Red Sea

[The Searching]

With her head rested in her hand, the Empress slouched back in the throne and heaves a heavy sigh. "Asmoday, there is absolutely nothing to do and nothing happening in this empire. It's as if time itself has stopped moving."
Asmoday said nothing.
Shelrair, the Eminent Majesty and Empress of Immestrial, was so bored.
Suddenly, a door burst open from the left. A smallish man with a messy beard and a silly rainbow hat stumbled up to the throne, sweating and reddy from the run, "My Empress, we've done it."
Disturbed greatly by this man's presence, she raised her hand partway to signal her guards to execute. Before she completed the gesture though, she made sure, "What?"
"The dimensional myst intensifier."
Her eyes widened. Then she completed the gesture.

As the Empress stepped forth from the doors to the DAWN Laboratory beneath the palace, she was confronted with a bustling arrangement of scientists and test orphans rushing excitedly about. Hardly any even stopped to look at her, which was a little but depressing. She couldn't hide her own excitement either, though. One scientist, an older man, finally recognised her amidst the flurry and led her to the bulk of the enormous, metal chrysalis at the centre.
Explaining the situation, the scientist was extremely excited. Shelrair was, too. This device meant that the bodies inside it would be consumed by Mystical Energy and shot at incredibly high speeds to anywhere on Vadaa. For Shelrair, and the Imperial Army as a whole, this meant immediate mobilisation of Her Majesty's Armies at never-before-seen speeds. This device was never meant to work, either - so Shelrair was told. They had tested it on several orphans so far, however, and communications had been linked, certifying their presence in the various locations pinpointed.
"Let me in."
The man's mouth widened in shock, "Your Majesty? That would be quite dangerous. This is still a prototype, you see, and in most definite Beta staging."
Shelrair frowned, "Are you disobeying your Empress' wishes?"
The man quickly regained himself, "N-No, my Beloved Eminence. R-Right this way."

About an hour later, preperations were finally complete for the utilisation of the Intensifier. Shelrair was back to being very bored inside the beast, sitting on one of the five chairs within by her lonesome. Someone will be killed for this delay upon my return, she thought.
"Your Majesty all systems are go. Please make sure your hands and feet are inside the circle beneath your chair."
She did so. Within a few minutes, a white eggshell-like casing enveloped her as she sat, covering her body. Inside, it was dark. And stuffy. And sweaty. She could hardly breathe, and an immediate sense of claustrophobia quelled inside of her.
"Hello? Um, science guys? Your Empress wishes to re-think her decision..."
In response, an electronic voice resonated within the chrysalis, "10 seconds 'til Intensification."
"HELLO!?"
"Five, four, three-"
"NO, NO THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT. EXECUTE THEM. EXECUUU-"
"Process Executed."
Suddenly, a heat surrounded the Empress. There was a rumbling around her, and she beat against the egg desperately. Without meaning to, she accidentally hit what she should have hit ten seconds earlier: The Emergency Cancellation button. However, the process had already started, and when the egg began to open, a light unlike anything she had ever seen before overcame her, and she clawed at her face as it burned, and eventually melted into the air.

---

There was a scratchy sensation upon her neck. She slowly opened her eyes.
Shelrair Hemari awoke in a field of green. Her clothes were torn and burnt. She touched her face. It was a little sore, but it was in normal condition - no cuts or serious burns. She stood up. Her legs were somewhat weak.
In the distance, she saw a crooked, wooden fence.
"Where are my men?" She asked quietly, stumbling forward toward a post. As she reached the fence, she saw a strange, black road. Down the middle were two yellow lines, symmetrical. They stretched out as far as she could see to the left and right. She wondered if she should follow one of these roads, when a roar encroached. Frightened, the lost empress hid behind a fence. Soon, the noise was almost unbearable, when a huge, mechanical beast flew past her. As it passed, it brought with it a foul smell of burning which burnt her eyes as it passed.
She sat and cried.
Her men never came.

"Lady?"
She awoke once more. A man knelt beside her, holding her up. A small, cross-shaped pendant hung from his neck. She stared into his eyes, confused, "What are you doing here?"
"Helping you? Are you okay?"

---

Five years later, Michelle Harriet stood from her pew.
"See you next week," "God bless you, Shell," "Good luck tomorrow!"
She smiled to her friends and acquaintances as they left the church. Tomorrow would be the first day of her new career. Returning to her cheap apartment she collapsed on the tough bed and finished the book by her bed. She slept, and dreamt of the world she called Vadaa.

"Good morning, Year 12! It's nice to finally meet you guys! I'm Miss Harriet, your new teacher."
The moderately-sized class saw her presence as both a blessing and a curse; with the death of Mr. Squires, many had lost an important tutor and friend, but a fresh face inspired some to look at the class with a different perspective, and many felt as though they owed their former teacher a debt of obedience to the new.
"Why don't you show me what you guys can do?"

---

"I just don't know where to go from here, Miss."
"You've got a long way to go."
"I know."
"It's still beautiful, though. Let me say, it will be a masterful major work. These last nine months of teaching you, I've learned so much about you - and everyone else in the class - and this song reflects something within you that is almost indescribable."
"...Thanks?" The boy asked, a little bestranged at the woman's interest. This feeling was doubled when she sat herself next to him on the piano stool.
"Let me tell you something about myself, Jesse... I haven't told anyone this ever, but I was married once. Many years ago. After becoming a Christian, I changed my last name. I let go of the past - well, as much as was humanly possible - and have found such hope in the people here. To me, your song touches these emotions, forces me to remember the past and yet places it beneath the present moment in a way that makes me feel almost... A pure contentedness."
The student was evern more bestranged than before now. To break any opportunity of an awkward silence, he asked the first question that came to mind, "What was your name?"

---

She held the keys weakly in her wet, sticky hand. Somewhere in the distance, a bird was laughing.
They say they called those birds demons.
She rubbed her feet upon the ground, removing some of the red. The tree beside her had a wooden sign stuck to the bark, and read - simply - "OFFICE." The two bodies now lay beneath the soil, and she climbed shakily back to the top of the hill.

She turned the key and stepped into the silent room. It was almost pitch-black inside, despite the day being bright on the outside. She looked at the desk that once belonged to her superior. She vaguely considered placing the keys back on the desk, where Natalie had often placed them whilst she tought. In doing so, however, her eyes locked onto the face of the late Mrs. Maddock, fingerprinted bloodstains imprinted on its surface. Only one of the two now lay dead, with a woman involuntarily involved.
Fate is a teasing thing.
Sluggishy, she crept through the doors leading from the bathrooms, stopping at the double-doors to the empty room. She locked herself in
And wept.






Jesse Northam never would have died that day, if only he had posted. The end, however, had come too soon - for him, and his teacher; for the lost empress, and for her stories. They were all but gone.

[Frost]

Dark clouds were beginning to form.
Siberius, carrying his Daughter, finally came to rest under an old willow tree, laying Hope down amongst the soft, scraggy grass.
Hope was gasping for air. Puddles of sweat flowed from her forehead.
"She's burning up, Montecore," Siberius told him, trying to remain calm.
He rested his hand upon her head and released a light pulse of aura into her system, attempting to replenish her half-destroyed soul. It had never been possible before, but with Siberius' and Hope's aura being very similar, it was worth a chance.
Siberius took from his large bag a thickly woven sack and poured copious amounts of water down her throat and some on her forehead.
"We can't go back to Ilridge now. Montecore, I need you to find a nearby town. Come back and lead us there once you find one." Montecore did what his Master asked, bowing his head and sprinting off at a fantastic speed over the fields of thistles and weeds.

No-one has ever survived after losing their Spirit Beast... Siberius thought, placing a wet cloth on his Daughter's burning head. Losing half of their soul... It's too much.
Siberius' mind continued to be plagued in terrible thoughts, until Hope heaved a heavy sigh, then was silent. Siberius lightly shook her, murmuring her name. "Hope? Hope!" He yelled, placing both hands on his Daughter's chest and releasing more aura into her, trying to reignite her heart's extinguishment. "Hope!" He screamed, calling to her, as she began to slip from her life.

[Farrelei]

((For holding water they can use some kind of small metal container with like a cork in it or something unless you want Sibey to just have one of those ones that are like pouches made out of ox testicles or whatever. Lol Siberius touches animal testicles. With his mouth. Every day.))

At first, the gentle warmth from the body consoled her. She lay still for some moments. As the events of the night before reprised inside her head, she turned and, facing the man, she sighed. It was then she realised that her head ached. She pulled herself abruptly from his arms and staggered hazily upward. He seemed to drift into consciousness, but only for a moment. She placed a hand to her head.

Outside, the smell of fresh rain surrounded her, though the sky was clear and the clouds were moving rapidly overhead, to somewhere far away. Rosa traced the shape of her necklace in her fingers, drawing around every surface. It was the necklace she had bought the day she arrived in Hangyakunin as a free woman, and a symbol of the death of yesterday. It was small, in the shape of a bird's wing, except every now and then it wrapped itself around a blade. It was silver, and she hadn't worn it for a few years now. It was kept at the bottom of a drawer, but today, as she wandered through the wet morning streets, past vendors eager to set up the morning's wares, she needed to be reminded who she was.

---

Five or so young men and women rushed to the sides of the man; some approached the two on the floor.
The old man shouted croakily across the hall, "Enough! Take the prisoners outside and get the children to safety."
Rewan was immediately alerted to the elder's voice and joined the warriors by his side. Kyou bowed slightly to him, his heart throbbing and his chest now beginning to burn due to the fluctuations in the myst around him, somewhat arousing his ercilie, Arts. After the events 16 years previous, forcing them to migrate to the forest and found the villages, Arts had been less aggressive. It had it's moments, of course, but was less and less hasty to excite, especially after sessions with various elders in which Kyou was taught to calm his spirit and control it - to a degree.

Ursula and Creuw were flung to the floor outside the crater-riddled tree as it smoked, with villagers gathering and some among them weeping at the loss of one of nature's oldest. Kyou retrieved his heshen sack from his room before joining them, silently worried his books would perish if the library caught flame.

---

---

The Nature of the Spirit[/size]
Chapter 2 - On Ercilie[/b]

((p.s just remember Kyou's books are mostly written by ancients from Crillic's time))
What little we inherit now, after the fall of man and woman from above, is but primitive to our ancestors. In the chaos and confusion, and our descent both physically and psychologically from the Writers, we people lost touch with our world, society, our friends and our sanities, and we lost, most importantly, the soul connection. That term, spoken now, would implicate the bond between our conscious mind and our aura - which itself is important, of course - but, spoken then, such a term would mean to our ancestors a connection most beautifully complex: the connection not just to your own soul, but to the souls of the community, joined in unison, existing for the purposes of all, not just for one. This is a gift we have ultimately forgotten to act upon. Whether, as the connection between aura and conscious mind now have been re-founded and re-taught, this communal connection will one day be possible once more, is beyond my knowing. So, too, is the knowledge of a collective manifestation and, if it did exist in those times, if perhaps it was used to rebel against the Writers in a spectacular moment of rebellion.

This manifestation we see among the most of us now - even in children pure in soul - and it is the formation not only of a permanent companion, but a taming of and reflection of ourselves. Of course, not everyone can produce ercilie. In our world, sadly, the lack of nuturing of souls has been passed through generations, and even in my own community, there exist children whose blood be so diluted with this tragic 'disease', their souls are simply not large enough to fill more than their immediate physical shell and spill over into manifestation. These children will never experience the joy and majesty felt by those whose souls, in a moment of pure beauty, act with the myst and create, as if through an act of intimate love, a child born of both the human and the world.

Complications[/u]

There are those whose ercilie do not 'live', and this is a most curious thing, as they have been known to take the shape of various inanimate objects of some meaning to the owner. These cases are extremely rare indeed, and are the cause of only much questioning; sometimes these unliving beasts hold some kind of power that seems frightening and foreign to the owner, sometimes the objects - be they small or like jewelry - promote a uniqueness within the individual, and still hold with them the same majesty and feel for the world as their living counterparts.

In all ercilie, breathing or no, there has been known to - very rarely - exist a division, a break in connection, and there exists a few notable moments in which a user's ercilie has turned against them in a bloody fit of rage, in one case causing death - inevitably leading to the creature's own hours later.
Other ercilie have been known to euthenese or assist their elderly or otherwise-grave companions in a will of suicide. This, whilst seemingly tragic, is a powerful display of friendship not comparable to any other act I have witnessed in my life. These creatures sacrifice their own wellbeing for the sake of their masters. It is in these moments that we see the true nature of love.

[Frost]

Vizier Asmoday and Empress Shelrair sat in the Royal Gardens. The Royal Gardens stretched out for what seemed an eternity, surrounding the entire Palace. The Gardens and all it's grandeur were a forest of natural beauty, with beautiful cascades of water and pillowing spires of forestry, all the while with small animals residing in the celestial resort.
Alistar and Blight accompanied the two, standing several steps away with their perfect posture and attentive eyes.
"How have you been, Empress?" Asmoday asked, taking another sip of his Peppermint Ash Tea.
"Don't call me that, Asmoday," The Empress replied, slightly frustrated.
Asmoday showed a rarely utilised smile. "I enjoy calling you that. It's almost patronising, isn't it?"
Shelrair heaved a heavy laugh. A bystander may assume it to be fake, but those who knew Shelrair personally, especially Asmoday, knew it to be her most genuine of all laughs. "Oh Asmoday, you are patronising me. Only you would be able to do such a thing." She turned her head toward the pair of demon children that stood closeby. "More tea, my children."
The two walked elegantly toward the small table before them and poured more tea into their teacups. A chore that Asmoday or Shelrair could have easily of performed. Asmoday noted this.

"So then," Asmoday began, taking another sip from his divine tea, "What political and social upheaval have you brought upon this Nation this week?"
Shelrair pasted a small crumpet with butter and jam, sighing deeply. "The Council. They want a portion of the military."
Asmoday slammed his teacup onto the ground, causing tea to erupt and spill forth over the snow-white tablecloth. Alistar scowled.
"They basically wanted control over Gardaine's defensive forces, whilst leaving the offensive armies still under our control."
Asmoday regathered his calm demeanour. "That is understandable."
Shelrair nodded, before taking a bite out of the crumpets prepared by Blight. She moaned in delight as the delicious crumpet burst into flavour, cooked to perfection and smothered in the most pure of all butters. She turned to Blight.

"My dear, Blight, this is perhaps the most delectable food you have ever prepared!" Shelrair exclaimed. Alistar scowled, for she had helped.
"...How is Jezebel? And Emilia?" Asmoday asked, attempting to reestablish Shelrair's dwindling maturity.
Shelrair turned around and addressed him again.
"Jezebel and Diabora have arrived at the Vuerrian Mountains. They're going to test the new explosives we have developed to try and get inside," Shelrair told him proudly, as if she was the one to invent the new device.

"Speaking of new devices, there is one that I must show you later. An entirely new concept that I am sure you will love."

[Frost]

Siberius laid her down into a small, comfortable bed provided by a lodge close-by. Montecore, to Siberius' relief, had managed to find a neighbouring town, returned to Siberius, and lead his Master and his Daughter to the lodge. Siberius embraced Montecore as Hope remained motionless on the bed. "Thank you, Montecore," Siberius spoke, continuing to hold him, grateful of his friend's loyalty.
They both watched her, waiting for her to show some form of life.
"She's alive, Montecore. I know she is. I can feel it."
Siberius and Montecore sat beside her, both agitated by the lightest of sounds.
"What are we going to do?" Siberius asked. "Savannah, and Nero, they're going to be worried."
A thought occurred to Siberius. Hope left home to explore. If we return home, she will just leave again. Siberius rested his head in his hands, massaging his forehead. Savannah and Nero cannot be left alone. I provide for them.
Suddenly, Siberius thought of an idea.
He hurriedly took out a large piece of parchment from his rucksack and a quill and ink, rushing over to a small desk situated in the corner of the room, writing:

Savannah
I have found Hope, but she has been injured and is in no shape to travel. She knows about us, and everything that has happened, and if I return with her, once she gets healthy she will just run away again. I am going to take her to the Vuerrian Mountains, about a days walk North. Do not worry about money or food. You can work the shop and Hord can take Nero with him when fishing. I will be home no later than a week. Keep Montecore close. I'll write letters to Hord and he can give them to you, just in case they're still tracking us through mail. I love you, Siberius.

After he finished writing, Siberius folded the parchment and tied it around Montecore's neck with a piece of rope.
"I know it's... uncomfortable," Siberius told him, adjusting the rope,
"And demoralising, but you have to deliver this to Savannah now, before it gets dark."
Siberius finished attaching it and looked into Montecore's beautiful, yet worried eyes.
"You'll be fine. We've been apart before, for a long time too. Stay out of trouble. I'll be home soon, and so will Hope."
Siberius stroked the fur on Montecore's head, relaxing him, before he raced off out of the room, his large, powerful legs thumping down the wooden hallway, trailing off.

[Farrelei]

Chancellor Byrdge held the signed documents smugly in his hands as he was escorted to the black, roofless carriage by the Vizier's guards, who doubled also as those of the Council when assigned to the House.
"Gardaine Palace, sir?"
"Where else?"

The roads were considerably wider in this section of Gardaine than Verith was used to back in Asfare. Of course, he thought to himself, this is Gardaine, after all. I suppose higher traffic is to be expected.
In Asfare, he had only ever gone with his family by carriage or horseback; this was his first time in a car. It's black exterior shone and glinted in the sunlight as it caught. People stared as they passed - including those of obviously higher status, with their bowties and funny hats, but quickly pretended not to care as they regained their behavioural apathy. What impressed Verith most of all was the buildings, different in architecture and, importantly, height from the cities he was used to back on the Immestrial continent. Buildings towered four or five storeys high all about him, and of course the Imperial Station Tower ((is this okay? The train station [are they open yet?] closest to the Palace, still a fair distance from it obviously, but yeah, I imagined it would have a bell tower and be the third highest tower in the city; does that suit your idea for timing of railroads and such? The station can at least be built perhaps if not opened yet. Maybe)) and Palace in the distance divided still the reality within the young man. He paid little attention to the Queen beside him, who appreciated the lack of effort.

Byrdge's horseman stopped. "I think... That's the Empress, sir."
"The Queen," the Chancellor noted, "One of them. That's the State Car; see the flag?"
The boy, who did not know the importance of flags too well, said nothing and watched as the palace gates were opened and the car drive in.
"Interesting," Byrdge continued as the carriage began to follow the car inside, "the gates were open earlier. Must be Emilia, Jezebel usually doesn't care for all the fuss."
The gates were notably closed behind the carriage as it crossed the bridge and to Imperial Square, stopping in front of the palace. As expected, Emilia stepped from the car as it were opened. Interestingly, though, a boy followed suit. I wouldn't be surprised if she killed her last servant, Byrdge mused, bowing slightly to the diarch-queen, who turned away and continued up the stairs without further recognition.

Why is that idiot always here?
"Glad to have you back, Your Majesty."
Usually, she ignored the servants at the doors. She almost did this time, too, but quickly remembered her baggage, "Ah. Girl, this is Verith. Royalty. Show him to a room."
She was momentarily startled, as they all were, by this unusual act, but displayed no reaction to that effect, "Of course, Your Majesty; we'll have a room set up immediately. Is there anything else?"

Verith was surprised at the initial resemblance Gardaine Palace held to Asfare Castle. Any mirage constructed of such noticings was, however, set aright by the time he reached his quarters. A guard had been assigned to make sure he didn't leave the room until permitted, of course, but was stationed outside the entrance hall of the quarters themselves. The collection of rooms together formed larger than that of his old regal quarters in his castle home. Even more surprising was the servant also enlisted to assist him in any way. He felt less and less like a prisoner as time passed. He had a hunch, though, that this feeling was quite fleeting.

[Frost]

Shelrair led Asmoday down into the depths of the Palace, approaching two metal doors that were securely hatched, guarded by two soldiers.
Shelrair smiled to them, then the soldiers bowed and stepped aside, opening the two doors.
They continued walking down the long, dark tunnel until they reached another set of metal doors, guarded by four soldiers this time.
"Passcode?" One of them asked, standing taller.
"Wurm 11," Shelrair replied.
The four of them nodded, before opening up the next two doors with a screechy grind.
They continued walking past the guards, with the tunnel still continuing.
"Security down here is very tight. Not even I could simply walk through these doors without knowing the code," Shelrair explained. Asmoday nodded.
"This is a new technology that is being developed. We're almost there."

They reached the end of the tunnel with one more door, this one without any guards.
Shelrair smiled and looked to Asmoday, before opening the door and leading him into the room.
As soon as Asmoday entered the room, he was truly amazed.
The room was the size of a large farm, with the latest cybernetic computing and technology surrounding him. Dozens of men and women dressed in black overcoats stood and sat at desks, scribbling and working frantically. Several more tunnels branched off from this one, majestic place.
In the middle of this room was a large podium, with a huge metallic piece of machinery sitting proudly atop it. Myst spewed forth from countless pipes that were situated on the top of the device.

"Shelrair, what is that? What is everyone doing here?" Asmoday asked, almost panically.
Shelrair turned to Asmoday.
"This is the newest form of public transportation," Shelrair explained, "This device, known as 'The Wurm,' is an amazing new invention that will be able to pull and carry supplies and people to stations all around the Continent days faster than horse carriage."
Asmoday nodded, ecstatic.
"How does it work?" He asked, walking closer to it.
Shelrair followed him, further explaining.
"It runs on Myst, the same energy that powers almost every other machinery."
"Of course... So when is it due to be released?" Asmoday asked.

"Tomorrow."

[Farrelei]

Twenty minutes had passed before the maidservant was given any actual, usable information concerning the whereabouts of Her Eminent Majesty. She was damn glad, too, that the Chancellor was not her boss and that the searching was being held on the guest's behalf, because she didn't want to think about what punishments would cross her had it been the Empress left waiting what would eventually become a good half hour - or more. She disregarded the rules now and then, running down certain corridors when no-one of any authority could see her. She finally stumbled into Queen Jezebel's private gamesroom, with it's carved, dark wooden panels and furniture to match, only to find nobody inside. The girl felt like cursing aloud, but instead she hit herself in frustration, then leant against the bookcase on the wall to catch her breath.

Perhaps because the previous goers were sure they'd be back out before anyone else could come through, the secret bookcase was not set up very securely. In fact, all it took was the subconscious sliding of the girl's elbow and the keybook flipped over, the door swinging outwardly suddenly and the maidservant being hurled head-first onto the ground beyond. She clutched her head and almost wept under the pressure. Upon looking up and coming eye-to-eye with two armed soldiers, her heart fluttered. For a moment she thought she'd vomit on them.
"Are you alright, girl?"
"Yes... Yes; I was wondering if Her Eminent Majesty were here?"
The guards looked at each other, then shook their heads in unison.
"A-Are you sure? I was told to come here..."
"We cannot divulge that information."
"Then," began the maidservant, brushing down her skirt as she stood, "Would you allow me to walk through that door?"
The room was quite small and rectangular in shape. The door at the other end, and the presence of the secret bookcase, made it extremely obvious that this was a place the girl was definitely not meant to be. It also made it extremely obvious that this was where the Empress was, as she didn't seem to be anywhere else of knowledge except in Queen Jezebel's gamesroom, which was quite evidently empty. She also realised that the guards stationed here would have a most terrible time, as there didn't seem to be any ventilation and the room already seemed fairly stuffy to her, even with the secret-bookcase-door currently wide open. She closed it behind her politely, seemingly to keep with the order of security, but mainly to let the guards know she wasn't about to turn back.
"Yes," replied one of the guards,
"Upon stating the password," the other.
"Password?" Mimicked the girl cynically, "Wow, this really is tight security. Umm... Shelrair?"
Silence.
"...Did I get it right?"
Silence. The girl started towards the door.
"No." A guard stated roughly.
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, "Then... Empress?"
"......"

---

Enough time had passed for the entire village, as well as some from outside villages, to gather around the two strangers. Some wept for the tree, now smouldering at the trunk, others taunted Creuw and Ursula with death threats. The two were soon joined by two others dressed in Imperial uniform. The four were thrown on the floor and scrutinised. Some of the elders were present, now.
Kyou stepped forward, "What is your business here?"
For a moment, the four looked at each other, extremely confused and worried, before one - Samson - eventually spoke, "We were sent on a scouting mission by the Imperial Defence Force, two of my comrades and I. That there is - was - our means of transport." The group stared off in the direction of the vehicle, now in pieces in and about the tree. Samson then hesitated, "Wait... Why is that there?"
Ursula looked surprised, "Oh, sorry! Forgot to mention, I killed your friend and we hijacked it. Hope you don't mind."
Creuw laughed. The imperials grew outraged and Rewan was forced to separate the two groups with arrowfire before a riot broke out. She stood before them, "Why are you here, then?"
"We're on a mission to find a dead man."
Rewan chuckled a little, flicking her crimson red hair as she did, "Don't play games with me, stranger. I cheat. I'm not ashamed; I always win. There is much pride to be had in cheating."
"Oh, I know; I like cheating as well. If you hadn't noticed, I did kill a man, steal his machine and crash it into the side of an ancient tree. I'm fairly sure none of that was fair." Ursula hesitated for a moment, "...You wouldn't happen to know where Siberius Feyanrer is, or anything, right?"
There was a surge of anger from the crowd at the woman's words. Samson took Rewan's distraction then to attack the woman, pinning her to the ground whilst she was fixated on the anger burning through the villagers and seemingly connecting this anger with each of her cheeks with every oncoming fist. Creuw was quicker on his feet than Samson's ally, who attempted to stop him from cutting his friend's throat, but with too little haste. Within a moment, Samson was dead, and Creuw and Pei were at each other like savages. Villagers ignored Rewan's orders and charged at the group.

---

"Butterflies?"
"..."
"Sunflowers?"
"..."
"Cow dung?"
"..."
"Okay guys, give me a clue, already." The girl was sure she'd be fired for this. She was rather over cleaning the seats of royal asses every day, though, and her parents would never have to know because she'd escape to Ranra or something anyway.
The soldiers weren't even angry. This was the most entertainment they'd had all day, though they'd never be allowed to show it.
"Maybe it's something gross, and that's why nobody would guess it. Something like... Orphans?"
"..."
"Dirt?"
"..."
"Worms?"
"Ah..." One of the soldiers began. The other one glared at him coolly and so he didn't speak any more.
"What? Did I get it? Worms? Wuuuuurms? Wuuuuuuuuuuurm."
The soldiers continued looking at each other. Then one of them shrugged, and they unlocked the door.
The girl breamed, "Oh! Wonderful. A pleasure, gentlemen." She began to walk cheerfully through the door when she collided with someone exiting. There were screams and guards on either side of the passage raised their firearms.
The girl looked up, dismayed that this was the second time today she'd fallen over, and opened her mouth to yell at the perpetrator when she realised who it was, "Oh...! Your Eminent Majesty! My sincerest apologies!" She raised herself and bowed quickly several times, whilst the Empress still struggled standing over her various dresses combined with the intense height of her heels.
Asmoday smirked, "You were saying about the security?"
The girl wondered how she would be executed.

((I leave these two scenarios in your hands now ;D hopefully we'll post quicker if we're both interacting with each other's characters))

[Farrelei]

One of Fern's favourite places of their estate lie a ten-minute walk from the house and so made for a secluded area capable of fostering her need for privacy, self-intimacy and, most basically, thought. The garden was a gift from Loret upon their engagement. He showed it to her some nights before their marriage, and though she sometimes scorned the idea that it was of him, she stressed too the idea that it was hers. Hers and most definitely not his. Though she loved him - most of the time - and she loved the empress whose desire it was they be married in the first place, she needed something to call her own in the world. More than that; she needed a place. The maidservants gave her friendship, authority and a sense of purpose. When that was taken from her, she felt almost as if she held nothing in the present, only the ghostly strings connecting her to those people she used to know.

Inspired by the native Immestrian city of Dhenzjac, once inside it was easy to lose yourself. Even for Fern, who had learned thoroughly the intricacies of the garden, was still able to close off her mind and willingly lapse into surrounding, serene lostness. The spires at the end of the walls were bronzen, spiralled tower miniatures, complete with small holes for windows and carved-in doors and gateways. She wondered if they, too, were of the nomads; perhaps their mythology, and intrigued as she was, she preferred to not know the truth of that matter. This place was not defined by facts to her, as much as she knew to the designers they were solid. Facts one does not know, she once thought, practising twirls at the centre court, can't really be facts at all, if they don't exist within the mind of she questioned. And so she took everything there as she saw fit. When she did not know something about the garden, she designed several possibilities and at any point could and did often change her opinion of them. Her garden then evolved as she did: sometimes it stepped forward, others back, and through these means she maintained wholesome authority over them. She even named them, sometimes. Always differently, though -- and she would never tell you what those names were.

[Frost]

"How did she get in here!?" Shelrair boomed, glaring at both soldiers.
The two of them lowered their heads in shame, also expecting execution.
Asmoday, immediately growing uncomfortable, faced Shelrair.
"Your Majesty... Perhaps we should be more lenient toward the girl... She may be a worthwhile tactician..."
Asmoday and Shelrair exchanged glances toward the wandering girl, then dismissed Asmoday's assumption.
"Come with me," Shelrair ordered, taking hold of the girl and continuing her walk through the tunnel, past the guards and back into Jezebel's Gameroom.
"And you two," Shelrair said before closing the doors behind her, "Fight to the death. The survivor isn't fired."

Shelrair, Asmoday and the wanderer shut the doors, leaving the aghast soldiers behind.

---

Hope stirred; groaning.
"Hope?" Siberius asked, who was on the verge of collapse himself, persistently sitting by Hope's side in case she awakes.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Hope told him, attempting to sit up and ultimately straining herself in the process.
Siberius placed a damp cloth on her head; tears formed in his eyes.
"You're safe, Hope. Sleep and regain your strength, okay?"
Hope took hold of her Father's warm hand, before calmly falling back to sleep.

---

"It'll take maybe a day or two to prepare the 'plosives. We'll be arrivin' in'under'an hour, your 'ajesties," Came a voice from the front of the carriage.
"You know whats in the 'ountains?" George asked, addressing Jezebel and Diabora.
"I've heard many tales," Jezebel replied. "I'd much rather open the doors using more... civilised methods, though."
"The Ancients hid themselves in there, out of fear," Diabora
told them, his voice overcoming theirs.
"The Ancients blocked the doors to preserve whatever is inside, Diabora. If they didn't, the Demons of the First Demon War would have destroyed it... You know this, Diabora," Jezebel told him, staring into his white eyes.
The two prolonged the awkward conflict until George finally spoke.
"'You think people are still 'live in 'ere?" He asked curiously.

"That's why we're here, in case this civilisation is still there," Diabora replied.

[Farrelei]

The tension on the air was inevitable always between the empress and her chancellor. Despite the appointment of the latter by the former, it was made well-known to him her dissatisfication with his power, and the feeling of necessity that it be handed to him. Byrde, being Gardaine's second of this position, was liked far less than his predecessor by Her Eminence; the first empowered at Her Pleasure whilst the second voted in by the buffooning public. She detested that word: "voted."
Her extraordinary lateness then did naught to alleviate the undesirable atmosphere of the room as she sat, then; a servant - different, the Chancellor noted, than the one that went looking for her - set a silvery tray of tea-things before them gingerly. He did not drink.
"Pass all good, Chancellor?" She asked, her voice exhibiting a noble perfection not acquired on her initial accession,
"Of course, Majesty," he replied, with emphasis,
She smiled, tipped her head in recognition of his rude vocal game and took the small, elegant cup closest in her finger, "You sound almost threatening, sir! How dangerous." He raised a brow as she sipped - slowly, gently, "This tea is wonderful. My favourite... I hope you haven't been kept waiting, Byrde."
"Your presence is waited always on, Your Eminence; I am lucky to have received it at all," he spoke, before quickly starting again, "Ah, here are the documents."
Poised to ponder the meaning of his previous words, she eventually changed her countenance as if remembering something of great importance, "The documents, yes. These are the ones portioning your Council an amount of my soldiers?"
The Chancellor halted, "...Yes, they are."
Shelrair pouted for a moment, "Yes... Now, I've thought about it, and I've had a little chat with Asmoday, and I don't think I like our previous decision." Her words, as her throne, reigned with innocence as they showed but stung like concealed wasps in the night when realised; the silent chancellor, awaiting extrapolation, remained placid, "You see, there was a hole you seem to have overlooked in your imperfection, and it pains me to say so as I see you've now wasted both your time and my own with your insolence, but to sign this would grant to you the power to forge a military force of indefinite strength, which”, she added, “is completely unnecessary considering my devotion to your nation, Mr. Byrde, and the Imperial Forces I govern to protect it."
“We discussed the reasoning behind my concern,” the Chancellor rebutted, a rare liberty enjoyed by his societal position,
“And I agreed of it's importance, my dear-”
“Then why-”
“Shh,” she interrupted, waving her free hand flimsily, “I'm not denying you your defence, Mr. Byrde. Please don't interrupt the Throne lest you disposition yourself. I have not retracted my word: you will receive your portion of men in time, however I shall firstly (and hastily, mind) form an Imperial Ministry for Defence Regulation, which will appoint you defensive troops in number reflecting that of the Imperial Force itself.”
Byrde was wary, “At a percentage?”
“Of course,” she smiled.
“What percentage?”
“I think somewhere between five and ten percent of the Force on location would suffice, yes?”
“That number is hardly enough to suit an able defence, Your Eminent Majesty,” he argued, quickly slipping into respectful formalities,
Her brows narrowed, “That percentage is regulated, I remind you; in the case of an extremely unlikely emergency, percentages may be raised.”
“No, Your Majesty; this is up to chance at best-”
“This is up to the Throne, and your disrespectful words shall get you nowhere, Chancellor,” she spat, “In fact, I'm much disgraced by your presence. Believe yourself luckily protected by your height, Byrde. If I didn't care for my people's beliefs, however questionable, I'd have you permanently banned from my grounds.”
“Your grounds lie within my area of governance, Majesty,” Byrde replied sharply, “Your Imperial Forces may exact requirement elsewhere; every other nation you rule is provided with it's own defence, why not our-”
“Yours is given the privilege of the best defence there is, Mr. Byrde, and that is by My wishes. I am the strongest woman of Vadaa, and my army is stronger yet, and it protects you and your people and their walls, and it will continue to do this long after you are dead.”
The Chancellor stared, furious, at the woman opposite him, who finished her cup's worth rather than stare silently back at him. She raised herself and left without a further word, leaving the man to ponder her threats. Her vizier was perhaps more intelligent than they initially gave him credit for.

---

The insects had begun to bite before a boy came with a lamp.
She smiled as she bade him thanks and she stepped back inside the house, leaving her maze for the next night after. She was late for dinner; this had turned customary and her husband, firstly wary, came to accept her unusual absence most evenings. He greeted her cheerfully, having not seen her since the early hours of the morning. They kissed, and he took her off to private in the hall, placing a hand upon her shoulder, lowering his so their eyes met. His projected hope and warmth whilst hers, he saw, concealed a deepening sadness drowned beneath the prospect of beauty that the night often gave her.
“I can see it, Fern. I'm sorry.”
She turned her eyes from his and shrugged, “Do not be. It may be myself to blame.”
“May be,” he agreed, “I prefer the blame to be shared in unknowing, though, don't you?”
She turned her eyes back to his and smiled, “You're right, Loret. Thank you.”
He moved his hand to her waist, patting it gently, “He'll come, when he's ready.”
Or she, she thought, before they retired that evening to bed.

The sadness and grief she brought to him every other month equalled this in each term. Her greatest hope was the doctor's confirmation; with every denial she were made messenger equal to one of the death of a child so loved, though tragically as yet nonexistant.

---

The dirt was almost choking in the darkness, so they decided, it seemed unanimously, to stop temporarily their bickering. Ursula thought she heard the man called Pei slam into the brick on two or three occasions – she hoped it was his head, for she couldn't bear the sight of his perverted face. It was almost eighteen hours before she began to curse loudly at intervals, arousing the annoyance of her imperial inmate, but the intense amusement of her lover ((are Creuw and Ursula already lovers or does that come later?)). The cold, heartless walls of the makeshift prison there at the place they coined simply “Headquarters” served to keep the monsters tame for the time being, whilst the Elders of Organisation pondered their respective fates.

((Sorry that was so long. I know I said I'd wait for you to post as shelly and shit but for a conversation as long as that it would have taken a million years at the rate we're posting. "Cool! This will help us post more, right Jesse??"
-doesn't post for 2 months.-
"OOOOORGH"))

[Farrelei]

There is a little scream as the Empress flung open the next door. Looking upon the girl on the floor, she rolled her eyes and shouted, "What is this? Maidservants vs. Her Majesty Day, hmm?" Upon noticing a woman behind the fallen was laughing, she raised her head.
Emilia ended her chuckling with a nod of the head, "Perhaps we should just burn them all -- end their little conspiracy in the young."
The Empress smiled and raised her hands to her hips, "Now, now, Queen Emilia, don't give me any ideas!" She giggled, "What brings you here?"
"I have a present for you, from Asfare. Busy?"
"No, no! I was just having a chat with your little chancellor-man, rude little thing."

---

All eyes turned as Verith entered the room. It was small, but incredibly stately. The wall opened out on the left to a comfortable niche; a lounge ran across the wall there, fitting with purple-velvet cushions and a smaller table cut from ancient wood. A painting of a mythological scene hung there. To the right was a round table, painted sometimes white but often left in the original browns and cut ornately; before this was a wide window overlooking a section of green land with a strip of running river in the distance. Seated at the table were his new acquitance, the Queen Emilia, an unknown man was good dress and the Empress of Immestrial herself. She was the only one smiling as he entered, and she motioned to a chair by the unknown man.
"This," introduced the Queen as he sat, "Is Prince Verith of Asfare."
"A prince?" Remarked the Empress, "What a gift! How're things back home, my boy?"
Verith looked at Emilia, who averted her gaze, "...I'm unsure, Your Majesty."
"Unsure?" She laughed, "Not a very good prince, then."
"Bad," he retorted, "Things are bad."
"Oh," she said, instantly unamused.
Emilia spoke up, "Indeed, he would be the new king, I assume."
"Oh?" Shelrair asked,
"But I could see it in his eyes: a life of politics just wasn't the right-sounding aspiration for one such as he. Would I be right?"
Verith hesitated some moments,
Shelrair laughed, "Apparently not; he can't even speak!"
He looked at the man beside him, he seemed to pay him no attention.
"...Well," Emilia began, "I thought perhaps he could see how our armed forces worked. Maybe," she turned to the Chancellor, "Maybe he'd be in our own Gardainian Defence someday, Byrde?"
Byrde nodded arrogantly,
"Forces?" Asked Verith, "What would I be doing in the forces?"
"Shooting things," Shelrair replied nonchalantly, "Birds, people, demons -- whatever pleases."
"Am I not too young?"
"We breed our warriors young," the Empress replied, more attentively, "Perhaps that's what makes it easier to conquer nations that happen to step our of line." She smiled, "But, of course, in doing so, we protect those countries with the very same armies that took them. And protection they dare need; the living conditions in some of those places are just shocking!"
Byrde seemed ready to argue, but Emilia gave him a stern glare and he opted out. She spoke, "And you really don't have a choice, Verith. I'll be frank. But upon conversing, I'd highly reccommend you to this work regardless. You're a boy of strong leadership capabilities, but not in the line of politics and law. You belong with other people like you. You're a leader of people, not paper."
As she spoke, his heart seemed to change a little. He knew she was right, but his thoughts darted from what she were offering to thoughts of his mother back home, ruling alone without husband nor son.
"...If I've no choice, then, I suppose that's my fate sealed." She shook the latter thoughts from his head, facing instead the path he was now forced to take regardless.
Shelrair smiled, "Good boy. You'll grow to be a great soldier, I can see it."
Emilia turned to her sovereign, "Of course, I'm sure Her Eminence will see to it you receive certain... Benefits. Royalty and all."
"Of course, "Shelrair concluded, "But we'll discuss details later."

[Farrelei]

((OOOORGH POST))

Over the next two days, the only people Verith saw were an assortment of servants, who hardly went out of their way to talk to him (except that annoying one, who apparently hated work and just wanted to talk. She was the only one he really just didn't want to talk to). He was eventually brought, after much request, a violin -- without the bow. It was like being given a piano with half the keys missing: frustrating, but still somehow playable. The small, wooden instrument must have belonged to a child, he believed, for it produced a disturbing sound when plucked, even after careful tuning, and was much too small to be properly enjoyed. Still, it seemed to insist that he play it, despite its many faults, and in the long expanses of nothingness he agreed to do so.

It was during one of these sessions on the third day that he was finally disturbed by someone of deviating status. Yrlon -- a general, apparently -- looked down upon Verith with tired, bloodshot eyes and demanded he take a change of clothes and follow him immediately to the barracks. Desperate to escape the confining boredom that encompassed his quarters, he hastily acquiesced and followed the somewhat-large man down the labyrinth of corridors and out to the Imperial Square, where a truck awaited his person. He quickly took a glance back at the majesty of the palace before seating himself in the musty vehicle, wondering how his life was soon to change.

---

"Waddya mean, they're scary, girly? They're justa more scared 'f YOU than YOU TO THEM!"
The girl hid behind her mother's velvet dress as the unsavoury man broke into a cackle.
"I'll take six," said the mother, much to the daughter's dismay.
"Six! Someone likes 'er crickles!"
She placed in his palm several coins more than was necessary and walked away with a bag of the fried sea creatures. She gave them to an urchin as she turned the next street, and, it would seem, shook hands with the owner of a shop she'd never been to.

That night, as the owner locked the shop door and made his way to his small bedroom on the second floor, he remembered the pamphlet the nice lady had given him. He lit the lamp by his bedside and flipped it open, scrutinising,

"Freedom, Peace, Happiness, Life. Follow the guiding light."

[Frost]

"It doesn't hurt, it's just annoying."
"I'm sure."
"No really, I don't need your help."
"Hope, you're being ridiculous."

Siberius and Hope stood at opposite ends of a shallow river, enthralled with native wildlife and flora.
The sunlight beckoned through the gaps in the thick lush of trees, glimpsing natural beauty upon the mossy, tranquil water. Hope stood in the river, her legs outstretched and bent as the cool water rushed past her shoeless feet.
"An Ancient's aura is most powerful when surrounded by other auras, Hope."
Hope closed her eyes and took deep breaths, her arms paralleled and outstretched either side.
"If you succeed, Hope, you will be the only Ancient in all existence who survives and retains their aura! Come on, concentrate," Siberius told her.
Hope began delicately repeating a fingering pattern taught by her Father, designed to create intricate swirls of droplet-shaped aura. It was a simple technique.

"Dad, it's painful," Said Hope, wincing.
Siberius approached her, dipped his hand in the water, then pressed an open palm onto his daughter's forehead.
Hope gasped as aura escaped her fingertips, flickering in the breeze.
"Don't lose it, Hope, I'm going to let go now," Siberius told her, trying to remain calm though his heart beat fast. Slowly, he let go. Hope staggered in pain as the aura retreated back into her hands.
"Don't give up, Hope. Feel the life around you," Siberius gently spoke, "The sunlight, the water, the trees. Borrow their spirits."
Hope groaned, curling her fingers crookedly, continuing to attempt the seemingly impossible as her Father spoke softly to her.
"Feel the water pass through you, Hope, and the wind soothe you. Aura, in essence is the movement of the water with the rapids of the wind, use them, and a-"
Suddenly, aura erupted from Hope's hands, surrounding and wrapping it's energy around Hope. It swirled around her, until Hope was hidden amongst the beautiful spirit.
Siberius watched in amazement and absolute pride at the slight glimpse of a figure in the Aura, wielding the power throughout her.
"Keep going, Hope! Push yourself to the limit!" Siberius called out to her.
The light-blue aura swirled rapidly around Hope, creating an almost perfect sphere of energy that spun furiously. Siberius' eyes widened in shock at the incredibly complex technique, mastered by a young girl.

A fraction of a moment preceded him.
A powerful gust blew around them, being absorbed into the sphere of aura.
Trees were unrooted and flung toward the Aura, as Siberius leaped out of the river and onto high ground.
The earth around them cracked and shifted, and the river quaked powerfully.
"Hope!" Siberius called repeatedly, panicking in fear as the torrential event escalated dangerously. "Stop, Hope! Stop!"
Suddenly the Aura shone transcendently, as Siberius covered his eyes at the celestial light, and as the Aura gathered it's pinnacle of power, it was released in a explosion of pure light that flung Siberius onto the ground.

He stood, relentless, at the aftermath of what had just unfolded before him.
There, Hope stood, standing with her head facedown, in the remnants of the destroyed river.
The trees that once shrouded the pair were burnt to mere twigs of their former stature.
The ground was blackened from the intensity, and the river lay barren and devoid of all beauty.
"...Hope..."
Slowly, she raised her head.
"I did what you asked, Father... Did I..."
"D-don't worry... Come along. We better keep moving."
The pair left the wasteland that now replaced the creek, neither speaking a word of what had just eventuated. Siberius, shocked by his daughter's overbearing, revealed strength, and Hope, afflicted by the opposing responses both she and her Father revealed.

[Farrelei]

After over an hour of twisting, winding and struggling against the crowded streets of the city of Gardaine, the truck reached, in one of the poorer districts, the northernmost wall of the capital. Along this wall, however, ran a series of rather large, official-looking complexes. Some seemed more industrial than others, but the truck stopped before the gates of a dismal-looking place: the walls were bigger even than those of the palace in Gardaine, and were uniformly grey. Even in the daylight, only darkness emanated from the disquiet lingering onto the streets. As the double-doored gate of the reinforced stone walls slowly creaked open and they passed, Verith could smell, even from inside the car, an abhorrent stench, as if to deter passersby and vermin alike, they spilled the sewage over the walls for the street cleaners to fix ((lol our school)). The vehicle slowly proceeded down a pre-determined path for another hundred metres before stopping in a shaded area beside another similar vehicle. The driver spoke, "Stay in" and left.

Another man opened the door to his left and beckoned him out. He was armed. Verith conceded and followed the man up a small flight of concrete stairs and through a shabby door, looking somewhat out-of-place attached to such a behemoth building. Everything was bureaucratic inside. There was the constant, loud tap of a typewriter by every door he passed, impressive, as in his own country only the very rich owned such a modern device. Eventually entering a door with a guard on the outside, Verith was presented to a balding man and left to sit on the chair before his desk.
The man took a final smoke of his pipe and let it down painfully, "What an honour!" His voice was like charcoal, "I am Gripp, General. I oversee the many orphans and whatnot that pass through these doors. Not often we get royalty. Never a ruling man in his own right."
Verith remained silent as he laughed, chokingly. The term "ruling man," he felt, was not applicable to him.
"Talkative fella." He laughed again.
"Is this to be my home?" Was Verith's only response.
"For about a day, yeah. We're gonna check ya, get y'forms and whatnot, get a gun... You'll be off in the mornin' though, with the good boys. Headin't' Marnley. Shit factory. Like all the barracks." He chuckled, but quickly resumed, "Uhh... I doubt y'all be that good, but Imperial orders, y'know? I got a letter signed from the Queen and everything."
"...So they expect me to do well?"
"Nah, not really. Marnley's more the 'officer school' of the barrackses. They probly think you're all a good leader, y'know? Prince and all that."
Verith's heart sank a little. He wasn't looking forward to ordering anyone around, least of all someone with more experience than himself. He took the sheet given to him by Gripp, in any case, and studied it. The thick black ink denoted the first section was to do with basic details: Name, Age, Sex and whatnot, whilst the second was intricate details on performance skills in various areas.
"There'll be, um... Actually, you follow me."
Standing, Verith followed the man back out the door. Gripp was exceedingly larger than he imagined. It was slightly amusing: watching him, the root of all authority in the building, waddle down the hallways as he walked him to the trainer's office.