson ghost walked closer to the duo. At a certain distance, it zipped through distances at an inhuman rate without a shred of temporal magic to be sniffed out by those versed in it. In just a second, it was right up on Yuliya, raising its hand as if it was about to reach for her face. Its features were on point, a perfect replica of the Vossriyan princess. Right down to even its mannerism.

It radiated heat, but there was no smell, sound or even a disturbance in the air as it existed right before the sanguinaire. There was more than heat to be sensed, all around them they could feel big accumulations of energy akin to what formed the walls of flame.

Xiuyang found herself surrounded by hyper-intense flames. And they were closing in like a lasso. They were high, too. The head they radiated suggested even jumping over would ignite most things from the sheer heat.

Seviin was the odd one out. The manifestation had not given her any grief nor did the thing’s attention deviate from Yuliya.

Action Opportunities

The Fissured District group has been separated with Juulet falling into the chasm. Kaureerah and Leon, assuming they’ve made it to the other side, can continue along the path. They will be very close to the Fountain District. I’ve avoided writing more following this to give the characters time to discuss what had just happened and decide how they walk the last mile.

Those of the Residential District are confronted by a ghost. Xiuyang is about to get consumed by a massive ring of fire while the ghost itself is aiming for a grab on Yuliya. Seviin is the only one that currently doesn’t seem to have its enmity. The goal is to survive of course, but it could be useful to figure out what these ‘ghosts’ are about. Ghosts don’t exist in Sipenta, right?

Yvain has made it out of the Fog and is overseeing the above. He can choose to intervene, watch, or take another path. With the former being the most likely, he will have to take a little bit of time to get downstairs, but it won’t take him too long (enough time for the three girls to do something about their immediate pickle first).

Pluurii’s whereabouts are a mystery for now.

Shards of the World(D&D/Hunter X Hunter Inspired)

Sure, I might make John Shards.

The Hourglass Order

They spent the next few days like that: in each other's company, making up for lost time, all other cares shunted firmly to the side. They bathed in the hot springs, hiked the mountain passes, shopped in the markets of Pashtali, and picnicked on the summit of Mt. Amathikandu. Of course, they made their appearances back in and around Ersand'Enise. Miret sent her messages to Tyrel, and Zarina to Ysilla and Ayla. Of course, Miret shared her war stories, and Zarina hers: conquests of Yarsoc and Parmoy, battles against a mad behemoth and seditious forces. These were tertiary at best, though. Both were far more concerned with the whipped cream on Zarina's nose or the smell of the ponies or their tenth game of checkers for the night.

It was, by most metrics, the most perfect week that either might've imagined. Were the Gods truly all-loving, they might've decreed that it never should end. Of course, they were not. It took only a day for the news to spread across campus: a secret bounty at the edge of Mycormii and Kerremand, a horrifying monster, Cawuio-Zast, Esmii, and Niallus killed, Sven a shambling wreck and Roslyn little better, Edyta rushed off to Varennes on urgent business. Ingrid was a fearful, listless thing. She was lost and searching, but it did not take Miret long to learn that she was searching for something in particular. It was a sign from the Gods. It was a sign that brought her into contact with Tyrel and Tyrel into contact with Chad and Ashon and Ailet, but they were not so foolish as to appear in the same place.

It was just after dinner - for Miret was loath to ruin good food with heavy words - when the sanguinaire took her beloved aside and delivered the news. "Zazzy, there's a life I need to save," she said simply, "and doing it will both risk my life and change the world."

Tales of a grand demon thwarted by a few travelers and rebellious jailers, and big sea creatures felled by the sun itself were highlights from Zarina's contribution to the dream. Was this what they meant with Vashdal's dream coming into this world on the day of Marhazanet? Perhaps Miret would be her monolith that guided her back to the hardened faith she once had.

The endless fiesta felt impervious to the outside world. In a sense, it was. Unless, of course, one of them welcomed it in. Miret was the one to disturb the nest, blindsiding Zarina completely. By her lover's demeanor alone, the Wildblood's heart began to race. “No.” was her immediate answer, lacking any inflection in tone or strength in her voice. Then, she repeated. “No.” this time she stressed the word like one would do when warning a house pet when it was clearly eyeing a vase it wanted to topple. “You don't have to.”

Miret considered for a moment, face pained, pensive, and... implacable. "It's my sister. I have to." Her brows came together and her fists clenched and unclenched. They sought Zarina's. "But... She hesitated for an extended moment. "It is so much more, as well." She shook her head, glancing at the idyllic scenes of alpine meadow through an arched window.

Zarina's nostrils flared and her gaze was avoidant while her lover's sought it. Her clenched jaw was her safety when it came to emotional outbursts and she was about to have one. But, the immense good she had experienced had done wonders. With a loud exhale of pure exasperation, she too sought Miret's eyes. “Tell me everything, then.”

Miret's face was a mixture of hesitation and resignation, and she took a breath. "Tarlon is both a beautiful and a horrifying place," she declared, starting with a simple truth that Zarina likely already knew. "From a primeval forest - the most hostile place on Sagand - we have carved a great civilization." Her lips pressed together in a tight smile and she nodded. "It is a place of rules and laws and traditions so that we soixé sil pa hax might resist our baser natures." She spoke differently than usual, with the practiced reverence one approached solemn childhood lessons.

"I believe in our purpose as it is told us, and so do my sister and Chad, and our other friends. You are good, Zarina." She shifted on the bed, drawing her legs up beneath her into a slouching kneel. "You see past our minor differences, but most people - human or yasoi or something else - fail. Why, we kill each other even within our own species, for any number of stupid reasons." She studied the other's eyes to make sure that this wasn't too much, that it wasn't too far off-topic. "We yasoi are outnumbered and we need to be strong and united - all of us - or we are at the mercy of people who see us as outsiders, who have shown a willingness to take our land, impose their laws, and treat us like lesser things." She shook her head. "Tarlon is our chance to not let that happen, the Grey Fleet is our chance to bring our Constantian cousins aboard, to have a chance to stand beside humans as respectful equals."

She let out a snort. "Of course, there are those among us who don't see it that way. They see that most of you don't stand as tall, both literally and in the Gift, and consider you as inferior as some humans consider us." She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "There are others who don't believe in us as a people, either. They see the Liberation as a conquest and think of how to enrich themselves." She grimaced. "We call them Huu'teshax because we are, quite frankly, terribly racist and cannot resist ascribing negative qualities that we see in ourselves to other peoples."

Miret rose all at once, pacing beside the bed. "Cascal and Esuul are of this ilk." Her heart pounded inside of her ribcage. How forbidden it felt to voice the thought, but it was out there and it was done. They couldn't see her here: not in Sawand. It was beyond their reach. It was free, truly. "Few know this," she continued, "and, of those who do, even fewer see it. They care nothing for the yasoi, nothing for Tarlon, and nothing for saving those in the Fallen Lands from the tyrants and addictions that ravage them." Miret shook her head. "It is only about their own power and their desire to live eternally as gods incarnate." There was more - much more - but she paused before getting to the meat of it.

Zarina made a point to stifle any emotion she could manifest as Miret displayed her deepest heart. Information and opinions that would be seen as scandalous by many, now all confided to a human of all people. She didn't show it, but the human had never felt closer than she did now. By all accounts, one of the "others" hearing any bit of this was a rarity. All she did was nod and keep her eyes on her partner, hand over her’s and her posture mimicking Miret's with only the sparks of wood from the hearth interjecting from time to time.

Her hand squeezed Miret's. “I believe it.” she said, eyes wide and clear windows to her honest soul. “The previous Gods in the world are dead. Now's the time for them to take everything. I understand.” she scooted closer until her shoulder met the Yasoi's, and she finally rested her head over it. “What are you going to do? I can't stop you. So I'll do the next best thing.”

"There was something that Tyrel and a couple of the other candidate Vyshtas discovered as girls, hidden on Tantas'ilwash." She was in narration mode now. Still, she stroked Zarina's hair. "Vyshta does not live as a true goddess because Esuul has usurped her: Esuul the sanguinaire, who lives eternally on the mortal plane, who recovered her leg with blood magic almost as soon as she became the Avatar."

She shook her head, adding a tiny bit of separation so that she could look her beloved in the eyes. "It's all a farce: girls chosen to act as figureheads and then killed off before they can ascend." Her fists balled. "Mine own sister, who saved me from my darkness, who lets me draw her blood so that I may draw breath, who would lay down her life for me and for her people." Miret's breathing came fast and agitated. "They will murder her. She is ten times the person they are and they will murder her because they've been doing it for a thousand or more years."

Miret's eyes flashed. "I believe in our people. I believe in our mission, but Cascal and Esuul do not. They are using us and allow none to become strong enough to challenge them." The fire tempered itself and she reached for Zarina to embrace her. "Tyrel is our best chance - the best we may ever have - but they are trying to kill her while making it look like the work of others." She swallowed. "She has always protected me. Now, I will protect her and protect this world from those tyrants." She had gone on at length, and checked to ensure that she had not said too much, that she had not turned Zarina away from her. She regarded the other, colour rising in her cheeks. "We're making a plan, you know..."

Zarina blinked, her mind locked on one specific notion: A God walked among them. A God that her own beloved wished to slay. A God at the head of the biggest threat to her home. The gravity of the situation was vertigo inducing. She had to scoot back and find the headboard to rest her back against. She needed a moment to just fathom it all. “Sanguinare Vyshta. Dami's will, Miret ...” her hands shivered a little. Hetraxa, plagued Threshers and Sand Wyrms felt so small and forgettable.

Then came the notion of a plan. It did not bring any real reassurance. A look of grave concern met Miret's gaze. “Why not just run? Hide? We have a nice place here ... They can all come. Your family. Mine too.”

Miret tilted her head. "Running's not like you," she remarked, concern sparkling within her eyes. "What's wrong, luush'elar?"

“I'm afraid of all that's coming. This is terrifying me, Luuchy.” Zarina hugged her own core. “I'll fight for my home but ... Gods? Monsters ... Someone I love's going to get hurt. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to do anything about it.”

Miret wrapped her arms around Zarina and kissed her cheek. "Hiding only postpones the bad and makes it inevitable." She held on for a few seconds. "I don't know either, and I wish we didn't have to fight. I wish there were no wars or diseases or selfish people who destroy and dominate, but there are, and I believe we're not the only ones who see what we need to do." She shook her head. "I know we're not the only ones."

Outside, in the distance, a herd of mountain goats picked their way across a slope. A large bird circled overhead, scanning the ground for its next meal. "You're strong, though - even stronger than me, just by a bit." She smiled and pinched a bit of air with her last statement. "Thing is," the sanguinaire continued, "I don't think we win by being stronger. I think we have to be smarter."

Zarina let herself fall into Miret's embrace. Safety, a sense of it anyway, was what she needed right now. Too many close calls, and it was only going to get more intense from there.

“You talked about a plan.” she remembered. “I'll help, if you will allow me. I'm scared enough to want to hide, but I won't run. Not from what matters.” as she uttered that final words, she turned her head to face Miret. “Also, you're just saying that ...” a faux-pouty face was forced. An attempt at drowning out the tension, just a little.

"Lying is a mortal sin in Tarlon," Miret replied, stone-faced. "They cut your tongue out for it if they catch you." She blinked, twice. "I meant what I said."

Zarina paused and squinted. A very brief staring contest ensued. “... No they don't.”

Miret opened her mouth wide and stuck hers out and the moment of mirth was well-needed, given their heavy subject matter. "So, basically, the plan," she chirped, "Right?" She flashed a smile that belied her own unease. "You ready for me to hit you with this stroke of genius?"

Zarina had anticipated something like this and nearly swiped that tongue once it came out! Luckily, Sanguinaire reflexes were a thing. “You know, they do have laws kind of like that in this country.” she smirked before relenting with a hearty chuckle. “Alright, hit me, Luuchy.”

"You'll have to catch me first!" she chirped, leaping free from the covers. "It's sunnier upstairs." She bounded out of the door with a cheeky smile and disappeared down the hallway. Her footsteps could be heard taking the stairs three at a time.

By the time that Zarina caught up with her, she was snuggled on the large sofa half-buried beneath a mound of pillows and blankets, grinning mischievously. "I have a question, oh dearest of dears," the yasoi asked, shifting a bit to make room. "And I promise I won't be mad, whatever your answer is." She batted her lashes. "Have you ever had to do a double take to tell me apart from my cousin?"

Zarina giggled and sighed in relief as she followed her playful puppy of a girlfriend. She wasn't as hasty and took the stairs two at a time instead with a relatively normal gait. Once she found her Yasoi buried in a grave of fluffy delight, she set her hands on her hips as if she was the responsible adult among the two. “On with it, my precious petal!” the fingersteeplers had taught her well, even the dramatic arm wave was on point.

The question, however, prompted her to furrow her eyebrows. She cocked her head and actually did a double take between the window taking in the last few rays of twilight and her lover. “It's not a trick question, right? The obvious reply is she obviously has one leg.” she shrugged, but then thought of it more. “You ... Do look similar. Very, very similar. I never thought to ask about that, actually.” she took a few steps forward to claim her seat among the pillows, a few inches from her sprawling Miret.

"Yes," the woman in the blankets admitted, the dying sun framing her in fire. "That leg is a dead giveaway." She pursed her lips momentarily. "In fact, it's the main thing that most people remember about their Avatar of Vyshta." She rolled her eyes and waved dismissively, before reaching out to squeeze Zarina from the side. "Hey luuchy," she whispered in the human's ear as she snuggled in "Wanna know something cool?"

Zarina was far too at ease to realize the dupe unfolding right before her eyes. Eyes so easily deceived, as was her ear as she took in that whisper. She sucked in her lips, the playfulness of the moment was very much to her liking. However, the smile she wore flattened. One thing she could rely on still was her nose. “You smell of curry.” she remarked, though it almost sounded like her answer to the Yasoi's question. The grin returned with narrowed, foxy eyes too. She leaned into the girl that had squeezed her, undoubtedly affectionate like a cat craving attention. “You should have told me that big goat tikka meal wasn't enough for you, Luuchy~” she stuck the tip of her tongue out. “You're really good with voices. First a rugged sailor, now my very heart? Did they teach you theatre back in Tarlon?”

Tyrel grinned. "Are you sayin' I'm a fraud?" she prodded, hugging Zarina anyway. "I missed you, luuchy-in-law, so I ate ‘something' special, just for the occasion." She made a teasing kissy face. "You saying you don't like it?"

"Hands off my Luush'elar, you one-legged strumpet!" Miret bounded out from a closet, and Tyrel only squeezed tighter. "Make me." The cousins - they almost may as well have been identical twins - sat to either side of Zarina. "This is part of the plan," Miret advised, kissing her beloved on the shoulder.

Zarina was essentially sandwiched. And by two near-identical people. It did not help that it was the very face she had fallen in love with. The feelings were beyond confusing. The kiss on the shoulder made her almost paranoid as to who had really done it. Fucking Tarlonese.

“To trap me between you two?” she squirmed, just a little, without any real desire to actually break free. This was her idea of a safe and happy life, with perhaps less kinkiness. In the midst of this internal crisis, the nature of this experiment hit her like a bag of bricks. “... You're going to pull a switcheroo.”

They both nodded at the same time. "We're the linchpin of it," said Probably-Miret. "But we're not alone," Probably-Tyrel added. now that she looked carefully, she could make out the subtle differences in their face shapes. Tyrel's was a bit more heart-shaped. Miret had ever so slightly sharper features.

"The idea," the former began - "My idea," interjected the latter, "so don't you get mad at her." - "is to buy myself some space and time, quite literally, so that I can visit the Temporal Chamber in Ersand'Enise, Tantas'Ilwash, the ruins of Sairax'Solcuun, or some other remnant of Toleus and accelerate through five years of my life."

Tyrel's smile faded as she spoke, perhaps realizing the cost. Miret reached around and through Zarina to squeeze her sister's hand reassuringly. "Thing is," the sanguinaire warned, "they're always watching her, unless she's somewhere outside of their reach, like here." Both Dichoras nodded glumly.

"So, we switch!" Tyrel declared, the worry in her tone and expression shining through the confidence she was trying to project. "We go someplace they can't track, not at the same time, of course." Miret continued.

"Teleport around a few times to throw them off." This was Tyrel.

"And then Miret elopes with you while Tyrel dutifully returns to Tarlon and plays ball."

Tyrel nibbled her lower lip, uncomfortable. She shook her head. "That's my least favourite part of it, luuchy." She brushed some hair from her eyes. "I've no right to ask so much and then just abandon you."

There was one question that lingered in Zarina's mind, one that kept mostly static in this sandwich. “The leg.” she reached out to touch the probably-Miret's very leg, almost protectively. “The ploy won't work without it. Or rather, with it. So you have an idea.” her jaw clenched, there was only one way to fool magically potent observers, and that was to not actually employ gimmicks. “I don't know how you pull this off. I'll admit, you'll fool these people with the face, voice and even the smells quite frankly. But ...” she shook her head. “You're not actually going to do that, right?”

The two Dichoras shifted uneasily, glancing at Zarina and each other in turn. "The solution is Ailet," offered Tyrel with an uneasy shrug. "I think there have to better ones. I'm... used to being how I am, but it isn't easy, I think." She regarded the others. "It isn't."

"You manage more than fine, and she's a professional fleshcrafter." Miret shook her head. "She made herself a new leg, and that's after a decade of not having one." Miret shrugged. "I can walk in your shoe for a few months. It won't kill me."

'No, but they will," Tyrel rejoined. She turned to Zarina. "She's determined to do it, and I don't think it's a terrible idea. It's our best shot at winning and gives us two shots at having an avatar ascend, but..." She twisted to regard her cousin. "There is so much risk and you'll have to spend months just learning how to walk well without always using magic."

"Well shit," Miret remarked, drawing into herself a bit. "Now you're giving me cold feet."

"Plural," Tyrel reminded her before turning to Zarina, pained. "Zazz, here we are on the precipice and I don't think I can ask her to do this, and you should have a say too. There has to be something better we can do..."

Zarina swallowed, the very hand that caressed Miret's then went to her own. Just imagining the process of amputation and rebuilding prompted a visceral reaction out of her. For a moment, she felt lightheaded. An odd reactions from a wildblood, but she had yet to have a true maiming baptism. She dreaded it, truthfully. “I-I hate this.” she spoke what was exactly on her mind. “That's a horrible thing. Fuck. Eshit Fuck.” she sank into the pillow, pupils thinned and locked into the sunset.

She swallowed again. “How are you ... Even sure it will work? If that witch has the power already- I don't even really know this Vyshta stuff. It's all so-” she didn't have the words for it. In her moment of increased stress, she sought Miret's hand. Well, who she definitely believed to be Miret. Her eyes then found her lover's. “It'll put you in so much danger, Luuchy. If they find out. If they even get suspicious ...”

It was Tyrel who answered, however. "That's why we have this bolt hole, then." She nodded slowly. "I do hope we can find a better way." Her gaze found Miret's. "I don't think you realize how much I lean on magic to keep up with everyone else."

Miret shifted in the covers, kicking them free, and stared down at her knees and her feet. A shiver ran through her. "You are under no -"

She raised a hand to cut off Tyrel's protest and the latter shifted as well, blankest sloughing away. "I know, suunei." She wiggled her toes and flexed her knees. "No more than a year?" she questioned, and the Avatar of Vyshta nodded slowly. "And you trust that sketchy four-eyes?"

Tyrel swallowed. "With my life, believe it or not." Unable to sit any longer, she stood, crutches hurtling across the room from where they'd been left beside a potted palm. "And in terms of how I take over, well... there are two theories." She began to pace and Miret made to tug Zarina to her feet as well.

Outside, the sun shimmered orange and fuchsia on the plains and snowcapped peaks and the handful of distant shepherd's huts trickled smoke from their chimneys. "You, uh... mind if we walk?" Tyrel prodded weakly. "I think better on my foot."

There was a delay in reaction time for Zarina. Far too much information at a scale she dreaded to think of. Not to mention the initial fear, now made all too real as she paid far too much attention to the amount of legs in the room. She did get up and held Miret's hand, tightly. “One year ...” her latest fixation. She peered Tyrel's way. “Suunei. What does Chad think?” he voice wasn't as shakey. Meek and considerate, as someone who could sympathize with the poor man that wasn't even in the room to discuss this.

"He tells me that he is alright with this," Tyrel replied, "that he can live a year away from me if it means that we have a lifetime together." She shrugged. "He swears that he will be by Miret's side. He will protect her and trust that I will return on time to protect them both."

She took a couple of steps and tilted her head in the direction of the balcony door. She needed to walk. She needed to breathe. Thankfully, the couple was amenable to it, and so they stepped outside and she leapt over the balcony and they followed, all three landing in crouches. Tyrel was out ahead of them, her one-legged strides long and quick, her black leggings shimmering as they picked up the vivid colours of the sun's dying rays.

She twisted about as they began to catch up and her eyes were red-rimmed. "Ypti, I'm sorry," she mewed. "Really, I am." She shook her head. "He's saying it, but I can see in his eyes that he thinks it's the end, that he worries it's goodbye." She would not let them see her face. "I'm not strong enough to stop them." She shook her head again, adamantly. "You're not." She twisted and gestured at Miret with her chin. "Neither are you -" She found Zarina. "-at least, not as you are now."

"Suunei," interjected Miret, and Tyrel slowed for a moment in acknowledgement. "Luuca?"

"Shut up." Miret hurried until she was pacing her cousin. "You're wallowing and you're not a wallower. I make my own choices, you know, and so does Chad."

"Because of me," Tyrel wept. "Because I'm the thing they wanna kill and because you wanna protect me." She swallowed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You shouldn't have to."

"It is for you," admitted Miret, "but also for us, and also for everybody who will keep suffering as long as those tyrants draw breath."

The mountain meadow was peaceful in the dusk: dew laying upon the ground, the air fresh and crisp, jagged grey-brown boulders strewn about as if by Oraff's hand. "You're the best chance we have, and you're a good one, so we're throwing what we have behind you. We're here to lift you, just like you'll lift us, just like you always have."

The Avatar of Vyshta, stripped of all her fancy clothing and titles, was just a scared young woman with too much weight on her shoulders. She stopped abruptly and sat on one of those boulders, staring out at the mountain pass and breathing. She swallowed. She turned to regard the couple and her eyes flashed. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she apologized. "We can do it," she affirmed. "I shall be empress. Sit with me a moment -" She patted the large rock beside her and looked, especially, at Zarina. "- and I'll tell you how."

Zarina kept silent. It was not her moment, but Tyrel's. Instead, she basked in the foreign land she had grown familiar with. The climate was gentle and the sights worthy of a few pages in a pretentious novel. She wasn't ignoring Tyrel, but decided to not look at the woman at her worst. She deserved to keep her dignity. She did, however, look in Miret's direction each time she spoke, fingers interlocked with her's.

When beckoned by the empress to be, she sat just below the offered stone, using instead as backrest as her eyes were taken by the sunset. A perfect view, her Innkeeper had once mentioned, of the descending sun between two major peaks. It was the end of a beautiful day and the end of the comfortable days she got to enjoy with her friends, family and Miret.

“For what it's worth-” a quarter-lidded glance was dedicated to Tyrel. “I think you have a special opportunity with everyone at the school. Gods-among-men are being replaced by the younger and ambitious, and we have this opportunity to take the thrones too. Especially if we're in it together.” she undid the bun from before, letting her hair flow in the mild mountainous breeze. “You've a chance to mould more than Tarlon, but the world. And if Luuchy believes in you-” any chance was a good one to take in her lover's gaze, and so she did. “I do as well. And with greater foresight than just Tarlon, we can make a difference. I think.”

Tyrel paused, her chest rising and falling slowly. She took in the scents and the sights. She heard and felt the breath and warmth of the two people close to her. "Thank you, Zazz." She smiled into the burgeoning twilight, face appreciative. "I needed that." She nodded. "It is our time now." She felt more certain of it after her brief crisis of confidence than ever before. If Zarina, who owed her nothing, was willing to stake her life on this plan, to be part of it, then how could she doubt the sincere words of Miret and Chad? How she could just take off running right into the sky! How immense she felt here, on this mountain in Sawand.

The Avatar of Vyshta smiled. "It all begins," she began, "with a little window - one that opens only once a millennium - during which the Gods are mortal and might be born again." How the thought of it filled her. How it made her heart race! "And that is an opportunity not only for me, but for any who may seize it."

The Hourglass Order

Miret's fingers found Zarina's and intertwined them. "In my heart, always just for you, luush'elar." She began leading Zarina over to a picnic basket she'd hidden, and she took a moment to extricate it from the bushes. "Work, too, though," she sighed. "Always work, even when I'm on leave."

Unceremoniously yet with incongruous grace, she plopped herself down on the grass and patted a spot beside her. "I forgot the blanket," she remarked sheepishly and, for a moment, there seemed to be something small about her - vulnerable, even - as she looked up at Zarina.

“Well, it's an honour to have your scarce break time dedicated to yours truly.” answered Zarina, choosing to not dwell on either subjects. One made her far too many butterflies and the other forced the dregs of anxiety she bottled up back up.

A seat was taken on the dry grass, announcing the end of Dorrad and the hottest days having yet to come. “Luuchi.” a gentle hand remained over the Yasoi's and a mellifluous voice beckoned Miret's attention. “How are Tyrel and Chad? Without you around ...” then, a light squeeze of the hand. “Are you alright?”

Miret leaned in. "No," she whispered. "They're watching me, so smile as if I've just told you a funny secret."

“Pfft.” Zarina immediately blurted out, even letting a few spittles bombard her unfortunate luush'elar. Bent over as if getting over a flabbergasting joke, she passed her hand over her hair to comb it over her ear. “If you want to talk seriously, I know a few places.” she whispered, eyes narrowed to feign some foxy look, suggesting she had teased or something equally as playful. “Or we can just enjoy.”

Miret forced a blush, for such was her control over her face. "We totally should," she squealed. She pulled back, standing and twirling on the spot. "Just me and you and not a care in the world." She breathed a deep breath in and out, extending a hand. "Let's do it!" For a moment, her eyes told more: "Please," they said, "right now. I really need this."

Zarina sighed, just to put up the facade as the one in control. An attempt at reassurance in a time where many felt like their fates were held in the palms of men they never met. After a tap on her knee she hoisted herself up, reaching for Miret's hand half-way there. “Thanks, love.” a quick pelvis thrust with her hands on the small of her back prompted a light crack of her spine. “You and me. And my hippo. I need to feed it, actually.” she shrugged. “Did I tell you how it almost saved a platoon's life?”

Miret arched an eyebrow in curious amusement. "Oh really?" she chirped, "Do tell." With that, she squeezed Zarina's palm and made to follow her wherever she might lead the pair.

“It put the King of the Sea to sleep.” answered Zarina with a whimsical and dramatic voice. “I would likely not be in one piece either if it weren't for that nascent warrior.”

With a quick glance to both sides, she made both herself and her lover zip through space-time to land in her bedroom. “As comfy as it is, this isn't the place.” the Virangish rushed over to the opened cage where a sleeping house hippo was plucked out to instead sleep in a handbag loaded with fresh lettuce. “Biby - check. Now then, hand!” this time she offered it whilst keeping up with the inherited habit.

This time a portal was opened and ... They were on a mountain and behind them a lonesome cottage. “Welcome to my Dorrad villa.”

Miret's eyes widened and she turned on the spot. "W-where are we?" She sucked in a great big breath of the fresh cold air. "I mean... it's gorgeous!" She seemed, at least momentarily, at ease.

“Sawand.” Zarina smiled cheekily, tugging at her partner's hand as they approached the building. “I'm willing to bet even Tarlon doesn't have folks in this little prize I've won.” and soon they were inside the warm, homely establishment.

Miret twirled about as she followed her luush'elar in. "Sawand," she enthused. "Whew-ee." Her eyes darted one way and then the next, taking in the unique architecture, the cozy homeliness, and Zarina and her odd but adorable little pet. "Was this from the Trials, Luuchii?"

“M'hm.” there was a front desk, unmanned and neat. “Ashok is probably getting provisions.” she mumbled to herself, deciding that waiting was pointless and unhooked one of the keys from the board. “The rooms are great, we get out own fireplace if it gets chilly.” again she held her luush'elar's hand, guiding her to room 3 of the cottage inn.

It was as homely as could be with a double bed, a kitchenette in an adjcent room, proper latrines and an expensive begemot rug. And, of course, the promised fireplace surrounded by stone. Zarina placed her bag on the rocking chair and sat on the bed. “If you need a place to crash, this room is always kept vacant.”

Miret curled up beside her. "It's lovely," she remarked softly, eyes roving about as she snuggled in. There seemed to be something of a wistful air to her. "A place of our - your - own." She smiled at Zarina. "I'm sorry for being gone so suddenly and so long," she sighed. "You deserve better." Her eyes darted about the wonderful room again.

No words came from Zarina, only a blush. And then a tight squeeze of her arm around Miret, tugging her close. “You came back, that's all that matters.” she laid a peck on her luush'elar's forehead. “What's been troubling you, Luuchii?”

"Heh," Miret snorted. "I almost died." She shrugged and shook her head ruefully, cracking a sad little smile. "After all you've seen and been through and all that I have, that doesn't sound like such a big deal, does it?"

She sighed. "I was doomed, to tell you the truth, and so was Chad and so were all of us if Tyrel hadn't arrived." She bit her lower lip. "It got me thinking that, aside from you, what do I have to show for my life? What have I done with it?" She shook her head again, tightly, this time. "I'm tired of war. I wanna take my family, my friends, and you, and... get out." She paused and shrugged, shooting a hopeful glance up at Zarina.

Instead of giving her opinion or pushing back against the negative thoughts plaguing Miret, Zarina merely caressed the distressed woman's head, focusing on the minute little locks of hair to neatly straighten back behind the pointed ear. “Mmm.” was her response to Miret's wants. “But we can't simply abandon our homes, now can we?” her head tilted as she peered down at the curled up Yasoi.

“I'm being called home. Likely because of what's happening in that Coffee Island - Palapar.” lips pursed and hands clenched harder. “It's coming soon. The war. And all I'm worried about, honestly, is the same as you. What have I done of real note in my life? Not because I think I'm going to die ...” although the fear lingered, even as she put on her brave face. “I owe it to my family to fight for them and become something. The same way you owe a lot to your family - Tyrel and Chad.”

Miret managed a quick, nervous smile. "You always know just what to say," she admitted, forcing a deeper breath and then a second. She smiled again, a bit more relaxed this time, but it faded quickly. "Tyrel is being called there too," she offered, "but it's a trap." She shook her head. "She disobeyed orders in Yarsoc and..." Miret trailed off for a moment. "She tore that queen - the one who'd toyed with Chad and I - apart like a plaything."

The Tarlonese shrugged. "She saved us all and won the battle and afterwards -" She rolled her eyes. "- it was retroactively sanctioned." She sat up and crossed her legs, running some fingers thoughtfully through the hair that Zarina had untangled. "You should've heard them: all the soldiers chanting her name." She scowled. "The emperor and the empress and high command will not like it. it is the job of the Avatar of Vyshta to die before her twenty-fifth birthday, and that is only a few years away now." She knit and unknit her fingers nervously. "I don't know what they'll do to my sister there," she mewed, "but it'll be bad - another bad thing in a stupid conflict all about people's pride and money - and I have to find a way to stop it."

Zarina absently stroked Miret's hair and cheek as her worries and recounts were being aired out. Once again, there was only listening with the occasional little affirmative sound to show she was paying attention. A light inhale, stronger than her idle breathing, came in reaction to the revelation of Tyrel's presence in Palapar. A crucial piece of information, should Zarina actually go there.

“You're hurting enough, Luuchy. It shouldn't always be you taking action. It shouldn't be you always getting hurt.” delicate brushes of her thumb over Miret's cheek slowly guided the Yasoi's gaze to Zarina's. “But if you must take on the world itself like a raging bull, then I'll do it with you. At worst, we both die horribly together.” she grinned and chuckled halfheartedly. “But, promise me one thing.” she stared right into Miret's eyes, digging to find her very soul. “No matter what happens with this war, you won't hate me, and I won't hate you.”

Miret was a strong woman, or had always appeared so to the world at large. She had won the Trials of Ersand'Enise. She had ended the tyrannical reign of Queen Talit in Tanso and served with distinction in Yarsoc, all before her twentieth birthday. She had shared herself with many men and some women. She had spoken before crowds of thousands and embraced the empress herself.

To be small, to be vulnerable, was not something that she ever got to do anymore, except with a very precious few she had known since childhood... and Zarina. "Speak for yourself," she snorted weakly. "When I go, it'll be either out of boredom when I'm a thousand year old elder sanguinaire, or in a blaze of glory." She smiled softly, ironically. "You're welcome to join me in either one."

The fact that their countries were enemies was not lost on her either. "I could never hate you," Miret replied softly. "I even love your laundry habits... or how you hog all the covers in bed."

A fire crackled in the hearth, picturesque mountains and blue sky filled the windows, and they were both away from conflict and politics and the worry of what others might think, at least for the time being. Miret leaned in and kissed Zarina. "Most of all, though, I love this."

“I do not!” Zarina protested without any real conviction to be found in her voice. “I just move a lot when sleeping all comfy-like. Doesn't happen often.” with that, she tugged her lover closer as to actually lie down on the guest bed for some much needed cuddles. And then a kiss.

They were to stay like this for a while. Minutes? Hours? They didn't count. This was just too nice. “What's the plan, then? If things do get worse and worse? When do we just ... Stop? Do we even?”

Miret shrugged. "I expect shit'll hit the fan, and a lot of it, and soon." She shrugged weakly. "I expect I'll fight back and I hope you'll join me." She took a deep breath and managed a brave smile. "I already know others who will." She shook her head. "Not gonna let a little cabal of beard-stroking old men tell me what to do my entire life. For now, though," the yasoi concluded, "let's just spend some time. Let's just... love each other."

Zarina flinched. “Why would shit hit a fan?” of all the things Miret had said, this just stuck. “Is that one of your Tarlonese sayings?” a cheeky grin came with the remark. But soon she settled back into a tone-appropriate demeanor. “Of course.” was her answer with conviction, even if she was ignorant to most machinations from the upper echelons of society.

Hours passed. It had been dark out in Sawand for a while now. Zarina had fallen asleep with an ease she hadn't experienced in a long time. The Yasoi she clung to may have had a role to play in that. Very peaceful. It'd be the footsteps outside of the room that woke her up. “Mmmm ...”

The Hourglass Order

It was on the eighteenth day of Miret'thilan'dichora's absence that Zarina made it up to the attic and opened the back window to let some air in. The room had formerly been occupied by Jamboi and, all-too-often, Penny. With the pair having gone on extended leave under circumstances that most whispered had to do with the bulge in the latter's belly, the room had sat more or less empty, though it was still Ashon's space and felt like it.

Perhaps Zarina had needed to take her mind off of the happenings in Mezegol or the summons of her mother or Marceline's ongoing retreat from the world. Maybe she was just cleaning because it needed to be done. the space was getting rather musty. In any event, she pushed open the window and there was a loud 'thump' that made her jump slightly, though she likely never would've admitted such except in the company of her closest friends.

There, handing from a tree and swinging gently back and forth was a gift wrapped with a neat little bow and a somewhat crude but very fetching little smiley face pinned to a clipboard. She recognized the penmanship - or lack thereof - immediately.

Upon seeing what had made flinch, she re-thought the notion of sharing this to even her best of friends. There are enough embarrassments to poke fun out of her anyway. That said, as silly as the situation was, the hanging gift with a message dangling by it. Her first instinct was not to seize it and instead look around her, the outside. Up, down, left, right, even under her feet. She was sure this wasn't there twenty minutes ago when walked home.

At the absence of any presence, Zarina's amber eyes took in the familiar quirks of the message dedicated to her. A simple smile, one that communicated the author without a single word. Another peek of precaution out the window, one dedicated to the tree more than anything - tree people, a hassle - before giving up and taking in the spoils of her discovery.

With the smiley-message put to the side after a quick check, the avaricious part-dragon couldn't help herself. She pulled the ribbon and started to neatly undo the wrapping ... Until five seconds in and she got impatient. To shreds.

Inside was a strand of Osaian ribbonwood, imbued with manas in the manner of Tarlonese woodweaving. It was thin and flexible and slightly translucent. Attached to it was a small note that twirled in the breeze as Zarina held it.

"Dear Luuchii,

I miss you more than words can tell: your cute face and your hidden sweetness and your big ideas, so I begged my aunt to make you this so that we could be together. It's more than just figurative, too! The ribbonwood is a sanguinaire of a plant and it siphons manas. I let it bite me and take some of mine (maybe a fair comeuppance for a bloodsucker - now I know how it feels). They're in there and they can help whatever you use this for. I love you forever and always and I hope it helps you until we can be together again and for long after that.

Love,

Miret.

P.S. Have you done your laundry lately?"

“Nope.”

Zarina answered in yet another show of infantile habits. All with a massive smile that stressed her features, leaving her cheeks reddened from the extertion. The note was clutched close to her chest, her breathing exceptionally tranquil, as she leered at the peculiar plant. A sanguinaire plant, how macabre. And the visceral nature of it piqued curiosity. With some hesitation, she produced a gardening glove from one of the attic boxes she had stored and reached her hand out to the thing. “Now I need to figure out how to not have you eaten by my little feathered and fur babies, Miret.” she chuckled.

The plank was... a plank, having ceased sucking blood around the time it had been felled and carved. There was, fortunately, no danger, though its manas did seem to respond do hers immediately, trying to assimilate her colony, failing, and then settling for communing into it.

It was not too much longer, however, before Zarina found herself in the cellar, rooting around through baskets of unwashed laundry that she'd usually have used magic on or paid a washerwoman to clean. In the very back corner, after lifting one up, she noticed that something about it was 'off'. There was something solid in the middle, thumping around.

After a bit of digging and eventually meeting an anomalous addition in the dirty laundry bin - she did not revel in it whatsoever - Zarina plucked the next step to the treasure hunt. At first she was concerned with touching any of these, and still used her gardening glove. But then she realize this was Miret. Why so much paranoia? Rid of any unnecessary precautions, she extracted the next 'gift'.

There was a head of Eluuxo inside, only, it had a piece of paper with a little angry face pinned to it. "This is to remind you of what we will do when I'm back," the back of the note said. "Look your best for me, hmm?"

It was once again signed 'Miret', only in yasoi script this time.

"P.S. Have you studied for your Tinctures & First Aid exam?"

Zarina could only muster a dull stare at the cabbage. She dreaded the idea of somebody else accidentally stumbling upon it. The vegetable used for aphrodisiacs was quickly hidden away before she heeded the next 'clue.'

“Hah. Never a boring moment with you.”

Next stop was the the study where most of her course work and assignments were kept, including the practice tinctures. She opened one of the cubards under a shelf to find the box full of needles, threads, dried reagents and a few old instruction manuals.

There, she found another note and a smiley face with glasses and buckteeth. "Go to the library and take out that book we talked about, lazy bum. I love you."

Zarina rolled her eyes and capitulated to the mocking smiley's demands. The library was, well, a few feet away. The challenge was to recall what book was mentioned-

“Ah, right.”

The Greedy Dragon's Hoard, a young adult's novel about a dragon with immense wealth, a harem and the most beautiful of beasts. Eventually, one of his concubines burned down his den, and the melted gold melded into his scales, turning him gold and truly immortal. The book is mostly a variety of fables, ending with the dragon being far too heavy to leave his den. As to why they talked about it- Zarina was teasingly compared to the main character for reasons.

Zarina dug for the book and couldn't find it. Miret had returned it a few weeks ago, before leaving. Instead, where the book had been, was another note: "The Grand Library, dork. ♥"

Zarina let out a frustrated sigh. An exaggerated response given she was always smiling.

To the Grand Library! Where she sought the same book.

It was not so very long after that Zarina found herself at the Grand Library. It smelled of books and dust that sparkled in the Dorrad sunlight. Voices echoed up through the foyer and there seemed - always - to be a slight stench of pigeons at the uppermost levels, where they congregated about the great glass dome.

It was on one of these levels that she located her book, but she found more than that. There was a little bottle of plushtail oil behind it, with a little note attached carrying a worried face.

"Dear Zarina,

Please remember to drink this when it's that time of the month. I love you no matter what, but you're better when you're not trying to eat me... well, you know what I mean.

Love,

Miret.

P.S. Have you cleaned the old dragon stables lately?"

Zarina took advantage of the tranquil nature of the library to give herself a brief break. Plushtail in hand, she contemplated whether to still take this game with joy or vexed that her lover hadn't just come and said hello. The thoughtful nature of the gifts and quips made her lean toward the former still.

After a quarter-hour of putting around, she headed to the animal farm - although not before killing two birds with one stone and acquiring meats from the local butcher. Dried, harder meats that were cheaper and quite lean. A bit too lean to be enjoyed by gourmands, anyway. The sack over her shoulder contrasted with her green silks, earning herself a few stares by gossiping lordlings and snarky commoners alike. She'd be lying if she said it didn't affect her a little, but she was keen on feeding her beasts herself.

Her allotted stables held three dragons: Alqasas, Thawra and now Sassy Xiao. The eldest, Alqasas napped and had grown wise to rushing in for food, knowing it was going to come eventually. Thawra was more like an eager dog - always wanting attention, and being hand fed. Being the smaller of the two Froabas, she developed quite the needy tendencies.

Then there was Sassy Xiao, raised wild but still a chick when taken in. She reportedly made daily messes in the brief time it had been housed.

“Oi, sit.” the rambunctious critter nearly lunged at its master out of a show of affection, but the size made the distinction between playing and predation very muddied. “No. NO!” Zarina took a quick step to the side and pointed her finger over the Emperor Kite's snout, nearly poking between her eyes. “Relax, and open wide, princess.”

In time, the three dragons were fed. While Zarina did so regularly, and went about all of her usual cleaning tasks as one might expect of a responsible dragon owner, she only went over the unused stalls once a month... on a good month. The last time had been shortly before Miret had been sent off to war.

Unsurprisingly, she found a smiling face gently carved into the cleaning bucket. Inside was a note left by her lover and a small bottle.

"This is Luudus Leaf shampoo. The Luudus plant grows in colonies along the southern edge of Nanoi, where it is rainiest, on coasts and islands of swampy inland lakes. It is a writhing vine and is known to eat people when it can. Harvesting it is an immense act of bravery and personal risk - no, I didn't get this one myself. I bought this from a vendor - and seen as a symbol of the importance of personal fitness and beauty. It is also the best shampoo that money - or a few fingers - can buy and will continue to clean your hair for two weeks after applied.

This is a reminder to always work as hard as I know you do, luuchii, but to look after yourself as well. While I'm right beside your snoring self as I write this, I imagine it'll be about a month until you find it and I hope you won't be too mad at me for being away for so long. I only ever cared about Tyrel and (kinda) Chad before I met you. You helped me care about myself and my future, about causes greater than me, about people who weren't yasoi, and - most importantly - about you. Do me a favour, would you? Space these out two days when you do the rest. If everything goes to plan, you'll have the best surprise of all waiting at the end of the last one."

Love you always,

Miret

P.S. Have you checked that Stella has been replacing the grinder filter regularly at your Proving Grounds location?"

The first paragraph was taken in like all the other letters, sat comfortably inside of Xiao's pen with the needy dragon's head rested over both Zarina's legs. Idle strokes kept the beast soothed and in partial slumber while the other held the longer note. It was the second paragraph that warranted a few pause. Embarrassment, loneliness, regret, want, fear. So many emotions flooded in at once. Her forehead met the base of her thumb, eyes closed in an effort to contain her feelings. She ended up letting only a sniffle escape.

“I miss you so much.”

Zarina whispered, prompting the semi-conscious Xiao to perk up for a second before falling back into comfort. “Other side of town, huh? Little shit.” the moment ended with a smile.

Respecting the request, the young beastmaster took the opportunity to do some errands - yet another task she usually delegated to hired work - by making the rounds through the shops and finally stopping at the Proving Grounds where her next message had be found. The last for the day.

The next day, after class, it was the Biology classroom with the fake skeleton - or at least she thought it was fake - where she'd find the next smiley-clue inside the skull.

Then it was the very first kiosk she had opened for Zenobucks. Inside the bin full of discarded coffee bags they returned to the merchants every two months for a light discount on extra shipping fees. The smile had a particularly smug look to it.

Initially she wanted to call it early if the clue hadn't led her back to her house. This one was easy to find: Riesco's mane had been neatly braided without Zarina's knowledge, and inside one of the braids was the next clue. There was no smile, instead the horse turned to perform his signature tongue-wag mockery. It never failed to make his rider burst into laughter.

Early in day two, the Virangish treasure seeker found herself at the Arboretum, by the tree where she and Miret had first met. Where she sought the shade after a botched three-legged race. “Where it all began. Corny. I love you so much.” she spoke to herself as she got to the tree and just took the chance to sit and watch the dawn kiss the city of magic.

While some of the surprises had been prepared and left waiting before Miret's departure, others had been slipped into place by a series of accomplices: a Seviin here, a Tku there, a Tommy at some point.

There didn't seem to be much here except a pretty view to make Zarina wax sentimental. That was when she detected a rustle in some nearby bushes. A quick energy sweep revealed no interloper - only the telltale signs of someone masking their energy signature.

“Oi.”

In the blink of an eye, Zarina stood just a foot away from the bush, arms crossed and eyes glaring down at it. Her position was such that the morning sun cast quite the shadow over the bush and whatever was hiding inside. “Where I'm from, we castrate peeping Toms.” she smirked.

There was nobody there, oddly. Zarina looked around in tandem with an energy sweep and saw a note nailed to the tree that she could've sworn hadn't been there before. When she approached it, it read:

"Look up."

She mouthed it as she read and... there was more than her own voice. Gazing down at her from the branches, hair dangling like curtains to either side of her face, was Miret with a soft smile and cheeks flushed with colour.

“Nice try.”

Zarina cackled and fought against the urge valiantly ... Before obliging with a swift and twitchy movement of her head. “Oi!” she called out as she spotted Miret. “Do you have a loicence for that tree there?” she asked with a mediocre Enthish accent. Hands on her hips, she expected the object of her affections to come to her after trekking for two days.

Miret dropped right down on top of her. "Here comes!" she squealed, hoping to be caught.

Zarina scooped her up in a bridal carry and the yasoi laughed, leaning in for a kiss. "Sostrong," she cooed, "My hero!"

A total fluke, Miret's voice made Zarina's knees weak and the shows affection reduced her tense muscles into mush, and yet she caught the trickster. “Hah. I may or may not dabble in some shellfish lifting.”

She batted her eyelashes as they parted and she was let back onto her feet. "Like my little scavenger hunt?"

Holding Miret in such a manner, however, quickly got embarrassing. Far too manly of a role! And she feared her increasingly permanent bitchface was going to make her into one of these easily identified sapphic phenotype the girls would incessantly gossip over. Gently she let her lover back down with careful consideration. “Uh, yeah, a date's never boring with you, is it? I'm just going to say it, I can't one up you.” she raised her hands in surrender.

But she didn't keep the distance for long. A quick step forward and she was brushing up to her sorely missed partner. “What brings you here, Luuchi? All this way, just for me? I'm flattered, but really?”

The Hourglass Order

---

---

Dear Honourable Prospect,
Has your life taken a turn? Do you seek thrills you have long since desensitized yourself to? Or perhaps you wish to start anew?
Whatever your creed may be, one of Sipenta's mythical and lost marvels beckons the ambitious, curious and desperate alike. Deep in the frigid tundras lies the oldest gem of this world.
An expedition like none other in history to unearth a legend that can make dreams into tangible reality. A chance for a legacy. A chance for a new beginning. A new era.
The Abyssal Forge awaits you.

Whether it was morbid curiosity, a search for answers or a last chance to find meaning, you signed your soul to the once in a millenia opportunity to be the first to discover the Abyssal Forge. Its secrets beckon so sweetly, the potential infinite. The way you obtained your invitation could be interpreted as fate, a pure chance encounter, but at the back of any reasonable person’s mind, you wonder if this wasn’t all predetermined.

All invitation holders were brought to an innocuous meeting point, different for each. One was in the centre of Varrahasta inside a famous inn, another in a shed in the middle of nowhere Meatu. The response to their signed letter was a simple map with no other instructions. Most would be suspicious, but why even sign the letter if one wouldn’t even entertain the opportunity? There were no signs of danger after rigorous scouting, after all.

But the forces behind the plot had no intention of being discovered. Once in the respective rendez-vous points were found, the sensation of ants on every part of the body overtook even the strongest among you. Resistance was futile, magic had been stifled far too quickly compared to the anti-magic devices encountered in the past. Before long, the ceaseless, horrible sensation reached the head, numbing the mind as it did the body. You would awaken some time later somewhere unfamiliar, reeking of old and dust.

---

“Bzzzzztt.”

♫

You could hear the sound of static near you. It repeated in regular intervals. The sensation of ants was still there but duller. You could move, but your magic was near impossible to tug out without causing your extremities to ache and your body to falter. As you come to more and more, your vision becomes less blurry and the source of the electrical noise becomes apparent: A wooden box with gold-coloured metal meshes of a circular shape. A contraption like you’ve never seen before, barring perhaps a few similarities to Sirrahi-tech, but far more rustic. In short, it was a radio.

“Bzzzt. I- Bzzzt. See you are awake. Good.”

The box produced a masculine voice. It sounded mundane, unfamiliar to you, though the grainy filter and static veiled the finer details and intonation. Upon focusing on the box, you notice a set of egg-sized metal capsule containers surrounding it. Three for a couple of groups, and two for another. As you keenly gain in awareness, you easily realize there is one for each person with you. Along with them was an equal amount of oil lanterns.

“Before we begin, open these eggs and swallow the pill inside. Lest you wish to perish slowly as did countless others.”

---

Whether you were already outdoors or you found a window to the outside, you would at some point see where you truly are. You had likely heard of Halge Larchelon before coming, the city known to have housed the first ever great forge in history. Now a large and dead ruin in the shape of a crater. That isn’t to say what created the crater was the cause of the lifelessness, but rather this city was once built inside of it with a large tower, one compared to the Forked Tower, looming over all.

You could not see the sun, nor even the sky that you knew for that matter. A thick fog contained the borders and spread about in the city while the heavens were perpetually swallowed by a blueish cloud with only a dim light source East of the tower that never seemed to move. There was the occasional lightning and thunder clap from these unusual clouds.

It was cold. Not freezing, just cold. The wind felt unnatural, almost stagnant as if it had been the same gust circulating for a long time.

A city ruled by a dark, featureless blue, dull grey and unimpressive brown. No life to be found, no home to preserve, and thus nothing to love, hate or feel passion over. And with the absence of all life, death too became stagnant. Memories now mere dust with nothing being built for thousands of years. Nothing.

A city that even the Gods had forgotten.

GM Note

You have all been placed in different parts of the city, forming three initial groups. These will not remain for the entirety of the adventure, but they’re a start to avoid a huge cluster of people in one place.

The groups are as follows:
Juulet, Leon, Kaureerah. @Jumbus@Force and Fury
Seviin, Xiuyang, Yuliya. @Suicharte@Emeth
Yvain, Pluurii. @jasbraq

You will get descriptions of each place you are in within your distinctive threads.

Interacting with the radio:
You may ask the radio questions and interact with it. If you address the radio, all other participants will be able to hear your question and the answer. There will be a specific thread dedicated to interacting with the radio, while other threads will be hidden. Other means to communicate will be discovered as the story progresses.

The Hourglass Order

♫

Silence. Not even a gust of wind. Everything had died in what was once called Viiqii. All that remained was a crater of salted land and rapidly decaying matter. Matter that was once the men and women of this village, now gone without a trace. Cawiuo Zast, Selena Creighton and Qelen the elder were among them too. But what had claimed the very last morsel of this land’s soul was not the horror that had made it its nest. An amalgamation of the worst things in the Hells had baptized it with his arrival. Now, it is permanently scarred.

Arcaan’toras’aamii had witnessed it all and managed to keep his head. He would never know whether Belthagor allowed it or if he was insignificant enough to not even be noticed. The once promising land he had hoped to leverage for his clan’s long term prosperity became ground zero for the most repulsive and monstrous thing he had ever seen. His eyes were hollow and his gait reduced to a limp despite being physically fine.

He found his tent an hour later, partially destroyed. Inside was Yamo’nabal’fiin, kneeling before a body wrapped in blankets. His eyes were red from tears he could not hold back anymore as they met Arcaan’s. The Aamii did not have to see what was in the wrappings to know, but he still endeavoured to see. Suulii was in it, many veins bulging all over her body with her severed leg infested with now decaying plant life. Her eyes were closed, her chest did not move with a stab wound in its centre and she looked cold.

In a land where all distinguishing factors were devoured and brought to death, where it was neither hot nor cold, where nothing lived or died, the world had never felt colder for these two men.

Esmii’nesta’tawar had vanished without a trace while Niallus Saberhagen fought off the Smiler until the bitter end to save his friend. Both were considered dead, leaving many friends and family to grieve without bodies to bury or cremate.

Few, if any, would know what truly happened in Viiqii. History would sooner forget it over the grander war that was to come and the inevitable calamities the Grand Demon Belthagor was preparing for Sipenta. But those that survived, the precious few with still their bodies and minds, will remember this day. Where the beginning of the end was birthed.

It came from the Bog.

---

Until last year, the world’s balance was held and controlled by a select few people. Some held more weight than others, but their roles in world events were undeniably above any other formal ruler of the world. Some called them the Gods of the mortal plain, others thought of them as none other than mere tyrants playing the role of a God. But now the biggest players were off the board.

Hugo Hunghorasz - Slain by everyone that mattered.

The Emperor of Nikan - Slain by his own brother.

The Silent Monk - Slain by his own hand.

Optimate Pious XIII & Optimate Justine III - Alive and poised for replacement if the need arises.

President Sanfor - Allegedly still presiding in Missai.

Half were gone, the other half nubiles compared to the ‘big three’. She bit her thumb’s nail as recalled some of these events unfolding. Exhilarating. There were now the ‘New Powers’, some already near their peaks, others budding at an alarming rate.

Emperor Cascal’umi’anthan - Emperor of Tarlon and Supreme commander of the Grey Fleet.

Empress Esuul of Tantiac - New head of the Sanguine council, allying it with Tarlon.

Karim Harrachora - Hugo’s replacement in all but raw skill and power.

The Twin Emperors - Heads of the new Sanguine Council.

Volto Dorado - The head of the Volti, now making their move.

The Mad Avatar - High Priestess of Viisan.

Juulet smirked in satisfaction as she carefully noted that particular one down. The best was saved for last, though in spite of her megalomania, she knew something was missing in this picture. It quickly broke that infantile smile of her’s.

The Traveler - The true wildcard.

She tapped her pen against her chin. Surely there was someone else of that calibre. Surely there was another extraordinary being to consider.

Of course, there was one that had been there all along. As she was about to jot it down above even the fallen ‘Gods’, the sound of a door opened prompted the one-legged Yasoi to perk up. None of the guests whom she could hear the footsteps could actually see her, instead they saw a dark chair turned opposite to them. It was one of those spinning chairs she was incredibly fond of.

♫

The rugged man content with merely a tunic and other inconspicuous clothing spoke up. “Are you about to make a dramatic turn-”

Juulet spun her chair to dramatically reveal herself to the group of guests.

“Greetings! I’ve had shrimp prepared for this early supper.” the Yasoi opened her arms to display the long dining table before her. There was a silver bell over each plate where the guests were invited to take seats. “I was real hungry, so I figured this big meet would go well with the yums.”

Viktor, briefly known as Felix, shrugged as if this was routine and took a seat to Juulet’s right. To her left sat a Yasoi of about her age. Facial features suggested more masculine traits, but the build and long brown hair leaned feminine. They grimaced the moment Juulet opened her mouth and sighed in exasperation when offered a seat. They were also the first to remove the bell, revealing large, roasted prawns with a healthy amount of spicy sauce on them.

“Where’s Merit?” inquired the androgynous individual, the voice revealing without a doubt that he was, in fact, male. His voice was dry and demanding, but he didn’t raise it nor come off as downright aggressive.

“Busy.” replied Juulet. With a bell removed, she had given herself permission to indulge after setting her notepad to the side. “She’s met with our special guests already. We’re here to discuss business with ‘em.” she munched away with little regard for manners. She was a goddess, such petty worries were beneath her.

“That way you can burn away all our credibility again after all the work she’s done? You never cease to amaze me, babe.”

“Shuuuut the fuck uuuupppp Calion.” whined Juulet, surprisingly composed for how she was being talked to. It looked more like siblings bickering than animosity, at least from her. Calion, on the other hand, had a hint of venomous animosity in his eyes.

Viktor completely zoned them out and indulged in his meal as would any man used to the outdoors - mostly using his hands to peel the shrimp.

There was another participant that had entered last. A man adorned in fine Rettanese silks with the attire itself reserved only for the highest class within the capital - The Exemplars. Clad in a mixture of gold, green and brown, this round-faced, clean shaven man looking to be in his forties employed proper etiquette from his region, from using gloves for his hands when needing to touch the foods to expert use of chopsticks.

“Anyway,” Juulet took a bite from her grub without even bothering to decorticate. “I wanted to lube us up before the big welcome. Namely with discussing dear Viktor’s report. And also I’ve had the best fookin’ idea ever.” the accent slipped there, just a little bit.

All three raised a collective brow to that.

Juulet cleared her throat.

“Viktor, I see here our guy Don Balls kind of had it coming. That kind of leaves us in a pickle, don’it?” she cocked her head like an overly naggy teacher reprimanding a young student.

Viktor shrugged one shoulder, his interest clearly geared more toward the tricky shell of the prawn he had in his hands. “He was dead before I had arrived.”

“Yeaaaaaah, but you fucked up with controlling that thing. It slipped and screwed around and now here we are.” her wide and crazy eyes peered deep into Viktor’s hollow soul.

“It did.” he answered, staring her down without a change in his demeanour.

A silence reigned briefly, only for it to be broken by Calion.

“Wasn’t that what we wanted?”

“... Yeah, but the results aren’t to me liking. I gotta blame someone.”

Calion rolled his eyes. “If it’s such a big issue, find someone else to hold your hand in that adventure down south.” Juulet glared his way, he returned the favour. “That isn’t me.”

Juulet huffed and crossed her arms. “I’ve had another job for you anyway.”

“You’re not my boss.”

“Kind of am. Anywho- Now we’ve got all this nice info on our green pet project, but a new actual issue arises.” there was a shift in tone in the mad avatar’s voice. All eyes were on her now, including the mysterious Rettanese man who seemed frankly out of place. “The Big B is out early. We’re going to adapt.”

A new voice spoke. “If the Arrogant One’s presence is a true concern, then we would have been mobilized to silence him.” the regally dressed man spoke with perfect Avincian. “If no such thing has been ordained, then the matter must be settled. I believe Mister Strauss has performed his duty and retrieved the essential information we had been seeking.”

Juulet kept quiet and had nothing witty to add. “Hmmm. Sure.” she reached out to pat the Magusjaeger’s forearm. “You did good. For a guy that’s died like four times.” she snorted and Viktor chuckled.

“Let’s get the other part done hastily, please.” complained Calion.

Juulet clapped her hands. “Oh right! Thanks Cally!”

Calion groaned and rolled his eyes. He detested that name, and her.

“So, I met this painter guy, right? Total pushover artsy type. He had this cutest rock-person! And it could shoot a big laser too!” her gestures were trying to capture both the smallness of the construct and the flashiness of the blast. “And so I thought, how could I get one of those?”

“Golems. Ersand’Enise has recently integrated them.” spoke the Rettanese nobleman. “An art specific to the Dark Mages of West Callanast.”

Juulet pointed the man’s way. “Yeah, that! I saw how BIG and AWESOME they were during that big kerfuffle of revolution, soooo …” a big grin with nearly lidded eyes was directed Calion’s way.

“... What?”

“Sooooo I thought maybe we’d get a few of our own. And what better place than the source. That art Yanii mentioned a place called An Zini or something.”

“An Zenui.” corrected Calion.

“Sure. I figured you’d be the best suited to filter out the best of the best and retrieve it for us~” she leaned toward Calion’s, almost rubbing up to him like a cat. “C’mon, say yes, before I gotta put on my boss pants.”

The male Yasoi pursed his lips and, after brief deliberation, shrugged. “Not the worst idea you’ve had. And keeps me away from you. I’ll do some recon.”

An excited Juulet clapped in celebration. “Fan-fuckin-tastic! We’re going places, I promise. Just a few more steps …” she bit her lip in anticipation.

“Oh right!” she shuffled on her seat to adopt a more proper posture. “I think our special guests are here. Let them in!” she called out to the doorman upon sensing a cluster of unfamiliar energy signatures. Three sets of footsteps entered. All Yasoi. Two women and one man.

“Welcome ladies and good sir, have a seat. I, Juulet’oli’muustii’zan, High Priestess of the Nation of Viisan, humbly invite you to my table.” she opened her arms and nodded her head in respect, though she didn’t stand.

Cherii'cola'caliman and Arsii'cola'sevenuup were first to find their seats, with the martiarch Leluun’dorii’cola taking the spot opposite of Juulet.

“And we would be delighted to discuss how we can help you settle a few misfortunate scores.”