Red Sea

[Farrelei]

It was a night of rain and furious storms when Rhys first met Rosa.
She was on her way to her apartment by the library, soaked and beaten by Nature's celestial onslaught.
He was meant to meet to a friend at a tavern, where he planned to stay, but after an hour of waiting he assumed she'd been ill-inclined to brave the weather.

He had just sat back down, this time with a froth-topped mug, when the woman sat wordlessly beside him with her own, their bodies close. She was slightly tan, hard-faced and about his age; her brown hair hung wet and loose about her shoulders, and she swallowed down a mouthful of ale.
"Pleased to meet you, too," he commented, smiling boyishly.
She eyed him, side-on, and smirked. Then she sipped again.

After a time, Rhys felt inclined to talk to the stranger, her legs now stretched out before the fire. She had rolled the bottoms of her pants slightly before she had sat next to him, he noted -- perhaps to avert puddles on the street.
"Lovely weather," he took a swig of his own beverage,
"Quite." She placed the mug beside her and reached down to remove her uncomfortably-drenched shoes, and this was when he noted her right arm was missing. He was a little surprised, but quickly overcame the defect. He watched her move the shoes closer to the fire and resume her seat.
Sheepishly, he looked to his own sorry-seeming shoes and did the same.
She was looking at him, smiling, when he came back.
"Hey, it was a good idea!"

---

Four months later, after various meetings, Rosa agreed to follow him to a secret convention of 'dangerous thoughts,' a political gathering of ideologies and underground parties seeking change. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, fake glasses and her hair tied back in a bun -- more for fear of recognition then anything else. Someone was playing jazz on the piano beside the small, naked stage at the centre of the room on the far right as they walked in. She stood a distance away from Rhys, taking in the delights of the bar. He had a few words with the bartender, and after a few minutes the men beckoned towards her and she followed them behind the counter, down the stairs leading to the basement and from there through a hidden door behind a shelf of potatoes, carrots and various sealed crates.

A gathering of about thirty people sat in the sweaty, ill-ventilated room, lit by gas lamps at various intervals. The room itself was big enough for a large table able to sit fifteen, a bench in the corner on which various political pamphlets and baskets of finger-food had been placed, and, tucked away in a niche in the corner, two barrels of alcohol. Several people glanced their way and nodded on their arrival. The bartender whispered, "You make yourselves at home, you two. I'll be back to join the party in an hour or so."

This was the only such gathering she visited. Had she gone to more, she would possibly have been reunited with Bowen far earlier, or other members of the Light. Whilst these two possibilities had never occurred to her, she did fear recognition. It was from that experience, however, that she formulated the idea to purchase a bar of her own with Rhys, whom she'd grown fairly fond of over the months. As it turned out, the feeling was mutual. The old bar they bought they spruced up, even added a level with money donated from various peers of Rhys (who would like another place to convene, it seemed), and so the Abdicate came into being. It was small, in comparison to the Fire Queen, where the gatherings were held, but it was cosy. Word spread, and eventually they had their very own regulars and busy nights became more common. Rhys sold his old home and moved in. Rosa was too reluctant to give up her solo apartment, but she spent most nights with Rhys at the bar from then on, and the two became captured together in the same, small world: two constants in a flurry of thoughts, fears and faces.

[Farrelei]

((I posted on the page before as well if you didn't read that post already.))

[Frost]

Ursula and Creuw raised their hands to another person entering the confined room.
"You're going to repair the damages you made in the Library. Follow me and we'll get you prepared."
Ursula was soon to protest, but was stopped by Creuw.
The two were led to a storeroom where brooms and mops were hung up on racks on the walls, with large buckets situated under them.
"Take a bucket, mop and broom each. And some gloves."
The two did what the man asked, to Ursula's dismay. She had wanted to speak with Creuw about what to do now that they were no longer held captive, but with the other man watching them so closely, it was unfortunately futile.

---

"Is everything truly prepared?"
"Perfectly."
"Interesting."
"Verily. She trusts me."
"That is always an advantage."
"Do I detect an undertone of sarcasm?"
"Perfectly."

---

"'veryone clear?" George called out ridiculously. The only beings accompanying George Georjevic were the horseman, another workman and the pair of Demon, all of which stood at a relative distance from the mountain face.
Regardless, Jezebel nodded.

The explosive was sphere-shaped, with thin wires intruding into it's small holes either side of it.
A square, ironised mainframe held it securely on the ground.
George struggled, but eventually pushed it tightly between two rods that stood right next to the supposed doorway.

With a sharp flick of flint applied to the wires, George sped off to join the small group as they watched from afar.
Within a moment, a piercing howl erupted from the device with a plume of fire exploding throughout the rock, leaving a looming shroud of thick dust that prevented those from seeing past.
They all rushed down to the remnants, shielding their delicate eyes from the particles in eager to inspect whatever remains.

"Not a single mark!" Screamed George angrily, throwing his tools onto the ground and spitting on them. The dust resided, and the exact formation of rock was retained.
Diabora stomped his feet on the ground, leaving large cracks in the surface.
Jezebel approached the wall.
"Perhaps a more conventional method would suffice?"
She pulled off a laced glove from her hand and pressed her fingertips on the rock's surface.

A man. A woman. Robes. Doorway. Mutterings. Spirit. Energy. Standing. Arms outstretched. Forward. Either side. Entrance.

"It needs aura to be opened."
Jezebel pointed either side of the solid rock doorway, where two, incredibly small dents could be seen. With a single beam of aura streaming from each arm, Diabora's energy contacted with the barely visible dents.

The stone doorway shifted, narrowly, to the left, leaving a gaping hole where the outlined doorway was previously situated.
An eerie silence echoed from within, and a chilling breath of wind forthcoming from inside beckoned them to enter.
George lit four lanterns; one for everyone, with Diabora being exempted.
"'hall we enter 'hen?" George asked.
"But of course."

Jezebel, Diabora and the Workmen, with a greater sense of wonder outweighing their fear, entered the deserted corridors of Vuerria, with no more than a flame to guide their wandering steps.

---

"There it is, Hope."
Siberius and Hope gazed upward toward the cluster of spiralling mountains, coloured an ominous grey.
"So... Some Ancients lived here..." Hope began as they continued approaching the Vuerrian Mountains.
"And others lived in the Forest. We can travel there soon, too. It's a night's walk, if we're quick."
"But the two locations were still friends? Despite different views and everything?"
"Well...yes," Siberius started explaining, "Eminence Ancients were from Vuerria, and Natural Ancients from Reishi. Eminence were more military; much more prone to violence. Naturals sought tranquility in all things."
"And we are Naturals?" Hope questioned.
"Yes, probably the last line of them, unfortunately. Some Eminence Ancients had managed to seek refuge in the Capital after the First Demon War, but Naturals were wiped out or forced deeper into the Forest, probably never to return again because of their teachings."
"And how did you survive, then?"
"Your Grandmother was a very powerful Natural, Hope. She had managed to bind my spirit and prolong it to the best of her ability. Basically she but a stopper on my life until it was safe to restart."
"And how in Vadaa did she manage to do that?"
"She's a Natural. Our connections to Spirit are amazing."

Hope frowned. Whilst what her Father was telling her sounded quite legitimate, a single flaw prodded her mind, establishing doubt.
"And how do you know all of this? If we are the last true Ancients then how did you learn about the past history of our people?"

The question asked by his Daughter had been asked by himself for many years, creating much spiritual turmoil within Siberius.
"I wish I knew, Hope. But I remember it all so vividly."

[Farrelei]

Rewan watched from a nearby hill as the second and third prisoners were marched to the library. The first, the Imperial, was under interrogation. She wondered if the morning's hunters had been harmed in any way, and resolved to check on their safety after first affirming Lyvass'. She pulled herself out from between the tree roots she had embedded herself in, brushing herself of clinging soil as she did, and alighted onto the path to the Elder council.

Rewan was one of the few admitted into the building, for she was the head of military affairs, but also a trusted confidante of Lyvass, and thus much of the council. Despite the mystery surrounding the place, it was not particularly luxurious inside. Rewan herself detested the place: it felt deathly save for only the brightest days, when light from the window-gaps high atop the walls would illuminate it's ancient pathways, and cracks would filter some life into the void. Some carpets - red, purple and blue - had been weaved for the council members, and these decorated some of the floors where one walked. A windchime adorned the ceiling close to the candle shelf in a room as she passed. Most of the doorways were now only arches, their wood long-decayed and irreplaced.
eLDER lYVASS.




BFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFHHHHH
Elder Lyvass was slouched in a sitting position on her bed, it's hole-ridden sheets hanging dejectedly about the mattress and the old, wooden frame. The purple in her eyes had faded to a pinky-white, her wrinkles profound in the dark sockets. The light in the room was a deep red, and played oceanic patterns, like a sea, about the room in which she slowly died -- afforded by the cut and shade of the window fitted in the gap as a gift by a friend of Rewan's, knowing her devotion to the Elder. Lyvass' fairy-ercilie looked up from behind a flower pot on the pale table near the doorway as the young woman entered, then hid once more, getting back to it's myst-knitting.
Lyvass looked up and smiled, "Any news of... H-..Headquarters?"
"Not yet," Rewan spoke cleanly, placing a hand upon the old woman's shoulders, "Don't try to speak. It'll wear you down."

---

Kyou's sandals did little to prevent the mud and dew from penetrating his feet, which plunged deep into the puddles they formed as the forest continued on. They were used to this, however. Extra salt supplies were brought for the journey, to kill any suckling creature that dared attach itself to their bodies as they furthered on.
"We really gotta get ourselves one of those Imperial machines, Sire."
"Sure! Build me one," he retorted, too frustrated by the journey and events as it were to make small talk about irrelevant matters.

Once they arrived at Headquarters, they were relieved to find everyone utterly confused as to what had occurred, but also slightly angry.
"What do you mean, 'you have no clue?'" Someone demanded, "Yens'ra is under attack and you... 'Vanguards' have no sera-be-damned clue?"
"If we stationed someone to watch that stupid machination all day long, we'd... Well, you try it! You volunteer!"
"That's not my job!"
Kyou angrily threw a glass at the direction of the arguing crowd. One of the bits hit someone in the eye and it hurt. "It's too late, now. I can be sure that we're not as safe as we could be, though, if this kind of thing is allowed to keep on happening. We've had three visits, now, and only one has been properly intercepted."
"Sire, we don't have the expertise to modify the machi-"
"We can't rely on machines. We can't. All this machine does is suck in the myst and tell you what you should be able to discover simply by tapping into it yourselves. What are you, Descendant Provocateurs? You are lucky -- you are better than them. You are blessed by Sera with talents, and yet you forsake them for 'machinery'. It may be easier to use, but it is obviously far less efficient and rewarding. If anyone - anyone - was meditating, this would not have happened. And yet, somehow, the villages in their entirety did not discover this incident's occurence."
A figure poked his head through the doorway, "Actually, Sire, we have several reports from Cornelia. They sensed them coming, and acted accordingly."
"And?"
"...Apparently it was not to their benefit."

---

Cornelia, the small village closest to the site of the initial parking of the Imperial unit, was relieved to see the Sire and his men approaching.
"Please come, Sire."
"What's wrong?"
"Salia's daughter is dying."
Kyou rushed over to the small hut with the woman, "Was she shot?"
"Not her."
He eased the door slowly open. A woman inside was crying. On a mattress, in a small room to the back of the structure, lay a girl, twisting and groaning, naked and clearly in terrible pain.
"Her ercilie?" Kyou asked.
The mother of the young woman raised her head, stood and nodded, tears still dripping down her face.

[Farrelei]

((Jeez, Hope looks good now, doesn't she?))

[Frost]

"Ladies, Gentlemen, of all bloods and traits. I welcome you to this assembly. To celebrate the 10th Annual Remembrance Day of the Second Demon War. On this day, all those years ago, a Demon lay siege to this city, as well as our lives. Many men, women and children were unfortunately taken that day. My Father among them. A General known as Tielair."

She paused for a moment; her lips trembled as her hands shook.
"We all lost something dear to us that day. But through our struggles came strength! Like the phoenix rising from it's ashes, our great land was reborn! Central was no more; Gardaine was created as the sovereign pinnacle of triumph. Our anger, sadness and heartache was channelled passionately into re-establishing our lives, as one Nation. And now, look at us! This Nation boasts the most powerful, advanced militia known to Man! Our farms are plentiful and our city walls are thick. Our water is pure and our children are well educated. Not a single orphan now sits hungry on the streets. No man struggles to support his family and no woman is not cherished. This Nation is an oasis amongst a deserted World, and together, we will continue to rebuild and continue our flourishing lives, seeking peace in-"

A gunshot shrieked in the air as the millions of people of Gardaine chaotically fled from the assembly. The Empress fell to the ground in agony, a dark red stain covered her angelically white dress. They all watched as a Man stood up at the podium, holding a smoking gun in his right hand and the convulsing body of the Empress in the other. Soldiers began rushing to aid the Empress, but halted when the man threatened to kill her if they approached any closer.
"This Woman, does not deserve to speak of our pain! Of Central's pain! People! Rebel against this society! Flee this land! The Angels will soon return! The Angels are angered! They will destroy this World if we do not change our ways! I beg of you!"

"Put her down, my friend."
The aghast audience looked to a small girl, holding a thin, elongated blade in her hand.
"Come any closer, and I will silence her. I'll do it."
"I am the Demon Jezebel, assigned to protect Gardaine by the Gods. I do not come to reek vengeance or havoc! I have come as a servant of the Humans! To grant them usage of my particular abilities!"
After speaking, Jezebel sped forward with great momentum, hurling her sword forward and slicing the man through the stomach. As he fell to the ground, Jezebel raised Empress Shelrair, now laying in her delicate arms, facing the audience.
"My beloved brethren! My brothers and sisters! This city preaches justice and freedom to all, though I do not see it amongst my people! Only the tormented are truly evil! I am the Demon of this generation, and I am not like Diabora, or Rememphis! I am a saviour, harbouring unity within us!"

The people stood in absolute shock; a dead silence lingered.
A group of bodyguards approached Jezebel, taking the Empress from her and running off to treat her wounds.
Jezebel hoisted the man by his neck into the air with one hand.
"Mothers, avert your children's eyes," Jezebel told them, "This man must pay for endangering the life of our beloved Empress."
With a swift swipe of her blade, the head of the man was detached from his body; both parts flung to the ground passionately.

The soldiers and officials began clapping, and eventually more and more civilians followed.
Cheers erupted from the millions of audience members, howling in triumph.

Jezebel bowed low to the ground, raising her palm out to the audience as she did. A statue of this pose now resides outside the Palace, symbolising the reuniting of Demon and Human on that day.

[Farrelei]

((Bffh. That's actually great; I was like lolhowwouldShellygetthepeopletotrustthemsoquickly. So did Jezebel become a Queen after that? Like Shelly: "Oh I've never seen you before :byes: WONDERFUL WORK, JAZMINE."
"Jezebel."
":yes:"))

Smoke rose into the darkness around the orb of light at the centre of Cornelia village. The village Chief, Harta, said some words and Kyou performed a ritual with the young girl's mother. Her face, so youthful in the early hours of the morning, now peeled and turned to ash about the ground, the flames uniting both shell and ercilie among the dry branches. Through the day, Kyou had sent word to Yensera to tighten the security around those convicted: Ursula, Creuw and Pei. All three were to be returned to their confinement spaces and interrogations to be doubled upon discovery of this blatant murder. It was the first attack on their almost-peaceful, vagrant existence, and many saw their presence a precursor to Imperial War.

The Elders would need be consulted in the morning.

---

But, you know my flame is dimming.
Every flame dims, Elder. Why should those of the old hold precedence over the new?
The veiny hand of the Elder Lyvass trembled in the smooth, young palm of Rewan. Arthritis gripped the woman's joints as she lay in her bed. She looked upon her disciple for a moment. Rewan's eyes were closed. She seemed innately peaceful, statuesque; her posture reflected dignity and self-discipline. The Elder struggled to keep her saliva from escaping her tightened lips as she tried to relax her weakened bones; You trust me too much, child.[/i]
Rewan raised an eyebrow, her eyes still shut, Should I not, Elder?
You should never trust anybody too much. Respect and distrust are virtues that can dwell together if humoured each properly.
Interesting. But if one cannot trust her teacher, what, then, do they learn?
If ones trusts not their own experiences, they cease to gain any.
Rewan was troubled the circular logic of the elder's argument, but relaxed her mind.
Thank you, dear. Those thoughts bruised my ageing mind.
They smiled in unison, though nobody saw, nor knew.
To answer your question, my dear, for a dying flame not to pass on its wisdom to the fresh, how backward we would become. We know this better than anyone else, Rewan. Our secrets keep the memory of Sera's sacrifice alive, and our abilities - our exhausting quest - still living. That is why the young take precedence. You, Rewan, will achieve what I could not.

---

Then pass your secrets on to me.[/i]

[Frost]

"Welcome, Ladies, Gentlemen, to the beginning of an Era of industry."
Empress Shelrair stood on a large podium that oversaw all of the Palace Square Gardens. The millions of Gardian citizens stood watching in eager to learn of the new piece of apparently life-changing technology, having saw the constructions take place for several years now. Asmoday stood beside Shelrair, growing quite irritated at the amounts of people that stood before him and Her Majesty. To amuse himself, he began speculating on each person's face and remarked on it's use in various medical experimentations.
"Gardaine has always taken pride in it's access to both communication and technology; now we have advanced even further. I give you... in great excitement... the Wurmlink!"

The veil was lifted, and looming above the Empress and her people stood a slender, snake-like, metal transport. Numerous ventilation systems were situated on the top of the transport, spouting plumes of the mirage-like colours of myst that were emitted from the Wurmlink's engine.

"This transport, named simply as 'Wurm,' has the ability to travel underground to various points in the region in just mere hours!" Shelrair exclaimed, mirroring the audience's booms of wonder. "Belongings, goods, people, animals! Nothing is too heavy nor too wide for the Wurm's elongated infrastructure! Even old Chancellor Rimsley could manage to fit into it!" She motioned toward one of her most despised party members: Quordon Rimsley, a stifled elderly man who often opposed her motives. He also boasted a large belly that would often be the subject of many satirical comments from Shelrair who hoped he would eventually lash out and as a result be removed from the Party.

The audience erupted in laughter, much to Quordon's dismay, who continued to sit boisterously in his armchair overlooking the civilians.

"They look ridiculous."
"Says the woman with an abnormally huge hat."
"I hate you."
"Have you found a valid carrier yet?"
"No. They've all been consumed too quickly."
"What are the requirements?"
"Human. Preferably Male. With some form of energy maneuverability."
"And why didn't people who fit that criteria survive?"
"I do not know. Weak-minded, perhaps."
"Aren't they all?"
The pair chuckled, looking down below them as Man, almost imitating ants, scurried through the City unbeknownst of the torrent that was soon to drown them.

---

"It's freezing down here."
The four of them, a pair of human and a pair of demon, walked solemnly across a hall of magnificent proportions. Two rows of pillars, carved from stone, held the roof in place, with the hallway stretching onward for a seeming eternity.
"This would have been where they fought for their final time," Jezebel explained, kneeling below her and allowing her fingertips to absorb data. The information was faint, and it's traces veiled, though Jezebel was still able to establish a slight connection to the past.
"Hundreds of them, against a mere few," Jezebel told them, "Yet they were still outnumbered."
"'ou mean t'say the 'undreds all 'ied?" George asked timidly.
"No," Jezebel responded gravely.''

"They ran."

[Farrelei]

Sally felt her lungs compress against her chest as her breath dissipated and she ceased to live. Countless lives were lost that day, as shots were fired, old ladies trampled and kids crushed to death in the streets of Gardaine, as Shelrair, their benevolent empress, looked on, screaming with glee at the chaos that unfolded around her.

She never kept her promise.

6/10/62
Rest In Peace.

[/u]


"SHELY PLS."[/center]

[Farrelei]

His eyes were oaken and his lips soft and pale, but his face had a hardness about it that called to the heart and made it heave. It was forbidden for the Sire to have a lover. The Organisation was to be his only family. He did not break these laws.

It burned like personal betrayal. I watched his family adore him -- I watched them all adore him. Their fabricated loves echoed through the air and through their faces. My love was lost in this sea.

---

Six months later, I was a murderer. A lone father, in the forest Herick hurled himself at me -- whiskey on his breath -- and in the cold, he pushed his body against mine, the skin on my back scraping into tiny flakes. Blood and skin slid down the trunk like tears, but I did not cry. It was a hesitant action. My hands were pushed in against his face -- mostly I was angry. He stole from me what I wanted desperately to bestow upon my lover. I cracked his skull, slowly. I tried to do it faster, but my power was uncontrollable. I collapsed, confused, in the puddle we made.

The next day I found solace in a shack that later turned out to be his home. His wife and brother were still out looking for him. I left before sundown and spent the next three weeks sleeping in piles of leaves, or in the dirt. This is where I met Claer. It took me a long time to discover she was my ercilie. She was tiny, and human-shaped.

---

Three years passed before I met Crillic. I always felt the doubleness in his nature: old and yet new; one man and then another. That was how he intrigued me. It was like he was some untameable animal. I spent four months with him. I wanted to whisper to him all the secrets I had and make him so aware of everything I was. I thought this was what we did.

[Frost]

"Where's Sib and Hope, Ma'am?" Hord asked.
"Travelling," Savannah replied, finally acceptant of Siberius' and Hope's fate of giving into their hereditary curiosity.
"I sure do miss Hope," Hord told her, wanting a more detailed response.
Savannah sighed and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Both my Husband and Daughter will return soon, Hord, and everything will return to normal. How has Nero been going on your fishing trips?" Savannah asked, wanting not to linger on the matter any longer. Hord laughed, "He's definitely Sib's son. He's a lot stronger than he looks. 'Could definitely be a first-class Angler." Savannah smiled, turning to her Son, whom sat there playing with Aol, his arachnid ercilie. "He's a lot like his Father, he is."
Savannah turned back to Hord. The boy consisted of well-tanned skin; a common trait shared amongst Ilridge folk, with odd-green eyes. Despite his appearance, he remained humble, which Savannah appreciated, realising now why her Daughter was so constantly smitten by him.

"He'll be just as talented as his Father one day, that's for sure."

---

"Thank you for the invitation," Merrilow told The Messenger, who stood beside her on an isolated isle. "What will your initial decision be?" The Messenger asked.
Merrilow looked out across the ocean as the sun began to set, casting a mirage of deep orange swirls of light throughout the sky.
"We low on supplies; we low on people. We people will not survive if we do not act," Spoke Merrilow's advisor with his thick, native accent.
Merillow nodded.
"We offer you our services, E'po."
"E'po?"
"It means 'trustoworthy friend' or 'ally. It is a phrase of respect and honour," Merrilow's advisor proudly told him.
"We will join your cause, messenger. What is your true name?" Merrilow asked, watching as a large, almost spherical airship rose out of the sands, belonging to the Man whom the survivors found trailing them.

"I am Shilo. As representative of the Cause, we will gladly accept your alliance."
Shilo smiled, opening the door of his once-camoflauged ship; a bizarre transport that proved difficult to be detected when flying. "I will guide you and your remaining people to the shores nearby, and then I will take you to Haven," Shilo assured them calmly. This was his first mission on his own. Not a year ago he was but a peasant, wandering amongst the streets of Gardaine, using his excellent agility and stealth to steal from the ignorant. Often drunken, he's collapse beside the Gardaine orphanage, now abandoned and useless due to the Orphan Conscription Act.

Having renamed himself after finding redemption, the orphan known as Mini, fragile and vulnerable, now stood as Shilo, headstrong and focused: Messenger and Second-in-Command of Haven.

---

"Scorch marks."
Siberius, shocked, placed his hand against the solid-rock door, smudging his hands with remnants of Gardaine's failed technology. After inspecting the door for some time, he noticed the two dents either side of the door.
"Use Aura on that side, if you can," Siberius instructed.
Hope grimaced, though did as her Father told her, placing one of her hands in the small hole and lightly imbuing it with a delicate stream of Energy. Siberius mirrored this action, although with much less struggle.

The door groaned ominously, sliding apart only slightly to allow the Feyanrer members to gain access into their ancestor's sacred home.
Hope, squeezing through the gap, exclaimed to Siberius: "We'll be the first people in centuries to be inside this place! The Ancients return to Vuerria!"

Silent, Siberius forcefully pushed himself through the door, knowing how wrong his Daughter truly was.

[Frost]

"'o know where we are 'oin'?" George asked in his thick, Eastern accent begrudgingly.
Several moments ago, the 4 beings approached the end of the enormous hallway that split into two ominously dark tunnel systems. The system mirrored the Descendant's tunnel network beneath Gardaine; an ironic imitation to symbolise respect. Jezebel and George followed one tunnel; Diabora and the other miner followed the second.

---

"How did they build these huge pillars from solid rock?" Hope asked in absolute awe, never seeing such an overwhelming infrastructure before in her life.
"I suppose they used their Auras. I did a similar technique to create the bedrooms below our house," Siberius explained. His hands were shaking in nervousness, his head constantly turning in different directions to ensure the safety of them both.

Quietly, almost inaudibly, a gnarled growl sounded from the Feyanrer's right.
Siberius' heart fluttered in fear, spinning to his right with a burl of Energy illuminating the darkness.

Nothing.

"Did you see something?" Hope asked, also getting fearful.
Siberius focused, then fired a light dazzle of aura in the direction of the noise.
The area was brightened momentarily, and all that was situated there were the same markings and symbols that surrounded both the walls and pillars: depicting the Ancient Language.

The Ancient language was foreign to all, except for those who watched as their ancestors trudged through their territory.

The duos of Demons, Humans and Miners had another race dwelling around them; they were not alone.

[Farrelei]

(("AURA BEDROOM."))

Verith awoke, the next day, to an unfamiliar bell. The other boys looked at him as if he were a demon, as he dressed. There was a contempt in their eyes. He did not blame them; what they train for years to achieve, he surpasses in a single day.
Because of my upbringing. He lamented his royalty.

He hardly hit the targets during practice the day before; this day, as the sun burned through the sills high up in the walls of the training hall, he missed with every shot. A group of youths laughed once, and the trainer did not denounce them. They all seemed to hate him. It was with with great relief and guilt that Verith left the complex that afternoon. He downed the general tasteless soup devoured by his peers and was escorted to another truck, identical to the one that delivered him the day before. This driver did not speak at all.

---

Marriane frowned. "I told you; he's delusional."
"Can I get you anything else?"
She raised her head to the waiter. His brown overshirt hung loosely about his generic black shirt, made of cotton, and the bags under his eyes said he didn't really care for an answer.
"Go and get yourself some sleep; we're fine."
"Suit yourselves," came his stark reply as he left, leaving the two to their otherwise covert discussion.
The man nodded, "We just need to know what the consensus is."
"Everybody's too anxious to consent to anything at the moment, Sill. Tell Haven the Light has taken a new course. A better course. And tell the King he better listen to what we have to say. Diplomatic relations with the Empire have to be strengthened, at least on the outside. If the Light take Hangyakunin, there'll be bloodshed. Ranra may have to get involved against us. To a degree."
The young Sillic Lea twisted his hand furiously in the attempt to detail every scrag of information 'Her Excellency' the Ambassador April Marriane divulged.
"Oh, and let His Majesty know I'll be returning shortly... I hope."
"The situation in Hangyakunin is dire, you said so yourself. You're our intermediary."
April raised an eyebrow, "And you're my inferior."
"With all due respect, I'm working under the King's orders. You've illustrated just how important it is you remain here for the moment. When Hangyakunin falls, you must be here to consolidate our own influence. The Light is good and bright, but His Majesty trusts it not like he does us."
She finished her sandwich, nodding, "I suppose you're right." She sighed. "I don't like this place, much, either. The Light is full of idiots."
"April!?"
The Ambassador turned around in her chair. Beyond the painted gate separating the restaurant from the street, a man stood staring. Beside him was a woman, and two children. For the love of Vadaa, please don't be-
"It's me, Bowen!"
"Hi," she smiled. Kinda. Yep.

---

---

Creator: Farrelei.
My name: Sillic Lea.
But please, call me: Sill.
My age: 20.
My faith: Audist, more or less. I believe what I believe.
I live: As the intermediary agent between the Ranran government, Haven, and Marriane, acting Ambassador to Immestrial and herself the intermediary between Ranra and the Light.
My story: My career at the Castle was only fresh when I was picked and approached by Haven agents. Thinking them to be terrorists, I later informed the Princess. Thankfully, that was part of the test. To be honest, the politics is mostly beyond me. I care about the change, not about how it comes about, and, as far as I'm concerned, Ranra is safe for now. I am more worried about the actions of groups such as Haven and the Light bringing Ranra into international accident and war with the Empire than anything else.
You see: Grey eyes, black hair, and lots of freckles. My posture isn't everything it used to be; iron defficiency runs in the family and I have terrible luck, so I guess I hunch a little.
I like:

• Strawberries.
  
• Swimming.
  
• Expensive desserts.

But hate:

• War.
  
• Religious prejudice.
  
• Asfarians. They smell like potatoes.

Roleplays: Red Sea.

[Frost]

"Haven' we passed through 'ere 'efore?" George asked, trailing timidly behind Jezebel. After encountering two tunnels at the beginning of the network, the tunnels then split into several more tunnels, and those likewise. Jezebel's hand dragged itself delicately against the wall as they rushed on. "We are getting closer to the core. Trust me."

"Where are we?" Asked Diabora impatiently, dragging his enormous stature through the catacombs.
"I wish I knew," Replied his mining partner. "So after we find the altar, what happens next?"
Diabora shrugged menacingly. He hated questions, and the scent of humans was unbearable.
"We use it to summon a demon," Diabora bluntly spat.

"Can you sustain it any longer?" Siberius asked his Daughter as they continued to hold balls of glowing aura in the palm of their hands.
"For now I should be fine," Hope told him as they approached to archways. The tunnel arches depicted the same Ancient language that baffled the pair before, and once again proved to be unfortunately irrelevant.
"Which way should we turn?" Hope asked, slightly distressed.
"I don't know."
Siberius confronted the archways, sliding his fingertips across it's cold, coarse texture. Thick dust remained on his fingers as he lifted them, leaving indentations.
Siberius frowned, then continued wiping the substance as something caught his eye.
Another dent, similar to the two on either side of the outside gateway, revealed itself, hidden among the fragments of a forgotten race.
Siberius pressed the ball of aura he was carrying into the dent, just as he did before.
Suddenly, the text that covered the caved temple glowed as aura passed through it, illuminating the mountain with a glowing blue, then subsided into darkness once more.
"It's the Vuerrian power cabling!" Siberius exclaimed, pushing more aura into the dent and illuminating the room momentarily once more.

Screams echoed throughout the hallways; rabid, demented screeches filled their ears.
Hope turned to Siberius, shuddering.
"What... what do we do?" She asked desperately as the horrifying squeals ravaged the mountain.
Siberius took her by the hand and sped forward, turning down one of the tunnels without any knowledge of where he was going.

"Do you hear that?" Jezebel asked George, interrupting his lecture on the origination of ladders.
The noise was faint, though still traceable.
"'e aren't 'lone are 'e?" George asked, overcome by anguish.
"We never were, George. We're trespassing," Jezebel calmly stated despite the increasing volume of the distant creatures.
Drawing her slender, demonic sabre, Jezebel and George raced through the networks, destined to reach the altar, just as Diabora rushed on to do the same.

[Farrelei]

((I have decided to change the title of the leader of Hangyakunin under Shelly to "Satrap" instead of "Governor-General." This is because Satraps are the same thing, except generally have more autonomy (they make the laws of the country instead of just signing things) and are hereditary. Governor-Generals reign, not rule over, in the name of the Monarch. This way, Byron can become Satrap after the death of his father and not have to first be appointed by Shelly, which will make the Light takeover easier.

Also I just found this word which essentially describes what you've made the Empire do to a lot of the surrounding countries like the Grand Duchy en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suzerainty bffh.))

April Marianne removed her reading glasses, setting the novel gently down upon the wooden side table by her side. She felt content. The events of the day passed through her mind, and for the first time, she felt a little optimistic about the new direction the Light was shining. Her King was beginning to see the importance of an alliance against the Empire; with news of its intolerant massacres and inter-continental controls spreading every fresh month -- and with it, technological advancements (probably donated by Hangyakunin in large part) -- Vadaa was growing tense.

"His Majesty is coming around to your assertions," Sillic had assured her that day. The stubborn old man probably got a lesson or two handed to him by his daughter, Marianne thought.
Then, her mind flashed backward, to Bowen. Why do they let him live?
A large part of her was surprised and honoured upon meeting him for the first time; his presence was, for a long time, considered perhaps the brightest flame the Light burnt high -- his very existence epitomised their goals and arrested support in most underground circles. He was, as it turned out, incredibly delusional. He refused to participate in plans not involving Eleanore. The zombie empress. In fact, Marianne (not-so) secretly believed he was delusional. Byron, on the other hand, was a difficult case. Marianne had never trusted him. It was only now, otherwise without a hope, that she began to see the usefulness of his position as son of the Satrap. Doubts still plagued many members of the council as to how much trust could be afforded him, and to what extent the Light itself would rule in the event of their assistance in his coup d'état.

She slid her legs beneath the white covers of her hotel bed, and tried to lay her thoughts to rest.