The Chersonese & The Prosperos Sea, Chapter 7

[UltimaCircuit]

The Ykloid

'This can't be the way that I go out. I am still indebted to my comrades... my friends. I can't leave them yet...'

His enemy was too quick for him to read. K'Jol's eyes darted from left to right, trying to search for any hint of the enemy's presence or anything that would lead him to avoid the next attack. The greenscale groaned before pushing himself up slowly and shakily off the ground. His cranium pulsated with pain, so much pain that it felt as if his head was about to explode. Both hands grasped the hilt of his blade as he tried to trace the masked man's movements.

"Where did you-"

One step sounded behind him. K'Jol turned around and pulled up his forearm, blocking the strike with his shield. A snarl left his maw before he swung his blocking arm to the right. His brute strength caused the enemy to slightly lean to the side. As soon as he could, he slashed horizontally at the warrior. He was too late. The shade jumped back out of the way before changing to an offensive stance. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and slid into the wound created by the... Ipari before him?

"W-What... this doesn't make any sense..."

​

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Kerrick Aenlass — Nearing the Encampments, goldenrod

"Who -- Who are you?" Amalia inquired.

Kerrick responded to Amalia with an extended blank stare. He blinked in disbelief before looking back over his shoulder towards where they had come from - from where he had saved her, from a situation which could have resulted in any number of terrible fates: starvation, dehydration, heat sickness - and then there were the raiders, who might have captured her, killed her, raped her, sold her into slavery, or--

Slavery.

Kerrick's eyes moistened with the realization that he might have effectively saved her from his own fate, and she would never know. His conflicted brown hues gazed at her in a mixture of disbelief, resentment, and somehow... tenderness.

"You're welcome," he responded.

It might have come off a bit pretentious for him to imply that she should be grateful before she should be cautious - they were still strangers, after all - but there was more to the words than just Kerrick's dry sense of humor. There was an ache there, one of isolation, of a desire to belong; a desire to go home.

Taking the waterskin, he took a quick drink from it and handed it back to her in silence. His thumb and forefinger reached up to brush the excess water from his lips before he responded appropriately to Amalia's question.

"I'm Kerrick," he introduced. "Kerrick Aenlass." Lifting his thumb, he motioned towards his Aux padding alongside them as a smirk crossed over his face. "The mangy mutt over there is Terra."

The dog barked in response, eliciting a chuckle from her Crux. Not taking too long to enjoy the moment of levity though, Kerrick turned back towards the woman he had saved from uncertain death. "You were riding away from the March," he observed. "Why?"

 

[Zen]

Through the mask the Ipari's eyes shone, coating the tunnel with soft, white light. With scimitar in one hand, the guard reached behind, and grabbed a fistful of hard rock. It broke away easily, like ripping away a piece of cake, and the attacker hurled it at K'jol. The draken responded accordingly, raising his shield to block.

And found shards of iron ore pierce his defense.

The Ipari took advantage of K'jol's surprise, throwing another chunk of rock turned metal towards the draken. In seconds his shield was littered with iron shards, and those that K'jol didn't block tore through his arms, legs, and armor. It was a tactic meant to weaken him, not kill.

Realizing this, the draken lunged forward to crush the Ipari against the wall but the attacker lunged away, sending a flurry of shards in his wake. The draken could not slice with his sword, for he would expose his arm. He could not move his shield least he be ripped to shreds, and he couldn't charge. So the deadly dance continued, with the Ipari whittling K'jol and his shield down, and the draken tried desperately to crush the Ipari against the walls of the tunnel.

When the Advent ended K'jol was heaving. This was a mad chase, a possible trap. With all of this noise how did no one come rushing in to aid the Ipari? How come he wasn't finished?

They were somewhere among the tunnels, away from the dry heaves and weeping of the hulking figure. K'jol faced his attacker, both standing away from the walls with weapons drawn. The Ipari's Advent was done, but he still had his. The Ipari didn't have the advantage over him anymore. Bracing for another fight K'jol charged --

And the moment he moved forward, both of his ankles were encased in thin, brittle iron. He fell to his knees. The Ipari in front was unmoving. The draken glanced backwards, and stepping out from the darkness were two more Ipari guards.

Both of their eyes were shining with Advent light.

A missive was sent when Amalia was informed that she was no longer First General. The healers told her that it was likely that he wouldn't receive it, but Amalia dismissed their complaints. It's the principle of the deed, she told them, he has to know. So they left her in peace as she drafted the letter in shaky, chicken scratch from her cot. It was on the fifth try, after the floor was littered with papyrus, when Amalia felt bitter contentment with what she wrote.

Takeda,

I hope this letter finds you well... Or finds you at all. I haven't forgotten about the closed ports, you see. I am writing to inform you of my demotion. The ever glorious Czar deemed my last mission in the fire pits to be a failure and as such I am now a lowly solider. And healer. At least I have that much.

It is crucial that I let you know this information because it makes your mission null and void. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to marry a disgraced soldier from Kaustir... Therefore I am releasing you from your errand mission. Not that I have any power to release you. You are free to do as you wish, even return and harass me for your trouble. I feel like I deserve that much. The others bid you hello.

Sincerely,

Amalia Lortik

The healer looked out at the endless dunes of sand rolling around them, absorbed the stillness of the night. The adrenalin from the raiders was fading and her heart rate was returning to normal. Amalia released her grip on his shirt, swaying ever so slightly in the saddle. Dizziness appeared briefly on her face.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kerrick," she answered curtly, "I was going back to the city. I lost a few people and I meant to find them... But the raiders found me first."

The cold was settling into her arms and feet, but Amalia did not seem to mind. She welcomed its numbing sensation.

"The cat is Matil. She does not talk much, if at all." In response the Aux raised its head and inclined it. Amalia lifted her shawl, wrapped it delicately around her face to keep the sand from her eyes. In actuality she used the shawl to contain her shame.

"My name is Ilia Dysha. Thank you for saving me." A pause. "You are not of this land, are you?"

 

[unanun]

, brown

Preparations​

Nu's hands raised the coat and draped the heavy fabric on her shoulders. His body did not fill out the uniform like it used to. He heard the snap of each button in the dark, the sharp metal click and the lingering pressure of her finger. As she circled around him, buttoning his coat up to the very tip, she left outlines of her scent, rose water and faint musk hanging in the air.

The clack of a handle behind him. She gathered his hair in her palm and slowly ran the brush down, a gentle twitch at every tangle. The brush was exchanged for the opening of a glass bottle of oil, and she spread a drop, working it into his hair.

Lut Sar felt the cold touch of the crown as she pulled his hair behind the metallic band. Then came the armour, shingled leather cinched over his limbs and torso by the wringed tension of belts and buckles.

Her hands swept across his face, brushing aside stray hairs. He followed the flaming trails that her fingers left. And Lut Sar opened his eyes ...

... to Shae, who had just finished. "This is fun and all, but what are you going to do about Nu?"

He grimaced. A memory returned to haunt him. "You speak as if I trust your visions."

~​

"Tatter-who?"

"Tattersal. He is the representative of the Cinnabar Clad."

"Fuck him." The war council chortled.

"Des-Sun, consider who he represents."

"An Old God." What reverence Viridos had for Ilium, Kaustir had equal amounts in spite. No one born in Kaustir respected the remnants of the Cataclysm. Ilium was a decrepit figure, a weak creature who was dazzled by the Cataclysm and ran away into the forest to hide forever. "And rotten forest-kin."

"The Jade Prophet is still very much alive, Sun Above."

"A tree-singer. What can the cunt do?" Lukesh leaned forward in his chair, his hands talons that grasped the edges of his seat. The Czar's yurt was constructed over the massive stump of an elder tree in the Chersonese, easily three men across. Kaustrians did not know how to work wood. To smooth the harsh edges down, they simply poured liquid metal over the whole thing. The stump burned a full day and night and in the end was a black, charred mass with a polished grey surface.

"Czar, the Pegulis retinue will also arrive soon. We cannot -"

"I have no time for such matters. Reassembling Kaustir is our first goal." Deep rumbles of agreement. A member of the council reached forward with a long metal stick, scratching markings onto the maps spread across the table. A grid of water and sewer locations divided the plans for a new city on the Chersonese. "Receive him if you must."

He back was already turned and he was walking out of the yurt. That was when the Czar found him at his most vulnerable.

"But he will get nothing."

And tied his hands behind his back.

~​

"A fine job, Shae." Lut Sar danced in front of the copper mirror and smiled. He could not remember the last time he dressed in such finery and pomp, except when he would done his crown of metal to officiate certain matters in the Grey Tower.

"You're already fucking your hair up. Why did I even bother?"

"Now, now." Such a comment would have earned her a single combat with the Czar, and a slit throat, but in the presence of the Inquisitions Master all it earned her was a dismissing chuckle. The stamp fell heavy on the sheet of papers. Even in this roving band of bloodthirsty soldiers, Lut Sar would have his bureaucratic order.

"Take these to the officer at Tattersal's yurt. With these papers, he will be able to come see me today. Later, I will invite him to join me at a midnight feast - so please make sure you wear something nice!"

"Oh ..." Shae was at the yurt's flap, and glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Welcome him to Kaustir."

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Kerrick Aenlass — Near the Kaustir Encampments, goldenrod

"Ilia," Kerrick echoed the false name given by Amalia, gaze seeming to stare into emptiness for a moment as he contemplated it.

The extended silence was odd for Amalia; she watched him carefully, almost suspiciously. For a moment, she wondered if he knew, or could tell, that she had lied about her name. Her fears were relieved when suddenly, as though snapping out of a daydream, Kerrick shook his head and continued. "That's a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you as well, Ilia."

More silence followed as they rode towards the Kaustiran encampments - the billowing flags and tents slowly began to peek up over the horizon, contrasted by the amber glow of the rising sun.

"You're right," Kerrick added quietly, seeming almost intimidated to break the quiet. "I am not originally of Kaustir - though you're the first to ask. What gave me away?" The question carried his typical joking intonation, though he hoped she would answer in earnest. The less he stood out in Kaustir, the better.

They continued to ride towards the camps - at current pace they would likely arrive just after sunrise.

 

[Zen]

Sleep did not come to her for Amalia's head was pounding far too much, and she did not want to fall asleep in a stranger's arms. The healer readjusted her positioning on the camel every so often, but her head remained turned back towards the ruins of the city. She was tense, concerned, and inconsolable.

"You do not welcome the heat," she said simply, eyes turned up towards his face. "You wear it like a cape, hoping to shrug it off instead of embracing it. It is not the Kaustiran way."

Amalia reached up, fingertips gently brushing against Kerrick's cheek bones. Her touch was warm, almost feverish. "You can try and blend in all you like, but your face tells me you from the north... Besides, no one here would stop to help a stranger in need."

And as they rode, Kerrick saw the truth in Amalia's words. The sand was littered with the corpses -- now mere bones -- of the unfortunate souls who died during the Long March. The closer they came towards the Chersonese, the more corpses and carrion they saw. Some bodies still had patches of flesh, others had skulls that were picked clean but whose stomachs were being feasted on by the vultures. The smell was enough to turn any average person's stomach, and Amalia was no exception. She heaved bile over the side of the camel until they passed the worst of the Long March.

The morning sun's rays banished the numbing coldness that took hold in her hands and feet. The crisp air and mild chill still took Amalia by surprise; the Chersonese would take some time for her to acclimate to. They could make out the outlines of soldiers who groggily made fires and breakfast. The smell of sizzling deer meat and grilled fish wafted its way towards the both of them. Amalia clenched her stomach as it grumbled in protest.

They were on the fringes of the encampment and no one had taken notice of them yet.

"Do you wish to return to home?" she asked pointedly. "We are at the fork in the road."

 

[Kino]

The Journey, red

The caravan marched on through the desert. Rakar made sure he was at the front the whole time, anxious to get to the Chersonese and get on with his work. Sand, sand, and more sand... the thought of something different was enough to keep the others on the caravan excited, while Rakar was preoccupied thinking over recent developments in politics.

At some point during the second day of travel, a few of the other soldiers got to talking about Amalia, and how she had been stripped of her rank in disgrace. They laughed, and continued to talk about how she had it coming, throwing insults one after another. Rakar kept his draken rage under control, and did his best to block them out. Fortunately, none of them thought to include Rakar in their conversation. They rode along for another couple days, and Amalia was never mentioned again.

The Chersonese, red

Finally, the caravan reached the Chersonese encampment. It was quite a sight to behold for those who knew nothing but desert. The soft grainy white sand was replaced by hard dirt and green grass. And the trees... like nothing Rakar had ever seen before. It was all so much more colorful than the desert, and seemed so much more full of life. Perhaps that was why Rakar quickly decided that he liked this new land.

But now was not the time to sit and admire the landscape. He still had a job to do, and proceeded to help unload the caravan's supplies. This gave him a good opportunity to search for Amalia as well, as he made rounds through the camp distributing the supplies. Each time he walked to a group of soldiers or a tent, he excepted to see her there, and each time he was left wanting.

Hours went by, and the supplies were done being distributed. No sign of her. Rakar decided to keep to the outer parts of the encampment for now, and armed with a tent and bedroll from the caravan, set out to make his claim. As he walked through the crowd of tents and soldiers, Coros spotted something odd as they passed by a mounted camal. A small sand cat perched atop the head of the camel. The cat looked a bit odd, but it was unmistakable.

"Wait, go back! The camel."

Rakar looked back, puzzled, but Coros' intuition was strong. He walked back to camel, and Coros, perched on Rakar's shoulder, looked closely at the sand cat.

"...Matil? Is that really you?"

 

[UltimaCircuit]

The Cave in the Ykloid

K'Jol was the only one to get stuck in these kinds of predicaments. 'Fuck me... fuck me!'

With weak eyes the Draken looked up at the ones who slowly approached closer. Each time they took a step closer was a moment when he let out a ragged breath. His head faced downward as his body ached from all sides and angles. The two Ipari turned to look at their ally who was fighting the Draken earlier. A simple nod was enough for them to set off with their task. But the warrior would not let them take advantage of him so easily. The sound of a sword being unsheathed was his signal. A loud roar erupted from the bottom of his maw as he stabbed upward. Blood dripped onto his face from the one who stood above him with his sword unsheathed. The other unsheathed his sword as well, but K'Jol was quick to break one of the brittle shackles with a hit from the hilt of his blade. His left leg was free, but he felt a searing pain within his shoulder. He turned his eyes to the right, bringing his sword up to parry a strike from the Ipari. The clashing of blades caused their arms to fly backwards. While his opponent was dazed, he stood up and slashed at the cuff around his other leg. He was free. Orange eyes flew from left to right to quickly scan the area. The remaining two Ipari disappeared.

"What the hell..."

What else could he do now? Here he was, stuck at the bottom of a cave where large insects used to reside... or still do. The greenscale knelt down, taking heaving breath. There was only one more thing left to do. His eyes radiated with a light as his Aux entered his form. He breathed in, and then out. He could hear the scuttling of small insects from far away. He walked to a wall of the cave, the wall closest to him. With one hand upon it, he began his slow journey forward and deeper into the cave.

​

 

[unanun]

Deep in the pit, brown

The famed warrior limped down the slick tunnels. More than once, his foot slid on something greasy and he came within a hair's breadth of tearing some ligament in his leg. His claws left deep grooves in the shit-covered walls.

It would be a nightmare to clean underneath his fingernails.

Masks glowed in the distance. They looked like Lut Sar's wraiths, the day they exploded out of K'Larr's apartment in Avarath hot on the scent. The masks left glowing trails in the light-starved tunnels, lingering portents of malice. In their wake, more bits of metal and rock whistled down the tunnel, burying themselves into his shield or body.

"Stop, by the Sun Above, stop!" A peculiar and recognizable voice cut into the silent hunt.

The tension in the Ipari's shoulders bled away. Even the short rotations inside the ykloid took an immense toll on the desert guard. The Ipari were trained for constant vigilance across an endless sea of sand, to spot the faint glimmer of the sand spiders and carapaced carnivores that tunneled from dune to dune. Inside the pits, their senses were overwhelmed. The twisting, smooth obsidian tunnels dripped with thickly coated guano from the flying reptile-birds. Pulsating spider eggs and skittering nymphs triggered alarm reflexes at the edge of vision. Just a day in the pit was enough to fray an Ipari's nerves.

"What is Kaustir's most famous warrior doing bumbling through a ykloid?" From the shadows stepped a diamond mask lit by the dancing lava.

"A ... answers ... " K'Jol slid down the wall.

"Answers? Answers? For what? For what?" Governor Orvak leaned over the Draken. Seasoned interrogators beat their prisoners to an inch of their lives, and asked their questions in the twilight of the conscious: Orvak accepted the gift and did not look in its mouth.

"Turbatus ..."

"The cult? The cult? And what? And what?"

"Rain of death .. cannons .."

"Tell me something I don't know. Tell me. Tell me."

"Ugh... General Amalia... insects..."

"Metal..."

...

A loud, irritated tsk. "That frrrruity bat Lut Sar." Orvak waved a small container underneath the Draken's nose, and K'Jol took a sharp intake of breath, pupils momentarily sharpening.

"Get him to the infirmary."

 

[E.T.]

Destination at hand the merchant delegation did away with some of the comradery that they had been careful to cultivate for the long journey from their jungle home. While their presence was announced they made camp setting up of the tents some of which now bore a silver sash with a green end, something that had not appeared in the previous days of travel. The hired soldiers themselves did not seem to completely understand how the flags had found themselves onto the tents but they knew better than to acknowledge their confusion.

Those who had never left the encompassing forest of Viridos had spent much of the journey listening to those who had with a doubtful kind of air. That is until the vegetation began to recede, grow smaller, and they sky that had so often been obscured loomed above them with a frightening weight. Unlike the Kaustirians who saw the Chersonese as the lush paradise compared to their searing desert home. The viridian soldiers saw a world that was far duller than their own forest home. there were massive trees with trunk nearly three men across but they were spaced out farther, and the undergrowth which grew so thick at some points that only the birds could pass overhead was reduced to bushes and shrubs that could be easily navigated around. However the one thing that did impress the group was the air. Unlike their home where the perfumes of the forest filled every pore, here the crisp air drifted down off the mountains and made each breath pure. There were no toxins to beware, the only foul scents in the air seemed to come from the invading army and their own delegation.


But there was little time for looking around. The ambassadors were quick to change out of their simple traveling gear to something a little more fitting. The three women wore long silvery dresses that fell in a gentle slope to the ground. The front of the dresses opened almost to the women's navels, the only thing seeming to keep the dress in place were a single decorative pin right between their breasts that kept the sleek fabric from moving out of place. The two men were without shirts, only a thin green sash cover any part of their upper body. Their lower halves where cover with that same silver fabric that had been used for the women only it had been fashioned into the loose fitting pants that were the style of Hosia. The five representatives moved quickly through their own camp heading towards Tattersal's tent. It was all a waiting game now, they would play their cards when the players were assembled, do their best to see that all the merchant's work did not crumble beneath the step of the armies feet.

 

[Pastor ćhoi]

Who's that girl - it's amy!, silver

As a guardian of the forest, Amaltas first made contact with the Kathram horse raiders of the Chersonese in the first decade of his life. They took the unicorns by surprise, came in with fire and spears and horses that knew battle, razed a small chunk of the viridosian border off and ran off with an entire generation of foals. Even without the contemporary strained relations between northern kin and city kin, the Kindly ones were in their infancy then, Tattersal and his ilk were focused on the port incursions by red merchants, and the Riven's intended sentinels, the Treants, were barely more than oversized saplings.

They were on their own, and so they took to it.

The collective unicorn response to such a crime was to organize a war choir: a full-day chanting of echoing calls that reached far out into the Chersonese and touched the mind of every susceptible horse, implanting within them a single, overriding instinct.

To violate every Kathram man, woman, and child to death.

It was a genocide that was both karmic and thematic: slaughtered by attempted reproduction, killed by what should have given them life, betrayed by their loyal beasts of burden. He saw the aftermath, hundreds torn and broken in every different ways, quite literally split like a banana in the case of far too many corpses. The command given was How, not Where, and so there was a very liberal interpretation of invasive application. They killed the horses afterwards, for they were tainted, and left the Chersonese behind to return to the grooming of the forest.

There were Kathram survivors, of course. There were always survivors. How else are you gonna make a cycle of escalating retribution?

It took the Kathram the better half of a century to rebuilt, and even longer to thrive. They bred horses with any stray beast that leaked out of the red border, diluted the pedigree and made them resistant to a unicorn's Call. They established trading ties with the dawn treaders and the Sivgild Sons, their sister communities in the chersonese, and they began the raids, raids that have persisted for-

And what did any of that amount to in the end?

The wild riders of Kathram. Their heritage, their struggles, their livestock, their breeding techniques, the subtle, secret wizardry that allowed them to blend horse with foreign beasts of fang and great girth - Gone in a flash. Crushed under the march of tiger elephants and sand leopards and huge scarabs that traversed heat like normal earth. Brought to heel by draken and nocturne and desert humans. Sucked into the conglomerate that was the red empire.

Amaltas did not mourn them. Amaltas mourned what they represented: a bi-annual bloodbath that had perpetuated over the centuries, evolving into a twisted sort of sporting event between the chersonese horse poachers and his people. The weak and the slow were quelled and caught, the proven foals were tempered in battle, and their horns found their first kills. Hate kept this part of the culture alive, and now that was gone too.

Along with so much else. Where once the Prophet guided, the clad ruled. Where once the fey thrived, they now warred. Where once Hosia was one of them, now have they bought into the allure of currency. What else was left?

He was so, so old, and he was so, so tired. He would never admit it, but the shartan had sapped the last vestiges of his former passions. He was not the stallion he once was even before his imprisonment, and now...

How long more did he need to pretend?

Amy & Tatterlina - can these girls have it all? - Tentland, silver

Imagine the peculiar sight of a General talking to a giant horse outside his tent.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Amaltas didn't even respond. How could he keep zen with the scope of the situation? This was a fatal rendezvous, a requiem for their damned souls. Kaustir was the viridosian peregrine, flapping its falconwings and hovering over for the kill, waiting to et flesh from their bones.

"Amaltas."

Look at them, the unicorn said. He stared out at the tiny island that was the Viridosian delegation. Unicorns and lost band soldiers stood at fringes. On one end, there was the flesh sea, an army so dense that it could afford triumph through sheer indifference. On the other end, the massive gates. The guard there were but a formality. If Kaustir struck, they were dead there and then. They knew they were outnumbered, but the sheer physical reality, the sheer scope of it was an entire thing all together. The Kathram brought tiger elephants from the desert beyond before. Runts. Half-starved things. Unhealthy specimens straying too far from home. But even the least of them are brutal things. They tower over our yearlings, almost match a full grown unicorn in size. They fight to the death. They never run. The sand leopard is an anno-

"You are seeing the threats you want to see. They have improved their cannons."

Cannon?

"Technology borne from steel. The force of a catapult, with an archer's range, arc, and leisure. Spore infections crippled them during the last port incursions, but I fear they have delivered countermeasures. The obsidian is new."

And here comes the aesthetic people, the unicorn cast a baleful gaze over at the approaching merchant representatives. May they not trip on the way over.

"Behave yourself with them."

They are dressed like whores.

"They are whores. The reach of the serpent harlot."

Belphebe? Too much plump in that one. More juicy worm than draken.

"On that we can agree." Tattersal said, a note of derision in his tone. "We need time. We need time to recall all of the Riven's bastards, all her treeants. Awaken the slumbering. We need to make peace with the fey. You need to extend the olive branch."

I have don-

"Do it again. Find a way to impress upon them the severity of the situation. Your petty wars can wait, and the shangsheng-"

We can talk about the shangsheng groves, Amaltas said tersely. If we survive today.

 

[unanun]

Words of Many Meanings​

, brown

[dash=green]

Tattersal sat straight as an oak, at the same distance from the metallized tree stump as Lut Sar. Most of the larger command yurts were erected around a grove of the largest deciduous trees, the first ones felled to create the temporary wooden stockade, now slowly being subsumed by a rising wall of metal shipped from Dorgrad. It was perhaps in bad taste. But the Czar was not in the business of making good impressions - that was something for the merchants to do.

"I was expecting a more formal reception, ... "

"Lut Sar." The Nocturne stood and reached over the stump.

If Amaltas would have bitten the hand off at the shoulder, Tattersal did not, rising to give the Nocturne a fierce shake. "Tattersal, Cinnabar Clad."

Lut Sar sat back down. Clad. The Jade Prophet's disciplies. "The Czar is very occupied with some matters of the state." He refrained from 'empire'. "It is more fitting for diplomats to meet, in times of peace."

Tattersal's silence conveyed his mockery of the word 'peace'.

Undaunted, the Nocturne continued. "When there is no formal declaration of war between nations, I am the peacetime representative of Kaustir, as head of our internal affairs. However, should you would like to catch up with Field Marshal Kirtin after our official business, I can certainly have that arranged."

"A burnt tree stump separates us." The Green General's words flowed cold as glacial melt. "We are meeting on what used to be the neutral Chersonese lands."

A brief silence. Lut Sar had the shrewdness to appear shocked before rolling his shoulders with the tiniest of shrugs. "The status of these lands has never been formally agreed upon, Cinnabar one. The lands here have no government, nor have they approached any of our three nations for legal recognition. You are placing us in an difficult position by claiming that the lands here are, in fact, a nation."

"Pegulis and Viridos have spoken with Kaustir many times about the status of the neutral lands. Kaustir's current movement is simply unacceptable. It is a declaration of war ... we are very concerned with the precedence that our actions set for the future."

Silence. Lut Sar gripped the edges of his chair. "Tattersal, it is our people's wish to escape the desert. Your forest may be poisoned, but you can still purify your crops and water. Pegulis may be frozen, but they can melt the snow and hunt the seals. But water, crops, and animals cannot be squeezed from sand. Your position amounts to sacrificing an entire nation to assure the dubious autonomy of scattered nomadic tribes."

The chair quietly skidded backwards. "Perhaps your military leaders will see clearer the difficult ramifications of Kaustir's actions."

"I am also looking forward to hearing the Pegulian diplomat's thoughts on the matter." The Nocturne rose likewise and gave a mudra of parting - until we meet again. "You will find that we are all united for our people, Tattersal ... including our comrades. Please enjoy our hospitality and kresnick tonight, and we can resume our discussions tomorrow."

[/dash]

 

[Tone 6th]

Iridescent bright green moss lit up the traveler's path out of the port town. Arania sat in the cab while Takeda took his place at the bow. He had come to Viridos with empty hands, and left it the same way. The swordsman let out a sigh, sat down, and pulled a blue book from his gi. "An Azure Death" was the book's title and it focused on a warrior trying to avenge the death of his five year old son. Takeda was a man of knowledge, always finding new books to read or history to study, but his one weakness was always heroic tales. In these books the villain was always brought to justice no matter how complex the story. It was a distraction from how harsh real life was where the bad guy almost always gets away. If it were like that in reality himself, The Czar, Lut, and many more would have been dead a long time ago. This world doesn't have heroes only people making their own way anyway possible.



Time passed and the boat just about out of the marshy channel when odd glowing objects started falling all around it. The were a bluish greenish color, and they always seemed to fall around the boat. Takeda looked to Till who came out of the cabin "They are called... Spirit Spores. It is...said that if one... lands on you... you're dreams will be... blessed with loved ones who have passed... away. Essentially... they allow you to talk... beyond the... void." he explained. Takeda started focusing on the spores more closely "Extraordinary... does it work?" he looked back at till. "No idea... the spores are very picky... in who they choose." *Whoosh* The swordsman swiped at the air with his hand, but the spores just seemed to move around it, like magnets repelling each other. Till chuckled "It doesn't work... like that... my friend, they choose... you." Takeda scowled and gave a small grunt "I suppose it would be to good to be true." he crossed his arms. If he met his wife and daughter on the other side what would they say to him? Would they damn him for what he had done to them? His face went pale "Perhaps it's for the best I don't find out." he walked past Till and back into the cabin.

(Stop playing the video)

Plants and small islands slowly transitioned into ice laden waters. Till shed his leafs and vines in order to conserve his own energy, while Takeda and Arania bundled up in the furs Till gave them. However, the snowy waters weren't so calm this time around.

"Swordsman you better... look at this." Till called.

Shivering Takeda stood up and went to the wheel. "What it is?" he asked.

"There... just off the... starboard." Till pointed off the the distance.

Takeda's eyes narrowed. It was a Kaustiran ship, but not just any ship, it was small military boat. "Whats a navel boat doing way out here?" He moved to the door and went outside. "Ahoy there!" he called to the other ship. The officers upon the boat just looked at Takeda, and kept going. "Odd..." he placed his hand on his chin and walked back to the cabin.

"Is everything... alright?" Till's voice had a hint of caution to it.

"Yes everything should be fine." he sat back down next to Arania and gave Till a slight smile.



Two more days had past before the small Viridos cargo ship made it back to the port of Avarath. Takeda did hold some angst with delivering his news of failure to Amalia.

"Thank you again Till you've helped us out so much." the swordsman bowed.

"Think nothing... of it... swordsman." Till waved as the two got off the boat.




The two made their way down the dock and just into town.

"Yea so now that disgraceful bitch of a first General is just lowly solider, servers her right." Takeda heard one of the towns people say.

With lightning speed the swordsman grabbed deviant by the collar "How dare you disrespect your General like that you filth." he snarled.

"Heh she ain't my General no more asshole, not after what happened." he snickered.

"What are you talking about?" Takeda's rage into curiosity and worry.

"What have you been living under a rock? She failed her last mission, and her people." he spat at Takeda's feet. "She was demoted, and sent to the Chersonese." he grinned.

Takeda threw the man to ground and made a dash back to Till's boat, with Arania following behind him.

"Where are we going?" Arania called.

"Back to the boat... back to Amalia. I have to find out whats going on." he sneered.

Arania ran in front and stopped the confused swordsman "Takeda stop this, we need rest."

"Rest is for the weak! I need to get to Amalia, now move!" he roared.

Arania stood firm "Takeda I want to know whats going on to, and I understand that your panicked, but we are out of supplies. Lets at least stock up before we go." she yelled back.

The swordsman took a deep breath "You are right, but we leave in two hours."

Arania nodded.​

 

[Falcon]

Sailing the Ocean's Waters, steelblue

Floating in the blue expanse of the Prosperous sea, currently some two days sailing as the crow flies from Wyrm's Rock, was a small island known only as Zaratan. Though perhaps Island wasn't the appropriate word.

Zaratan was in fact the left over shell of some once ancient beast, commonly thought by the island's inhabitants to be a type of turtle that had not been seen since the cataclysm. As it floated on the waters time and nature had see to it that soil and vegetation now covered the great dome. At some point man had come and via a combination of magic and science they turned the island to their own purpose, sailing an entire nation across the blue with ease as the other lands built ships.

The forest around the perimeter hid the settlement from view just as the inner cavity provided the perfect port.​

The island of Zaratan.
Its movement ensured it could not be found except by those who already knew where it was, those who had been gifted with a Seeker's compass. The compass itself did not point north, but instead had been tuned to the magical field held by the mages who dictated the island's direction.

Captain Requiem held one such compass.
Not because he had taken it,
But by virtue of being a citizen of the island that housed the great pirate horde.


​

 

[E.T.]

It was the common and the fools who believed that important decisions were made within the stuffy confines of a council room. Choices were made far before then, sometimes even after once those involved had the liberty of retreating to somewhere more private. Oh there was the arguments that the council stage was where the history was written and nations made. But it was just that, a stage. Of course there were plenty of fools in power, that was why there needed to be a council. The greatest leaders had to actors and hosts, to sway the crowd and to sway those who were unmoved by pretty words. And to that affect a dinner was announced, to be eaten on the bare ground between the two camps.

Glowing worms that had been brought from the jungle were placed in lanterns, with a splash of water to liven them up, and hung in the trees and bushes. Piece by piece a table was extracted from where it had been stored in people's packs and assembled like some great puzzle. Unfamiliar with this level of wood working some of the Kaustir soldiers gave the show sidelong glances to watch as chairs seemed to materialize next to table. Some appeared to have been brought but others looked like they might have been made only an hour or two prior. Cooking fires blazed and as night drew in the area around the table glowed softly against the black. Invitations for the dinner had been delivered shortly before sunset and now it was all of a question of who was going to show up.

Tattersal glowered darkly at the beautifully scrawled letter that one of the whore's had handed him with a smile. He despised this kind of showy nonsense. He was a soldier and a commander first and foremost, he did not care for these times of poorly veiled politics when the party members fought to see who could end up in whose bed first. But not to attend might cause more trouble, either as an open display of contempt or he would miss those damned whores trying to pass something without his knowing. So, with reluctance, he made ready to head to the dinner. His manner of dress perhaps slightly less militaristic but he still look every bit the General that he was.

The diplomats in question were already ready and standing just out of the light of the dinning area. They either whispered among themselves or stood in silence. Their gaze either resting on the red swarm or the green hoard. They had their instructions and they had their training, for what was a whore but an actor working on a different stage? Tonight they would act, please, and with some careful maneuvering their efforts would be rewarded.

 

[Krimp]

Choices, brown

Just imagine if our potential customers expanded to include that lot - the possible revenue would be astronomical!"

"The population would surely be trebled, at least."

"On the other hand, negotiations could come to a... less than pleasant ending by the time the sun rises. What makes you think that we'll serve as anything more than a bloody message to the other nations?"

The pair who had been talking so excitedly moments before turned to Selwyn, their expressions turning from childish delight to sudden horror in an instant. The change was so quick, so comical, that the nocturne couldn't help but laugh. The joyful sound, akin to the pealing of a bell, seemed out of place so close to the monstrous Kaustrian host.

"Now why would you say something like that?" One of the two merchants looked at Selwyn over their small fire, his shock at the statement quickly being covered by anger. What a predictable human reaction. "Tattersal wouldn't have brought us here if he wasn't confident in our survival!"

"That's the thing though, isn't it?" His smile faded as he looked intently into the fire. The flames did strange things to his face; the flickering shadows played around his eye sockets and gave his gaze a sunken look. "It's all about possibilities. Choices. You've made the choice to be a member of this delegation, as is your right to do. The Kaustrians have chosen to receive us generously. But it's not our move yet - they have the power here." Selwyn fished around in his pocket for a minute and retrieved two objects: a gold coin and a strange, twisted twig that had caught his fancy during their journey to the Chersonese.

"Will we leave here with a fortune beyond imagination guaranteed?" He held up the gold so that it reflected the light into his companions eyes, making them squint in discomfort. His strange laugh suddenly filled the air again as he tucked the coin back away. "Or will our bones be the first paving stones in the greatest war Sunne has seen for 300 years?" The crisp snapping noise the twig made as he broke it in two made the other merchants jump. "The possibilities are really quite diverse - I haven't had this much fun in an age. Come now, lets celebrate!"

Selwyn bent over for a second before rising again with a small skin in his hand. He took a long gulp before tossing it over the fire to his companions.

"You sure are a strange one, aren' you Selwyn?" The quieter of the two merchants looked at the nocturne oddly for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his words. Then he shrugged, took a draught of the spirit and passed it to his friend. Before long, the two were talking once again about how rich they were going to become of this venture.

Selwyn was once again staring into the flames. The ever-moving shadows made him look like a man burning alive.

 

[unanun]

A magnificent dinner, brown

"I must admit," as Tattersal's delegation turned upon hearing Lut Sar's words from behind, "I was not expecting for you to be so generous." He strode into the clearing and grasped the Green General's hand in a firm handshake. At night, Kaustrian nocturnes were famous for glowing an almost translucent white in the clear moon overhead. However, Lut Sar's skin was hidden by furs and the cloudy sky overhead. Curious.

He introduced himself to the five who were apart from the rest, running his hand down the smooth silver fabric and paying his complements. "I had something prepared for you in my tent, but what feasts we could have provided you from our sands would probably have seemed quite dull compared to your magnificent fare."

Spread out across softly lit table was a variety of Viridosian fare. Most of what Lut Sar saw did not whet his appetite, for he had to bring (and with great apology) a small ceremonial cup for himself which he filled with blood. Lest he offend their delegation, he brought with him a few soldiers, citizens, and bureaucrats to share in their feast.

"Of course, you may not be used to cooking the animals in the Chersonese. We understand." A silver-gowned woman laid down fare in front of a Kaustrian. They mingled well.

Lut Sar laughed heartily, eyes flickering to the General, who leaned back in his chair. "Nonsense! Avarath trades heavily with hunters from the Chersonese. If you so wish, we would love to offer you dried meats to bring back home."

Time ticked away without incident.

An empty cup slapped the top of the table.

"But Tattersal!" Lut Sar pulled his chair closer to the Kin, who had the same look regardless of the situation, "How can you say that you represent the concerns of your nation? Why, here among you I count kin, merchants, and escorts!" He waved to Selwyn and the gaggle of merchants at the other end of the round table. The Kaustrians guided them to the pair with a firm hand on the elbow. The casual display of power was lost on all but Tattersal - since when did an Empire at peace act with such hierarchy of power?

"Let us see what they have to say!"

 

[Krimp]

Stepping into the spotlight, brown

The hint of a smile played around the edges of Selwyn's lips as the rough hand of a Kaustrian soldier wrapped around his arm - a reaction far different to that of his companions, who had already had their fair share of frights that night. He had positioned himself as close to Tattersal's easily recognizable figure as possible with the logic that the closer he was to the centre of the action, the more likely he was to be pulled into it.

His reasoning had proved to be reliable, as always. Now it was simply a matter of making the most of the situation.

"Can I not finish my drink at least?" Selwyn raised his goblet, still half full of a deep red liquid. The soldier's response was to pull him roughly to his feet, nearly spilling half of the drink in the process.

"Very well, I suppose it can wait," he said, the faintest trace of humour in his voice. He walked comfortably alongside the guard - despite the vice-like grip on his arm - in marked contrast to the other merchants, who shuffled towards the general's table with what seemed to be a sense of impending doom. If only they could see the situation for what it really was - an incredible business opportunity!

Even as the Kaustrian Nocturne - whom Selwyn safely assumed must be in quite a position of power if he was negotiating with Tattersal - posed his question, his mind came up with twelve possible answers and the reactions they would likely garner from the leaders. Eight were immediately discarded, but Selwyn spent slightly longer deliberating before he decided upon the most profitable course of action.

All in all, less than a second had passed since Lut Sar had finished speaking.

"Well, sirs," he stepped forward, his eyes darting quickly between the two generals, "if I may be so bold?"

A slightly raised eyebrow from the Nocturne facing him was all the invitation he needed to continue.

"Whispers of war have been flitting around Sunne for some time now, and considering your nation's recent... relocation, it is understandable that these rumours continue to grow. However," his eyes met Lut Sar's, "I do not think that such a war would benefit anyone. Not that I'm implying this is what you wish!" Once again, an almost imperceptible not of humour had crept ito Selwyn's voice.

"The losses for all sides would be astronomical, and this already sundered land would be rendered further barren. I am no soldier, and perhaps you will call me a coward, but I believe less... brutal decisions would benefit all sides. Of course, I am nothing more than a simple merchant." His bow was a perfect mix of self-deprecating and subservient. "I'm sure the ideas of such esteemed leaders as yourselves go far beyond mine."

Selwyn's eyes sparkled as he awaited a response. Had he overstepped a line? It was a gambit, and gambits were never without risk - now he would just have to await the consequences.

 

[E.T.]

A sly laugh threaded its way through the stony silence that persevered after Selwyn's words. The diplomat closest to the loose tongued Nocturne leaned forward with a sweetened smile. With a gentle wave of her hand she indicated that the merchant should take a seat next to her, an empty chair quickly appearing to accommodate the gesture.

"Such distasteful words for such a pleasant dinner." The quick witted woman was backed up immediately by her companions with both actions and words. Like mercury their words flowed easily around the delegates careful not to become overbearing and yet keeping a solid presence. That was why they had been chosen over others of the same trade. Belphebe needed those she felt she could count on and she needed those who knew how to read even the most composed of faces.

"Let us be mindful of this joyous occasion." Gently her hand flitted to Selwyn's knee with a gentle pat ending with her hand being laid gently atop his thigh. Unseen to all her nails dug fiercely into the tender inside of his leg for an instant before withdrawing smoothly. There was no need for open chiding, and to do so would most likely cause more harm. All had to be done quietly and with the utmost care, this was not the kind of meeting to go about ruffling feathers.

"If we may, I believe that the merchant simply wish to express their desire to keep trade flowing amongst the nations." The tan skinned woman smiled earnestly as she gazed around with piercing green eyes.

"All have their wishes for the future, many, like these merchants, simply wish to continue to serve as the messengers between nations." She said raising her glass to the two leaders.

 

[Zen]

Collaboration between @fatalrendezvous and @Kino

The sand cat with its orange tinted fur and horned shoulders swiveled her head and peered into Coros' golden eyes. For a moment the Aux looked flummoxed and irritated, but recognition flashed. An unspoken communication passed, and Amalia turned to face Rakar, her shawl unwrapping around her neck. Again, there was that expression of confusion before the healer's face melted into tearful relief.

"You're alive," she whispered.

Amalia clambered off of the camel, fumbled when the straps caught onto her ankle -- her eyes had suddenly become bloodshot once more -- sprinted towards the black scaled draken, and flung her arms around his waist. There she sunk to her knees, her hands dragging down to his ankles. Great terrible sobs tore through the healer's body and Amalia would not show her face to Rakar. Murmured choked words issued through her lips, all of which expressed her relief and happiness at his safe return. The other soldiers were taking notice.

Matil however, remained on top of the camel's head, ears twitching nervously. It seemed that she did not receive his return as joyfully. The cat had lowered her own head and seemed to hide behind among the scant fur on top of the camel.

Rakar quickly pulled Amalia to her feet and made an effort to mask his embarrassment. She was acting foolish. Meanwhile, Coros stared at Matil intently, almost unblinking.

"Get a hold of yourself. What do you think you're doing throwing yourself at me like that?"

She sniffled, and wiped away bloody tears. "I just... I thought you were dead."

The sand cat curled up tighter into a ball, ignoring Kerrick. Amalia however was very aware that the Pegulian was nearby, for her voice was hushed. She even told Rakar to not use her real name.

"Lut Sar didn't know where you were, and the Desert Sun spoke nothing of you or the others' whereabouts. Where have you been?"

The draken glanced towards Kerrick suspiciously after being told not to use her real name. What did it matter if her real name was used?

"Your eyes... You're bleeding."

"What?"

She stared down at her fingertips, noted that she was indeed bleeding, and wiped the drying liquid onto her shawl. The healer quickly dabbed at the corner of her eyes, composed herself, and turned towards the Pegulian.

"Rakar, this is Kerrick. He saved me from a band of raiders. Kerrick, this is Rakar Koden. He's a... dear friend of mine."

Throughout their entire interaction, Kerrick merely watched, observing Amalia. His gaze fell upon Rakar, eyeing the Draken with an immediate distaste that Kerrick could not quite place. The way she held him, the emotions she succumbed to just at the mere sight of him, caused a tug of emotion to stir within the escaped slave, though he could not quite discern why.

Kerrick had no reason to feel attached. He and "Ilia" had only just met, and they had hardly spoken at all en route to the encampments. Still, a noticeable pang of jealousy bubbled within Kerrick as he approached the pair. Terra stifled a growl at the unfamiliar Draken.

"Well met, Rakar." Kerrick nodded coolly towards the Draken and his Aux, deftly masking his dislike beneath his level demeanor, though the facade did not last long. As Kerrick was about to introduce himself formally, he caught the traces of caked blood around Amalia's eyes and on her cheeks. Swiftly taking a hold of her arm, he leaned in to examine her eyes - the first opportunity he'd ever gotten to really look at them, though he did not linger.

"Ilia, what happened? Are you alright?" He looked towards Rakar. "What happened to her?"

At the mention of Amalia's false name, Rakar made a subtle glance at her that Kerrick happened to notice - an acknowledgment that he understood her pseudonym. A pause, rather than a response, followed Kerrick's question. Not wanting to give away that he sensed something amiss, Kerrick instead pretended to misunderstand Rakar's hesitation for guilt, snapping at him.

"What did you do to her?"

"Do to her? Don't be a fool, you're been here the whole time. What could I have done to her?"

Rakar was insulted, and gave Kerrick a look of irritation. Coros continued starring at Matil, transfixed on the other aux. The draken was clearly growing distrustful, and took note of Kerrick's attitude towards Amalia. He could easily become a problem.

"We should not linger here in the open. Come, I was about to set up my tent nearby."

"Really, there's nothing to be concerned about Rakar," she mumbled grumpily. "Same for you Kerrick. Perhaps I got sand in my eyes."

Nonetheless she was grateful for the change in mood. The trio moved through the crowded tents and people, their movement slowed by Kerrick's camel. Amalia was grateful that the Pegulian was following them; she had a host of questions to ask him. But that was a faint urge, the healer was more concerned with what happened to Rakar, so as the draken pitched his tent, Amalia sat on the dirt and held in her excitement. Matil was nowhere to be seen, but she did invite Kerrick to join her. She would have to word her questions carefully.

"So now where you tell me where you've been? I was out cold for a month, but I received no reports about your whereabouts."

"Simply put, I have been in jail ever since the incident, until just a few days ago."

Coros did the talking as he sat a few feet away from Amalia while Rakar worked on the tent.

"The whole thing was a mess. But looking back, I feel like I should have seen it coming."

The aux trailed off, staring into nothing. The weight of the situation was catching up with him. After a few moments however, Coros began looking around, trying to spot something.

"...Where is your Aux?"

"In jail?" she asked, perplexed. "What were you in jail for? And Matil will be back in just a moment. She's checking the surroundings."

And that wasn't a lie. Coros spotted a small tuft of orange fur weaving in and out of the tents, eyes alert and focused. Amalia herself was looking the same way, despite being involved with a conversation.

"Or is that a topic you wish to discuss in private?" She asked quietly, giving Kerrick a side long glance.

Coros looked to Kerrick and narrowed his eyes for a moment.

"No it's fine. I was arrested the same day as the incident, charged with conspiracy and treason to put it loosely. No evidence ever emerged and the charges were dropped, of course. And now I am here."

Coros went back to looking around for Matil, keeping an eye on the sand cat as best he could.

"Before we continue further however, it would be good to know of your new friend's intentions. Is he going to be joining us, or not?"

"Perhaps you should ask him, instead of me. Will you be joining us, Kerrick? For dinner, I mean." She asked amicably.

Matil paused mid stride, eyes plastered to the backside of of Pegulian's skull.

Kerrick maintained a cool composure despite feeling eyes on him. The "cloak" that Amalia had described that gave him away as a Pegulian - if one could see it, there was no way of knowing how many others could, and perhaps just didn't mention it. In his mind, he tried to wrap it tight and close. He needed it to disappear if he wanted to survive as a Kaustiran.

He only hoped it didn't change him.

"Yes. I will be joining you."

She looked almost smug; Matil returned to stalking around the camp.

"There we go. He'll be joining us."

With the tent pitched, Amalia invited herself inside, gesturing for the both of them to follow. It was a cramped space, but it would fit the three of them so long as they sat down. The healer dropped the canvas opening, letting mute darkness envelope them.

"Down to business then. I'm sure you've heard of my status."

Shadows -- ones that had nothing to do with the dark that surrounded them -- appeared over Amalia's eyes. Her exuberance was gone, and instead she looked tired. She settled herself on the floor; Matil appeared by walking through the canvas tent.

"Where are the others? Where are K'jol, Theo, and Trystan?"

Rakar sat himself down inside the tent with a heavy sigh. Coros took a spot next to him.

"Dinner wasn't exactly what I meant when I asked if he was joining us..."

Amalia's odd behavior did not go unnoticed. Surely she knew what he meant. They could not afford to speak of anything that had any real importance so long as Kerrick's loyalty was still in question. Rakar was not one to give his trust so willingly.

"I don't know where any of them are. I was separated from everyone upon my arrest. The only reason I heard of your status was due to your rank at the time. It wasn't exactly a well kept secret that the First General of Kaustir had been stripped of her rank. For all I know, they could be dead."

Coros locked his gaze onto Matil the moment she entered the tent. Something was off about her, to say nothing of her altered appearance since he last saw her. Something that made him uneasy.

"The only one I would be concerned about however, is K'Jol. The others are of no consequence to us."

She picked at her nails, feigning frustration and exasperation.

"Well the cat's out of the bag isn't it? I had hoped to keep my position a secret. Then again I suppose he would have found out sooner or later, what with Lut's Wraiths buzzing around me."

Amalia gave Kerrick a wry smile before turning to Rakar. "I need allies and informants. He's a Pegulian. Perhaps he'll give me information in exchange for safe passage home. And if he doesn't corporate..."

She shrugged, letting the sentence hang in the air. Matil was looking listless as she stood next to her Crux. The healer fixed her blood caked eyes on Kerrick; an air of expectedness hung in the air.

"I'm sure you have questions for me."