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Fantasy Harmonia: The Story

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Colorless Spectrum

Colorless Spectrum

You are the spring I've waited for a long time
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Marchello 10, 2000 A.R.
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  • Orh, the Land of Magic; its people believe that they are the Chosens of the gods that had left Harmonia. Monarchs rule them from the bloodline of the First King, Alreus of Shantor. In the olden days, the leaders of the eight different Houses of Magic cooperatively built a Kingdom where each citizen dedicates their life to magic's prosperity. The Orhians see their untalented counterparts as inferior and barbaric, their advancements and inventions evil in comparison to their miraculous wonders. They believe that one day, the lands stolen by the Sierrans will be theirs once again.


    The Orhian Council​

    Steps echoed around the wide hallway made of quartz and stone. Had it not been for the monthly meeting, the Queen of Orh would have simply continued her daily work in her room. The Kingdom has recovered from the last war and there was no doubt in her mind where this meeting would go. The sun's rays were warm as it passed through the glass, bringing mild comfort to Faenire for its familiarity. Today is the day that will decide if Orh will once again go into war with Sierra. The crown glistened with the sun, as the sleeves of her garb hang low and the short trail of cloth follows her steps.

    She stopped at the entrance to what was known as The Room of Council, where the Head of each House of Magic gathers to discuss their respective cities and the Thousands Years War to the Royal Family and the current head of the Order of the Chosen.

    Faenire turned her head to look at her son, there was little to express and while she did care for his well-being she could not love her son fully. A child born of duty was a cruel fate, she knew well what it was like to be that child but she cannot bring herself to show him a mother's love when simply looking at him reminds her of painful memories. "Listen well for you will be the future King. And after the meeting, you should acquaint yourself with the new head of House Cytir, it would be better for you both to be on each other's good side." She told him before gesturing for the guards to open the door.

    "The Royal family of Orh has arrived." Said one servant before bowing and seeing himself out as the three royalty had sauntered in.

    White high ceiling walls with the banner of each field of magic greeted the Queen and her companions, alongside the faces of the Head of Houses and the Popette. She nodded once to acknowledge their presence in the room before heading over to the throne. The King and the Crown Prince sat at her side, and in front of her was the Pope who sat beside the four of the Head of House on each side, forming a semi-circle. "Shall we begin?"

    "Rena, what is the situation in Asba and the opinion of the people?"

    Rena, the head of house Asba and wife to the former head of Herya, cleared her throat as she got up from her seat. "Of course, there's been quite the excitement within the cities. Our mages have been enchanting items left and right, although there has been a city where there have been complaints on how weak the enchanted equipment has been, I've sent someone to tackle on the issue and fix the problem." The woman stated, holding in her hands a document of how much enchantments have skyrocketed over the past month, eager to show her graphs to better communicate how well the Kingdom of Orh has recovered. "I've also done some research on other cities and there is quite a number of people willing to participate and give their all for the glory of Orh despite not having any military or combat experience."



    A TRIP TO LUDIS VILLAGE
    ​
    Anticipation encompassed the people of Orh as words circled regarding the prospects of war. Major cities and small villages alike have been outfitting their borders and citizens with weapons of warfare. One of which was a small town in the eastern part of Vignis Lake. Authorities had bought bulks of enchanted weapons and armors for battle from the renowned Asban Mage, Lir Alvis, and the Blacksmith Tycoon, Zaccai Silverio. The plethora of gears was meant to be equipped by eager volunteers and worried villagers alike. Unfortunately, once the items came, they fell short of what was supposed to be top-quality products from both sellers. The enchantments of the bought arsenals were weaker than expected. The local Elder and other vital figures immediately notified the rightful authority.

    The Head of House Asba, Rena Yleora, implored the concerned pair to investigate the village's reports and conduct required actions if their services proved to have fallen short of the requirement. Not one to refuse a councilwoman's request, the pair agreed and made their way to the fated village.

    Ludis appeared to be a typical settlement. It was small, only containing less than fifty establishments. Each was made out of timbers, even the local Chapter that stared at them from across. The structures were arranged circularly, and a sizeable unlit bonfire sat at the middle. The duo received preliminary information which stated that the town was home to merely thirty families, only one of which belonged to the noble class. Furthermore, the village's primary source of income appeared to be planting crops and domesticating animals.

    A man in his prime years approached Lir Alvis and Zaccai Silverio through the dugout pathway. "Greetings, sir Alvis and sir Silverio. I am the Elder of the village, Pyerr." Despite his aging form, he stood firm and proud. "Everyone in the village knows that you're both esteemed in your respective crafts, but there seems to be something wrong with the items. We're not sure if it's the enchantment or the materials used." He explained with a quavering voice, a hint of disappointment in it. "Or perhaps..."

    As if on cue, a child waddled to the Elder with tears and snot running down his face. He desperately grasped the Elder's robes. "I can't cast magic any-!" However, before the boy could finish his sentence, the old man's bony hand immediately covered his lips. He then warily moved his gaze back to the visiting pair.




 
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Astrid Boberac "The Desert Snake"
Interactions - Arcanist Arcanist
Mentions - Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum AI10100 AI10100
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Excitement tinged onto Astrid's lips. It was not everyday that a fresh bounty fell onto their doorstep, and it was an extraordinarily illusive one as well. Stealing from Ohrians was all fun and games, but the Sierrans always had an intoxicating edge to their convoys which were always carried in large trucks with their goodies tightly concealed to the naked eye. She sat safely atop a tree aside the road, tracking the oncoming vehicle with her monocular; hardly able to keep her elation down, as her fingers tapped sporadically against the branch she laid across.

Below she had around four men hacking down an ancient tree, thick at the stump, and hardly purged from the blight of the war. It stood regally at around fifty meters, and Astrid's men were just about to bring it to the ground.

The rest of her party sat quietly in the bushes, awaiting Astrid's orders. The Desert Snake's eyes would make for what she considered her number two, Vesper, who was her flower in combat when compared to the other buds she was hoisted with.

"On my mark, we're going to drop the tree on these suckers. I am going to create a barrier to protect us while we distract the gunner. Vesper it is your job to close in and take them out and leave them..." She spoke with a pause, giving Vesper a horizontal shake of her hand. "Breathing would be perfect, dead would be acceptable." Arcanist Arcanist

Astrid would veer downwards to some of her men in the bushes. "Ya' caught that all, ya' dopes? 'Cuz if you weren't listening, I am not going to feel sorry when you get a bullet between the eyes!"

»»————-　　————-««​

Astrid's bandits:
OLLIE MOZIER AI10100 AI10100
VEELE Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
VESPER Arcanist Arcanist

9 X Other members, ranging from hybrids, to criminals from Ohr and Sierra. Most of Astrid's squad is underfed and while eager, are not the most experienced fighters.

 
Fig Newton.png​


1646873668913.pngFig was internally pogging.

It had been more than fifteen years since Fig had stepped foot in Thyrean soil. The disastrous landscape, where it felt like there were thousands of kilometers of nothing in either direction, with the only sanctuary of interaction being in the place where his foot stepped on. The unique smell of the ground, earthy yet the slightest coppery, as if Elysium itself was bleeding. After years of wanting to return here, Fig was on the moon on finally getting his wish.

In the bumpy car ride, Fig had clutched at his luggage. He hadn't been willing to part with Wilhelmina luxuries just for this one trip, so the chemist had decided to pack an excessive amount of alcohol. You could say his spirits were high, both metaphorically and physically. Also in the bag, carefully packed in a plastic bag, was a heavy book. Milam had called it a 'letter,' but what kind of letter was over a hundred pages in length? His godparent had been sad to hear that they wouldn't be able to come along with Fig, as they had hoped to meet up with Sewyss and Fig's parents. So in his stead, he sent his journal, which he had dedicated to them. If Fig managed to see any of the three of them, he was to pass the journal over.

Fig hoped too that he could meet Sewyss, mommy, and daddy as well. Would he recognize them? His memories of them were at the best fuzzy, developed when he was only seven years of age. Did they miss him, after these long sixteen years? Were they even alive?

As soon as he was able to step off of the military vehicle, Fig reached for his electronic cigarette, heating it up and puffing some smoke as he listened to Hrist talk. A sickly sweet smoke smelling slightly of strawberry spilled softly out of Fig's lips. It wasn't late in the day for it to be socially acceptable, but Fig was considering going to the mess hall and opening up one of his alcoholic beverages while they waited. It wouldn't make him drunk, no, his tolerance for alcohol was high enough that it would at most give him a nice buzz. Assuming that Stheno, the woman with the electronic tail, would also join him, it'd be a nice way for the two of them to 'get to know each other.' Sure, they got to know each other slightly during the ship ride over, but that wasn't enough.

But first, Fig had a question. He raised his hand, the wrist of which had a bandage covering it, where the tracker was implemented, "Hey boss gurl I, um, I think I like contracted salla-vaytovre from the procedure."

Fig didn't expect Hrist to know what he was talking about, and that was what he intended. It took quite a bit of willpower to avoid immediately bursting out laughing.

Ineptitude Ineptitude
 

Arletta Petilia Gennadia
An hour before the meeting.

'I'm proud of you, my daughter'. The words sprawled across the yellowed parchment in midnight black scars. The paper the creased skin they had been carved out of in inky streaks. Thumb following the graceful arches to the perfectly round punctuations, she could almost feel the nib scraping against the page.

Feel the familiar staleness of the study, layers of dust and old books and layers of dust again; filling every nook and cranny in the shelves lining the walls. The heavy curtains that swallowed all light in its draping embrace of the windows, perfect for hiding in, and the dark oak floor creaking under her mother’s weight as she leaned forward over the desk. Fountain pen pressed against her slender fingers as they moved in calculated strokes.
Calculated. As there was no quiver to the lines or overflowing blots of hesitation.

The study crumpled along with the letter in her clenched hand. Gloved fingers squeezing its last crinkling breath out in unison with the last turn of the wheels. The carriage rattled to a halt and its passenger rose. A silhouette of dark billowing fabric appearing as the door swung open and she stepped out under the sunlight. A gentle breeze rippled through the swaying nightshade locks that cascaded her statue like face. The guard at the bottom of the white castle steps saluted sharply before assuming the standard regal pose to announce in a shout:

“Head of Cytir has arrived!”

Her steps echoed throughout the valved hallways, an even pace of click-clack striding across the crystal floor. White walls, white ceiling and white foundation- the castle painted a rather bleak picture in the sunlight streaming in from the rows of arched windows. Aside from a few paintings, standing out in their coloured starkness, and flower arrangements, she was the only sign of life present. A dark shadow that stalked the corners with a contradictory experience. Contradictory, as she had never stepped foot inside the building before this. Experience in all but physical as she recounted the castle’s layout from her mother’s instructions.

Only a week had passed since her succession as the Cytir head and Arletta was already heading for her first official meeting. One that could prove vital for the land of Orh’s future survival. If the heaps of paperwork and formalities had taken its toll on her was hard to say. Posture as straight and tall as ever and face impassive in its silent scrutiny of the surroundings.

She should have been happy. Absolutely beaming at being recognised for her efforts to the point people regarded her as someone to look up to. Instead, there was a tension in the shoulders that refused to let up in their squared stance. A little trembling in the gloved hands, hurriedly smoothing out any wrinkles on her robe where she stood balancing on her tiptoes before the last corner. An imperceptible release of breath, her lips pressed together and she raised her chin to regard the guards with renewed dignity as she marched out into view.

Any looks and judgments they might've been tempted to make were quickly abandoned upon meeting her narrowed gaze. Red eyes piercing them from above with something akin to disgust and dismissal at the same time.

Click-clack, the sound of her heels followed her up to her seat amongst the other House Heads. She stopped in front of it, adjusted the skirt of the robe to fall smoothly around her legs and sat down with careful consideration. Elbows propped on the armrests and hands gathered in her lap, she gave the little vial necklace snared around her wrist a twist between her fingers. She wondered if the cat back at Ras Cytir had found the saucer with milk she had put out for it. The royal family arrived and she rose, bowed and sat down once again. Legs crossed comfortably this time. The weather report had said it wouldn’t rain there this week, the cat would be fine staying outside for a couple of days. Right?

"Forgive my impertinence if I'm speaking out of turn, but I believe that allowing civilians onto the battlefield would be an unwise move. Good soldiers cannot be made overnight and they would most likely only be getting in the way in more strategical ops due to their inexperience. If not for their sake then they should remain in their homes for the soldiers sake." Alretta stood up with a leisurely grace, hands clasped in front of her "In regards to the Cytir the lacking amount of qualifying mages have been addressed by adjusting the curriculum. The number of Kastur graduates will return to the normal twelve a month with no decrease in quality. The rest of us are at your disposal, your Majesty".

interactions: @ everyone at the room of council meeting
 
The winds carried the derogatory whispers of those outside of his country, and even those within. This often led Yzola to get accustomed to feeling uncomfortable in most settings, none more uncomfortable than yet another council meaning. Perhaps his paranoia simply manifested into a twisted lucid dream he had yet to free himself from. At the very least, within this tower free from the cackling winds, and malicious breezes, Yzola could defend his country without distraction. No, his methods were not as grandiose as single handedly defeating a high ranked monster, or dethroning a previous regime, but it was often as effective. It was here in the war room that battles were won, lost, and created. Yzola folded his wings when he entered the room. He couldn't help but sigh at the sight of the crazy one, and the ancient one. Dealing with these two for the short amount of time he had been the APEX of Porahn had been...interesting. Correction, dealing with Tytaniah was a hassle. She always made him feel uneasy and he couldn't help but feel as if his organs were being undressed and sliced with her eyes. Yzola would never show it, but he could feel goosebumps form on his scaled skin as he imagined himself on an operation table with Niah as the surgeon. The horror was enough to make Yzola mentally curl up in the corner...if he could.

As the seconds ticked, he allowed the banter between Sercine and the Sadist to continue, only cutting in with a respectful nod in response to their greeting. After finally finding his extremely large chair that didn't stand out at all, Yzola removed the paper bag that had been hiding his face this entire time. He was certain those in the room would be surprised to see it was him; after all, his mastery at disguise prevented several skirmishes that could have taken place in the city should anyone had seen him. Of course, Fenikae was not much of an issue when compared to other areas within Sierra; nevertheless, one could not be too careful.

Yzola collected a modest plate when compared to his own size. It felt wrong to enjoy delicacies many of the people living in his country would never see in their lifetime; however, it also felt rude to refuse Niah's gesture in that same token. That said, he had barely touched any of the provided nourishments while Sercine officially began the meeting. Yzola couldn't help but try to race her down the winding words of her dialogue toward the actual point. Even her apparent sympathy seemed to be taking those present to a very familiar and volatile place. He listened carefully as his facial expression remained unchanged. He pondered if he should yawn, and eventually decided against it, after all, that would have been uncharacteristic of his brother and therefore uncharacteristic of himself. Leaning his head onto a fist Yzola spoke calmly, but loud enough for everyone to here. "After many years of research I need someone to test out my new toys," Yzola translated. "Might as well be transparent in what we're asking, saves everyone time." Yzola's eyes cut to Jiana before slowly bringing them back to Sercine. "That said, whatever the reason, I have no doubts that it could deal a great blow to Orhians. My main concern would be your plans for future retaliation? After having the enemy stand on your soil, you would understand why this term war would carry a different connotation with me...I'm not smiling." Yzola's eyes lingered on Sercine, his head still resting on his fist while his eyes passionlessly attempted to cleave into her mind.

(Oh my god she's going to kill me, they're going to kill me! I hope they don't kill me, I should have kept the paper bag on! NO, I'LL DEFINITELY NEED IT TO THROW UP LATER! WAS I COOL AT LEAST!? Please tell me I was cool because if I wasn't cool then I'm going to freaking die of embarrassment. I HOPE I'M NOT TURNING RED! MY SKIN IS SO PALE I KNOW I'M FUCKING RED RIGHT NOW! IS THE MEETING OVER?......It's only been.....5 MIN!? I'M SO DEAD.)

Saturn_moon Saturn_moon AI10100 AI10100 Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
 
VESPER
Interactions: Castello Castello (Astrid)| Mentions: Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum (Veele), AI10100 AI10100 (Ollie)

vesper headshot.png
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Vesper's ears flicked at the cranking vehicle rolling, watching as dust was upended in a veil of mist along the road. Her hearing had come as a shock at first. The sheer frequency of noises used to bring on headaches for days, but the condition was much more managable with enough mental fortitude and training. It, alongside her other features, became a boon for operations like this. And it was not very often that she would use those abilities for operations as large as this one.

Vesper was perched on another branch of the tree, comfortable as if she had balanced on branches long before. In truth, she had. What few trees they were in Sierra, the girl at the time took herself on climbing excursions and proudly boasted of her climbing as a child. She thankfully no longer fell and broke so many bones in her body from climbing a tree, but she sometimes wondered if that would be a better alternative now.

The hybrid caught Astrid's eyes, and soon her instructions for their plan of action. The excitement was palpable in their leader, she could see it. She seemed ready to spring from the branch almost immediately, and Vesper recalled times when she was drunk on the exhilaration of fighting as a soldier. Perhaps it was because of her circumstances, or becoming older, that the excitement didn't seem to have so much of a chokehold on her. She felt calmer, even just slightly wary of what they were about to carry out. She felt grounded, even on this branch.

She scoffed at Astrid's preferred options, glancing out to the road once more. "We'll see. They should be considering themselves lucky if they're breathing while I'm around." It was not very often Vesper would go against Astrid's orders, and she would not be risking so now. If she had her way, perhaps she would have been rid of them all, but she understood the need to keep those soldiers alive.

"Who knows," Vesper started, glancing at some of their crew below, and back to the woman leading them, "maybe those poor soldiers won't have the time to pull out their guns." Less bullets between the eyes, at the very least, but she doubted the operation would be over that quickly. "I'm ready whenever you give the signal to go, Astrid."
 
Khonsue Crescentborne, The Moon-eyed Scholar​
d544e064534ea1d05a21a7398dac3613.jpg

The dancing wind. The crunching of grass. The gravelly breathing of bezites. This singular moment allowed Khonsue reprieve. The Aket'Shahti Chieftain walked amongst the bounty. Observing their black horned beasts. A hand had found the eldest bezite, scratching the thick hide. It shook its' head to the side, indicating displeasure. Khonsue smirked, he knew not to trifle with these mammoth creatures. With objection also came the thoughts of governance. The tribe and their quality of living has steadily increased these past four years. Even rediscovering new technologies, philosophies, or techniques. Khonsue's moonlit orbs glanced below at his chest. This ensemble for instance. A sturdy outfit that is tougher than leather, some of the shamans are striving to integrate chainmail. Or the documents that rested in his tent. Through great effort, he decyphered the scripture. Orhian in origin, detailing a fraction of the effects of iridinite. A calf caught Khonsue's contemplating when it rammed him with its' preadolescent horns. Khonsue chuckled at the young child's ebullient spirit. "As always, you are wise beyond your years." Complimenting the little fella before deciding it is time to move on from his moment of solitude.

The Chieftain nodded his head at the shepherd. "Beautifah, ah always. Rahight, shah?" An elderly man with a herding stick asked the Chieftain. "That they are, though nothing can quite compare to seeing your people grow." The shepherd smiled in acknowledgement. "Look after them well." Khonsue expressed his sincerity, along with a pat on the shoulder.

The Shahtian children played with stick-swords and wooden shields, paying no mind other than a brief glance to their leader. The adults were eager to exclaim their greetings... Or voice their complaints. At times, Khonsue wished he was like Bahadur the Third who ruled with an iron grasp. If he took other paths in life then it could have been a reality.

At the cusp of his tent, a voice cried out! "Chieftain, chieftain!" It was Torval. A newly-minted sentry that had been tasked with surveying the boundaries. The black-haired Chieftain turned with a raised expression. "Steady yourself, sentry. You're acting like a hunted karvibat." A popular saying in the tribe, means to be worried/needlessly suspicious. The sentry stopped, heaving to catch his wind. "I'm sorry, shah. But Orpheus has come bearing information." Khonsue was caught off guard, obvious by the contour of his face. "Orpheus? He is... Early." His gaze wandered to the ground. If Orpheus arrived now then a dark cloud hung over Thyrea. Or held the potential. "A moment" Disappearing into the tent, Khonsue sought out the familial helm. He soon emerged again. Armoured with the black headgear, Khonsue accompanied Torval back to the periphery.

Khonsue raised a hand. "Hail, Orpheus. What news do you harbour?" Khonuse, prim and proper, greeted the traveller. He knows well the power of knowledge and it is a great boon to have someone like Orpheus.

Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
 
Jiana-modified.png
Jiana Nazyalensky

Interactions: AI10100 AI10100 Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum LazyDaze LazyDaze
​

It is a commonly held belief that the opposite of peace is war; for peace to prevail, there can be no war. It is true that war and peace often seem to repel each other like magnets with likened poles, but Jiana knew this was not the case for Sierra. In Sierra, war and peace were intrinsically tied to one another like day and night. If peace was the day - warm, inviting, and bright - then war was the night - cold, dark, and endless. And while they would never share the same sky, the world would continue to spin and their existence merely served as a reminder of what was to come once their time had expired. As Jiana stepped through the gilded doors leading into the Great Tower, the general saw the sun setting before her eyes. The sky was ablaze in hues of red and gold like a final battle cry to the gathering night that would soon be upon them.

Reclined languidly in her seat at the war table, swirling a glass of wine in one hand, Jiana exuded an aura of casual indifference and perhaps boredom as Sercine took the lead and commenced their meeting. Such was the right of the host and the eldest member of the council. However, those who knew Jiana well enough would have noticed her unblinking gaze at nothing, the slight furrow between her brows, and the gentle rhythmic drumming of her cybernetic fingers against the polished mahogany table. The general was thinking. No, not thinking. Strategizing. The cogs of her mind turned in tandem with each other as she laid out an imaginary battle map before her. War was her expertise and if it was indeed on the horizon, she had every intention of making it the last Sierra would see. Over the years, she had heard fellow soldiers call her many names. Angel of war, the grim reaper, harbinger of death. Let it be known that Jiana Nazyalensky wasn't a killer; she simply wanted to win - thoroughly. If that made her a monster, so be it. Her eyes flicked over to Yzola for a moment who ironically looked like he was trying to shrink into himself despite being the largest figure present. It was perhaps for this reason that she understood her neighboring leader more than he may realize.

"I must agree with Yzola." Jiana chimed in just as the man finished saying his piece. Her dulcet voice, although soft and smooth, echoed clearly around the space. Rising from her chair, she placed her untouched wine glass down and brushed out the faint wrinkles on her dress. It was high necked and clung to her body in a flattering manner that accentuated the curves of her frame. Definitely, not the most conventional attire for a general to wear but Jiana had never been one for convention.

Slowly, she began pacing around the table and her fellow council members. "While I have absolute faith in the technology that has come out of our workshops and factories in recent years no thanks to Sercine's impeccable guidance," Jiana looked to the older woman and offered her a respectful nod of acknowledgment. "War is not a game to be taken lightly and should we choose to go down this path there will be consequences no matter the side we are on." She paused, allowing her words to sink in. "Aristide will proudly take up arms and lead the charge when the need for it arises," The subtle choice of words, 'when' instead of 'if', would not go unnoticed. "But I must ask, are you all willing to put everything on the line for this war? There are times when the right words can change the world. Perhaps this is something we can explore... while we dispatch a fleet of submarines towards the Orhian coast?"
 
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Harridan Akratorlen, The Revenant​



Harridan always loved the council chambers. Spacious, high-ceilings, as befitted a man of his status. Blanks on standby to tend to this every need, carrying trays loaded with delicacies and fine wines that cost a small fortune to purchase. Not that Harridan paid for them, most of the time, but still, it was nice to not have to extort them, either. And the luxurious extravagance, the thrones made of valuable materials and the statues that towered over all of them-everything was exactly as he had envisioned when he went back to Kairo for the first time.

It would be a great disservice if he had not dressed appropriately for this event, most certainly, and since he actually had a few days of forewarning this time(last time he had to literally leg it, as his Thyrean business had taken much longer than anticipated), he had made sure to embellish his appearance as much as humanly possible. Above his steel-capped boots(they still had some specks of blood on them-Harridan thought they added to the look and refused to have them removed) were trousers with red-and-gold embroidery in the image of flames crawling all the way up to his midriff. His tunic seemed to be a matched set, filled with designs of the flames culminating in a blazing inferno, dotted with terrifying creatures bound in magical chains.

And of course, the design culminated on a lavish cloak on his back, sporting a figure lording over it all, a Lich, with a taunting smile, a flaming scepter in one hand, and the bundle of chains on the other. The Lord of All.
The already well-above extravagant outfit was compounded by the many pieces of jewelry Harridan wore. Chains, necklaces, pins, rings and bracelets all served to flaunt his wealth, and, more importantly, his arrogance. This man was not just a head of a House-he was a mighty figure, and he insisted that you know it.

Harridan was currently leisurely leaning back on his seat, seemingly not sharing the concern and tension of most of his fellow councilmembers. He partook gleefully of the morsels and the wine provided to him, perhaps a little more than etiquette would consider proper. Not that etiquette was a particular concern for Harridan, or indeed, the people that surrounded him. Seemingly slightly ticked off at this state of affairs, he felt the need to at least voice his opinion.

“What’s the matter with you, friends? Most of you look like you’re as tight as a violin string. Come on, give a shot to being like dear Lume over here-not a speck of concern on her features, impending war be damned. Seriously, try the wine, down some pastries. Let it not be said our dear queen lacks hospitality.”
He turned to his own goblet, only to find that it was empty. He huffed, lifting the goblet up. “Speaking of hospitality…Zinnie, get some of these lil’ fellers over yonder, I need a refill. Come on, it’ll only take a second.”

He could’ve gotten one of the blanks currently present to do that, of course, but Zinnie’s little helpers had some magic attached to them that give anything to do with her a nice, warm buzz. It reminded him of…He, he actually had no idea what it reminded him of. It was one of the most jarring things, where he felt as if though something was supposed to be there but it was gone, overridden by something jagged and terrible. He tried to focus on it, confused and frustrated by that gnawing feeling.

It was a mistake, as a terrible searing pain filled the nape of his neck, a strange creature made of red flames that snarled in hateful agony mere inches from his face. Through practiced composure he only grimaced slightly at that sight, downing a large portion of his wine outright. Not now. Not fucking now, not in front of them. Now now.
He quickly scanned the room, trying to find something to distract himself with. Sure enough, some commotion quickly caught his attention. A guard announced the head of House Cytir had arrived, which was kind of puzzling, as they were very rarely late. What in the bloody hell had happened?

The figure that appeared was even more confusing, since it didn’t seem to be the old Cytir head. This one was a lot prettier, for a start, and made absolutely null effort to hide this fact, much to Harridan’s amusement. He smiled with what perhaps might resemble warmth for but a brief moment, before she, in turn, looked at him with the same disgust as you’d look something that’d gotten stuck under your shoe. The cackling returned. The searing pain on the back of his head grew worse, and his smile widened abruptly from friendly to dangerous. “This how you wanna play this, huh? Let’s fucking go, then!”

“Well welly welly welly well!” He spoke, his every word dripping with exaggerated arrogance and just the slightest hint of annoyance over her demeanor. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it seems we have ourselves a brand new interrogator! I must’ve been living under a rock to not have been notified of this, although, then again, it hardly seems to be a riveting occasion. Please, sit down. Mercifully, the Queen is not here yet-she gets so very upset when people are late.”


When Arletta had sat down, Harridan motioned for one of the blanks to move to her, depositing a goblet with yet more wine. “Take a moment to adjust, would ya? This whole building is quite extravagant, and I do not use that word lightly, or negatively, for that matter. You won’t get the chance once our beloved monarch is here. Her lordship gets so very impatient, you would think she actually had other matters to attend to, hehehe...”
Trying to mock the queen without breaching etiquette was tiresome and largely pointless, but he needed to vent at least some of his displeasure somewhere, lest it become too much and consume him whole. There would come a day when he wouldnt have to put up with the constant bullshit, but for now, it would have to do.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, for soon after he made that macabre thought the queen bitch herself showed up, dragging the unfortunate crown prince along with her. Harridan’s mood once again improved slightly as he saw that white-haired rascal. Despite what one might expect from his mother, the prince was friendly and had a distinct lack of sticks up his rectum. He really should take the kid out drinking sometime soon, he resolved, before he had to go run around do his duties again. He winked, smiling at Theon before he composed himself, sitting up straight and looking at her royal majesty instead.

“My liege, I must admit, I am once again humbled by the benevolence you show to even the lowliest among us. To have so ingeniously and stylishly incorporated a mop into your garments so as to lighten the workload of your servants-we all can stand to learn many things from you.”
It took every last ounce of his self control not to burst out laughing. Ah, his greatest material was wasted amongst people too cowardly to laugh. But it didn’t matter. Feeling a load off his chest after that display of pettiness, he leaned in, actually listening as the different heads offered opinions and reports. His mind worked quickly, formulating his story while thinking on how to best embellish his achievements. Once both other heads had finished, he started talking, not waiting to be given permission to do so.

“Such zeal is admirable, but less useful in such raw form. The answer on what to do is obvious, and two-fold-Kairo can happily accommodate the vast majority of these people, giving them the training and discipline necessary to become sufficient line mages. Anyone with more than a quarter of a brain you can instead add to your own numbers. The Sierrans greatly outpace our own industry, and to begin taking actions towards at least reducing that advantage”

He craned his neck, which made a loud cracking sound as he gave everyone a moment to process this input. “I suppose it’s my turn now, eh? You’ll be most pleased to know I have not been inactive in the slightest. Of course, Kairo is taking action towards shifting to mass mobilization, which will soon bear tangible results on our already great numbers. But you were already expecting that, and besides, I did not oversee that personally, either, though my regent is trustworthy enough.”

“Instead, I focused my efforts on two actions-for one, I have begun to enact some reforms regarding the army. Changes in formation and doctrine, using the information gathered regarding the Sierrans. It’s still a work in progress, but the ultimate aim is to make, at least the divisions I control, more flexible, less exposed to the Sierran warmachines, which lack such finesse, as well as minimizing downtime between rapid redeployments, which ought to help with Sierran artillery. I would of course be more than happy to discuss such matters at further length with his majesty, assuming he is not too preoccupied once more with his own...projects.”

This was not the only reason, and this was not the only reform he was enacting, but he had technically spoken truth-it was no crime, after all….Besides, the King usually fucking gallivanted with those Crimson Raiders of his. He could hardly be blamed for showing initiative.

“In addition, I have tasked my most potent geomancer to assemble a squad of his contemporaries and move them to our outpost in Thyrea. When they are ready, I intend to have them begin clearing out more strategic locations of Irdinite. Such an advantage to the Sierrans must be denied while we still have the time to do so. I shall inform you of their progress in a future report.”
Feeling quite content with this rather impressive backlog of deeds, Harridan once again leaned comfortably back into his seat, finishing the last of his wine, waiting for the well-deserved praise everyone better give him for his, as always, incredible forethought and true military genius. Yes. He liked those words. Military genius. Someone better call him a military genius right fucking now.
 
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The council chambers felt exponentially more suffocating than the previous visits. Sat still in her seat, Zinnia Alinac held a cup of tea firm against the table. Only her eyes darted around, trying to find the source of the discomfort. It was not the usual suspect that was Harridan, nor the presence of the newest Cytir head—Arletta, was it? Zinnia heard news of it a few days prior. Finally, Zinnia budged, moving the soothing tea to her lips. Perhaps it was the looming onslaught of war that defiled the grandiose display of the chambers.

The uneasiness ceased to die down; Zinnia only grit her teeth, almost biting down on the teacup lip as her name rang clear from Harridan's battle-hungry mouth. Seems even her, she was meant to play host. Not that she minded; it helped take her mind off of wavering numbness. But Zinnie? Something about that rubbed her the wrong way—maybe the part where Harridan mouthed it. She spared a blank glance at him, waving a few fingers around.

Climbing out of her lap, three fist-sized mushrooms roamed around in a set path. The Mycos took to the nearest wine bottle (kindly placed by one of the knowledgeable servants) and teetered it over via bumping. The two other Mycos scurried to the other end where the bottle fell neatly on their mushroom tops. The one that bumped it climbed on top of the wine as the other two carried it over to Harridan. It set at the ready near the cork.

Zinnia's attention drew quickly around, however, as the servants announced the royal family's arrival. A warm smile crept on her face; and very quickly evaporated by Harridan's uncalled-for "mop" comment. To which he then went on talking about all of his fine achievements as if he deserved the utmost attention—more so than the royal family!

As he sat back down, looking smug as ever, one of the Mycos tripped. The cork flew open, and the bottle of wine dropped and rolled onto Harridan's clothing. Zinnia, in the meanwhile, was busy sipping her tea—and looked all the more 'astonished' at what happened.

"My apologies, Harridan!" Her first words in the chamber rang loud yet soft. "I was so caught off guard by the magnanimity of your words, it seems the Mycos quite literally fell awestruck." She raised a hand to her mouth, quieting a giggle as servants rushed over with towels; but even from her seat, the scent of grape pilfered through. "At the very least, we've found a way to incorporate grapes into your attire!"

The mushrooms stood motionless at Harridan's table, soaked in the red wine. Zinnia kept drinking her tea, feeling just a little better than she did earlier.

And just as before, the mood turned once the subject of war was brought up, as expected. Zinnia could not help the twinge of sadness when she heard of the people’s willingness for war. In her opinion, war should have been unnecessary... But there was no turning the tide that swept both Sierra and Orh—even she could realize that. Zinnia rose gently, laying her empty teacup before her. "To add onto Arletta's notion; there are ways to aid in the war efforts other than fighting. The farmlands in Mag Herya are always in need of helpers. And... in the events of war, I can only imagine that the demand for supplies will skyrocket."
 
Stheno Murinus
Interaction: Coyote Hart Coyote Hart | Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum​
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There were sparks going off in her head—the good sort this time. The type that carried more ideas than she could be conscious of, that carried hundreds of possibilities in the buzz of electricity. She could feel it. It was the calling card of excitement, of metal bending underneath her sturdy hands. Whatever was ahead of her from that moment on could be the greatest challenge she'll ever encounter, but it was the sort of challenge she was more than willing to take on.

So when she saw that hand reaching out to her?

Well...

She took it.

"Hey boss gurl I, um, I think I like contracted salla-vaytovre from the procedure."

"Pfft!"

This wasn't quite what she was expecting on the first day of the job though.

Stheno did her best to stamp down the laugh that threatened to bubble out of her throat. Her mechanical tail quivered and shuddered with the minute shaking of her shoulders before wrapping itself around her leg, preventing it from accidentally lashing out at someone. It would do her no good to break the rules this early on into her endeavor!

Remember! Rule No. 1 of Basic Human Etiquette: Don't be rude!

Now her father didn't say it in quite as many words but she had reason to believe that laughing at someone you've just met and bodily harm counted as being rude. She hid her temporary lapse in courtesy under the guise of a delicate cough, sending an slightly apologetic look Hrist's way.
 
Zaccai Silverio​

The past few months were a blur. Zaccai's mind was clouded with blacksmithing scenes from striking heated glows to braving flying sparks. All aside from the occasional meetups he had with the coffee addict head of Amier. Very few of which ended with her falling asleep somewhere along his peripheral vision. Right, as well as the frequent business letter exchanges between him and Lir from miles away.

What started as an epic influx of orders turned out to be a never-ending heated cage of work that chained him down. Zaccai could feel the tension run along his back with every order completed and two more added. Though it was all necessary for the upcoming war. The blacksmith expertly released his bottled tension with every pound from his hammer, smoothly splitting metals as sweat rolled down his clenched jaw. He kept the rest in with no choice. If he didn't do it, no one else would.

Then, the fateful day came. Orders continued pouring in, stretching his team thin. Though Rena Yleora, head of House Asba, had summoned him. And that took precedence above all.
___

Zaccai calmly rested his back against a tree trunk. There he was days later taking a break with Lir in the middle of a random forest on the way to Ludis. "Ha," The mage lightly chuckled as he kept his knee at a slight bend to prop up the apple at hand. Meanwhile, his other leg simply remained outstretched. Who would've though he'd be away from the forge only to gravitate to another. Fortunately for them, the trip wasn't too strenuous. Though both mages had to clear their minds prior to the upcoming business interaction.

"Ngragh!" The Egnarion next door sneezed out an icy slush toward Zaccai's boot. "Woah!" The mage grunted with a swift lift of his leg, just narrowly missing the freeze. Though the same couldn't be said for his other boot . . stuck to the ground. That and the freeze got real close to his- Zaccai and the Egnarion glanced at one another. This wasn't the first time his icy friend Slush let one loose. Slush curved his brows in a curious manner before letting his blue gaze slowly move upward. "Acting innocent are ya?," Zaccai coolly tilted his head toward Slush as he raised a brow. "Hrrmm?" The Styeving replied, just nervously shifting in place. " . . All right," Zaccai nodded, "Bless you."

A gradual glow settled onto the mage's hand, producing a small red cosmic display before warping into a pocket-sized hammer. Then, he gave a swift couple strikes against the ice to crack. Another day at the office. Zaccai pushed himself up to a stand before casually stepping out the ice and passing his travel buddy, "C'mon, Lir."

That's when they entered the village. Ludis was a small settlement humbly composed of wooden establishments. Their people were highly trained in agricultural practices. Though these details were shared prior to their trek. "Greetings," A gruff voice captured Zaccai's attention. The older man stepped into the clearing, introducing himself as Pyerr. Meh, then he immediately jumped into business. Zaccai's brows slightly furrowed as the elder listed potential flaws in their enchanted weapons. He was open to the suggestions, but determined to find resolution.

It didn't take long for a child to waddle up with tears streaming down his face. Poor kid was so sad he couldn't even balance right. "I can't cast magic any-!" The kid wailed till the elder suspiciously covered his mouth. Zaccai slightly raised a brow at their interaction. Was it obscure for an older man to shut a kid's piehole? Yes. But also, what was the little guy going to say? 'Any' . . more? The weakened enchantments, and child's potential inability to cast magic were rooted in Ludis alone. Perhaps something was happening within proximity.

"We'll figure it out," Zaccai paced toward the boy, only stopping in front of him to crouch at his level, "Notice anything out of the ordinary lately?" He then nodded at Lir before shifting his glance to the elder. His question was up in the air for both Ludis residents.

Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum Goonfire Goonfire
 
Liridon Alvis
Poor Liridon looked disheveled as ever. At many points on their journey, Zaccai and Slush had to guide him, as he was falling asleep, even while walking. The young Asba elite had pulled consecutive all-nighters in preparation for the coming war—filling orders, optimizing enchantments, and jotting notes for a new project.

The sudden sneeze jolted the napping man awake. His head whipped around in his stupor, but he quickly realized it was merely Slush. Lir couldn’t help snickering at the sight of Zaccai prying his leg free from the egnarion’s accidental ice discharge. The experience was at least a pleasant wake-up call, as his companions were soon ready to move once again.

The village elder’s doubt of the master craftsmen’s products pained Lir. In the past five years, he had improved his quality standards until they were some of the toughest in the industry. He flipped through two journals—one thicker volume detailing his orders this year and one thinner logbook containing defect reports. These records were almost as sacred to him as any holy text. There were only six instances of malfunction, three of which were user-related. One flawed creation was an anomaly; a handful was sabotage.

“We assure you, these items passed strict quality assurance tests. They would not have left our workshops if there were noticeable defects, both in material and craftsmanship,” Liridon recited his QA mantra from memory, as much as he hated to use it. As if to corroborate the denial of the alleged sub-par workmanship, a young apprentice mage reported his magic was ‘not working’.

It then occurred to Lir, the full scale of this problem went beyond mere tools and weapons. This had all the trademarks of magic suppression so far. He then shot a knowing, narrow-eyed glance to Zaccai and nodded back. “Can we discuss this more in private?” he finally suggested, motioning with a finger to the residences; mass hysteria would jeopardize this investigation.

Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum Xanto Xanto
 
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✦ Luciani Medesicas ✦


The Shantor enchantments woven into the Amier councillor’s characteristic hood concealed the sleepless shadows under Lume’s eyes as the stiff silk engulfing her torso obscured the restless movement of her hands in her lap. Truly, her mantle was a wonder of an invention; it was the sole piece of attire in her wardrobe that succeeded in its efforts to be comfortable, practical and formal all at once. She considered offering her tailor an additional bonus once she was back from the council meeting. The amount of times the garment had saved her public reputation must have been near uncountable by now, and such instances were directly proportionate to her gratitude. A current example of her cloak’s accomplishments was exhibited in the Head of Kairo’s oddly worded compliment woven in his rough speech—the man seemed a bit of a careless orator, but Zaccai found his company enjoyable, so he surely wasn’t as terrible as hearsay made him seem.

Drifting away from thoughts of the conspicuous council member, her mind flew back to her fellow Amier mage and his quality control assignment. She could not stop the persistent feeling that the substandard equipment situation might not be quite as simple as it appeared to be. For there to be an error in military manufacturing so close to the commencement of war, it was hard to convincingly assert that it was but a straightforward mistake in the procurement of raw materials or an accident where wares had been switched during transport. Lume had confidence in her friend’s character and his ability to ascertain the metals he forged, so it certainly couldn’t have been the material or sword crafting procedure. She wasn’t quite as sure of the partner that Zaccai had chosen, but if the other vouched for them, she would assume innocence until proven otherwise. On the other hand, to have been exchanged during transport would require intent or a convoluted series of coincidences—the latter story would be more than a hard sell, which meant the most liable conclusion was purposeful activity, or in other words… treason.

Lume shuddered unnoticeably at her own conjecture. Before she could mentally berate herself for speculating upon incomplete information and unnerving herself with her own imagination, the guard and part-time herald announced the entry of the newly inaugurated Cytir head. She nearly jolted out of her seat at the loud declaration, her heart drumming a staccato rhythm. Perhaps she had consumed a few too many cups of coffee with all this startling and scaring—it was a marvel that her lips were not stained purple.

Arletta Gennadia did not appear to be particularly delighted to make their acquaintances, but in the case that she was secretly terrified to be in their presence—Lume had been quite tense during her own first introductions—and merely had a naturally disgruntled face, Lume smiled faintly at her to show acceptance. It may have appeared a little creepy, or possibly malicious, with the tenebrous cowl obfuscating her upper features, but the woman herself had forgotten the impression she gave and was inwardly patting herself on the back for her actions.

Unfortunately, it appeared not everyone in the meeting supported the ascendance of the Cytir councillor. The Amier head was uncertain if Harridan’s insensitive deliverance was directed at Arletta or Cytir heads in general, but even if the man did not mean his statements to be taken in a literal way, it was still discourteous to disparage someone he had not known for more than a minute. The lady had not yet spoken, and already she was being treated in such a manner; gods know what she felt hearing it.

It was a pity the situation did not allow her to vocalize her misgivings. The royal family’s arrival was proclaimed to the council room, and her attention was pulled away to her maternal relatives. It was always novel to see her uncle in a government chamber—her most notable memories with the man were of Uncle Arun fighting egnarions in the wild as she and her cousin tagged along for the ride, which was a pronounced difference from King Arundolyn in the council room. Her cousin diverged from memories as well, though it was less that his environment had changed and more that she had.

Out of the blue, the Head of House Kairo made apparent his inflamed dislike of the queen, shocking Lume out of her wits and her familial reminiscing; he had been surly today, but she had not predicted it would end up at the queen. Although Lume herself had mixed personal feelings about the woman as a mother, Her Majesty Faenire Alreus had never been less than competent in her leadership and his assertions were a clear faux-pas. She braced herself for the consequences of the act, peeking at the queen from underneath her hood. Hopefully it would be nothing too… damaging.

Lume only knew the Herya councillor as a lovely woman who made delectable coffee in an adorable café, so it came as a considerable surprise to her that the lady took action in advance of the royal family with her fungi familiars. The Myco tripped so cutely that she nearly brushed over the resulting spill (and the hivemind truth) in lieu of cooing internally until the castle attendants hurried to clean up the mess left by the ruby liquid. Harridan appeared somewhat miserable after his flamboyant outfit was stained by wine, so she politely looked elsewhere to leave some of his pride intact.

The discussion soon started as per usual, even after the Kairo head’s approach towards the ruler of Orh and the wine incident. Her guesswork was brought back to the forefront of her mind at the Asba head’s mention of “weak enchanted equipment”, and she began to re-fret over her friend’s circumstances. She hoped that the two would not meet any danger, unlikely as it was—Zaccai could take care of himself, and Lir’s flying swords were famous enough that her assistants had deemed it noteworthy to bring up to her.

It seemed that the new leader of House Cytir was definitively unlike the young Amier head in at least one aspect: the lady was bold enough to provide her own opinion the instant she arrived at the council hall, and had no qualms disagreeing with an elder member. Lume was inclined to applaud her bravery, wipe a tear at her growth (that she never saw, interacted with or participated in) or both. She instead proceeded to do neither and simply tapped two fingers together under her cloak in a silent mimicry of clapping.

Though Lume believed Arletta made a fair argument, she was apprehensive that the conflict might reach a point where Orh would have no choice but to send out civilians. She was not at all keen on the idea of the average citizen participating in long-term bloodshed, but the present-day combat mages were not an unending and undying resource; they would need to replenish the places of departed individuals. Even if they were planning to leave noncombatants at home, it was better to train and prepare everyone for the upcoming hostilities. What if Sierra breached their shores, as Orh did once upon a time?

So in spite of the fact that Harridan’s tone did not follow etiquette, she agreed with his proposal to train the common mage though not with his immediate deployal. His ability to complete so many demanding tasks at once was also admirable, and she was troubled at how she hadn’t been so productive even though she had been forgoing sleep. Maybe it was because of that, she sheepishly amended.

Folding her jittery hands together to still their motions, she cleared her throat and added, “It is as Zinnia says, though I believe training the home front between working hours would not be a mistake. It’s better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, after all.

“Continuing on. Most businesses in San Amier have combined and converted their facilities for wartime production, and while there have been an influx of mages passing the Dance of Stars due to an increase of applicants in the midst of the nation’s war mania, the ratio of living mages to deceased mages-in-training is far lower than any other year. The impatience caused by imminent confrontation has not aided the overall student population, so I have set more stringent measures for the future screening of ritual candidates, which should alleviate mass departures.

“With academia side of the House, we have shifted the current schooling structure to focus more on Sierran war technology, Thyrean geography and practical subjects that would support the future soldier instead of magic theory.”


✦ Interactions ✦

✦ Mentions ✦
 
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Astrid Boberac "The Desert Snake"
Interactions - Arcanist Arcanist Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
Mentions - AI10100 AI10100


Inventory:
Poisoned throwing knives x5
Anti-venom x3

Magic State:
Weakened
Astrid laughed at her furry friend’s remarks, offering her number two a coy shrug of her shoulders. “All I ask is that you make clean work of this deed. I would rather not interrogate someone who just shit their pants.”
Arcanist Arcanist

The tires of the armored vehicle shook the ground, with Astrid feeling the tenderness as the earth's whispers spoke to her in delicate language. She could feel her nerves glue to the branch, coil up as she counted the growing vibrations bite into her arm. Her teeth grinded against each other savagely as the ground’s rattle grew so strong her arms began to go numb with excitement. Astrid’s bandits felt a cold moment of silence, a piercing urge filling the hearts of each of the members. There was hardly a huff of air taken in, until Astrid’s booming voice brought crows from their perch.

“Now!”

The woodcutters heaved the tree towards the road just as the vehicle was rearing towards that point. It snapped like a pencil, hurtling towards the ground with the strength of a boulder. The ground shook, and the driver maybe only had a moment to step on the brakes to soften the impact.

Astrid did not sit idle. She quickly slid down the stump of the tree using the flora’s camouflage, and began to chant a spell. She channeled her mana, bringing forth a small barricade of thick earth between the vehicle and forest, about a meter tall and strong enough to withhold any bullets. It was just wide enough to fit five men, who quickly dashed towards it to take cover, while others blended into the forest. Two of her men armed themselves with makeshift nail guns, built together with scraps and they were preparing themselves to unleash fire on anyone who left the vehicle.
Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum

Sweat beaded down Astrid’s brow as she obscured herself into a nearby bush, taking only a moment’s breath to compose herself. Her body shivered from the loss of mana, causing her prosthetic arm to clang like a boiling kettle, yet her eyes did not move an inch off the prize. She gently reached into her sachet, concealing a throwing knife.

​

Astrid's bandits:
OLLIE MOZIER AI10100 AI10100
VEELE Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
VESPER Arcanist Arcanist

9 X Other members, ranging from hybrids, to criminals from Ohr and Sierra. Most of Astrid's squad is underfed and while eager, are not the most experienced fighters.

 
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F. G. Kornel
Inspector-Captain of Precinct 13
Precinct 13, Inspector-Captain’s Office​

The Inspector’s office could almost be called spartan in design, with only the bare necessities of the job filling it. A well used walnut office desk, its once fine polish tarnished by years of misuse adorned with dozes of case folders and papers, a set of chairs that looked distinctly uncomfortable in comparison with the rather cushy and luxurious if worn leather office chair that the resident of the office had reserved for his own use, seemingly chosen so by design to keep the visitors from dallying for too long and overstaying their welcome.

However a few pieces did give away some sign of personality to the office, A rather expensive-looking silver cigarette case contrasted with a cheap ceramic ashtray filled to the brim, a series of framed photos taken on the Stairs leading up to Precinct 13, presumably of the Precinct's staff over the years, numerous books detailing Sierran Studies among dozens of folders, a map of Fenikea pinned to a large board, flanking the desk's left and least but not last an ugly as sin but well used mug, carrying the words "Worst dad of the year", graced with numerous tea stains that refused to budge.

Beyond all however, there was the man himself, the righteous and sole sovereign of the office, Feliks Gellert Kornel. Inspector-Captain of Precinct 13. His bloodshot eyes, clearly tired yet but as hawkish as ever, carefully sifting through a series of reports laid before him, looking for all kinds of relevant information that unnecessarily bloated papers handed down to him presented, bony fingers turning one paper over the other once he deemed the information within satisfactory, signing away arrest daily reports, financials, transfer notices and the occasional arrest warrant with a lithe movement of his delicate fountain-pen meanwhile the low hum of morning news from the radio filled the office with some much needed levity.

Mornings in the Precinct Office, despite the constant stream of paperwork and the hassle of making sure each and every one of them were in order, were always calming in a manner, with a certain air of familiarity that surrounded it, one could say he liked his office better than his own home.

Read, sign, put away, read, sign, put away. put out the cigarette butt, light another, rinse and repeat. A series of tasks he did rather mechanically out of sheer familiarity. The average morning routine that Kornel had established for himself had not changed all that much in the last seven years with only the amount of cigarette butts on his ashpit growing increasingly abundant as the years passed by and in tandem the amount of paperwork that passed his hands with each new promotion but no, nothing was sacred within the presence of his rather… Annoyingly energetic Lieutenant, who had made her presence known just mere minutes into the start of the day’s shift, leaving no room for his usual quiet and peaceful morning.

Not sparing a glance for the moment, the gloomy captain spoke with a certain weariness “The City Commission can’t even be bothered to invest for its own citizens' protection...`` With a swipe of his pen, another paper ended up neatly signed “... Citing that the Federation itself does not allocate the resources that they require, I wonder where all the tax that the hardworking people of Cornelius toil to pay out of their pockets go? “ “... Right into the pockets of the morally bankrupt politicians, funding the fanciful yet impractical inventions of those damn quacks down in Wilhelmina so the charlatans can spend it on the newest batch of drugs that they can get their hands on, with the situation like this It’d be foolish to believe that the Federation is in any capacity to actually wage a war of aggression, what war can we win if we can’t even win the war against the criminals that plague our own borders? “ a report detailing seizure of armaments, suspected connection with Thyrean conspirators… “Aristridian posturing is going to bring forth nothing but ruin to this country.'' The last part was said with a more hushed tone, giving some uncertainty if Kornel was still talking with the Lieutenant just muttering to himself.

Loud chatter that his officers were too fond of for their own good, filtered through the great oaken doors of his office, Landler complaining about the minimal pay raise that The City Commission had allocated to the department this year, Zipernowsky butting in with his own grievances concerning the lack of proper funding to upgrade the radio systems, two younger voices, which he could identify as Tihanyi and Landler, gossiping about the latest scandal about the House of Sierra that had shook the magazines. A gravelly voice, apparently Hadik had decided to leave the confines of the morgue today, cutting through to all combining into one and creating a barely coherent cacophony that only made the headache that had been festering since the start of this rather unpleasant conversation with his Second Officer even worse than it had been just moments prior.

massaging the temple of his forehead to hopefully stave off the oncoming migraine, The inspector's eyes wandered off from his workload and to the door ahead of him, ‘Should have soundproofed the office years ago.’ he complained to his own conscious, as his eyes wandered towards the lieutenant “What’s up with them again?” a hint of exasperation sneaking its way through the cracks of his will. With a sigh of evident disapproval, he slovenly vacated his seat and made his way towards the oaken door, determined to restore some semblance of order to the chaos that his subordinates seemed to revel in was just mere moments after that, when a young officer barged into his office without even a proper announcement, which had him reel back in his chair, his right hand instinctively seeking out his holster , yet it was just to present him with a new set of reports, which he accepted with a grunt after shaking off the initial sense of unease, his weary eyes boring into the young cadet with a clear message of ‘Knock the door next time.’

As he skimmed over the contents of the page his face distinctly contorted into an expression of grim disgust laced with traces of a deep seated hatred, Of course it’d be a Hybrid, those mongrels were practically “born” to be criminals, as failed experiments of the Sierran Intelligentsia, bred for the purposes of war but unleashed on the civilian populace of the Fatherland.

Giving the scraps of paper one last look-over he offered them up to his Lieutenant, the grimmance not budging from his face for even a moment “We’ll continue our little debate later, looks like there is a new hybrid that wants to make a nuisance out of himself, classic case. We can add this case to the C or D-Class list, doesn’t seem all that im…”


Then his speech was cut short with the loud sound of crashing, followed by a cry. And right there, the metaphorical dam that kept Feliks was ready to burst and unleash the wrath of the gods brought forth by his temper. “The car won’t be fast enough to keep up with this mongrel.” with hurried steps, he went to the rack holding his coat, “Take the mooncycle! I’ll be right behind.” and with that he strided forth into the main office.

a final yell of “Eisner, get the car ready! All of you back to work!” echoing through the general office was the last thing heard before all the residents of the precinct went into a frenzy, hastily following shouts that each carried a new order, drowning out all sense of order in the building and chaos erupted.

Firelie Firelie
 
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Theon Alreaus: Crown Prince of Orh
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To what end will a man kill to reach? To wage war with another country and slaughter their people? Wealth? Fame? Faith? Resources? The simple desire to inflict death and suffering? Truthfully, the reasoning did not matter. It won't matter to Sierra, it won't matter to Orh, and it didn't matter to Thyrea all those years ago. The consistent sounds of Prince Theon's footfalls and ever so slight jangle of earrings echoed in the ever so familiar halls, joined by two others as they approached a set of doors likely worth more than a large town. Pondering the question, Theon looked down the hall and sighed quietly. The next time he saw these halls, his country would be entering the final stages before yet another all-out war. He was sure of it, and would likely do nothing to stop such devastation from the heretics across the ocean. The prince wouldn’t pretend to be as knowledgeable as their father for one, but he couldn’t quite feel bad for them. Their fault really. How people who claim to be smart can be so dumb, he might never know really. Instead of the progress update, Theon was far more inclined to see the House heads again and greet the newly installed Cytir head. He had an inkling of what to expect, but that didn't make it any less fun of a first meeting. New people in power meant many things, one of which being a new person to factor and think about when it came to doing things. Oh! Perhaps the other heads have already met them and might provide an insight.

Theon's mother spoke to him, essentially reiterating what he already had plans to do. Nonetheless, he responded with a rather professional "Of course. I intended to already." Before falling silent as they reached the heavy doors. They lurched open and the prince walked in, smiling at the house leaders as he made his way to his throne each in turn. Waving would be unprofessional in front of that caretaker, so he hoped the usual friendly smile would suffice for the moment; perhaps he might catch up after the meeting with less of the royal duty. That didn't mean he couldn't send a nod towards his cousin, however, despite the resulting awkward feeling that rose up behind his calm visage.

Theon took his seat and crossed his legs; Things didn't look as routine as they usually looked; was something amiss? He didn't much like amiss. Falling into a rather neutral expression, a golden gaze scanned the room; such a bright look belying a questioning stare. He focused on the faces of the House Heads; Looks were rather telling, and from the glances around the table it wasn't hard to discern why. Smoothly his eyes shifted to the ever unruly man at the table. Harridan was an unruly and downright criminal fellow, but at least he did his job well enough for his parents' acceptance. If he wasn't causing trouble, he wasn't all that terrible company either. Problem was, he caused a lot of trouble.

Harridan's next line made the prince close his eyes, though the corner of his lips twitched upwards briefly before falling back into place. He didn’t even have to look, the Queen wasn’t happy. Only, this fiasco wasn’t over. Zinnia was a lovely woman really, and was probably lacing her tea with magic with the rate he could down a batch during a particularly burdensome day. Now Harridan was soaked, an action no doubt done in confidence. He glanced over to his family, the Queen’s smile making him want to internally laugh himself almost, if he wasn’t currently becoming a bit annoyed with these antics. The smile his mother wore was not a good one, and he had no desire to see people he liked fall. The Prince turned back to the House leaders, clearing his throat before regarding those present with a friendly smile as always despite the words leaving his mouth. “Harridan, regardless of your intentions toward my mother with your “compliment”, I believe it best you focus on your own situation. Wine stains easily, and I believe the room and would much rather hear the result of your work. For the benefit of Orh, as well as your immediate health.” finishing off the warning by leaning on the armrest towards his mother, trying to implicate the queen’s displeasure. He then crossed his legs once more, eyes on the head of House Herya. He recognized the reason it was done, but they couldn’t just ignore it,. “And Zinnia. While I do appreciate your ever present hospitality and your tireless Mycos, I would ask that you keep your Mycos from spilling wine on your peers. In other news I hear your house is doing well, is it not?” Theon bright his hands together, smiling more as he leaned back. “Let us focus on more pressing matters, shall we?”

Theon remained silent after that point, listening to each house report and offering silent encouragement when they reported well and shared their opinions. Herya, Amier, Cytir, Kairo… all of them were doing so well so far! With any luck, they could finish all this business quickly.

@TheMeeting​
 




  • The Orhian Council
    ​
    If there was one thing that the king and the head of Lessana shared at that one moment was exasperation— in a way, it was something that they had gotten used to by now. However, the other heads plowed forward with the exception of ZInnia, regarding the matter at hand rather than Harridan's comment on the queen's garment. Not something that the king often let slide, as per the stringent rules placed in such formal settings. However, this time, he seemed to stay his hand and instead took a deep breath, listening to what they had to say rather than acting upon anything.

    "As for us, I have already sent out mages to Thyrea to set up emergency healing areas for the war effort. We have to make sure that we don't lose our skilled soldiers and we are more than happy to carry that burden, provided they can be swiftly taken to us. There has been a rise in mages who wish to train in both offensive and healing capabilities, allowing more on-field medics that can be placed in your detachments." Raylin said, inclining her head towards Harridan. "Also, thanks to Herya's quaity deliveries, potion manufacturing and emergency healing supplies have been coming along well."

    Arundolyn regarded Harridan with a nod. "I assure you such preparations are a priority. We may convene at a later time to discuss your new tactics and reforms." While Harridan left much to be desired in terms of respect and formality, his battle prowess was something the king acknowledged. He turned to his niece. "Good. The Amier house cannot afford to lose more of their population. Let them remember what the Amier house stands for— impatience and foolhardiness have no place amongst our ranks." An Amier who loses control of their magic is one that was sure to be more detrimental than beneficial. The king moved as if he was going to say something before thinking better of it and shifted back into a more neutral position.




 

LUDIS VILLAGE​

The wrinkling hand which covered the child's mouth stiffly retracted as silence reigned. It exposed a mouth slightly agape, accompanying a pair of wide eyes directed at the visiting liaisons. The chestnut-haired boy appeared frozen in place, only flinching when Zaccai lowered to his level before uttering words of comfort. He slowly loosened his posture, lips widening into a shaky grin that exposed two rows of gapped teeth. It seemed like the men's mild reactions to the accidental revelation relieved the child of dread.

On the other hand, drops of sweat continued trickling down the elder's temples as he tensely observed. Only after a few seconds did he finally respond to the inquiries. "I concur, sir Liridon. I have arranged an appropriate quarter in the local inn for our endeavors. I guarantee it's a safe space for contentious conversations." Pyerr informed before shifting his gaze to the juvenile beside him. "Come, Beric, let us escort these gentlemen; however, I implore you to keep silent until we head inside." The misty-eyed lad nodded his head, keeping his short fingers wrapped around a bundle of the veteran mage's robe.

"Gentlemen, if you please." The aged magician gestured for the blacksmiths to follow. A few shingles and foliage bedecked the dirt path leading to the sole inn in town. It possessed three levels, casting a shadow over the rest of the establishments in the area. A wooden placard sat at its front wherein the words "Ludis Tavern" were engraved. Pyerr led the group past a large wooden door that brought them straight to the pub's heart.

A stocky man who appeared to be in his mid-forties welcomed them behind the bar counter, wearing a simple white tunic superimposed by a russet apron. A long line of branching scars ran from the upper right portion of his forehead down to the side of his lip. He kept his sole eye on the unfamiliar faces who entered with Pyerr and his grandson until they neared his isle. The burly fellow greeted the group with a single nod, his hands busy swabbing a wooden mug with a dishcloth.

"These honorable men are sir Liridon Alvis and sir Zaccai Silverio, the craftsmen behind the latest batch of supplies." The senior introduced before turning to the aforementioned representatives. "And this is Tiberius Vonsen, the resident tavernkeep. The nature of his job keeps him up to date with the town's happenings."

"Fancy meetin' the masters." Tiberius gruffly said after a snort, placing the mug down before wiping his hands against his apron. "Sure hope these fellas can fix the problem, Pyerr; nobody feels safe in a poorly armed village. It's bad for business." The bartender mentioned as he turned and flipped the countertop door open, ushering in the men. "Apologies, little one, but it'd be best for you to stay here. I need someone to yell for me when a customer arrives." He told Beric, picking him up and placing him on a stall that let him overlook the desolated bar.

Once done, Tiberius walked them through a descending passage, wooden walls turning into stone slabs as they trudged deeper. The trek lasted for about a minute, ending once they reached an isolated cell made up of dry stones. Oiled lamps dimly lit the room from all corners and the ceiling above a long table, revealing stacks of crates and barrels nearby.

Pyerr pulled one of the six chairs tucked into the sides of the table and sat, expecting Zaccai and Liridon to do the same. Tiberius, on the other hand, leaned against the doorframe.

"These are the enchanted weapons and armors we received. The two of you may test them as much as you please to validate the authenticity of our reports. However, I get the feeling that the both of you already have a hunch that the problem's deeper than it seems." Tiberius rose a brow.

"Let's cut to the chase, gentlemen." A solemn expression befell Pyerr's face. "Magic is dying in Ludis." A demonstration followed the grave revelation as the elder opened his palm and conjured a ball of flame- only for it to die seconds after it was born. "It started plaguing our town ever since the first batches of these pieces of equipment arrived. It's to the point that our children are losing their gift to cast magic. Y-You must understand, we cannot inform the authorities." Evident desperation laced his quivering voice. "H-Her Majesty will have us thrown to No Man's Land. Please, good sirs, you must help us!" Thick air pervaded the chamber as the elder bowed his head low onto the table's surface. From his spot, Tiberius can only click his tongue and look away.

Xanto Xanto Goonfire Goonfire
 
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THE ORHIAN COUNCIL
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Extravagance could never hide a defect as enormous as foolishness. Vacuity might be the world's most potent acid, corroding anything it touches, even plates of gold or chains of silver. Eventually, it would soak through and permeate its environment. Unfortunately, this truth couldn't spare even the most distinguished Orhian chamber. A ruction arose a minute after the meeting's commencement, one poorly glamorized by snide exchanges. The council's behavior greatly disappointed the darkly clad figure sitting across from the Queen.

A pair of lilac eyes bore into the reigning monarch's ceruleans, the subtly anticipatory countenance of the Matriarch lingering at the gaze's other end. A shepherd who could see one sheep start to stray and do nothing would be a dud. Negligence would encourage the rest to do the same until the flock ends up leading the herder into a wild goose chase.

"I implore my fellow councilmembers to observe proper conduct within the presence of Their Majesties. Do not forget your places." A man spoke after the rest had given their piece, his sharp glare piercing through the Heads of Kairo and Herya. The voice trailed to an obscured figure of imposing height, strands of medium-length ebony and ivory streaming down his hood as his unpigmented orbs fixated on the Queen. "The mages of House Shantor are persisting with our military training.
Additionally, the school of Hexing is overseeing unique productions of Curse Traps. We believe these will be severely detrimental to Sierran soldiers, especially if placed in notable vital points." Lord Cedric, the Head of House Shantor, reported as he stroked his greying beard.

A tap against the marbled floor echoed in the spacious hall. It came from an ornate cane made out of bones, illustrations of gigantic beings cracking the sky open and peering at humanity etched all over its silver surface. An amethyst stood at its crown where slender fingers rested, a violet glow slipping through their gaps.

"Mages remain severely disadvantaged at the Eastern part of Thyrea and some portion in the West. The Sierran occupation, the Thyrean locals, and the Iridinite presence are significantly interfering with the Order's mission to cleanse the island. However, fret not; we have sent two of our most elite members to conduct a special operation." The Matriarch disclosed, her cold stare journeying to the Head of House Asba before returning to the Queen. "The Order will be sending additional exorcists if they return successfully. In the off chance that they do not, I will be heading to Thyrea and handle the matters personally." Triumph would evade Orh if its mages had to fight ghosts, Thyreans, Sierrans, and hostile Egnarions all at once.

"If I may, Matriarch." Lord Cedric inquired, earning a nod from the Head of the Order. "We cannot foretell when the Sierran forces will begin their advancement; however, I suggest that we initially surrender half of the Western Thyrea once they do. We can focus on fortifying the area that we have successfully purged. Her Excellency may consider having Kairo mages terraform chokepoints for the Sierrans to enter, subsequently applying deadly traps for them to trigger. Moreover, the greater distance we place between the invading army and their homeland, the better."

Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum AI10100 AI10100 Sei Shonagon Sei Shonagon Athanas Athanas AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa Ambiloquous Ambiloquous The Prophet The Prophet

 
Zaccai Silverio​

Zaccai gave a closed-lip smile to the young Ludis resident grinning with gapped teeth. It worked small wonders to know the boy was somewhat relieved by their arrival. Least the waterworks were out of the way. Sure enough, Lir followed up with his business's quality assurance statement in response to Pyerr's concerns. Though the vibe sent waves. Zac could feel his friend cringe under the formal recitation. He simply nodded in agreement.

"Can we discuss this more in private?" Lir questioned as Zac shifted to stand. It didn't take long for the nervous elder and his lil' sidekick to lead them to the town's sole inn. There, both visiting mages met Tiberius the tavernkeep. A smart move on the elder's part to immediately link them with the town's network. "Pleasure to meet ya," Zaccai held the wrist of his own loose fist behind his back in a formal stance, casually giving another nod to Tiberius, "Zac's all right." Although they were on business, he saw no mandatory need for "master" to be latched with him. Zaccai's gaze wandered the area as Tiberius led them in further down- well much down further than Zaccai thought, into a dimly lit room.

Yet no matter how dim the surrounding, his eyes instinctively managed to land on the familiar crafts displayed along the table. Zaccai approached a sword, taking it into his hand before giving it a brief spin. Tiberius allowed them to test the equipment for their claims, an offer the blacksmith naturally wouldn't refuse. The Amier mage didn't doubt their concerns though. After all, they proved true enough for the Asba head to request their presence. Zaccai's current intention was to study how they were defective.

He swung the sword around as Pyerr continued, "Magic is dying in Ludis." -Zaccai paused. His mildly stunned gaze then shifted to the elder, watching as the flame in Pyerr's hand dissipated moments after being conjured. The next fistful of words was the true sucker punch in their discussion. According to him, Ludis's magic started fading once their items arrived. Sheesh, that struck deep. Zaccai's brows furrowed just before Pyerr requested to hide the information from authorities, "H-Her Majesty will have us thrown to No Man's Land. Please, good sirs, you must help us!"

No Man's Land. Zaccai thought to himself with the immediate flashback pushing him back to hiding in an Orhian vessel. He could feel the solid crates against his back, harshly grating as the ship rocked along the seas. The sounds of soldiers laughing, and mugs slamming echoed in his mind after a successful mission of what sounded like a successful child drop off children at Thyrea.

His vision blurred in a daze, while his eyes grew blind to the elder bowing his head. Tiberius looked away.

Zaccai refocused his attention to the situation at hand. The war was just about knocking at their door, which meant they had no time to waste. His eyes gravitated to the coded engraving along the weapon. This particular arming sword held an electrostatic enchantment, fit for blasting a surge of lightning wherever its wielder pleased. "May I?" Zaccai glanced at Tiberius, referring to strike at an already shoddy box for practice. Then, he accordingly proceeded to sharply cut and strongly thrust with the arming sword. The blacksmith maneuvered the weapon around, gathering static prior to feeling his mana heavily seep through an obvious pull. ZEOOM POP! A strong ball of lightning surged through the sword till it formed an outward stream, frying the box in sight. "Guh," His arm pulsed at the unfamiliar feeling of mana drain tugging against his body.

He never felt anything like it, even as a nuke Amier mage. Though still strong in appearance, Zaccai felt the energy flow in his veins move much more . . slowly.

Sure, the guy might've lowkey experienced a lightheaded sensation upon arriving earlier. However, he associated it with the consecutive sleepless nights leading up to that point. All of course up until then. " . . I'll help you," He stated, not speaking for Lir. Whatever was happening had to stop now. If it was a proximity issue, then they had to cut the spread or at least stall the source. Both of which were better than having something come out of left field later on. "Has anyone conducted proximity and severity tests around the area?" Zaccai questioned toward Tiberius and Pyerr as he held the sword downward to Lir for him to study, "Careful, it's gotta kick to it."

. D O V E . D O V E Goonfire Goonfire
 
Khonsue Crescentborne, The Moon-eyed Scholar​
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The Chieftain folded arms in preparation for the information. Orpheus, a reliable trader as any, had weight to his words regarding knowledge. Thus when he arrives, Khonsue listens attentively. The information broker appeared quite worried. Scratching his face, the way his body moved, all served to illustrate unspoken feelings. The Chieftain's silvery eyes contorted in perturbed patience. A tiny game that Khonsue played was deducing Orpheus' report based on the Aket'Shahti's scout work. The knowledge imparted on The Chieftain from his faithful lookouts indicated that there had been the movement of Orhian forces. Fingers tightened around toned biceps. The dreadful possibility of war is an ever-present danger. A dagger that loomed over each Thyrean's head eternally. The air had even begun to stink of it. Nothing serendipitously ever occurs on this fair isle. His thoughts wandered to the children. Weak and frail, they will be the endangered ones. Apace with the elderly.

The first words out of the nimbus purveyor all but confirmed Khonsue's greatest fear. The guards that remained close by The Chieftain adopted fearful expressions. Their hands became sweaty around their weapons. Khonsue pinched the bridge of his nose. An involuntary sigh escaped as he processed the news. Or rather the confirmation. "As I live and breathe and fear. My kin also reported similar. They could not confirm such a matter, but your word is as infallible as the sun rising." Wartorn hands swung behind his back. The timbre of his chords radiated lassitude. "This ugly business," Following from his experience as a warmonger. "Continues to plague everyone. If only Thyrea could move from betwixt these powers, then there could be peace."

Even as they spoke, Khonsue's mind began plotting manoeuvres. Frontal combat would be utter suicide for his people. They possessed neither the technological prowess of Sierra. Nor the mystical might of Orh. Their advantages number in the few. Two immediately came to mind. One, the in-depth knowledge of their lands and two, their unimportance to the powers of Sierra and Orh in terms of militarily conflict. They would fruitlessly expend resources hunting them. it meant Sierra and Orh could kill them without a second thought. Their fate is undeniable. Their only hope for survival is undertaking drastic measures. A tactic that saved them before were their evasiveness: when Darwish took them into the shadows and the mountain tops to remain out of sight of their foes. But the mountains could take, and the darkness held diabolical monsters. It all seemed so hilariously choreographed.

"Still, I extend my gratitude. Do you perhaps wish to step inside for a drink? Any of your choosing." Orpheus had rushed over here, the least that Khonsue could accomplish is provided him with a beverage.



AI10100 AI10100 Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum
 
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VESPER
Interactions: Castello Castello (Astrid)| Mentions: Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum (Veele), AI10100 AI10100 (Ollie)

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​
Vesper was tempted wanted to say she couldn't promise these Sierrans wouldn't shit in their uniforms. She wondered if the same cowards were weaseling their way into Sierra's military. Money and status stretched a lot further than a show of hard work and dedication most of the time.

She waited alongside the others in anticipation, listening to the rolling rumble of the vehicle that soon arrived on the road they waited by. Each of the bandits kept their eyes glued to the road, still as Eganarions waiting for the precise moment to strike their prey. Vesper wouldn’t lie when she felt that same beastly instinct sit with her as she waited.

And as soon as Astrid gave the signal, and the tree fell, the hybrid dropped from the branch. Her landing was soft, masked not only by the earth below, but by the pads on her paws. If anyone was really listening, all they would have heard was the tiny thump against the ground. Vesper moved through the forest’s coverage, looking to strike from the back of the vehicle. Her leader provided an excellent distraction for them to move in, but that was only stage one.

The soldiers scrambled on the vehicle to defend themselves. They clearly had been caught off-guard by the surprise assault, but they were by no means less prepared. The gunner, who Vesper assumed was the prime guard to keep their group of bandits away from the cargo, was just as distracted by those behind the earthy defence.

She made him her target.

While the chaos roadside continued, Vesper gave her legs a rubbed, slapping them a little as if to wake up. She would have no problem reaching the vehicle, she was sure, and she was durable enough to take a beating or two. Soon, she sprung from the coverage of the forest, feet hitting the ground hard as she ran as every muscle in her leg tightened. She would leave the gunner breathing, but he didn’t have to leave him conscious.

When Vesper advanced close enough to the back of the vehicle, she propelled herself forward and sprung once more towards the gunner. Once she was mid-air, she extended her leg out, aiming for the man’s jaw with her paw. The gunner had keen eyes, barely shifting his body out of the way before Vesper ended up aiming for the vehicle. She managed a landing, soon turning to the sight of the man brandishing his gun and aiming it at her. The window of time she had between the gun being fired and actually getting shot was short, and she managed to keep it open long enough by kicking the gun in another direction. One shot fired, though, it had missed its mark severely, and before the man could readjust his aim, Vesper was grappling with the gun.

Keeping it low, another shot fired, almost grazing Vesper’s foot. It took her other arm to smack down hard on his wrist, forcing him to let go of it. Though, this soldier was just as well trained in the arts of hand-to-hand, and promptly used his now free hand to send a blow to Vesper’s stomach. Vesper spat, air rushing out of her lungs. She blocked his hand from another ongoing punch, and now was eager to wrestle him.

The gunner was strong, especially so compared to other Thyreans or blasted mages. They were locked in a heavy-footed dance, both looking to dominate and lead, but Vesper knew there would be one victor. Her nails dug into the man’s arms, causing him to grit his teeth and try to bear their sharpness, but it wasn’t long before this distraction allowed Vesper the advantage of throwing him at his compatriots.
 

Philomena Nevarro, Inspector-Major of Precinct 13.​

download.jpgIt was an agonizingly normal day at the office. The sort of days filled with frivolous conversation over paperwork. Philomena didn't much mind the conversation, but the thought of having a full day of paperwork made her tired just thinking about it. The young major shifted uncomfortably in the metal folding chair that she had pulled to the front of Inspector-Captain Kornel's desk. In front of her a report on an admittedly tame hate crime. She scowled at the wretched piece of paper, it was almost like someone had filed this specifically so she would have to agonize over it. The thought that it was all just a scheme to drag her down swam around in her mind for but a moment then flew off into nothing as she dismissed the notion. A glassy gaze shifted from the paperwork to the ranting man in front of her. Feliks Gellert Kornel. A sullen man and her superior, not to mention the main resident of the drab office she found herself in. Philomena had a desk out in the main office but she spent more time opposite of the Inspector-Captain, as of his suggestion some time ago. He claimed that he had her in the office in the mornings so he could make sure she did her menial work correctly but Philomena liked to think it was because the Captain deep down, deep DEEP down, enjoyed her presence in some sort of capacity.

Maybe he just wanted someone to complain at, Philomena wondered. That was most of their conversations were, after all. Slightly one sided political arguments in which Philomena was only sometimes fully engaged. Most of the time she just spoke up to keep the Captain going, just to see how long he could complain. Todays conversation she leaned more towards the latter. The young Major begrudgingly filed the hate crime report with a disinterested slowness then pulled up the next one, an arrest warrant or something, she didn't really care. "We've been fighting Orh for longer than I have been alive, Captain. As it stands, the 'Impractical Inventions' as you so eloquently described them, may be our only substantial advantage over the Orhian scourge. I mean geez, we have to get a whole strike force involved to deal with one magic user most of the time, imagine a whole army of them!" Philomena sneakily slid the arrest warrant to the side as she spoke, opting instead to prop her head up in her arms on the desk. "And while I don't agree with Aristridian posturing either, you must admit that the militaristic approach is quite effective at quelling the fears of everyone about the twists and turns of the potential war... Oh them?" Philomena turned her head to the door towards the boisterous conversation outside. She had noticed it as well, though she didn't really mind it. She knew Kornel most certainly did though. "One of the dukes is getting married. The bride had a wardrobe malfunction. Gripping stuff." She said semi-sarcastically. As her superior stood to go quell the noise, Philomena quickly and stealthily grabbed the pile of paperwork that had been assigned to her and plopped it on top of the Captains own, then quickly stood to follow closely behind.

"The whole thing was kind of a disas- oh!" She interrupted herself as the door swung open to reveal the fresh Private Brevins. Kind fellow, though just a tad on the skittish side. As Kornel glared at the boy Philomena poked out from behind and gave the nervous private a reassuring smile. Brevins handed Kornel the newest report then continued on his way, and Kornel read it over then passed it to Philomena as he started past her and back towards the desk. Philomena gave the report a once over. An everyday case, really. She tried not to think anything of it having anything to do with the suspects... condition. She was just getting prepared to give it a thorough read when there was a sudden crash. The Major's heart jumped first as a reaction to potential danger, then once that notion was ruled out, it jumped again at this new development. A high speed chase, how exhilarating! Getting to use her moon wheel was an added bonus as well. Philomena broke into a sprint on her superiors command, deftly weaving between the group of her coworkers and down the aisle between desks. She burst through the door to the office and peered in the direction the miscreant must have went. He had come from the kind Missus Weedens flower shop, a place the Philomena was actually pleasantly familiar with. A checkup with Missus Weeden would have to come later though, the suspect came first. Moving quickly across the parking lot towards the disengaged moon wheel. Philomena hopped into the seat and yanked on the ignition cord. The machine sputtered to life, crawling up and expanding slightly as the suspension engaged. Philomena slammed on the gas and the vehicle screeched in response, flying off the lot and onto the connecting street. Philomena reached up and flicked the switch that activated her flashing lights, the sophisticated vehicle speeding up quickly as she followed after the chaos the suspect left behind them.

Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum High Moon High Moon
 
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  • ORHIAN COUNCIL​

    The Head of Asba had looked up from her seat, watching the new Head of Cytir speak after she had spoken her piece. Rather than be displeased for speaking so suddenly and out of turn, she was happy to see that Arletta was a woman as bright as her grandmother. "Not to worry, I don't have plans on sending civilians into the fray without proper training but their eagerness would certainly help during military training if they ever conscript to the army." She answered back before Harridan had ever so brazenly once again decided to inconspicuously mock the Queen, more specifically her garments.

    She internally sighed, having not forgotten the scene he made earlier as the young Gennadia entered the room, silently waiting for the King to make Harridan kneel to the ground for the whole meeting as they have done in previous meetings when he acted like an immature child. Rena had always found herself both uncomfortable and disgusted at the man. He was the opposite of her dear husband, whom she wishes he had stayed as Head of Herya but she also loved that he was simply at home and will be there every time she comes back from a tiring day of work. If only it were not a Council Meeting, she would have said something otherwise.

    Meanwhile... "No." The Queen whispered to her husband, a hand that signaled him to stop when he was just about to use his gravitational magic. There was a smile on her face but there was a sinister intention behind it. She had let the meeting go on as if she didn't pay any mind to the backhanded compliment and the fiasco that came after with Zinnia's Mycos, an action she was thankful for but cannot fully support in the presence of many. Once Harridan was speaking of the Kairo Division of the Army, she nodded over to Arundolyn at the Head of Kairo to reach for him with his ideas. She wasn't so brazen as to take every job for herself, lest she wants to die from exhaustion. She was more than happy to delegate some matters to her husband as she knows well that he is capable of doing so.

    The Queen approved of Theon's choice of words. He's good with words, very charismatic, a skill that will help once he replaces her as the King of Orh... He deserves it and so much more and yet there was a heavy feeling lingering in her chest but what she felt for the successor, her son, at this moment did not matter.

    It wasn't a surprise to Faenire of what happened with Aimer's new prospective mages. Such was the fate of those who challenge the stars and only a few arise with power. As with the reports of the Head of Lessana, preventing loss and saving lives. She too was a former on-field medic and has seen first hand what had happened in a small skirmish. Was war truly necessary? It has already the costed the lives of many forty-seven years ago, and what has it brought other than pain for those that are left?

    Faenire stood up from her seat, the loud clack of her heels echoing after they have spoken their words. "Ms. Alinac, while I do believe your actions are due to Harridan's statements towards how I dress, I'd prefer if you heed to the Crown Prince's warning, it will not be tolerated again in the Council Room. And of course, aid will be sent where it is needed. The Farmlands in Mag Herya are what keeps our people fed after all." She said before stopping just in front of Harridan. "Tell me, Head of House Kairo, Harridan Akratorlen, has being forced to kneel not been enough for you? Perhaps we have been too lenient when it comes to your punishment. So how about..."

    A hand swiftly reaches for Harridan's head, gripping the top of his skull and guiding it towards the table with great force against the smooth marbled surface. A resounding crack had made the servants flinch from where they stand, and in the corner of her eyes, she could see Rena do the same. She kept Harridan down as she spoke, "The next time you speak of even just a minuscule of ridicule towards me or anyone of the Royal Family, you shall find yourself not just devoid of your seat as Head of Kairo but also of your head sliced neatly by my light blade. You may be a great asset to the Army but there are also Kairo mages equally talented as you." She then summoned a dagger made of pure light and stabbed the table just a centimeter away from his face. "Report to the King of your reforms, you should not have acted without my approval on those reforms but since it has been done we shall see if it will work well with the other divisions of our armies."

    Once again she sat on the throne, letting her words soak in for a few seconds before placing her attention to Lume, "Head Medesicas, while the death of the mages-in-training is not a surprise, I extend my condolence to the loss of our people. Your choice of actions is certainly for what's best, the study of Sierran War Technology and Thyrean Geography would surely help us well when the time comes. The same goes for the adjusted curriculum for House Cytir, I am hoping to see quality mages from your House like Sir Lein."

    She then gazed over to the Head of House Lessana, "While On-field soldiers would be of great help during the times of battle, we should also keep some of our healers from the bloodshed and have them set up med bays in Xogora. As for the trade with Herya, we should open a faster route for transportation or find Mezan mages to handle transport, discuss this later with the Head of Mezan."

    "Excellent work as always, Lord Cedric. Your proposition is something that I have been thinking about as well, as soon as we know the situation with the ghosts we can start with the Kairo mage's work on those chokepoints. Hopefully, the Elite Members that you sent, Matriarch, comes back soon to our land and foretell us great news." A second of silence befalls the room before the Queen spoke once again. "By the way, who are these members of the Order that you sent?" Faenire asked, knowing full well that her soon-to-be daughter-in-law was part of the Order of the Chosen.




 
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