Kaustir, Chapter 4

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In Amalia's Home
Rhia ducked into the house and tried to close the door, but Amalia was faster. Hand braced against the wooden surface, she forced the door open, eyes apologetic and concerned. On the ground, Rhia looked frailer than ever and Amalia couldn't have felt more guilty.

"Mother I'm - I'm so sorry."

"Get away from me," she hissed. Tears poured freely down her cheeks. "You - You were about to whip your father. Why? He's done nothing to you."

"Did you not hear me out there? I told you what he did to me."

"H-He would never hurt you."

Denial. Amalia crouched, removed her sari, and lifted the bottom of her blouse to reveal the crisscrossing pattern of scars running over her back. Her mother gasped and ran a trembling finger over her scarred skin.

"H-How long?" she croaked.

"Since I was ten."

"No he can't have..."

"He'd make me sleep in the stables every time he whipped me."

"He said it was because you wanted to. Said you liked being around the camels."

"No... He hid me there so you wouldn't see what was wrong."

Rhia wrapped her fingers around Amalia's wrists. Eyes as wide as plates, she lowered her head to the floor. Her forehead gently touched it.

"I am sorry. So very sorry. I failed you as a parent, as a mother."

For several minutes, Amalia and Rhia sat there on the cold hard stone floor, her mother sobbing and apologizing profusely through her snot and tears. Amalia watched with a dejected look, torn at how pathetic and pitiful her mother looked. The woman used to be a strong and capable individual before the sickness took her.

Curled into a fetal position, Rhia cried herself to sleep - this was a process Amalia was all too familiar with. Watching her mother felt like someone was stabbing a thin, sharp knife into her heart, and when Amalia was certain that Rhia had fallen asleep, she scooped the woman in her arms. Her light weight concerned Amalia. Rhia was taken to her bedroom, where she rested on soft camel hide, and a pillow made from vulture feathers. Amalia waited anxiously at the doorway, sighed, and found Rakar waiting for her in the hallway.

"I didn't see you come in."

Coros spoke from Rakar's shoulder.

"Nor were you meant to. You have more important matters to concern yourself with."

The door softly closed behind Amalia. Hesitation.

"I don't know what... Out there with my father. I can't even begin to - " She hugged herself and shuddered. The words were not coming out.

"Perhaps you should sit. Let yourself try and relax."

She exhaled. "I shouldn't. I need to get back to the palace. I need to check on Takeda." Matil meowed at Amalia, but she ignored it. "Are you ready to leave?"

His eyes narrowed, looking her over. It was clear she was still shaken.

"You've already given word that you would be staying here for the night. I see no reason to leave so suddenly."

"It's only to check on Takeda, Rakar. I'll return once I've seen to him."

She stepped forward towards the door, head dizzy and vision blurring. Something made her pause, and she looked at Matil.

"Are you coming with me?"

The sand cat was sitting, unmoving. Rakar and Coros followed Amalia's gaze to Matil, sitting by Rhia's door looking longingly through the small gap on the floor. Coros leaped to the floor from Rakar's shoulder, and slowly moved towards the other Aux. He gazed at the sand cat quizzically, stopping and sitting next to her. After a moment, Matil looked up at Coros, and he spoke softly.

"... Why do you not simply say it then?"

Ears folded over her small skull and Matil backed away from the dragon. Amalia removed her hand from the doorknob, perplexed. "She doesn't talk. I've tried."

"Oh, but she speaks volumes if only you would listen. You of all people should know that."

"But she doesn't talk."

Coros turned his gaze to Amalia.

"One does not need to talk in order to speak. However, given the circumstances, I'm left to wonder why she doesn't in this particular situation."He looked back to Matil. "If ever there was a time to tell her directly, I think this would be it."

Matil kept her eyes averted, tail curled around her paws. Amalia moved to her Aux, unsure.

"Matil. Let's go. We need to - "

Then she did something unexpected. Matil hissed, fangs bared and tongue curled into the back of her mouth. The general withdrew instantly, frightened of her own soul. Amalia swallowed, and cautiously, carefully sat next to her Aux. The cat continued to ignore her, staring intently under the crack of Rhia's bedroom.

"I don't understand... This hasn't happened before."

"Aux and Crux. Mind and Heart. Body and Soul. When the two are conflicted, there shall be no harmony."

An old proverb.

Amalia froze, mind turning over the events outside with her father. She remembered her rage, the build up, and the leather whip in her hands.

Another memory flooded in, a memory of seeing Matil transform from a tawny housecat into the sand cat she was now after Amalia discovered her Ward advent.

Brown eyes gazed into Rakar's black ones.

"What happened to her? While I - We were outside."

The Draken sighed and met her gaze. His voice was low, so as to not wake Rhia.

"Perhaps we should sit."

He gestured towards the living room. Nodding, Amalia rose and strode into the living room; Matil followed at a graceful trot, almost eager now that Amalia would be staying in the house. The General took a seat by the fireplace, still hugging herself. Rakar followed behind Amalia. After the General sat down, Rakar set his shield down against a wall, and began removing his armor. Meanwhile, Coros continued to speak.

"During that confrontation outside, your Aux began to change into something that, from what I could tell, was a bit more fierce. I saw very prominent fangs growing, among other changes. That is why we did our best to calm you down. Why we disobeyed orders. It would not do to allow such a profound change in you to take place."

"And what if I wanted that change?" She murmured, eyes downcast. "What if I felt like I needed that change to become a better General?"

"Then, will all due respect, you are a fool."

Shock, pure and simple. "I am?"

Coros nodded. "What did you hope to accomplish by whipping your father in front of everyone? Vengeance perhaps, but other than that, what is there?"

"Vengeance. I was angry and wanted to take it out on my father... But yes there is more."

Fingers laced themselves into her tangled hair.

"The Blood Soiree worries me. I have to be strong in front of the nocturnes and Kaustir is not known for being kind, but I am kind. It is my core. So I have to change and adapt, and with all that is happening my anger is my first response."

There were onlookers, people who would no doubt talk about Amalia's hesitation. She groaned inwardly, wondering how the Czar and Lut Sar would react to her actions, or lack thereof.

"Do you understand?"

Rakar set down his chest piece and gave a glance to Amalia.

"All too well."

"But it is your kindness which makes you who you are. Who you must continue to be. One can be as strong as the mightiest of Kaustirian warriors, and still be kind. It is easy to let yourself be consumed by rage. To allow your compassion to wither and die in favor of obtaining greater strength. To have both is difficult. But in doing so, you will become greater than anyone who might challenge you."

She shook her head. "I don't believe you. Lukesh, Lut Sar, Kirtin, K'jol - they are all known for their brutality. Show me someone who is both kind and strong, while still keeping their status."

Rakar and Coros paused for a moment, and both looked to the General with a somber expression. They spoke in unison.

"No one."

Coros spoke alone while Rakar continued with his armor.

"That is why you must be the first."

She did not speak for some time, digesting his words with a pensive look. When she spoke again, it was about a different subject matter.

"Will Matil be alright?"

"Only you can answer that question."

Amalia still looked worried. She eyed her Aux, looking at it with the same look one might give a sick pet. It prompted Coros to walk over to the General and stand in front of her to catch her attention.

"General, when you speak to me, who are you speaking to?"

"Coros."

"That is what I am called, but it is not who I am. Likewise, Rakar is what he is called, but not who he is. If he was called Coros, and I Rakar, would it make a difference? I am him. He is me. We are one and the same. A name is only given to an Aux when the need for others to differentiate between the two arises. By speaking to me you are speaking to him, and vise versa. There is no difference between the two."

He took a short pause to allow Amalia a chance to process what he was saying.

"You know this already, but I fear that, like many others, you have lost sight of that fact. You know it is true, but you do not take the time to really see it. You look at your Aux, and what do you see? When your Aux looks to you, what does she see? If the answer is anything other than 'I see myself' then you have lost sight of who you are... But I think I can help you with that."

She started to lie, to protest, but the fight evaporated. "And what can you do?"

"I can only give you a suggestion. I cannot force you to do it. It's something that I do every so often to remind myself who I am. All you have to do is take a moment to look into the eyes of your Aux, while she looks back into yours. Look deep, and do not look away until you find it."

Unsettled, Amalia looked down at Matil; the sand cat had crawled out as Coros spoke. Her amber eyes locked with Amalia's and the two stared at one another for merely a few seconds before both looked away.

The truth was, Amalia was not satisfied with her Aux. Or perhaps it was her Aux that wasn't satisfied with her. But Amalia had known all along that there was a disconnect, and that gap could only close when both of them had a goal in mind, like aiding Rakar in the mines, or breaking K'jol of his bindings in Avarath. Otherwise Matil was constantly seeking acknowledgement.

Amalia wanted Matil to be fiercer, bigger, not a scrawny cat who hid under furniture or circled between her legs. She wanted Matil to have a presence and a voice, but it had never been achieved.

The General stood. "I'll be at the palace. I need to check on Takeda."

But as Amalia began making her way towards the door, Matil stood there watching her. Fingers about to clasp the doorknob, she heard a voice she'd never heard before, yet somehow inherently familiar.

"I don't want to run anymore."

It was quiet, yet easily heard in the still silence of the room. Matil's voice was almost a whimper, as if she were about to cry.

She spoke. My Aux, my soul, spoke.

"I'm not running. I am taking care of business."

"Stay. Mother needs us."

Amalia winced. "Takeda needs me."

"Mother needs us more."

Fists clenched. A tear dropped from her cheek.

"Stop running. If we are to change, we have to stop running."

The voice was small, childlike, like Matil hadn't fully matured. It sickened Amalia and she knew what it meant, what it reflected about themselves.

Withdrawing from the door, Amalia pursed her lips. "... I'll stay." She looked to the black scaled draken, realizing that her fondness for the soldier was growing, and while it scared Amalia, it gave her some reassurance about Kaustir; there was someone else in this nation who shared her compassionate trait. "Rakar you are not allowed to leave my side. Not ever. Is that clear?"

Rakar had finished removing his armor, wearing loose fitting clothes underneath. He and Coros smirked at her remark towards him.

"I will do my job General. To protect you as best I can."

The blackscale was flattered, but promising to stay by her side at all times was something he wanted to avoid. After all, he did have a life outside of the military.
 
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The Great Forge Within Zirako
Kasindel was tken by surprise by K'jol, not that he hadn't always been this way, He had just spent the last couple of years dealing with deligates and commanding officers who have their head shoved amidst their hindquarters. As they stepped out K'jol asked if he knew any good clothing stores.

To both of their luck, Kasindel knew all the merchants along this row, and almost all of them owed him a favor or two. Beckoning K'jol with his head, the two walked through the crowds of people who all made way for the two now warrior looking giants, none of them dared to bother them, for fear of being ripped apart by bare hands. Approaching a smaller stall drapped along with silks and fine cloths, there in the midst stood a small tanned woman, draped loosely in red silks. "Hello Memila." Kasindel said softly as the woman smiled at seeing him approach.

"And what Can I do for you, Lieutenant?"


"I seek fine clothing, for me and my friend here."


"Ah, yes I see, I shall adorn you both, in my finest."

Kasindel looked back to K'jol and nodded, With this, they were sure to get some attention, or at the very least, fit in with the higher class individuals.
 
Zirako, brown
Blood. Blood dyed the entire city of Zirako every shade of red, from black to brown to red to purple. All towers became the Red Tower. Blood ran down the grouting between cobblestone, tracing right angles between bricks and pooling in front of sewer grates. Blood dripped over the refuse pits and landed with hissing explosions in the magma chutes.

The lesser inhabitants of the city were on edge. Humans, drakens, lesser-drakens, thin-blood, some forest-kin and even the avians felt a chill on their nape, for Zirako, regardless of the original meaning of the name, may as well have been translated universally to "predator's city", "nocturne fortress", "city of the night", or any variation thereof. All knew that they were under the protection of the Czar while inside the city. Yet they still felt a bit on edge as the Soiree approached. The Nocturne guards and aristocrats began to make more frequent appearances in the city. Giant canvas shades were stretched from one side of the street to the other, muffling the sun. Their faces were hard to see, just a gleam of the pupil in passing, or a whispered something as they crossed. The city took on a gothic and surreal appearance, transforming itself into a living, pulsating heart that squirted blood from a thousand leaks.

House Rasbrov began to show themselves openly. Every Nocturne who could claim a line to the Rasbrov DirectBorne wore the House's crest on their shoulder, a totenkopf stamped not in Dorgrad iron, but in gold from their coffers that were nearly bursting from the Kaustir campaigns. Rasbrovs, from merchants to soldiers to bureaucrats to aristocrats seeped out of their hiding spots. It was almost terrifying how much they underpinned nearly every part of Zirako.

Regardless of where they came from, they were all masters of unique Nocturne aesthetics. Some engaged in sick displays, enchanting their bodies to invert and show their insides, peeling open their bodies with hooks and needles, impervious to most infections. Others dressed in gaudy finery, the militant in Rasbrov parading in ceremonial sword and shield. Humans and the lesser creatures did their best to follow them. While they would never achieve Rasbrov's splendor, their efforts were noted and rewarded with coin or an eye-rolling bite to the neck.

It was, after all, the Blood Soiree. A time for celebration, a time to renew old bonds and loyalites, forge friendships anew. And perhaps a time to feast.

Day permanently became Dusk, and Night remained Night. Only the passage of lines on the water clock told Zirako how close the Soiree was.
 
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Avarath - The Coronation - Part 1, brown
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The sandy streets of Avarath had gone back to normal. Washed away by Kaustir's forceful winds were the once burned down buildings that stood testimony to the draken uprising. Now only the rotting head of Zarathustra, the rebel prophet, planted on a pole infront of the Coliseum remained as evidence of the rebellion.


Laughter, joy and dance permeated the avenues. Sword swallowers and snake performers made their presence familiar with the commoners.





On the open field that welcomes the crowd before they enter the Coliseum there was now arranged a play. Actors dressed in costumes, all midgets. One with a fluffy mask coloured golden with black and white stripes took center stage.

"I AM GENERAL KIRTIN! SWORN PROTECTOR OF AVARATH!"

Several artists dressed as second army soldiers followed him. They marched in a half-circle before disappearing behind the red curtains.

Then a draken dressed in elegant robes entered the stage from the left side, another artist resembling a nocturne child came in from the opposite edge.

"I AM MAYOR GULZAR GANGULY! SOOTHER OF TRADE!" They elevated by strings from the ground and flew away before landing and rushing behind the curtains.

Next a woman dressed in black, a blackscaled draken and a draken tied in handcuffs were introduced, stopping at the middle of the stage before turning to the crowd. "I AM K'JOL! THE WRONGLY ACCUSED, FAMED WARRIOR OF THE RED EMPIRE!" He announced before turning to the woman, presenting his bound hands to her. She reacted with a swing of her sword, cutting the shackles in two. "FIRST GENERAL LORTIK IS MY LIBERATOR!" They exited on the far right of the theater.

Finally the main character arrived. Dressed in shining armour wielding a halberd. She walked into the spotlight. "I AM TAMAA RUSHWA! SAVIOR OF AVARATH!" She stomped the blunt end of her weapon on the floor. The crowd roared in unison as each character made their opening presentation.

After the show was over, the crowd responded with ovations.


Then it was time for the grand event. The Coliseum was packed, the battleground had been recreated into an arena for the coronation of Tamaa. This was a once-in-a-life-time ceremony for the mortals of Avarath.

 
A Drink, orange
The trio walked through the palace at a leisurely pace. The sunlight managed to the palace just right, causing an aura of serenity to surround the group. The moment lasted until an avian came flying through the palace halls, she stopped before the Czar, handed him a scroll, and sped off. The Czar opened the scroll and as he read it a scowl formed on his face. He then closed the scroll and turned to Draegal and Takeda and said "It seems I am needed elsewhere, I'll rejoin you later." He then briskly walked away, leaving the swordsman and the monk to themselves. The two continued to walk in silence until finally Takeda broke the silence by saying " So I owe you fifteen sun then."

"
If you don't drink, then yes. I really just need some input on the kresnik I'm brewing for the Soiree."

Takeda raised an eyebrow "
A monk who is a brewer? Now I have truly experienced all that Kaustir has to offer." a grin found its way onto his face. "Forgive my ignorance, but why would a Draken provide drink for Nocturnes? Espically in light of recent events."

Draegal let out a hearty chuckle "
My order believes that anything can be accomplished through alcohol. An odd thought but it worked surprisingly well. As for why I'm brewing for the Soiree, it's supposed to symbolize the reuniting of our people. I don't think much of it, but I am but a servant for the Czar and therefor must do what the Czar wants."

The swordsman gave a awkward smile "
I see you are a servant. Tell me Draegal how does a brewer monk become a servant to the Czar. Most servants I've seen are either born or sold into the servant class."

"
Well to make a long story short, being caught with illegal substances and religious artifacts during a failed revolution, generally gets you in a bad position. I managed to make a deal with the Czar for a better punishment."

Takeda hesitated for a split, making sure that no bystanders would here him, and then whispered "
You mean you were a part of the Red Purge?".

Draegal shook his head "
No, no just a victim. I heard it was much worse for others in other cities."

"
I see..." Takeda retreated back into his thoughts. They walked a bit before he spoke up again "So tell me what do you brew? I'm not much a of drinker so please educate me."

Draegal thought about the question for a moment. "
I brew all sorts of drinks, mostly alcohol though. If it's alcoholic I can probably brew it, anything from kresnik to blood wine. I was never that good at potions, always seemed to get the portions wrong, but I've always been good with alcohol."

"
Potions? Surly he was joking." thought Takeda "Well forgive me if I go light on drink." Takeda chuckled. The swordsman nerves began to calm and his focus began return. "Do you have anything that can suppress the past?" He whispered.

"
Well since I'm gonna need you to try lots of different drinks it's perfectly fine for you to drink lightly." Draegal stopped and looked him in the eye "I can't change the past, but I can make people forget." Then Draegal turned back around and said "We're here." He the proceeded to open a cellar door, inside nothing could be seen. Draegal the pulled out a small gem that shone a bright neon green and gave it to Takeda before pulling out another. "You first."
 
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A rapid tap of the foot signaled that the green giant was getting annoyed by the wait. It had been fifteen minutes since the enigmatic disappeared into her shop, and K'Jol was getting quite frustrated at how long the wait was taking. Did she even have these so called fine clothes to adorn them with, or did Kasindel simply approach the wrong woman who just happened to see the large sac of gold at his side? Five more minutes passed, causing the yellow eyed Draken to flare his nostrils. 'This is a waste of time... maybe I will go and find another tailor who is quicker...' As soon as he turned around U'Sil let out a hiss, causing him to turn back and look at the door that the woman was now exiting from. A sly smile came upon her face as she raised up both arms, holding up two robes at either of her sides that seemed to almost envelope her form.

K'Jol now fully turned back around, interested in the clothes that the woman had come back out with. With swiftness, Memila laid out the robes on either side of her front counter. The blue robe on the left gave the serene sense of someone who was by the Prosperos Sea. The edges of the collared piece of cloth were adorned with a gold trim, shimmering in the sunlight of the sun above them. Upon closer inspection the famed warrior noticed that there were small wavelike patterns. The black buttons on the front of the blue robe were dark yet gave off a small glare like onyx would. The right robe on the right gave off a more dashing look, as if an individual who looked at the robe from behind would be enveloped by Dorgradi flames. The edges of this piece of clothing had a black trim, fully enforcing the fact that this robe was meant to replicate the feeling that one who feel if they were in the mines themselves. Stringy, orange pieces of sewing upon the back gave the illusion that lava was moving. The golden buttons shined bright like the stars within the desert sky. K'Jol looked to Kasindel dumbfounded before clapping both of his hands together.

"Damn, you did a good job!"

"Why thank you. I apologize that it took so long but I knew I had the perfect pieces around for you two. And now... something else to show you..."

The merchant flashed a smile to the duo before pulling up the robes, revealing silver chains that had a large and sharp tooth on each.

"Straight from the mouth of a Gorgon... or so the legend about these necklaces go."

"A... Gorgon?"

"Think of them as women with the upper body of a serpent. Their hair was also made of snakes and they supposedly stole the soul of those who they made eye contact with..."

A long hiss came from U'Sil. K'Jol looked to his Aux for a moment before turning back to the merchant. His fist came down on the counter, startling the woman.

"Gorgon?! Tell me about these beasts! Where can I find them? I shall defeat one and bring back it's head as proof!"
"I cannot say, although the legend has it that two brave warriors would arrive in the capitol of the desert land. Once they touch the teeth of the necklaces together,a great fortune will happen..."

Silence, then a roar of excitement.

"How much for these amazing robes and the necklaces?!"

"...90 gold."

A gulp has heard right after the announcement of the price. 'But... the offer is too good to pass up!' K'Jol quickly picked into the sac at his side, pulling out the needed amount of coins before greedily snatching the robes off of the counter. Two brown belts were added to tie the belt tighter, free of charge. As soon as the items were taken off the counter, Memilla waved goodbye and closed down her shop for the day. Red cloth slapped Kasindel in the face, causing him to slightly reel back in surprise. By the time he was back in his wits K'Jol had already removed the sheath for his weapons and weapons off his back, put the magnificent blue robe on over his armor, placed his sheathed weapons back upon his back, tightened the belt around his waist, and put the silver chain around his neck. He quickly took his friends necklace and pressed it to his own, ready for the battle of his life. Seconds passed, then minutes.

Nothing happened.

Seething with rage he turned back to look at the merchants shop which was closed. Kasindel let out a sigh as he looked to his old friend.

He had just been conned out of some money.

 
Three Days Time

The three day party in her honor was winding down, but it didn't spoil the grandeur. Bottles of Kesnik littered the floor - alongside puddles of drunken vomit - the food was mostly consumed, whores of both sexes and all races lounged in the hallways or rooms of Gulzar's home and Tamaa was slowly sobering up in the sitting room.

Partially dressed - Tamaa only had a loincloth on - she slid an unconscious male nocturne off her shoulder. She winced as the movement jolted the puncture marks on her neck. (The draken wasn't overly fond of having sex with nocturnes, but alcohol tended to numb the pain of their fangs.) Aside from the sweltering heat, all was quiet in the Mayor's mansion.

The haze and pain of her hangover was fading away when light footfalls made Tamaa perk up. It was likely that others were awake, much like she was. However, she expected to see another partially naked party goer, or Gulzar himself. Instead, Tamaa was looking into the tattoed face of a hardened man wearing thick leather armor. Violet eyes lowered to his wrists, noting his black bracelet.

"I know you." She leaned forward, loincloth pulled taunt. "What brings you here?"
 
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A New Pair For A New Adventure
"Get dressed."

"Why? I'm not going anywhere."

"You are now, sweet cheeks."

"Sweet cheeks?"

Nassad rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "I need some financial support. There is gold to be had, and all you have to do is supply me a boat. Sweet cheeks."

"How much gold are we talking?"

"Enough that you need to put on some clothes."

Violet eyes glittered dangerously. "Sorry sweet heart. I don't accept contracts I know nothing about. Besides, I'm the guest of honor at this party."

Nassad looked around the room and then down at her. "Based on that bodies that are laying outside, your party is over. If you aren't interested in an opportunity for gold, then I can leave."

"Now wait a minute. Just humor me. Why were you looking for me? There's tons of mercenaries to choose from, why me?" She cocked her head and smiled. "Although I am flattered."

"You owe Trask a favor, and I need a boat. As flattered as you may be, you were surely not my first choice."

Nassad cracked his knuckles as he let out a sigh. "To admit, I'd rather it be you than some drunkard who doesn't know how to spend money."

"Trasssssk? I figured him dead. Interesting." She stood, stretched, grinned, and began to get dressed. "So where are we going?"

"Hosia. We will need disguises. Also a place to be able some of the goods I am smuggling there."

Startled, she narrowed her eyes at Nassad. "So that's why you want a boat. And what are we smuggling?"

"Kaustirian spices, the kind that you won't be able to get so easily now that the border is closed in Hosia. Other than that we have a letter to deliver to a draken named Shekar. Hopefully you will know her, your race tends to have plenty of relatives."

She raised a scaly eyebrow, fastening the halberd on her back. "I believe that's a racist comment. Do all humans know each other? Do the nocturnes? Anyways, I'm assuming we're leaving now?"

"Only if you are ready." Nassad walked over to the door and waited for her. "Shall we?"

She steeled herself, the violet hues of her eyes swirling like a whirlpool. "Lets get something straight first. Stab me in the back and you'll regret it. I didn't forget what happened in the catacombs, and the only reason I'm doing this is because of Trask."

"After you." Nassad followed behind Tamaa and he looked her over. He was perplexed by her, and it made him unsure of how she would act around him. Hopefully, their voyage to Hosia would make this situation clear.

The new pair exited the manor and began their business. Nassad knew that he wasn't going to be able to get out of the border without any official documents, so he would have to hire someone. There was a man in Avarath that Nassad had paid several times for forged documents. He mostly needed them for transferring slaves around Kaustir. After a couple hours he received the documents and he paid the artist well.

Littlefinger_by_capprotti.jpg

The port official was a dark skinned man, tanned so because of his life on the seas. He was a sinewy fellow, and looked up at Tamaa and Nassad as they approached the pier. "Ports closed less ya got papers."

Nassad pulled a parchment from his leather pouch and handed it to the port official. The forgery that had been made was very well made, and that was what Nassad had requested. The official gave it a look over and then looked up back at the two.
His dark eyes scanned the document, roving over every nuance and letter on the parchment. He grunted. "So what business have ya fer going out?"

"We are going to the Cheronnese. I've heard it's nice around this time." It felt like knives as Nassad said those words. Being engaged was at the bottom of bucket list. He also didn't like the sound of having draken children. How that would work is an anomaly to Nassad.

"Alright, and where's yer boat?"

Tamaa produced a jewelry box that jingled with coins and jewels. "We'll be purchasing one. My parents thought it would be a wonderful wedding gift for the both of us."

The port official's eyes lit up. "How nice of 'em," and accepted the box. In the exchange, their eyes met. "Hey don't yer look fami- "
From the glow emanating from Tamaa's eyes, she'd just activated her Advent. "Familiar? No, I don't think we've met."
His voice was sleepy, drowsy like. "Yes... Of course. I think that's taken of then. You two have a wonderful vacation."

Nassad furrowed his brow and then walked with her over toward the boat they chose. I hated that she had that ability, but in this chase he was happy she used it. "Sometimes using something like that early would have saved us time and money."

"I only use it when we have to. He obviously noticed me and that could be problematic."
Nassad rolled his eyes pretending not to care. He was only happy that he hadn't used it on him.

She grinned slowly.
"Now don't tell me you're unsettled."

"Never." Nassad helped her onto the boat and prepared to set sail.
 
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Shae - Kynance Cove, darkred
She hadn't seen anything since they'd left Avarath, and she was almost certain it wasn't for lack of trying.

But she was distracted. And every day a sense of guilt grew stronger in her until she felt it tightening around her chest, filling her throat with a bile that tasted of blood and sand.

This was not good. It was not right. It was stupid, and dangerous, and it was...fun.

Shae knew exactly what and whom it was she saw in Nu, and even with that knowledge could not back away. She reminded herself every morning there was nowhere to run. Either the girl was insane, and had dragged her to the middle of the desert to die...or she was whatever the opposite of insane was -- sane? Correct? Trite? -- and then Shae couldn't leave anyway.

She had sat perfectly still as the sun rose, hugging her knees, caught between uncertainty and terror. She was simultaneously filled and eviscerated with the idea that whatever this was, blood mission, or something greater, it was both fleeting and immutable, and instant that left a great pale scar across the tapestry of a life spent alone in a desert city. Sand butted up against the edges of the gash and poured in and burned and melted to glass.

She stood in what scant light the morning could offer, Nu sleeping off her stupor behind her. Shae's last mirror was cradled in her hands, a silver blue eye catching the sun for a moment in time.

Until today, she hadn't know what -- who -- it was she was looking for.

Nu had changed that, among many things.


Last Night
"I had a sister."

Silence. The girl continued to shake. Shae felt her grip on her knees tighten, her nails digging into flesh.

"My father taught us his magic."

The wind whistled a tuneless melody across the shore. It made her shiver. Shae stoked the fire with a gesture. Vitro cast prisms on the wall.

She wanted to scream.

Gentle cadences instead. Remembered lullaby, augmented for a new listener.

"I can kill him."

When she spoke at last, it was to threaten. Or promise. Shae tried and failed to tear herself away. "You will die trying. It must be Nu."

The glassblower made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh. It met the air like a curse in a foreign tongue.

"I've heard that one before."

"If you go after him, you will not hear it again." Nu had given her such a look Shae had been tempted to turn away and move closer all at once. Her stomach turned over inside her.

"Shae must listen -- he cannot be killed."

"But you said -- "

Shae stared for a moment, her expression a perfect blank. Then she put a hand into the flame directly, smudging the runes below with a wince.

"You should rest," she said curtly. She showed Nu a blistered palm. "I'm going to wash my hands in the surf."

It was out where the black sands met white crests of icy water she through a wish -- a threat? Or a promise? -- to the wind, letting the water carry her words away.

"Everyone can be killed."

Shae stood over Nu for a long moment, hesitant, wondering if the girl was asleep at all. Wondering if she stepped too close how long it would take the other girl to put a blade through her Achilles tendon, and then tell her, mincing no words, what it would do to the glassblower if she tried to run.

She shivered in what remained of the night's cool touch and tucked the mirror in her pocket, snuffing the light from it as one might flame from a match.

"The sunlight is better out of the shadows of the mountains," she announced, only half waiting for Nu to wake. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, half empty. She'd left the rations with Nu's pack. She pointed over her shoulder to where Vitro curled atop their water supply, the color of fresh citrus. "Collateral. I'll be back."

She had one last idea of how to see what she wanted in the mirror, and she wasn't going to find it here.
 
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She nightmares...
A warehouse in Zirako holds a vast array of the nation's latest treasures and acquisitions - this is what Amalia sees. It is morning and she stands on the street like a ghost. The citizens are rising, going about their morning routine of bathing, buying goods, preparing breakfast, and getting ready for business. They pass through her ethereal form and her eyes remain glued on this warehouse.

Time speeds up. The citizens, the sun, the clouds, the shadows - they move double time in a blur of color, but her eyes remain on that warehouse. And then time comes to a stop in the dead of night. She hears the sound of soft footsteps and hugs her arms. There is silence for some time, then the sound of shattered glass alerts her. Her breath hitches in her chest; she knows what will happen next.

WHFOOMP!

The fire started on the floor, licking the wooden crates inside before spreading like a blooming flower. The desert air leeches all moisture, and the warehouse is perfect kindling. In a matter of minutes flames engulf the building, collapsing the ceiling in a raucous crunch. Shadowed figures lunge from the alleyways in pursuit, but there is nothing to chase. They watch in eerie silence through their masks as the flames consume everything.

Animated_fire_by_nevit.gif

And Amalia stands unnoticed in the streets, crumpling to her knees as she screams one name into the night.

"TRAAAAAAAAASK!"


She wakes...
At first Amalia attributed the cold sweat to her vivid dreams, but as the morning wore on she quickly realized that she was coming down with something rather fierce. She vomited twice in her chamber pot, her joints ached, and her head was pounding incessantly. Her mother began fussing while Amalia recovered in bed.

She waved a bundle of herbs at the general. "I have my Aux here, so I should be able to - "

"Mother, as much as I appreciate you doing this, you really shouldn't be exerting yourself."

Rhia scoffed. "Nonsense. After last night... Well I should be healing you. Now join up with Matil."

Amalia slowly slid her eyes closed as the bundle of herbs disappeared into Rhia's hands. She placed her palms upon the general's chest, murmured a soft incantation, and a warm glow consumed the woman.

However...

"Is she not joining with you?"

The general grunted. "We are... At an impasse."

Matil sat firmly on the ground, tail swishing back and forth in a huffy manner. Her amber eyes were slits. Rhia shook her head, patted Amalia's shoulder, and the bundle of herbs manifested in her hands. "I understand dear. Self discovery and all. It happens to all of us."

She left, and Rakar entered clad in his loose fitting clothes with Coros on his shoulder.

"Shall I take you to the healers?"

"I haven't seen them since I left, and I'm not keen on seeing them again."

"General, if you are unwell I suggest you see to a healer. The Soiree is almost upon us."

She glared at her body guard. "I am not seeing them and that is final." Amalia handed him a small pouch that jingled with gold. "But I will go with you to the market to buy some tonics and ingredients. Ox tail soup might help me feel better."

"Wouldn't it be better if I go alone?"

"Nonsense. You wouldn't know the difference between woodheart and wormwood."

If it were anyone else Rakar would have objected, but Amalia was a healer and he trusted her judgment.

"Very well," and lumbered into the living room to put his armor on. "I have some shopping to do for the Soiree as well. Make sure your sword is with you. What do you want me to do with your father?"

"You're starting to sound like my mother," she retorted hoarsely, but glanced at her katana leaning against the wall. If Matil wasn't going to cooperate, then Amalia would have to rely on her weapon. "You can untie him, but keep him shackled and chained. If my mother is feeling up to it, she can feed him."

The sounds of Rakar getting ready to leave and her mother preparing breakfast almost lulled Amalia back to sleep. But the clang of a spoon against the iron pot shook her awake, and she began getting dressed.

***
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The market was packed, so much so that even massive Rakar had trouble pushing his way through the crowds. Then again he also had to made sure he kept up with the general, who was struggling to even stand. Reeling not just from the sickness, Amalia observed the streams of wet and dried blood upon the streets with alarm.

Blood spread disease. Disease was not something she wanted to catch and Amalia Lortik remembered seeing humans being drained of their blood upon arriving. She bit down on her lip to keep the vomit from exiting her mouth.

"We'll need... Ox tail of course. But we should get a nice hunk of ox for my mother." She had her shawl wrapped around her mouth to keep the stench of blood and savory foods from reaching her nose. The combination was nauseating. "I also need wormwood, aloe vera, cinnamon, some clovers and - Oof! I'm so sorry I - "

Amalia stared up at a pale, and startling beautiful woman covered with a sheer crimson robe. Incredibly long lashes, pristine skin, and hair that seem to curl naturally around her face, the general was stunned for several seconds. Nocturne immediately flashed to her mind, not because of her totenkopf crest, but because no human could replicate the sort of deadly elegance the woman exuded.

"I-I'm sorry. I'll be careful next time."

rasbrovbaroness.png
 
The Dark, orange
The two walked into a large circular room, hundreds of barrels lined the walls and in the center stood thirteen barrels each marked with a different numeral. The room was well lit by the gems Draegal and Takeda carried, but occasionally the gems would flicker and submerge the group into darkness. Draegal walked up to a barrel, ripped off the top, and filled a small cup with the liquid before handing it to Takeda "Here, just take a good drink and try to focus on the flavor."

Takeda stared at the liquid, the lighting from the gems gave the liquid a sickly green glow. He took a quick sniff before quickly taking a drink "
It's delicious, the taste is sweet but it has this, this taste to it, I can't describe it."

"That's probably the unicorn blood, has weird properties when mixed with alcohol. I thought I would try it with Kresnik and see how it worked out."

"
Are you serious?" Takeda asked. Draegal stared at him for a moment before erupting in laughter, after he caught his breath he shook his head and Takeda let out a sigh of relief. The rest of the barrels were opened and Takeda took a small drink of each, gave his opinion on it, and then took a drink of water before moving on to the next barrel and repeating the process. Eventually they finished all of the barrels. "I can't thank you enough, with your input I should be able to narrow down what drink I should use for the Soiree."

"
My pleasure, and while I may not be much of a drinker I'm glad I could help you achieve your goal. Now I have a favor to ask of you, I am in need of clothes for the Soiree and I don't know where I might be able to get some."

"
I may know somebody who could help you out, she owes me a favor or two. She owns a store called the flowing wind down in the red tower, when you get there just tell here Draegal sent you and you should be good."

"
Many thanks my friend." Takeda then opened the cellar door and walked outside with a slight stagger, leaving Draegal to wonder how much the alcohol had affected his system. Draegal then waited for the Czar to come, and while he waited he thought about the Soiree and those who would attend it. While he didn't fear most Nocturnes, it was common knowledge that the Nocturnes among the nobility were different than most other Nocturnes. He needed to make sure that his brew impressed the nobility.

After a while his gem started to lose its luminescence and the circle of light around Draegal started to shrink. Draegal searched himself for another gem, only to realize that he had none on him. He then started to panic and rushed towards the door, in his rush he tripped over one of the barrel lids and the gem flew out of his hands and went skittering across the floor. Draegal scrambled to get to the circle of light that the gem provided and as he reached the gem and grabbed it the light gave out leaving Draegal in complete darkness.

Draegal tried to calm himself my repeating "
I am Draegal Hakir, the finite." to himself over and over again in his head. After a while he deemed himself ready to get up and moving and stood up, it was then he realized that he had no idea which way the door was. He decided to just walk in one direction until he hit the wall and would then try to find the door from there. He walked for what felt like an eternity not reaching, after what felt like hours he decided to sprint and yet he found nothing still. Faster and faster he ran, finding only darkness, even the ground beneath his feet began to give way into what felt like nothing. He then started to chant out loud "I am Draegal Hakir, the finite"

"
I am Draegal Hakir, the finite." he chanted.
"
I am Draegal Hakir." he argued.
"
I am Draegal." he cried.
"
I AM." he begged. Eventually he gave ran out of energy and fell to the floor and he welcomed the feeling of pain, but even that faded away into nothingness as he remained sprawled out on the floor. He hoped that someone would find him, but time seemed to be meaningless in the void, so he just kept chanting until a single face filled his vision. "You are what my little monk, because right now you seem to be broken. Come let us fix you with your famous liquid courage." laughed Lukesh. As Draegal came to his sense he couldn't help but laugh at fate's silly pun.
 
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The Great Forge Within Zirako
Kasindel shook his head when he saw the woman now selling K'jol the necklaces, Though the mystery of it, did intreige him as well, he knew the ways of the merchants on these streets, and he knew all too well to simply buy what you ask for and leave. Smiling at K'jol as he looked to him in dissapointment he uttered a deep-rumbling laugh, then placed a hand along his friend's shoulder. "ahh, come now, we must get back to the festives, yes?" He said as he took one of the necklaces from K'jol and wrapped it around his neck, even if they were shoddy lies, they could at the very least be a symbol of friendship, or even a funny drinking story for later on.

Walking amoungst the crowd he felt many a hand slide along the silken robes that he was now wearing, some admiring body, the others admiring silks. Kasindel didn't mind either way, Looking back to K'jol he smirked and pointed past the crowd to the more center of the hub. Where people were entranced in song, music, and dance. "Shall we, Brother?"
 
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rasbrovbaroness.png

The red sheer cloth left nothing to the imagination, yet still left everything to it. The cloth outlined every tip and curve of her body, yet hid it behind just barely opaque red that turned pastel when movements and wind pressed it against her skin. Here was a woman who was not interested in pleasing Nocturnes, but in appealing, with perfect form, to their food: humans. The faint, fresh red tinge on her lips, and the skull and crossbones dangling from a braclet were the only indication that she was not just a human temptress.

"Oh, you are fine, my dear - " a low and sultry tone, the Rasbrov baroness gazed once, then twice at Amalia Lortik, and pressed her hands to her cheeks in elation, a lingering noise of pleasure on her lips. "- indeed, how fine you are ..." She pressed the sharp tip of her fingernail to the bottom of Amalia's chin, tilting her head up so they could look in each other's eyes.

The Rasbrov's eyes were dizzying. Amalia found herself being drawn in by the black pits, quicksand and vortex that sucked her vision into its depths while the world around her slowly faded. It could have been the fever.

She was snapped back to her senses by two pricks on her neck, then nothing. Tilting her eyes to the side, she saw the baronness, her jaws open as wide as a snakes, distorting her surreal beauty to monstrous proportions, as if someone had painted The Eminent Lady on a rubber canvas and stretched it all the manner of ways. The Rasbrov looked past her at a pair of Nocturnes behind Amalia, who wore formal military dress ... with the wooden Wraith mask jangling at their belts.

"Well." She straighted herself, the nightmarish angle on her mouth returning to her human facade. "Please excuse me, First General." The muted sun shone through her robes, painting a black outline just barely within the confines of her dress. She smoothed the folds against her body.

The baroness left Amalia a parting comment as she passed: "Don't make it so obvious you were crying. We love that sort of weakness. And some of us are not as forgiving to those who are vouched for by an Unhoused."
 
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[this post is timed to music.]

387984.jpg

Go to bed at dawn. Wake up at dusk.

Edge the oryx into motion. Sand kicked up in dust.

Gallop through the night. Rest at dawn's first light.

Find a cove to hide. Sleep the day away.​

Solitaire-sunset.jpg

Wake up at dusk. Can't stay calm.

Edge the oryx into motion. Sand kicked up in dust.

Ride into the dusk. Sun flares in the eyes, memories emerge from the mirage.​

A hundred winters ago, #575757
One wing, #575757
[start]

Her village was in the way of a vital resources line between the pit that would become Dorgrad, and the mountain that would become Zirako. After her village was put to fire and sword, in the pits of hate Mu conceived a plan.

[0:17] We once belonged to a bird
Who cast his shadow on this world
You were a blessing and I was a curse
I did my best not to make things worse for you

She knew that Lut was a young.

[0:50] It isn't true, I always knew this would be our fate
This is what happens when we separate
This is happens, all dead weight, eventually

She knew that Lut's heart was young.

[1:20] We may as well be made of stone (She knew that he had not been wanted before.)
We can't be flown

She would be like a Nocturne and bide her time.

[1:36] One wing will never fly
Neither yours nor mine
I fear we can only wave goodbye [1:46]

She became his shadow, and he hers. She tended to him. Washed him clean at dawn, escorted him to bed, stayed up and explored natural and theological philosophy with him, debating the finer points until she would yawn and have dark circles under her eyes, and he carried her to bed. She took to his lessons, learned the killing arts, saved him countless times as they renamed the desert Kaustir, piece by piece. She ate with him, laughed with him, shared jokes with him, shared culture with him. She kissed him at one year, let him feed from her six months later, and made love to him at two. She caught his glances out of the corner of her eye; he would take evenings off, still covered in the grit of the night's work, to see her; he would smile unbidden upon seeing her. Slowly, she wrapped her chains around his heart.

[2:29] One wing will never ever fly
Neither yours nor mine (His heart was tugged; he had to see her every day, feel her hands every day)
One wing will never ever fly, dear
Neither yours nor mine
I fear we can only wave goodbye [2:57]

It was time. Mu skewered her heart upon the spear, and fell across his lap.

[3:02] One wing will never ever fly, dear
Neither yours nor mine
I fear we can only wave goodbye. [3:13]

"Lut, do you love me?" He froze in feeding, stripped and bound to primal instinct, at his weakest. She coughed up blood, struggling to raise her mouth to his ear.
"I hated every moment of my life under your shadow."
"Shiqquwts of night. If you love me, unite Sunne under one sun, so that you may never terrorize its people again."
"But I will still never love you."


She died before he could say anything. She died and ripped his heart out, becoming a martyr to bind Lut to perdition and penitance for all time. [end]
His second and third bodyguards did not die to assassins. They died by his hands, his hands that snapped both of their necks because he thought he could see the same pattern forming in their eyes. After that, he spent the rest of the campaign with only his growing cadre of Wraiths, covering their faces with painted masks and black cloaks to blend them together, so that he would not develop connections to any of them, so that he could order them as a fighting force.
The war finished, and he forgot. He forgot, and when he crushed a village on the Czar's crusade against religion, he took his fourth bodyguard.

The sun dipped below the horizon, his memories fading with its rays. The Czar asked, why had he taken the second and third bodyguards? Why had he taken Nu?

Perhaps he was building a shrine upon which he could beg forgiveness.
 
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"Mhh" the swordsman grabbed the bridge of his nose as he leaned on a sun backed building. "Blasted feeling." he mumbled. Takeda was referring to the buzz the alcohol gave him. With sweat rolling down his forehead he pushed himself to feet and continued to the red tower. The streets were bustling with Nocturnes, who were getting ready for the Soiree. "Ugh" the sent of blood stained the desert air, and pierced Takeda's nose causing him to gag. "Unsanitary beasts" he narrowed his eyes at the crowd and brought the crook of his arm to him nose to help filter the air. Finally, he had reached the red town and found the shop. "Flowing Wind. Well this is the place." He gripped the door handle and opened the door. The inside of the shop was covered with silks and velvet ranging in a spectrum of colors. Takeda's eyes darted around the room as he approached the front desk. It was strange no one was heading the desk. A sign read "Please ring bell for service." Under the sign was a small brass bell. The swordsman picked it up and rang it. The instrument made a small chime "Hello? I've been sent here by Draegal. He told me I would be able to find clothes for the Soiree here?" Takeda called out into the back of the shop.

"There is no need to shout my dear." a soft voice came from behind him.

Takeda spun around and searched the room, but could not find where the voice was coming from.

"Up here darling." The voice called.

The swords master looked up to find a forest kin hanging from the ceiling by a few vines.



She lowered herself in front of him, wood creaking under her feet. "My name is Lilith."

Takeda bowed "I am Takeda of the Imperial guard, it's nice to make your acquaintance."

Lilith giggled "You east men are so formal, it's refreshing from the normal Kaustir ways." there was a pause as she began to size him up, taking his measurements with just her eyes.

"As I said before Draegal sent me and-"

"Yes yes I heard you. You will be given a discount. Now Takeda be quiet and let me work." she stuck the solider in front of a mirror and asked him to strip down to the clothes underneath his armor.

After many hours and a few rolls of fabric she present Takeda with his wardrobe "I do hope you like it Mr. Soldier. Forgive me if it isn't perfect. With such short notice I had to barrow from other pieces I had made." she explained.



"Lilith this is..." Takeda was taken aback by the beauty of her design.

"I've studied a lot in fashion from around Kaustir Takeda. You are a long way from home, so I thought these would make you feel better." she smiled.

"Thank you so much Lilith. I will take very good care of them." He bowed.

"You are very welcome swords master." she giggled and bowed back.

Once everything was paid for Takeda made his way back to the grey tower and entered Amalia's chambers to wait for her return.
 
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The ride there was in complete, yet understandable silence. The fourth rider joining them on the return journey nearly made it unbearable for Lut. They stopped at Dorgrad, a day from Zirako by fast oryx.

Blood and kresnick. Lut stared at the foul concoction, the cup and him the only things that existed in the dark room. He swiped the cup up and put an empty one down in its place.

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For the first time, he willingly dove into the throes of intoxication, tipping back a second cup of the blood-Kresnick cocktail. He scooped liquor with one hand, blood with the other, and dribbled it onto the tip of his waiting tongue, staining his clothing red and pink.

The world swirled around him and he stumbled back, slouching deeply in a severe wooden chair. He expected the Kresnick to liberate him of his emotions, to open a hole in his skull, maybe a channel through the ears, out of which he could tilt his head and empty his love. But the foul drink made his mind blank and offered no solution. To his dismay, he found himself thinking more and more about Nu.

Between drinks, she stood before him.

"You could kill me right now." He listlessly raised his hands high into the air, wrists limp and fingers dangling.

Her stare was maddening.

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"Will you kill me? What then?" Bitterness, Kresnick, and Nocturne longevity stained his every word. "What then? Little human desert girl, who only knows how to kill. Do you even remember how to weave your tapestries now? You forget your culture so easily, just because you were taught where to stab!" Of course he had researched her. He dug up every scrap of information on her tiny culture he could find. "Did killing Knox paint make your twisted black heart any whiter?"

"You killed my people and my family. How can I not kill you?"

"I killed your people for a reason." Conviction burned in his voice. To Lut, the outcome of the action, or its subsequent interpretation, did not matter so long as the motivation was just. Justness, he decided a long time ago, was an entirely subjective affair. So he set out to make the world - Kaustir - in his own vision of justness. "They died to protect Kaustir's citizens, to guarantee them the right to grow free of gods and imaginary beings. Their basic right to be their own self. What do you kill for? Petty revenge?" He was rambling, but the drink made him oblivious.

"What is your reason for killing?" The saber was loudly unsheathed, the point lowered against her throat. "For what lofty ideal do you kill?"

"I am the lone pillar that keeps the minds of Kaustir's citizens healthy. Will my death be worth the suffering of millions that will occur in its wake?"


"Answer me."

"ANSWER ME!!!" The point pricked her neck, a pinhead of blood welling.

He knew the answer. He knew .. because he was the one that gave her the tools she would eventually need to reach this conclusion. Words of hate, anger, and revenge. Techniques to kill Man, to kill unseen, and to kill without remorse. The girl who stood before him, the focal point of his desperation and love, was a killing tool and a monster composed of a singular purpose. One would be hard pressed to even call it a living thing. Rather, it was the avatar of vengeance.

The saber clattered to the floor at her feet. Nu would not understand any of this. He had never spent the time teaching her to properly read, to understand the subtle nuances of their language, to give her the chance to move beyond her hate. A tool, a machine, could not be reasoned with.

"You could kill me right now." He passed a blood-slick hand over her eyes. As she blinked against the thick, copper-smelling fluid dribbling down her face ...

lkn.jpg

Nothing. It was like kissing steel. He slumped to his knees in front of her, his hands leaving ten red trails down the front of her dress.

"Right now."

"Knox framed my people. Your reason is unjust." For once, Nu spoke in perfect Zirakanese, as if she had rehearsed this phrase countless times.

"And what of it?" He swept his arm to the side, five horizontal lines on her dress, as if to physically brush her counterpoints away. "As long as I act with pure motive in mind, as long as I act without corrupted judgement, the sum outcome of all my actions will be positive. It matters not if innocents die along the way, so long as the filth is continuously scrubbed away."

"What do you think my replacement will be like? Foul K'Larr, only interested in how much gold he can stuff in his mouth. Uncaring Lukesh (she had never heard the Czar's name, and was unaware of the taboo he broke), willing to throw the entire nation to the flames for his goal. Ambitious Ganguly, obsessed with some abstract concept of 'power'. Or some idealistic young lady-general, who will destroy untold amounts of people in her own self-righteous quest for utopia?"

"I am the purest judge there is. I act upon a code etched into everlasting Dorgrad iron. By binding my life to execute a set of written rules, I become amoral .. yet am the most moral being in Kaustir. I -- "


The room spun. He doubled over, tossing up what used to be Kresnick and blood, the blood a brown, broken down and partially clotted mess. I'm sorry. He couldn't choke the words out.

lcry.jpg

A forever passed. Nu's hands found his shoulder, and they passed another forever like that.

The golden circle to Zirako split down the middle. Four riders on the back of parched oryx entered. He was intercepted at the Red Tower by the Czar's Anima. They stood in his path as he walked straight up to them, tilting his head upward. He pushed past them.

The Czar's forest-kin stopped them the Green Tower. He pushed past them too, their thorns tearing his skin and uniform apart.

The Czar's gargoyles bruised him as he passed the Blue Tower.

The Czar himself stood at the entrance to the Grey Tower.

Lut pushed his forehead against the Czar's. There was no one else around them but Nu, behind him. "No."

"It must be done."

"No."

"You must."

"No."

They stared into each other's eyes. Lut, still young, fought with the burning pits of the Czar's mind. Of course, by the time he broke impasse, Nu was gone. He moved past the Czar and back to his office.

Rasbrov from Kaustir, Vonsoon from Pegulis, and Solymr from Viridos. They stood before the Czar in three columns, the required delegates, their retinue, and their guests. Rasbrov in layered folds of harsh linen dyed with blood, gold, and a skull and crossbones on their shoulder. Vonsoon in simple blue robes, the head a leathery, ancient creature whose skin was nearly transparent from a lifetime in the caves. Solymr, dressed in leaves, bark, bound in twine and flower stems, the petals writhing in response to light and their movements.

A girl was brought out, her face hidden behind a sheer cloth. She was dressed in all of Kaustir's finery, an eclectic combination of desert culture from all over the Empire. Fasted for a day until her blood would be slightly sweet, tangy with a rich mix of hormones and digested fats. She was fed Kresnick, ritually watered down, spiced with clover and cinnamon, to add Kaustir's signature to her blood.



Vonsoon moved first, sliding fangs in and out for a mouthful, a simple, practiced action. Solmyr moved next, and stood over the girl for a very long time, laying her across his lap. He rhythmically moved his hand through her hair, whispering things, the vines and flowers wrapped around him brushing her eyes with their petals, drawing her into a pollen stupor. With impossible grace, he passed his teeth through the same twin pricks that Vonsoon had left, taking his share as well.

Rasbrov - no, Lut next, in line. To some, it was a slap in the face of the most dangerous DirectBorn line, yet the Czar's boldness spoke volumes, for it seemed that no matter where the Nocturnes hailed from, where they drew their loyalties, and whom they respected, all deferred before Lukesh. Lut was at once the representative of Zirako, Kaustir, and also Rasbrov, despite being Unhoused.

He took Nu next, held her in his arms.

Her eyes had grown dull from the blood loss. But the feeling of his hands, the khaki uniform pushing into her vision, snapped her back. A forever passed between them. He leaned forward, extending his trembling tongue. Three passes over the neck, to clean. One deep breath, to open the skin and relax the pores. Slide in, three mouthfuls. Finally, one more pass of the the tongue to seal the wound.

Her blood was sweet, slightly tangy, and had the lightest punch of Kresnick. Cinnamon and clove swirled in his tongue. Just like Mu's blood. Just like the past.

"I'm sorry." She looked at him, expressionless ... and closed her eyes.

The Czar lowered the sheer cloth over her face, took her from Lut, and finished the ritual, laying her still body to rest on the ground between the four of them.

"Scattered across Sunne, we gather and are united by blood from the same heart." The Burning Sun's eyes flickered to Lut's, only once. Lut's eyes never left Nu's face, behind the cloth. In the absolute still that followed the ritual, the Czar's words rang louder and sharper than his advent could ever conjure.

"Let us renew our bonds and rivalries."

The curtains fall on some, and rise on others.

The Soiree begins!!!
 
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It was a few days before the Soiree. The night before, she had been crying quite a bit. On the maid's request of her to get out, she decided to shop her dress. It had been quite the experience...

"What will your order be, Miss?" The woman in her silky, flowing garments had a very soothing and awfully polite voice. The shop was narrow, covered with fabrics, dresses and half-finished pieces of clothing hanging everywhere there was room for it. Arania would have to answer accordingly.

"... I'm searching for a proper gown for the Soiree." It filled her with a sort of anxiety that the woman seemed to know who she was. She had never visited Zirako before in her life.

Without much further ado, the woman had dressed her in the most beautiful robes, and at a fair price, even.

She spent a few moments marveling over the dress. It was long, comfortably pooling around her feet. It made the hellish walk to the shop worth the while. The fabric was a creamy white, fitting to her light skin and hair. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, but the woman seemed very intent on selling it, and she was also in the mood to get out of the place as soon as possible. The peculiar feeling that the woman knew her or knew about her made her slightly fearful.

The way back was the same. A horrible feeling of fatigue at the smell of blood. She was thankful that she had managed to find her way through a less crowded, less bloody place where she could hide under her cape. When she got back, she set on the goal that she had thought about during the horrible moments of accepting Seiyr's death. That it was about self-sacrifice.

She was not a chosen one for changing the world, and she would have to try and accept the fact that she would have to sacrifice herself in order to aid others.

She made her way to the grey tower.

A sound came as she knocked the door to Amalia's quarters. Takeda was in there. He opened the door for a few moments, obviously surprised to see her.

What she told him also shocked him. She wanted to heal him of his mental illness. She wanted to use the abilities that she had to try and help him. She knew that she was going to have at least a few weeks with his disorder in her mind, and she might not ever recover for it, but a man like Takeda was needed at his right mind.

He was very reluctant, telling her that it was dangerous, and that she would have to agree to try and win it. So she agreed with him.

"It'll also give you horrible headaches, and you'll have to work even more consciously on trying to hold down bloodthirst. Arania, are you really okay with this?"

"It's... it's my duty as a healer. I can't just let it slide. I know that it might be bad timing, but if they find out that you're like this during the Soiree somehow... you won't be able to protect General Lortik."

"Then... let that be it." It saddened him to think that she, with her kind being, would be taken over, or attempted taken over, by a horrible, kill-lusting creature that was nothing like this woman's kind self.

The healing itself did not take long, but Arania herself passed out. Unable to carry her anywhere else, he laid her in a wide couch in the chambers, pillows under her head. It did not take her more than twenty minutes to wake up again, her eyes flaming, fangs bared, adding to the madness. She attacked him then and there, a plausible reaction. He held her down with his arms until she relaxed, snapping out of her daze.

The rest of the time they spent together with him giving her advice on how she should control herself, things she should do when it tried to take her over, and the cautions that she'd have to take.

It ended there, Arania retreating to her quarters and going through it again and again.

She would have to ready herself for the Soiree.


[imga]http://i.imgur.com/VWgsyRx.jpg?1[/imga]The next few mornings came slowly. Arania's head was throbbing like the feeling of a bad hangover. A voice constantly sounded with its luring, little tone in the back of her head. So this was what Takeda had been feeling every single day for so long... she was surprised. It must've been completely and unreasonably horrible. To feel this while cutting someone down, a voice telling you "Do more, do more!"... it seemed like a living nightmare.

The few days had passed, the gown was hanging on the wall waiting for her to use it, and she had tried controlling her blood lust by a few tests. She had blood in her bags, simply for the purpose of drinking it when it was most necessary. She had spiced it with some herbs and this and that so it would not clot and become nasty. But it was only temporary. The test consisted in pouring it into a glass and testing the amount of time she could go without drinking it.

Her total record was that of 15 minutes. Enough time to desert the source of the blood and get somewhere safe, at least.

It took her a few more moments to decide that it was hopeless to get better. Her eyes went to the dress hanging on her wall, displayed in a lovely fashion with its soft, white silk.


It's beautiful, but... that conversation was very strange. I don't know who that woman is... I've never met her before. Why did she treat me like that? I... I'm sure she acted like she had met me before. Maybe she was just a strange person, after all...?

Arania feared to give it much more thought, and exited the chambers, walking around in the castle to clear her head. It did not help much, but it served more as a help than sitting curled up inside the all-too spacy room. She felt her fangs poking at her inner lip. Her nails dug into her palms, almost drawing blood. She felt horrible, sick, dizzy.

It didn't help much more that she was in this wide castle, this place with too much space for her to be comfortable. It made her feel horribly out of place, as if she had stepped into another world. The curved ceilings, the marble floors with the beautiful patterns, the flowers lined up by the walls side by side with portraits and paintings.

It was disgusting, this urge.

An urge to actually kill.
 
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The Soiree Begins
While the soup and other herbs did wonders for Amalia's throat and fever, the healer still felt dizzy and weak on the day of the Soiree. She kept a handkerchief nearby, as her nose continued to run. The Rasbov's words echoed in Amalia's mind and the healer did her best not to collapse in tears, but surely the other nocturnes would be able to smell the sickness on her.

She dabbed droplets of rose water on her collarbone and behind her ears to mask the scent; perhaps that would throw them off. Amalia moved back into General Korsch's room the day before with Rakar at her side. She didn't want to face anyone else, not even Takeda. She managed to avoid her mentor - he wouldn't keep that title for very long - by going on walks in the palace gardens or going to the market, and returned when the sun had set. On the day of the party, she sent him and Rakar away, as she wasn't comfortable with prying eyes as she dressed. No doubt her soldiers would want to get ready themselves, and servants provided them with their own changing rooms.

Perhaps the Rasbov woman planted something in Amalia's mind, a suggestion that lay in those dark pits called eyes. Whatever the case, the flowing, tight fitting dress the nocturne wore inspired Amalia to do the same. It was not sheer, as the general was not brave enough to flaunt her physique, but it was crimson and if the nocturnes decided to snack on Amalia - she quivered at the thought - at least her blood matched the color of her dress.

"What a silly thought," said Matil, amused.

"We're on speaking terms now?" asked the general, perturbed at the fact that she was having a conversation with herself.

But the sand cat went silent once more and Amalia tsked.

Two hours before the Soiree servants entered her quarters to get the general ready. Accustomed to dressing on her own, Amalia found the procedure extremely invasive. A mix of nocturnes, humans and draken, these female servants were one of few people in her life who glimpsed her naked body. They scrubbed, bathed, dressed, and placed make up upon her copper colored face - and they did so in hushed murmurs.

"You look marvelous General Lortik," said the bowed servants.

Whether they said it out of manners, or because they genuinely believed it, Amalia found herself agreeing. They placed her in front of a body length mirror, dress hugging her hips like an impassioned lover, and sari cascading from her shoulders. Her long hair was made shorter by soft curls and golden bangles dangled from her wrists, announcing her arrival to all. It was sultry, seductive, sexy - and it was not Amalia.

"High Inquisitor Lut Sar will be here shortly to escort you to the Soiree," and the servants left.
 
The Knackery

The hours passed easily in Blitz' presence, but deep down Theo knew that wouldn't last. The impending uncertainty of his fate was still there. The knacker been gone for ages, and as the door closed behind him upon his return the conversation died. Everything was still. Noises of industry seemed to lessen around them and each thud of his boots against the wooden floor made Theo tense up a little more.

He walked up to the pens Theo and Blitz were locked within and stood, silently. Theo could feel his stare through his hooded mask.

"I shouldn't be -" he began, only to stop with a flinch as the knacker lifted his hood and fired a dart forwards but Theo saw it coming. "Stop this!" he pleaded, "I shouldn't even be here! Please just listen. Blitz, I've told you - tell him!"

"Calm yourself, buddy," Blitz chimed in. "You've got nuthin' to worry about."

As Theo turned to look at his fellow anima, a sense of betrayal twisting in his stomach even though he knew - he had been told - what Blitz' job had been, another dart was fired. Gaios wasn't fast enough - it hit his neck. There was no fighting. No heroics. No last minute saviour. Only darkness.

"'Ata boy, just take nice big breaths for us."

__________________
Theo awoke to the sound of a knife being sharpened. The second thing he became aware of was the distinctly disorienting feeling of being upside down, and a pain in all four of his legs. He opened his eyes.

What's going on?

He was in line with the camels, tied up by a rope around all four of his legs. The knacker stood beside him, preparing for the slaughter, his back turned.

No, no, no, no, no, no -

The numbing poison in the dart left Theo groggy even through the adrenaline of fear. He didn't think - he couldn't - he just panicked. It started with a little writhe, trying to right himself, and as more of his muscles awoke it turned into a flailing thrash. He didn't care about anything but getting out of there. The knacker turned and started to shout, as the building momentum of Theo's swings made them collide briefly before a second trash and a sense of weight on Theo's horns snapped him out of his hysteria.

The shouting had stopped. Blood and gore slicked his horns, dripping onto the punctured body of the knacker, dragged below him. Theo forgot how to breathe.

Loosened from his thrashing, the ropes snapped and he fell awkwardly into a twist, to try and get to his feet and away from the knacker as quickly as he could.

"Oh, no."

Gaios was on the table of knives, slower to wake. Once he had, he instantly flew up and blocked Theo's vision of the man he'd just killed.

"Well done!" Gaios chirped.


Theo shook his head, numb. "I - I -"

"Didn't want to die?"

"But he -"

"Would have killed you right dead!"

"He was just..."

"Doing his job? His job was to do a bad thing." Gaios perched on the body.

"It was an accident. In... in self-defence," Theo looked at his shaking hands and felt his chest tighten. Now wasn't the time to deal with this. He had to get out - tell someone - maybe the knacker wasn't dead, perhaps a healer could do something. "Come on, lets... let's go."

"Where?" Gaios wondered. Theo blinked and looked around him, finally able to take his eyes off the knacker. Blitz was gone. He and Gaios were the only living things in there now -

"You go with us, Theophrastus Maladas."

- except Jackals at the door. They hadn't been there moments ago. He hadn't heard them come in - everything was happening so fast. His nerves couldn't take this.

Sand dusted their feet, stained already by stepping into the bloody slaughterhouse. Their halberds glinted in the lamplight.

"It was an accident," Theo blurted out.

"You go with us," they repeated.

It wasn't a question.
 
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The White Morning
Calm, forgiving, relaxing, pure... all words that described the morning after he was cured. No more blood lust, no more urges to kill, and most of all no more voices. Finally, Takeda could live his life as he wanted. He took in the sounds of the chattering city from the couch where he slept the night before. Sleeping in the General's bed just didn't feel right. A smile crossed the swordsman's lips "A true path of honor has opened to me." A few tears streamed down his face as he laughed chuckled to himself "Now I might be able to atone for my wrong doings." Takeda reveled in his mental stability "Thank you so much Ar... ARANIA!" his feelings of happiness quickly turned to panic.

Takeda jumped from the couch and quickly left the room, not bothering to put his armor on or even shoes. Running down the hallowed halls of the grey tower he made his way to Arania's room. A servant was standing outside of her door. "How long has she been in there?" the swordsman asked while catching his breath.

"She's been in there sense last night. I've tried to bring her food but she does not answer." the servant explained.

"Very well I will handle it from here." Takeda nodded.

The servant nodded back and left.

Takeda pressed his ear to the door and could hear the faint sounds of sobbing "Arania it's me Takeda. Are you alright?" No response was given. "Arania I'm coming in."

He opened the door to find the delicate Nocturne laying on her bed in a fetal position sobbing. He closed the door quietly and approached her "Arania what's wrong?" he feared the worst.

"Takeda how did you survive this disease?" she said in between gasps of air. "My blood lust is over whelming and I I I."

"You what Arania?" he feared her next words.

"I want to kill, Takeda. This urge and this blasted voice in my head are all tell me to kill." tears began to roll down her pale cheeks.

Takeda sat her up and looked her in the eye "Do not give in Arania. I am here and I will help you get through this. Remember just breath and stay calm." he put his arm around her. "Even the mightiest rock sometimes needs help from the smallest pebble." he smiled and she gave a faint smile back. Things were ok... for now.


The Red Night
The noise of the soiree blared into the changing room he was given. "I need to make things right between Amalia and myself. She must know that I care about her and that I am filled with remorse." the thought echoed in his head. He expected to hear an unwanted response, but smiled when he heard nothing. Takeda changed into his new cloths. The extravagant designs of his kimono wrapped around him the making him look very dignified. "Wonderful work Lilith." he whispered.

The moon lit the huge halls of the grey tower. The swords master made his way to the Arania's room again, knocked and opened the door. He stopped in his tracks at the beautiful Nocturne in front of him. Arania's dress was as white as the moon. Her golden hair was complemented by the white pearls weaved into her hair. "You looking stunning." Takeda said sincerely.

"Thank you swordsman." she moved to him with grace and balance. "Do you think Seiyr would have liked it?"

Takeda raised an eye brow "I'm sure she would have loved it."

She turned to away from him "I miss her Takeda... I miss her so much."

"I know." he could help but look down at the floor out of guilt.

"It's your fault she's gone Takeda." she began to raise her voice

"I'm sorry?" he was taken aback.

"You killed her her Takeda! You took her from everyone! YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!" she screamed.

"Arania calm down this isn't you. Stop and think." he said calmly.

"Die Takeda!" she brandished a knife and ran at him.

"Araina stop!" he yelled out of surprise.

She swiped downward at him, but he moved to one side and caught her wrist. He yanked the knife from her hand and tossed it across the room. The her spun her around and put her in a head lock, making sure to grab her hands. Arania struggled and bit at Takeda's arm, she managed to back him into a wall. "Ugh!" he cried but did not let go. They both slid down the wall into a sitting position "Arania stop, this isn't you. Fight it. What would Seiyr think?" he said between gritted teeth.

Like flipping a switch the enraged Nocturne started to regain control of herself. Takeda loosened his grip and let her go, both still breathing heavily.

"Takeda? What happened? Why.... why are we on the floor?" she began to panic.

"Ca... calm down. Everything is alright." he reassured.

"I can't remember anything. Did... Did I attack you?" he looked up at him as tears began to fill her eyes.

"It's ok I'm fine. Don't cry." he pleated. He picked her up off the ground and to her feet. "Now come on we have a party to go to." he smiled

"But I-" she tried to protest.

"Will be accompanied by me. I'm not letting anything happen to you tonight, okay?" he finished her sentence.

Arania nodded and the both of them left of the party.
 
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