Lords of Ether, 1006 New Era

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 3
Unknown 1006 NE

I’d never thought I’d be here. At this point in my career trudging through snow and a forest that shouldn’t be here… on behalf of him… Shinobu clutched the edge of the roof instantly as she came perilously close to smacking into the side of the wall, which had the effect of derailing her thoughts for the moment. For some reason keeping attention on what was happening instant by instant happened to be important.. In the same motion she pulled herself upwards- swinging with her grip to land feet first on the roof. She hoped they hadn’t heard her. She hoped that Tomasaborou Tiako hadn’t been caught lurking out in the woodline. The chances of him doing something stupid was likely her most important worry- the cultists didn’t seem to care very much about guarding themselves or simply watching the surrounding area.

Why hadn’t they scouted the area outside of the postern gate? Why hadn’t they actually made a serious attempt to kill them before now?

The ancient wood of the wayhouse’s roof creaked slightly as she started forewords. Their was a hole in the roof for a firepit. A fire pit which was likely to be lit thanks to all the smoke coming out of it. . . Sound commonly came out of such holes as well, sound that may be from just as careless cultists or other goons inside. As she crept to the hole, the darkness of the night turning the forest around the wayhouse into a impenetrable fog, sound did indeed drift out of the hole. She stopped at its edge, letting her eyes adjust to the red glow. Eyes adjust- but hearing didn’t need to adjust. They weren’t speaking anything but a dialect that commonly came from the continentals. Odd enough in itself for it to be here of all places. . . But possible and normal. If it had been any of the barbarian languages she would have enough to worry and take immediate action. But distinctions still remained to be solved.

“Pass the…” They weren’t the right people. But she hadn’t really expected them to be. Sōzō wouldn’t have stopped here, in the open, when he knew of the other place they could hole up in. Normally she wouldn't have come along without a good reason. Afterall, trying to find a place that was said to be protected by the powers of old usually meant death. Only heaven knew how many people had already attempted to find the Shrine and failed with the attempt costing them their lives. Even fewer would have found the correct area: most would have looked in the usual places and disappeared thanks to the agents of the Censors or the elements. But Sōzō had been here before. Before he had taken the robe to wash away the past- and so she went. Against the best judgment anyone had.

What to do now? From all the gibberish they were sprouting they could either be a band of drunken lower-class ruffians or the most talkative cultists she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. If the first, they might be inhabitants of the region. (Unlikely) If the second, the cultists felt secure enough in the valley to--- then she heard the distant rattling of chains.

The third option noisy included itself. Springing to her feet Shinobu jumped- and jumped just in time as the wood and tiles below exploded upwards as two gigantic claws burst through and narrowly missed shredding her to pieces. Landing at the other side of the roof Shinobu didn’t waste time. Firing off a beam of the purest white-silver from her hand, praise be to the armourer that made the damn thing work since she last tried to use it , at the closest claw, she didn’t stop and congratulate herself as it hit. The flying claw smoldered and disappeared in a blinding flash. Jumping back in reflex she opened her mouth to scream to Tiako when the second claw, guided in the air from the iron chain it was attached too, smashed into her side. Knocked in mid-air she thumped to the ground and automatically rolled to the right.

Just in time for the last claw tear out a large claw-full of earth.

“Where are you?” Throwing up a low-intensity beam, used up virtually no power, in the direction of the wayhouse she staggered to her feet. She was already moving- moving to try to catch the claw before it managed to slice her apart. But this wasn’t right.

“Right here!” Snarled a voice from behind her, snarled just over the din of rattling chains. The figure moved barely in time as she twisted about in mid motion to evade her flying kick. Setting down they stood opposed to each other. The dull glowing eyes shone out of a bland, distinctive foreign, face seemed to stare right through her. “Stop resisting and die!” The figure moved incredibly fast moving under her outstretched arms as she distinctly attempted to impale him, with two black as the night blades, with the most basic and instinctive of die-or-win lunges and in a instant jammed a blade into her stomach. “Oh, you didn’t expect that? You have the honor of being killed by Zshachago the Grea--”

“And you have the distinction of being killed by Count Tiako of the Tomasaborou!” Zshachago whirled around, chains rattling as the claw started roaring towards them, to catch Tiako’s gauntleted fist with the flat of his face. Instead of the expected cracking of bones and the splatter of blood, brain mass, and other niceties that the head contained Tiako’s felt his fist go through something brittle and empty. Like a papier-mâché doll Zshachago’s head collapsed. Tiako watched as the grey and tattered cloak fly back as Zshachago’s body simply ripped apart as if paper, ripped apart as thousands of chain links exploded outwards, and threw himself down to the ground in time.

She’s dead. Feeling a unexpected gloom Tiako looked up, over to Shinobu, to confirm or deny his negative thought. He didn’t know much, well anything, about her armour or gear but a knife to the stomach area at close range usually didn’t mean good things.

“*koff* Ug,” Groaned the dead.

“Your alive!”

“Garh, news to me,” Shinobu pulled herself up when he offered an arm. “It hurts every time. They’ve never made these things painless like they keep claiming.” She motioned to her dented stomach plate. Then she stood up by herself and looked none the worst to wear. Sluggishly at first, but with normality and renewed strength, she started towards the Wayhouse with him following. He gave one look at the remains of Zshachago, whoever or whatever he was, and followed. Things were not getting better as he had half-expected. Questions remained but were submerged as he discovered Shinobu’s pack, which he retrieved, had a block of hard rations in them. The wayhouse was empty of course, but the fire still burnt and neither of them much thought about pursuit or return of whatever Zshachago was.

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 4
Unknown 1006 NE

“Blurr!”

“Shut up.”

“I’d like to see you stand out here like this.”

“I said shut up. Zshachago’s dead, so you can’t blather on like—GRK!” The man in question happened to appear at the right, or wrong, instant and grabbed the guard by the neck. Squeezing until the man almost passed out he dropped him hard against the wall.

“Hardly.” Ignoring the guard, and one of the men he brought with him from his homeworld, he swept down into the building.

“Zshachago,” The retainers of the Grandmaster turned towards him as he entered the room. “You show your face here after failing to kill a pair of treasure hunters?”

“One whose failed a dozen times to achieve anything shouldn’t speak like that.” The man jumped to his feet, face turning red. The oversized map of the valley, the paper yellow and brittle, shuddered as his chair slammed against the table.

“Sit down!” Snapped the General. General Kaziro roused himself, finally. He was a rather large powerfully built man with a head full of white hair. In theory he was supposed to be in retirement from the Imperial Army. But in reality retirement had only allowed his other job to take precedent. While he had reached on a Major-Generalship in the Imperial Forces he was one of the three Generals of their society. “I don’t give a damn if he killed or fucked two treasure hunters or not. What I want is for one of you [i]people/i],” He sneered that their almost uniform base origin. “To get to the dome and tell those bastards I want it open by nightfall.”

That had the happy effect of scattering them, leaving Kaziro and the foreigner alone in a chilly office.

“Countless generations ago this was country-house of some rich and fat grandee. Now it’s a empty shell.” The General rose and put a big hand on the wall. “But they built them to last. With a dozen workers and a few hours this place would be almost as new. It was because of this fact, all places on Kozun are either old and restored or newly built, that all our expectations hold that the Shrine will be in perfect condition. The castle is…”

“Is there a point to this General?”

“Yes and you’ll listen. Since you’re from Cassa Nova you can’t recognize the little things about the Land of the Gods.” Kaziro was well aware of the hypocrisy he spoke. But in the end his people recognized them all, as they only could, but knew the truth about the rightful heavenly order. “This valley has been undiscovered until we retook…”

“You mean stole..”

“—Shut up! Since we retook the clues and the map. Perhaps you weren’t informed, even through I said it to your face… Perhaps you simply did not know. Those two treasure hunters, as you called them the only time you bothered to report in, cannot be treasure hunters. Do you know why, Zshachago l’Deiemael that I give orders for anyone seen in the valley to be immediately killed by multiple warriors?”

The foreigner remained silent this time.

“BECAUSE THEY CAN ONLY BE IMPERIAL AGENTS!” Kaziro roared and threw a heavy-handed punch that caught Zshachago in the face. “No treasure hunter has ever found this valley and lived through guardians in the catacombs.” The big man slouched and grabbed the foreigner and tossed him through the open door. “Kill them or you’ll die nailed to the doors of the shrine.”

“Your time is coming, old man,” Growled Zshachago as he licked his splint lip and got up.

[Duneczan]

Realm of Destruction,
1006 NE

Elhaym sat upon the throne she once called her own. The world around her shifted, adjusting to her moods, sometimes stormy, sometimes sunny, oftentimes overcast and cold. Seeing, talking to, Adramalech and Aosoth after so many years, speaking of old betrayals and new, made the Keeper of Knowledge wonder, and worry. So lost in her own memories was she, that she did not hear the figure before her, holding the head of Adramalech’s statue.

"Penny for your thoughts," the figure asked finally. She looked up, her short, golden hair bobbing, blue eyes blinking away memory. She looked at the figure. Her eyes widened in wonder, and she leapt from the throne, letting out a whooping cry of joy.

"Kerethros!" She jumped into him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him as hard as she could. It was hard to accomplish, as she was a slip of a girl compared to the towering form of Thunder.

"Well now, this is a surprise. You have never acted like this before," Thunder said, patting the woman on her back as gently as he could.

"You’ve never missed seeing an old friend for a thousand years," she said, crying into his shoulder.

"Well then obviously you think I do not consider you a friend, since I have not seen you in just as long, yet here I am, calming talking to you while you try to fill the Grand Canyon all by yourself."

"Ah...there’s the Kerethros I remember," she let go and beamed up at him. "So, what brings you here?"

"First..." He held up the head of Adramalech. "He is back?"

"Unfortunately."

"Lovely. Glad I was delayed as I did. He was here only a few minutes ago, correct?" She nodded. "And yet...months have passed since I felt that event. I forgot how timeless space was so..."

"Timeless?" She suggested, suppressing a chuckle.

"I was going to say ‘aggravating’," he replied drolly. He tossed the statue head aside, hearing it hit the ground and shatter. "As for what brings me here...well, I would rather not talk here." He thought of a different place, and in a blink they were there. A warm fireplace sat nearby, surrounded by soft chairs and sofas, and a table with a chessboard on it. Row upon row upon row of books surrounded the seating pit. "Ah...I missed being able to do this," Thunder said, looking around.

"How did you...you can’t do that anymore!"

"So I am borrowing a bit of power from the Compass, sue me." They sat down. Thunder ran a hand over the board and pieces appeared on it. "White or black?"

"White."

Another sweep of his hand changed the pieces around. "A few months ago, Methushael came to visit Aren in a dream," Thunder began. Elhaym almost dropped the pawn she was holding. "Punished him rather thoroughly, almost ripped apart his mind. Nearly killed his two companions too." This time she did drop the piece, quickly recovering and picking it back up. "I do not know what Methushael may have done had I not arrived when I did, but I doubt it would have been good."

"I..." Elhaym began, her blue eyes a little watery.

"Have no control over him any longer, I know. He can come and go as he pleases, do as he pleases." Thunder moved his piece forward in response to hers. "Citan came to me a month or two ago. Aumaan attacked Emeralda without provocation."

"I see."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. Quick strikes. Searching for and exploiting weak points. It’s happening again."

"Open war between Order and Chaos," Thunder said. "Only this time, there will be no Godswar to stop it."

"Methushael-"

"Is working for them, I know. It is not a surprise. Your dear sisters penchant for seducing weak minds is well known. Methushael is not as weak as Irad was, but he was always eager to please. And since he could not get the attention from you he desired, he moved on to..." He stopped, considering what words to choose next.

"Greener pastures?"

"Someone who has trouble keeping her legs closed," Thunder replied.

"Diplomatic, as usual Kerethros," Elhaym muttered, though a hint of a smile touched her lips.

"You could stop it, you know. All you would need do is reclaim the mantle you put aside."

"I...cannot. Not until my sins are washed away."

"Redemption is a fickle thing, old friend," Thunder replied. "It only comes for those who seek it."

"And I will not seek it until he is returned to me," Elhaym said coldly. "It was my fault he was banished, my fault he has to live the life he does now."

"Indeed? Old age must be getting to me Elhaym, for I seem to remember him doing this all on his own."

"If you’re about to say he did it to protect me, that’s little comfort Kerethros."

Thunder shrugged. "If you insist, then so shall it be. Without your aid this could be very bad, and very bloody. Citan can handle Aumaan or Methushael alone, perhaps even combined, but he is still just a Seeker. He cannot hope to counter her. Sophia will not act, and Creation stays out of yet another war. You will not act, and Destruction falls to Chaos."

"Not all of us will serve her, as some of us are immune to her charms," a third voice said. The slight, black robed figure striding toward them from a portal of shimmering black and silver removed their hood. Beneath was a beautiful woman, eyes of a deep, dark, ocean blue, hair a matching color as it fell to her shoulders. She inclined her head to Thunder, a smile flashing briefly, and bowed deeply to Elhaym. "My duty is to my mistress, for I am her Guardian."

"I am no longer-"

"As you say Elhaym, as you have said for ages, that does not change my position. And as for Tolone, she is as wrapped around Methushael’s finger as he is around your sisters." She looked to Thunder, again the smile flashing, so quick it almost wasn’t there. "I have no fear of either him or Aumaan. Citan will not fight alone."

"It is good to see you, Kelvena. It has been a very long time." His reptilian lips curled into a smile before he looked back down at the chessboard. "Oh look," he said, moving his piece, "total defense." Elhaym moved hers forward.

"Checkmate," she replied.

"But..." The pawn she placed before his knight changed shape. A draconic form towered above the other pieces and devoured his king. "...King-Eating Dragonspawn..."

"His favorite move," Elhaym said, smiling proudly.

"Yes...speaking of him, I should really get back. If I’m gone too long, he’s liable to do something foolish, like challenge the Alter emperor to a knife duel, get eaten by a plant, or get into some compromising situation with his fangirl."

"That Serra person he told me about?" Elhaym asked, her voice a little distant.

"Her sister, actually." He wiped the chessboard clean and stood. "You know Elly," Thunder said, using her nickname for the first time, "this Aryan look of yours isn’t very appealing. I liked you better with your original look. He would agree with me." He walked towards the book stacks. "Kelvena," he said on his way out, bowing to the other woman.

Elhaym stood, looking after him. She put her hands to her hair and brushed them through the yellow locks. As she did, the hair changed color, texture, going from blonde and choppy to a dark orange, almost red hue, growing silkier and longer. She moved her hands away, and her hair now fell to her waist. Kelvena nodded in approval.

**********
Sayla lay on her back next to Aren. Her hands were behind her head, basking in the glory of the moment. She could feel Aren breathing next to her, his chest rising rhythmically. It was a magic moment, a moment she had dreamed of for five long years. Finally she had him, finally! Her only wish was that the cold, stone floor was a nice, warm bed.

Then Aren sneezed, and her little dream world shattered. The world that had been Aren’s room reverted to the nave, where she lay on the floor between rows of shattered pews.

"You know," Aren said, swiping at his nose, "oftentimes I’d lay awake at night, staring up at the stars from my bed and wondered..."

"Wondered what?"

"Where the hell is my ceiling?"

Sayla chuckled. "Hey," she said, turning her head to look at Aren, "where’s Thunder? I haven’t seen him for awhile?"

"Oh, he’s probably in town. He seems to spend his time at this bar in one of Vector’s suburbs. Seventh Heaven, or Final Heaven or something like that. He’s got a thing for the owner, I think. She’s apparently quite the looker."

"Ah. Well I hope he gets back soon, I’m starving."

"What in the name of all the forgotten gods are you two doing?" Thunder asked, walking up the aisle and towering over them. Sayla jumped. His human disguise could be as imposing as his draconian form in the right light.

"Howdy Thunder," Aren said, waving a hand at him. "I’d say we’re laying on the floor, wouldn’t you my dear?"

"Uhh...yeah..." Sayla said.

"And why, pray tell, are you on the floor?"

"Well, uh, he was here when I arrived, so I thought I’d join the fun?" Sayla said questioningly.

"And I’d ask what he was doing on the floor-"

"I was tossed out of the garden again," Aren replied.

"-but I wouldn’t like the answer." Thunder sighed. "And what are you doing here this fine day, Mistress Sayla?"

"You invited me. It’s dinner night."

"...It is? Huh, must’ve lost track of time."

"What are we having?" Aren asked, jumping to his feet. He took Sayla’s hand and helped her up.

"Beef Stew."

"Joy," Aren replied. "Oh, we’ve been asked to go on a camping trip with young Sayla here Thunder. It sounded like fun. You could bring your girlfriend along."

"I’d love to!" A voice called, and a woman popped her head around the corner of a pillar, her hair swinging wildly as she looked at them all with a smile. Thunder jumped at her voice. She walked towards them and slipped her arm through Thunder’s.

"Wow Thaddeus," Sayla said, using the assumed name Aren had given the kodragon, which he didn’t much enjoy. "She’s beautiful...I mean, you’re beautiful," she corrected herself, addressing the woman herself.

It was the truth. Her long, black hair fell to the small of her back, framing her face which had porcelain features. Intelligent, smiling eyes that had a crimson hue and full lips, a button nose and nothing to mar her skin. The black, leathery top and half-dress accentuated her curvy, endowed body.

"Thank you," the woman said, her smile becoming more broad, "you’re very pretty too."

"Yes..." Aren said, a hand at his chin, finger tapping lightly. "Quite the beauty..." He frowned slightly, but it was gone in a second. "Thaddeus, you’re being very rude you know. You haven’t told us her name yet."

"Mary," the woman replied. "And you must be Aren. Thaddeus has told me a lot about you."

"Yes...I’m sure he has." He deftly avoided a rock falling, or rather thrown, from a window above them. "Right, well, you make dinner, you two get acquainted, I have to see to feeding my plants. Before they get rowdy. And eat us."

[Fenris Ulfric]

Somewhere Else...

Brenatt took Nehlira's proffered hand and stepped through the threshold into the dusty, cold, abandoned room. He stood there, beside her, wondering what he was supposed to do now. For such a tumulus decision to follow her, the utter lack of any change was anticlimactic. Finally, he turned his gaze back upon the brown-furred vixen. "Well... What now?"

Nehlira winked at him playfully, and the heavy door began to creak shut. Brenatt craned his neck around and observed warily as the door slowly and deliberately closed with no assistance at all. Just the wind? Uneven hinges? he thought, rationalizing the reason for its movement. It clicked shut. The long rumbling sound from before returned, lasting several seconds before ending with a resounding metallic clank.

The room was suddenly filled with a warm light. Startled by the change, Brenatt spun about and found the room transformed. The dusty tables and drapes were gone; the plane walls replaced by fine wood set between arching support beams. The floor, once covered in a thick layer of dust, now bore plush violet carpeting. The rugged stones of the fireplace were now finely hewed masonry, home to a roaring blaze. Even the air, once chilled, was comfortably warm - almost too much so for someone of Brenatt's persuasion.

The arctic fox nearly panicked, clutching his guide's hand more tightly and he stepped back against her. His eyes darted about, head swiveling as he looked for a way out - gripped by an irrational certainty that the door wasn't going to cooperate. As he rapidly approached defeat in his battle with deeply ingrained fight-or-flight instincts, a voice cut through the panic and swept the clouds from his mind.

The voice was a soft, lilting tone that nevertheless carried an air of undeniable authority. "Welcome home, young one. I see you have returned with a new friend."

Like a mother's voice..., he thought, turning to face the source. What he saw caused his breath to catch, and his heart leapt into his throat. Relaxing in a low pile of pillows near the fire was the most beautiful vixen he'd ever seen. She had silver fur and jade eyes, and a thin white silken robe patterned with emerald and cerulean flames was bound firmly around her lithe body. So stricken was Brenatt that he nearly missed the most startling details of all: long, pearlescent hair that hung down in gentle waves to the base of her three tails. She drew slowly from a small decorative teacup, then turned her gaze upon her guests.

He looked to Nehlira, lost for direction, and found her bowing deeply once more, eyes downcast. He glanced back at the new vixen, his own ice-blue eyes widening as he made the connection. She must be Utanome. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Nehlira once more and tried his best to duplicate the manner of her bow.

Soft laughter rolled over them, feeling to Brenatt like someone had run their fingertips ever so gently against his fur, drawing from him a gasp. He noticed that Nehlira was not affected, or at least didn't seem to be. Meeting the vixen's - Utanome's - eyes once more, he found them laden with amusement. She's messing with me, he realized with a touch of anger. Another, more rational part of his mind tried to cry out, warning him that no voice should be able to do that, but as he silently raged, he found he didn't really care. I didn't come here for games. I need to find my sister.

So caught up was he in his inner turmoil, he hadn't noticed that Nehlira had already begun talking. "...apologize for my absence, Sensei Utanome. I had no choice in the matter," the younger vixen said in a dead-neutral tone, her eyes respectfully downcast.

"I felt as much," the silver one replied, looking into her tea. "I also feel the matter is not resolved." Her voice turned cool, hard. "So why have you brought him here? If you have only used trickery to bring this before me for resolution, I shall be very disappointed in you, One-Tail." She eyed Brenatt once more, "And very unforgiving."

Nehlira bristled slightly under the accusation, but swallowed her pride. "I did come here seeking your aid, but not with that. I didn't trick him; he didn't have a choice. He doesn't even know."

That was too cryptic for Brenatt. "Don't know what?" he hissed to her softly.

Nehlira glanced at him and shook her head slightly, franticly, as if to say NOT NOW! He wanted to object, and push the issue - desperately so - but he was also getting the distinct impression that it would be bad for his health to do so. The new fox was dangerous, and angry.

"Does not know," Utanome growled. "I do not know how that could be possible. One must know; such is the nature of the beast. This is a poor deception, and..."

"Please, may I explain?" Nehlira interrupted.

Utanome was taken aback. "To show such disrespect, this had better be a very good explanation." There was no mistaking the inherent warning in her voice.

Nehlira nodded and took a deep, calming breath. "Honestly, it is not a very good explanation. Exceptional, it is, but also rather stupid." Brenatt knew an insult when he heard one. He flattened his ears and wrinkled his snout in irritation, but kept his mouth shut. Nehlira gave him an apologetic look, then began her tale. She explained how she'd first come upon Brenatt, nearly dead from blood loss, and how he'd apparently triggered an ancient sacrificial spell with his own blood - an accident after accidentally stepping upon a sacred blade prepared for it. She told Utanome how she'd decided to help the young fox - after all, he was a fox - binding his wounds and nursing him back to health. Finally, how he'd asked her if she could help him in his voyage to discover the fate of his sister, lost in the same place more than a year ago.

As Nehlira finished her tale, Utanome began snickering - an amused, but sympathetic sound that caused Brenatt to definitely feel mocked. "You are right, child. It is a very stupid explanation... but I believe your story." The cold anger was now gone, replaced by a motherly warmth tempered with a schoolteacher's propriety. "Come here, the two of you." She slid a tray out from behind one of the pillows. Upon it rested a small teapot and a pair of cups just like the one she held. "Sit by the fire and have some tea." Brenatt shuddered at the mention of tea, and Utanome laughed aloud. If anything could have confirmed the story...

Utanome provided the pair with cushions to sit upon and cups of tea. Brenatt sat a little further from the fire, placing Nehlira between the blaze and himself. For her part, Nehlira shed the heavy winter garments and settled down in her regular clothes. Once they were all settled, and formal introduction finally made, Utanome smiled warmly at Brenatt and got down to business. "So, little Brenatt, why don't you start by telling me what you know about magic?"

The arctic fox shrugged. "Well, it's what the humans used to keep our ancestors enslaved to them a millennia ago, and last year there was a big war against a bunch of evil mind-magic monsters. That's really about it."

"So you have no experience at all with spells, or in dealing with spirits?"

"Well..." Brenatt looked a little abashed. "Does slipping on a knife and cutting my foot and causing the room to explode count?"

Utanome smirked and shook her head. "Not unless you know what it did."

"Well, it made you mad at me, but other than that..."

Nehlira leaned in towards him. "Do not be so flippant. It is not proper," she whispered.

"I'm not tryin' to be flippant," he groused. "I still don't know what the... uh, what's going on."

"It is okay," Utanome said soothingly. "It sounds like these past few days have been very traumatic, and he is ignorant of our ways. Of course, it will be your job to teach him, young one. I already have a student." Nehlira's ears flushed a bit and she nodded in resignation. "Now, Brenatt, do you even know where you are?"

Brenatt shook his head. "No. Other than some small city...I think..." Nehlira shot him a glance. "So, um, no," he ended.

"I do not suppose you know what you have done to poor Nehlira, either?"

"Done?" He looked at Nehlira. "I guess I've been a little snitty," he said guiltily. "If I upset you..." Seeing the look in her eyes, he trailed off. "That's not at all what you're talking about, is it?" he asked Utanome sidelong.

"No," Nehlira answered for her. She turned from him, focusing her attention on the fire.

That guarded - no, hurt - response caused the frustration welling up within Brenatt to collapse. "Okay... I give up. I don't know. Not where I am, not about magic, and not what you say I've done to Nehlira." He slumped down, gazing helplessly into his untouched tea. "All I know is I want to find out what happened to my little sister, and so far I've nearly gotten myself killed twice just for looking."

Utanome set her tea down and sat with her legs curled up beneath her, hands resting in her lap. "Very well, young one, I will answer your questions."

Brenatt's ears perked up. "You'll tell me what happened to my sister?" he asked hopefully.

"That's not what you asked," she chided him. "Now, will you listen?"

"I..." Brenatt's momentary hopes lay dashed to pieces. He couldn't gather himself to answer until he looked to Nehlira again. She looked as hurt as he felt. I have to at least do right by her. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several seconds, then looked back to Utanome and nodded. "Yes. I'll listen."

[Arc]

Travenil,
Mith Nara,
Keyway

The desolate peaks dividing Mith Nara at its very center had been long devoid of any sort of long-term inhabitation from either the native minotaurs or any of the more exotic of the isle’s denizens. There were many reasons; legends it had been cursed in the epic wars of the ancient past, or that reclusive and terrible beasts dwelled there to visit death on all travellers, or that it was merely too harsh and unforgiving a place to support any but the most stubborn of creatures. A string of crumbling and abandoned mountain fortresses from the last age of the world granted credence to the first notion, while the harshness of the place wasn't in dispute. Although still none ventured there, not even in need. Not for curiosity, not to seek the mineral riches that lay in the rocks awaiting exploitation. Not for anything.

And that was for one thing that was beyond question, one forbidden destination - a mountain that cast a shadow over all others and unto the forested plains beyond its glacier-shrouded foot. That place was Travenil, and therein the lair of Rhodos the Grey. All that surrounded it was left to him as his domain, for the wyrm guarded his privacy and there were few brazen enough to test the dragon's decree that his solitude be respected. But even if there were few, there still were those who did.

Deep inside the mountain and far below its glaciers and eternally petrified landscape, there lay a series of great vaults that had once been the tributaries and reservoirs of a great underground stream in a past geological age. Its myriad of tunnels had long since run dry, but the vast underground hollows remained, spacious enough to house one of Keyway's mightiest inhabitants. Although size was not its most attractive, or even most interesting trait. Travenil was a place of unnatural cold, drawing the warmth from air and land such that snow and ice could descend upon much of the island in winter, where it should have otherwise been tropical. But in the dragon's lair, a radiant warmth like the summer sun making the cold a distant afterthought. Etheric energy coalesced there, pooling in radiant subterranean lakes. An intruder did not go unnoticed here long, although the most recent one that had dared break the sanctity of Rhodos' retreat did not try to hide, and in fact wanted to be found.

Nerrental was the youngest of the elder dragons that had once ruled Azrozea, and remained one of a few creatures whom Rhodos would tolerate invading his privacy...although it hardly made him welcome. Regardless it didn't seem to concern the crimson dragon, whom had chosen one of the larger chambers in the underground and idled there, waiting for Rhodos to act on his presence. As time drew on without a growl of discontent from Rhodos, whom he knew for certain was somewhere nearby, Nerrental became a little more wary. Rhodos should have responded to him, as he made his intrusion blatant. Like any other creature, dragons too communicated through body language, and while Rhodos wasn't in sight, Nerrental knew that he was watching through different means. Propped up on his two forelegs, Nerrental held his head with its horns and sharp barbs high, while awkwardly sitting on his hind quarters, wings held up and away from his body, and tail strewn in a wide arc on the cave floor near to him. To all the empty gloom around, the looming red dragon was the lord of all, something that Rhodos should have never allowed to go unchecked if he wished to enforce his sovereignty over the mountain.

Not long after puzzling over it, Nerrental's head dipped into a sigh as he realized he'd missed the most obvious conclusion. Rhodos knew exactly who had encroached on his domain and why, and it was all too like him to refuse to respond out of spite.

"I can afford to wait," the red dragon finally uttered into the realm before him, shadowy as if its staligmites and eroded hourglass-like columns were cast in starlight. The great creature's call crashed and echoed hollowly off the boundaries of the cavern, spilling around corners and through vast tunnels to other linked chambers.

"What do you want, Nerrental?" A looming shape coalesced in the dim glow in the distance and spoke, little more than a silhouette of utter black against the darkness of night, save for two disks of distant reflected light, the other dragon's eyes peering back at him, and a few shapes of ivory white that stood out against the black, granting the shadow teeth, claws and two sweeping horns.

"You need to tell me what you're doing here, rumors abound that must be silenced," Nerrental replied, locking his gaze on Rhodos, whom remained at distance.

"I do not answer to anyone on this isle, Nerrental, rumor mongers least of all. Leave them to their petty gossip, it does not concern me," the looming shadow spoke.

"Oh, but it does. Kardin is becoming outright suspicious," the intruder shot back, alluding to the ruler of the minotaurs. "He fears that you are plotting against him."

In the darkness beyond, the luminous disks of Rhodos' eyes narrowed to slits. "And if I was?" He rebutted dismissively, "Kardin knows full well there is little he could do. He needs more than pikes and axes to strike at me, which he does not have under his sway."

The red dragon's glacial passivity rapidly melted away, muscles tensing and posture becoming unyeilding. His gaze became focused and cold, set on the solid mass of shadow before him. And it did nothing, Rhodos was unflinching. "Those are very dangerous words, ones I would hope you have never before uttered where idle listeners can hear. The bonds that hold Mith Nara's races together are not strong enough to bear such strain. Do you mean for us to destroy ourselves before the demons make better attempts?"

"Tread carefully," Rhodos rumbled. "If you mean to mark me a traitor, one of your own kind no less, you had best be sure. Did you come here to challenge me?

And there was silence. For every passing moment of hesitation, it seemed as if the answer was the one that was the hardest to bring forth- the one that would see two dragons clash in the depths of the world. The cavern's atmosphere became electric as arcane energies were subtly summoned forth and drawn into defensive magics in anticipation of a first strike, holding on the brink of becoming overt as neither of the great creatures were sure of the intent of the other. It was a dangerous thing for two dragons to test themselves in that way. Fighting claw to claw and tooth to tooth was none the less lethal, but such battles were long and bloody. If one dragon truely meant to harm another, it was easiest and least risky to strike them down with a powerful spell before they could marshall defenses. And for that reason a standoff of this nature lasted only seconds, as once the offensive threshold was reached then one would strike, or the other would be forced to pre-emptive action. As the precious few seconds before the point of no return ticked away with agonizing scrutiny, as etheric power was marshalled and the beginnings of spells began to form from wisps of thought and memory, the silence broke.

"No," Nerrental finally answered, pent-up energy dispersing as quickly as it had come and backing down. It was a wasted gesture, though. Rhodos knew him too well, and as expected called the bluff. "I cannot call you a danger, even if you speak dangerously. Not without knowing more."

And wordlessly the question Nerrental had first implied circled back to the forefront of the conversation, forced to the forefront by the deliberateness of a silence that followed when there was nothing more to be said. Those eyes peering into the obscuring shroud of un-light where Rhodos stood unmoving, single-mindedly focused and all but demanding to know: What have you been doing here?

"If I tell you what you wish to know, will you leave me be?" Rhodos abruptly inquired. An affirmative nod came from the red dragon, and so Rhodos finally moved. The dark silhouette with its teeth, claws and gleaming eyes came closer, contrast between light and dark fading as its form solidified, the blob of dark soon divided distinctly into body, tail and wing. But where that dragon should have gained its silvery hue and hide of scale it did not. Instead there was a smooth carapace of rigid material, almost black yet polished to a sheen. And while no dragon ever moved silently over land, Rhodos' movements were particularly loud, his steps far heavier and always accompanied with the sound of grating metal. And then, with adamantium-armoured form lording over the younger Nerrental, the answer was given.

"I have been preparing for war," Rhodos rumbled. Presenting himself as he did, that much was obvious. Rhodos seemed to have made himself into a golem, laden down with so much nigh-indestructible adamantium that there was scarcely a bit of living matter that could be seen beneath it. That which couldn’t be armoured, or didn’t need to be. The dragon’s horns and claws stabbed through plate, with harsh eyes glaring from inside a dark helm molded to the contour of his skull. “There are worse things growing in the jungles of Keyway than minions of the demon lords.”

“The demon queen?” Nerrental answered, an air of doubt about him. “Her power grows slowly, it will be some time before she threatens us directly.”

“I never would have expected you to be so short-sighted as a so-called purveyor of wisdom gathered over the ages,” the armoured Rhodos retorted bluntly, eliciting a glare from the red dragon. “Armies may march all across the jungles for many years without ever destroying the demons, perhaps not even reducing the base of their power. She will awaken, and none of us here can stop her. While me may enjoy years of respite, our time is growing short, perhaps it is already spent.”

“So in your secrecy have you fashioned a weapon to kill a goddess? Please tell me that you haven’t lost your senses, that was a fool’s errand even in desperation,” said the pacifist, growing ever-more uncomfortable with Rhodos’ increasing militancy.

“No, I shall waste no effort on such things,” the answer came, much to Nerrental’s relief. Although that sentiment was fleeting, and rapidly deteriorated into horror with the words that followed. “We will not see victory on this world without a god of our own.”

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place, the months of isolation in a desperately remote sanctuary rich in naturally flowing ether. That was his secret project, and weaving such magic would have never gone unnoticed if it were not for the desolation about Travenil. It came as little consolation to Nerrental to discover that Rhodos was not idly wasting away in seclusion and undermining the forces that held the armies of Mith Nara together, and was instead bent on harnessing forces that could wipe the isle from the face of the world.

“That is outright madness!” Nerrental roared. “Not even you can control such a spell, you may unleash forces that could destroy us all tomorrow, let alone an invasion months or years from now!”

“You would be right if I sought to find something powerful enough to serve my ends and bind it to my will, but I need not. The warriors Kardin sent to battle Illithid on distant worlds returned with a precious prize I never would have expected…” Rhodos rebutted. “There they found a lost eye of Maanzecorian, which I claimed. Such a thing is too dangerous in the hands of mortals.”

“At every turn I think things cannot possibly be worse, and I find dismal failure in that judgement. Please tell me that you dare not possess such a thing. It is a key to forbidden knowledge, things that not even we should know.” Nerrental replied in earnest. “Tell me that you destroyed it.”

“No, I did not destroy it. I used it.” came the answer, expected through pessimism. There was silence, as Nerrental closed his eyes and bowed his head, summoning the will to maintain his calm. “I found our ally, Nerrental,” Rhodos continued. “I found the Great Mother’s prison, where she was trapped so long ago.” The crimson wyrm’s head rose up again at the mention of Tiamat, the first dragon from which all others were descended, an utterly ancient creature that had existed long before the gods of men. Worshipped by the Atlanteans as the creator of the universe, she was lost during the great wars that saw Atlantis destroyed, and none knew where to find her…until now.

“No!” Nerrental finally uttered. “No! You must not do this! It has gone far enough. The Illithid artifact is dangerous enough, but you cannot imagine the power you may unleash in this! It must be studied first. Perhaps if we-”

“By what illusion do you think we have a choice?” Rhodos interrupted with blunt finality. “Should the demon queen rise again she will bring untold devastation. She will grant her power to those who serve her, and we have no means of combating it. We are as much warriors on this world as we are prisoners. If we are pushed back and fall under siege then we have no means of escape. Some of us such as you and I may be able, but the others are not. Not even all of our kin would be able, let alone the untold masses of those who are our allies. Do you understand that we cannot fail? I need not tell you that a torturous death is the best fate any of us falling into their clutches could receive. This is a desperate hour and you do not even know it. Do not proclaim to know what I do is madness. I know far better than you exactly what the consequences may be. And I accept them, for it is what I must do to save this world.”

“And if your gambit fails?” Nerrental quipped, his participation fading as he realized that his words were changing nothing.

“Then it fails and we may be doomed,” Rhodos ominously replied. “But there will be no whimper in the night if Mith Nara falls. Should these be our final hours they will be wrought with thunder and heard to the far side of the world. The very ground will be torn asunder and the heavens will open and rain down fire. In victory we shall be revered in our glory and the anniversaries of battle celebrated for a hundred generations hence. In defeat the enemy shall stand over the battlefields drowned in blood, heaped over with broken bodies and weapons of war and peer in awe at the scar we shall leave upon the world and know for all time that here is where we resisted.”

“I find for the first time, I am afraid of what you are doing,” the intruder said, stirring from rest. Nerrental’s lean and viciously intimidating form dissipated and faded at that from solid mass to phantasm and dissipated into the air like dust being carried away on the breeze. His last words echoed pointedly “You keep dark secrets, Rhodos, and I fear for us all. You have gone too far.”

Then there was only the armour-plated grey wyrm standing alone amongst the sparse forest of monstrous columns. There he remained for some time, thinking unto himself about what had just transpired. That was, until with a whisper of wind a comparatively tiny creature winged its way from the depths of the cavern and alighted on a rocky outcropping midway up a near stalagmite, near to the great dragon’s eye level.

“What will happen now?” the little creature spoke, its hooked avian beak betraying it as a member of Mith Nara’s winged race – someone who shouldn’t have been there according to the dragon’s decree. “The others will ask.”

“Nerrental seeks to do good in his heart, little one, but he is naïve,” the dragon answered. “He will feel compelled to call a council of the remaining elders, and he will tell them what he knows. Should word spread from there and reach the ears of our enemies, they will strike here before I am finished. It is best that they not know that I am prepared for them. I would not have been able to keep my deeds secret for much longer, and now that he knows he will not pry into my other affairs for some time. Too I do not wish for Kardin to discover that I am drawing soldiers from his own ranks. Not yet.”

Satisfied, the avian departed again and went to convey the dragon’s message. Then Rhodos too swung his heavily protected frame around, and paused once more before lumbering back into the heart of his realm under the mountain.

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 5
Unknown 1006 NE

They kicked out the fire and disappeared into the woods once more. The apathy of the night before had vanished. It was replaced by a justified urgency. A trap had been set for them, an straight out attack might come any minute. Angry at her own lack of control over the situation Shinobu didn’t speak much as she led them through a withering trail that seemed to go nowhere but deeper into the forest. A forest getting ready to slumber over a winter, but one that seemed nearly dead as well.

“Thanks.” They were stopped, for a moment, at a junction of two trails. Both were old and ill-used, both could lead them to the where the other party was heading for. “Thank you for saving my life.” She finished as Tiako looked towards her, removing his head from his hands.

“We’re even then,” Cracking a grin, as he kicked a stone off of the trail, he went on. “Question: do you actually know the way? They weren’t at the wayhouse…”

“I don’t think they were killed by that freak.” He was far too good. The trap had been exactly what was needed for her to act without really thinking… It looked like a simple sneak-up to see, and then smash or leave. In the end she’d been stabbed, or rather her suit had a painful dent in it, and only the luck of the nominally combat-useless Tiako had saved her. Perhaps their initial assessment had been wrong. Or perhaps it was merely the luck of the gods. “The gods smile on us, here is a sign left by the others.” She bent down and picked out the half hidden transparent fiber, partially sticking out from a rocky hiding place.

“That’s a odd place for a clue.”

“Yes… But it matches the ones we took before this mission. Unless they were captured and forced to hand them over, which I doubt, they went this way.”

“It doesn’t look like they’ve been through here… Or anybody for quite sometime at least. Even with this hard track that many people, weighed down with gear and armour, following in each others footsteps should have left some scuffle…” He took a drink from a water bottle to let the question settle. “… But what do I know?”

She scowled.

“Fine!” Throwing up her arms she started down the non-marked path, leaving him to scramble up after her.

>>><<<

The ruined city was disturbing. It was too much like any other town or city in the lands yet inhabited by the living. Shops stood open, towering urban housing, custom houses with their rotted and bare gardens open for passing customers to see, empty perfectly planned streets, and a desolate sense of a betrayed promise. They hadn’t saved this city, and they never could. Fate and history far older then any living thing on the green and brown planet they called home dictated that- but perhaps they could pretend too. Surly that would be enough- enough to satisfy the conscience of the planners and ministers that had decided not to pursue re-colonization of such… lost, but known none the less, places.

The Priest felt the tip of his straw hat before tugging it down. Then he moved. He moved with the others of the party as they decided without speaking that it was time to make one of the last street crossings... They broke cover and in seconds had crossed the narrow street to the next line of buildings. Dashing into an open doorway they waited in readiness for the shattering sound of detection- but nothing came. He expected none, not with the prize so close. Oddly enough some of the men may have thought that was reason enough to fill the area with what men and equipment they had. Then they didn’t know how the enemy operated. Not yet.

Besides. It would be far too logical and he knew them well enough.

Here they were. A building that must have been some sort of shop or common house before… the old days had come to a sudden end, and with that end the abandonment of the valley rather then face death alone and without chance of graves. They climbed to the second story, the stairs never making a sound as the first men to climb them passed quickly, from where he could make his point. He commanded the party by virtue of his certain connection, a connection they all knew. It constrained them and ensured loyalty, but it was not loyalty he desired from them. Some might rely on it alone but he had seen what loyalty could turn too all too well. The memories of hunting down traitors who had forgotten their loyalties or turned on their Masters… Sometimes when they believed so selfishly that their liege lords had betrayed themselves. When in fact it was their lot to follow without thinking such useless things about the affairs of their masters- this he believed.

He knew the will of his own, and he followed it.

“Men,” He pointed out the window to what they could clearly see as they entered the dead city. “It is time to explain. I have taken this quest on the request of our liege even through it almost certainly means destruction. You all swore once, long ago, to follow me and now I ask you to follow me in this…. Inside is a memory of the Shrine of Isao, the great Shogun of the Godwars. His Shrine was lost, forgotten for a purpose none of us might know, and now our enemy seeks it because we must ourselves seek it. This is another chapter in the story of our secret war- the secret war our order of Orochi Slayers has waged since time immortal. They seek to unlock the secrets of the lost arts for their own use. Just as they were denied one facet of them on Cassa Nova, only by the untrained and uninformed intervention of a well-known officer in the service of the Son of Heaven, we must deny them another. We must take the object they seek and hold,” He paused and knew their resolve from their silent eyes. “Hold it from them until I know just how deep the cancer in the legions has spread. Will you stand or will you live a fruitless life?”

It was their Colonel that spoke.

“Ten thousand years, Prince Sōzō.”

It had been a easy decision to come. It had been harder to ask others to come, but even harder to led others to an uncertain fate. Throwing back his priestly robe Sōzō drew out his wrapped bundle, within the most precious prize he had.

“We’re wasting time.” If Shinobu and the Count had been with them things would be easily. But the gods had willed them to be separated, and if separation would ensure that those two’s part in the action to come was successful… It was worth the worry.

[Silence]

Primary City
Sagittarius
1006NE


The One Who Wants was thinking. It was considered by all, even its loyal bots included, that was generally a bad thing, for as it was TOWW had far too many ideas in its head to be considered safe.

It was currently reviewing the latest papers that the diplomatic office had sent it. Basically the Primary City was getting the runaround still from the IA about its application to join it. The first several dozen times of asking, the TOWW was sure it was just some error, in that who wouldn’t want to have TOWW on their side? Now the TOWW was thinking that it maybe that they didn’t want it to join their little club. In other words the TOWW had been snubbed.

<Well fine then. Two can play that game! Loyal minions assemble!> The One Who Wanted thundered.

Within milliseconds hundreds of robots within the city stopped what they were doing and mad a mad dash towards the center where TOWW was sitting. Minutes afterwards the city square was busy as robots of all shapes and sizes filled it up standing in clean cut rows at attention. Then there was a pause for several long minutes as they waited for TOWW to say something.

Minutes started to tens of minutes and then one brave little food processor from the southern district of the city spoke out, its metallic voice small compared to the bulk and power of its master. <You assembled us master?>

TOWW was startled as it was running simulations of bombs going of in its head to kill the time, <Oh. Yes. Yes I did. Today is a glorious day like all others, but its even more glorious because I have had the greatest idea.>

<That is> asked the same robot.

<We shall form the Axis of Power, to ensure that my ideals will live on among the stars!>

<Very good master. But who are we going to form it with?>

<Hmm good question. I suppose the angry demons right out. And besides who cares about Keyway anyway. Hey what about that crazy guy on Myrkliea, Nikomurderes it was.>

Several robots glanced at each other, wondering if they should correct their overlord.

<Though, we should tread carefully dealing with him. I mean from report he doesn’t sound like he is all that there if you know what I mean.> TOWW switched focus and soon it appeared in front of the commanders of two Strike Stars. <Centurions take your ship to Myrkliea along with some diplobots and try to arrange a meet with the Achaean government. Leave as soon as they boarded.>

<By your command.>

<Very good. Lets see how the IA likes it when I form my own club and not invite them!>

Actions
2 Strike Stars along with a full load of ether blast off towards Myrkliea to talk with Achaea.

[Fenris Ulfric]

Still Somewhere Else...

"Yes. I'll listen." Saying those three words was far easier than the task they enfold. All in all, Brenatt was entirely unprepared for the lesson he was about to receive.

Utanome did not respond immediately. Instead, she'd sat there amidst the pillows, legs curled beneath her, as she studied the young arctic fox. She watched the frustration wash over him until, finally, he surrendered within and, with ears folded back and head bowed in humble gesture, he spoke once again. "I... I'm sorry for my rudeness. Please, will you tell me about this place and whatever it is you say I've done to Nehlira?"

The three-tailed vixen smiled slightly. It seems that you have some manners after all, young fox. Impropriety is unbecoming of our kind, even our poor kin. She nodded to Brenatt. "That is what I agreed to tell you," she said, making her voice so soft that the two youths had to listen carefully to hear her.

"I know of the land you hail from, young Brenatt, so I shall put this in terms you will firmly understand..." She paused and took a sip of tea, eyes narrowing a bit at the white-furred lad fought back his impatience. "That was no ancient temple you discovered. It was a place of ritual, but, instead of religion, it was created to harness the lives of sacrifices to power great magics. Your blood, when spilled there, awoke those magics and tore Nehlira away from her home here. She was bound by those human magics as your slave."

"She's WHAT?!" All thoughts of calm and patience vanished in a moment. Brenatt shook his head viciously. "No. No way in hell! I'm not enslaving anybody! I don't care what some human says!"

Utanome shook her head. "You don't really have a choice in the matter," she said flatly. "The magic is done."

"Well then how do I un-done it?" he demanded, mastery of the language faltering.

The tree-tails sighed. "As the one who Summoned Nehlira, if you had any understanding of the magic, you could simply release the spell and free her, but you are not a sorcerer."

Brenatt gave her a That's not very helpful look. "Are there any other ways?"

"Yes," Utanome replied. "There are three. The first is that you wait until the first day of the New Year. The astral tides shift, and magics are undone." Brenatt was shaking his head, the answer clearly unpalatable for him. "The second is that she complete the task given to her upon being summoned."

"Task?" Brenatt's brow furrowed and he glanced at Nehlira. "You mean I could free her if I just told her to, say, give me a kiss?" Nehlira's ears folded back and she looked away, clearly embarrassed. "...or smack me on the nose, or something simple like that?" he quickly added, drawing an amused snirk from the brown-furred vixen.

"In theory, yes, I suppose you could," Utanome said. "Unfortunately, she is already bound to a task."

"What task? I didn't tell her to do anything. Not that I know of, anyway." He focused more firmly on Nehlira. "Did I?"

The younger vixen sighed. "Yes, though you did not realize it. In the cabin, you asked if I could help you find your sister."

Brenatt's stomach suddenly felt like it was made of lead. "But... You did help. You brought me here and told me that you might be able to get your teacher to help."

"I am afraid that magic is far more strict in its terms," Utanome said. "Your words, albeit in ignorance, bound her to the task of aiding you in the search for your sister. That task shall not be concluded until you discover her fate."

Brenatt was shaking his head, not really focusing on anything anymore. "You said there was a third way," he said with a shaky voice. What is the third way?"

"The summoner dies."

Brenatt's eyes went wide. "Wait, what?"

Utanome let out a mirthless huff of laughter. "Depending on the magic involved, sometimes a summoning can be broken by ending the life of the sorcerer that bound their victim in the first place." She watched Brenatt with narrowed eyes just long enough to make him 'sweat' a bit before adding, "Of course, since you are not the sorcerer that constructed the spell in the first place, there's no telling exactly what would happen if you died. I believe it best not to find out." She smiled and drew another long sip from her tea.

Brenatt smiled warily. "So... I guess we just wait around for a few months..."

"It is not that simple," Nehlira said, the first time she ventured to assert herself since the conversation began. "While you might sit around for the duration, I really have no choice in this. I have to help you find your sister, even if you don't look."

"That doesn't make any sense," Brenatt protested. "I mean, how can you help me if I don't do anything?"

"This spell was constructed by people who created your ancestors to serve them as slaves. Consider the character of those who crafted the spell."

"Yeah, I guess that does make sense..." Suddenly, his ears perked up. "Wait, 'my' ancestors, not 'our' ancestors?"

"Is it not obvious?" Utanome asked, pre-empting Nehlira's reply. She combed her fingers through her long pearly hair, allowing it to fall against her silken robes. "We are Foxes, as are you, but we have different origins. After all, how many people from your lands have hair?"

"Well, lions, and the maned wolves and hyenas sorta do..." he began to tick off - knowledge off the Races being a common subject in school. He caught Utanome’s off-look. "I'm answering a rhetorical question, aren't I?" She nodded. "Sorry. Yeah, you're right. I suppose it sorta is kinda obvious."

"You do not sound certain."

Brenatt shrugged and changed the subject. "So... We're kinda stuck with the search for my sister. Well, I'm not stuck; I want to do it. She's stuck," he said, hooking his thumb at Nehlira. "Um, I guess my point is... I honestly have no idea where to go from here. I still don't even know where 'here' is."

Utanome let it drop. "Yes, I said I would tell you of this place. You are in the land of Misty Hollow. It is a place of refuge for those from more troubled lands. If your sister made it to these lands, and did not leave them, then she may yet still live. I warn you though, it is not without its dangers..."

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 6
Unknown 1006 NE

A dead city in a almost dead valley surrounded by a living world. They had made good time through the trails to reach what was, she assured him, the almost end-objective of the quest. That they had not encountered anyone in the forest man or beast was not unduly concerning and to a degree, at the same time, was comforting. He didn’t want to get caught in front of any armed cultists or that man from the wayhouse again. That they had seen none made him confident, perhaps unduly so, that they wouldn’t.

It was quite undue. Especially when they had heard the sounds of pursuit and immediately ran, then hid. Then ran again when the sounds kept coming at them leaving them both in their present situation. Suddenly skipping a step Tiako almost fell face first into the, suddenly onrushing, house-wall before recovering and skipping away from it. Legs burning he strained to breathe as they ran. Shinobu easily outpaced him and didn’t seem to be too terribly bothered: but then again all he was seeing was her back as he tried to keep up and… not run into things. The clatter of boots was catching up! He spared a look over his shoulder and thought he caught a shadow leaning out from a turnoff. As soon as he saw it he returned his head to its proper place.

He could see the DOME near the top of his vision. He had stared at it enough when it first came into view- the entire reason for his acceptance of this endeavor was wound up in that structure. The Shrine of Isao! How many men had searched for it in the ages he knew not but he did not the desire to find it. He had known it for decades and had considered indulging in it before family responsibility had appeared. From then it had been duty and then the odd missions a junior member of the Imperial Court was usually assigned too. Inspect this, write a report for this… Writing, and writing it seemed sometime. But as he did get field duties and missions outside that domain enough that old curiosity had wandered back. Now he was going to be in it. He was with a group lead by somebody who knew far more about it then anyone else alive that he knew or could remember. That was enough to start the trip and the inertial of the attacks, the fall, the fleeing had ensured he (and they) had pushed through to this point.

Not, of course, the point of running through a crumbling city but rather the act of trying to get into the DOME. Ah, and what a structure that was. A blunt topped dome standing nearly a dozen stories up and laying across a dozen city blocks from what he could see its outer walls were worth a years worth of examination. A quick look through a pair of binocs that Shinobu had noticed in his pack had confirmed writing upon it afterall. Few structures remained entirely intact from the godswar. Many had been destroyed in the infighting, others been expanded upon to even greater dimensions, some had been demolished by the government, and others were simply off-limits to even the nobility. The rest that remained were, quite simply, totally exploited out.

Shinbou slowed down and casually ducked into an partially collapsed building, half a door yet open. Slowing down to a grateful walk he entered after her. She pushed him against the wall, and said nothing. They stood their, he found the wall solid behind him and leaned, silent but for his gasping breaths.

“We lost them.” She whispered. “this time.”

“Rather incompetent,” He grimaced as he said that. They were competent enough to prevent them from getting close to the only entryway into the DOME. How the others did it… or were going to do it he couldn’t imagine.

“They don’t have the best material to work with... As far as we have determined the majority of the Cult’s enforcers are picked more for reliability and skills at contending with the street gangs. Not,” Her sneer seemed to him as any he’d ever seen- or done himself. “hunting.”

“They…”

Sighing she nodded.

“We think so. We expect they have die-hard group of conspirators high up and in the shadows. The rest are filler, filler but widespread,” One did not grow up on the planet with anything like that in mind. Nobody talked about this alternative view. Sure, everybody knew of the famous legend. The great god of the Storms and the Underworld had tricked and then slew the great multi-headed dragon taking a sword from its corpse and its dominion of the land. Other then that nobody considered the possibility that a secret society of Orochi worshipers existed beyond a few ancient crones or young fools. Not a thought might touch that they had physical power. It was disturbing, as she had finished imparting all she knew of them to him, to know they had took sides in the restoration, that they had desired to eliminate the great reforming crown prince to the extent they actually tried… In the midst of a army. It was a cancer. A rot gnawing at the backbone of everything that made the nation united- a bloat on his honor that his ancestors had known nothing of it.

Silence stretched between them as he didn’t look back up at her but stared down at the dirty floor. Grunting she started to turn her body so she could peak her head out. A tingle against his neck..

“Stop!”

Jerking he pushed her back, a hand against her shoulder, just as a line of cultists flashed by the half covered doorway. Eyes flashing at his push Shinobu clamped her mouth shut as they flew by, unnaturally silent, but not seeing past the darkness that cloaked them.

“How’d you know?” She asked.

“Didn’t you hear?”

“Obviously not. I’m wondering how you heard them when I didn’t!”

“No, somebody said stop. Didn’t you hear that?” Tiako looked around, searching for the person who had yelled out. Naturally he saw nothing in the dark room. “I’m must be hearing things..”

“I’d sa--”

“Come to me!”

She twitched as the voice found her mind, body tightening at the touch. Tiako felt a tingle against his neck, as if somebody had lightly brushed a finger across it.

“Come to me and fulfill your oath! I will show you the way…”

“What the hell is that?” They whirled as the room suddenly was flushed with light. The source just appeared, or turned on, in the next room deeper into the house. Seemingly without much heart in it Shinobu took a step foreword, hesitated, and then continued as he stepped up behind her. Suspiciously they peered around the next room, at the new light as at the same time they followed it. The next room was wrecked. A hole lay in the roof, one of the walls was simply gone amidst the bulk of some great machine. But the light did not pause here. It emulated from, as impossible as it was, from the floor. They turned and looked at each other. A moment before it had been, it seemed to have been, level with them which was a massive difference then emitting from a neat square on the floor.

The floor was wood. Tiako stepped on it, slowly as if it would explode, and let out his breath when nothing happened.

“Move!” He jumped back as Shinobu punched it with a fist full of crackling lightling. Her other arm in front of her face, and him somewhat behind her, allowed them to be spared the splinters. With a crack the wood exploded apart exposing the dull yellow, metal, door below. On it was a simple sentence- one that made a great deal of sense, at least because he didn’t bother thinking about why it would be in a civilian house, despite having its second word scratched out from her blow. ‘EMERGENCY *scratch* TRANSFER SYSTEM’. She yanked it open with the heavy handle allowing the light to fully wash over them. They had a way into the DOME.

[Maloncanth]

Finally They Get Out of El Tarfa

"And then what happened??" Alvi's eyes were wide in amazement.

I was astounded, not at the marionette's flowery and remarkably constant Azstantinian lyric, but at the real magic girl's capacity to believe fragrant bullshit. Maybe I should have feigned knowing the Sandholds language afterall.

"Thereafter, the mighty Hanamokuren, the enemy's armies slain before her, laid down her crima claw and retired to a life of chaste obscurity," the marionette finished with a sense of serene finality.

It was a story told well enough that I could have believed the Great Champion of Da Bardei, Oboi really had stood seven feet and a span in height and spoke Imperial if I hadn't met the same man and almost been killed by him a matter of minutes ago.

"That's awesome!!" Maki said excitedly.

Had I been the only person to notice that subtle shift from first to third person narrative?!

"That was well performed," I conceded. "And all of it on the spot as well." If not exactly spot on, with the details, I thought.

She bowed as well as she could in the confines of the Sarfaxi gunship.

This was despite that ours and many of said vehicles were much emptier than they had been. Thankfully, for us anyhow, the losses had been largely Sarfaxian. And at least, we and the Thetans had given the Sandholds one heck of a scare. It did make us seem less the good guys of course, given that we had lit a mostly civil establishment on fire, rendering tens of thousands dead and tens of thousands more homeless.

"Especially the coming of the air support!!"

It seemed Maki had blended actual events into Mokuren's account of the battle (which had been strictly about her own personal glory). I will relate the tale. A Sarfaxian, bloodied and his section's only survivor had run up to us raggedly asking 'Who's in charge here?! Where is the air support?!' Someone in all his wit had shrugged and wordlessly pointed up, whereupon the Thetans had arrived in their ridiculously huge aircraft and blown up El Tarfa. An impressive feat of pyrotechnics and serendipidous timing.

"Where will we be off to next ~kashira?!"

We all laughed good naturedly. Not charging headlong at ten thousand enemy troops I hope.

On a whim, I glanced out the light screens, depicting morning sandstone highlands as usual. There was a shape on the horizon, between the peaks floating almost idly in the sky, barely visible in the early glow. I squinted, then took a look through auspex. That suddenly made the shape resolve into that of an enormous bird, its russet feathers blowing stiffly in the desert breeze. The resolution made it apparent that it was flying fast.

"You're kidding," I exclaimed as the creature blew towards us, riding the wind. Everyone turned to look as I imagined the people sitting on the other gunships doing the same. It grew in size from dot to block in a second, flying past under us. I caught sight of the boy rider's face, his tunic, and the engravings on his saddle, with perfect clarity for a moment and then, gone. The gunship shuddered in the turbulence as the pilot radioed and was radioed back.

"That's a sandholds eagle," someone identified.

With grim purpose, a turret on one of the superbombers above us turned – I imagined the whir of the motor – and fired. A ray of sunlight split the bird and rider, turning them into a gust of ash in an instant as dawn broke and we cleared the last of the mountains.

Suddenly, the airwaves were busy in the quick language of the airmen, which would have been just as unintelligible to us in Imperial as in Phoenician. For our part, we swore and played the angry, losing men. The air was alive with flak, including ours as we punished occasional eagles for wandering too close. Also, airfields were burning.

I'd learned since beginning service with other armies that airmen don't like being bothered more when they are already bothered so I allowed several minutes before politely asking, "what's going on?"

"The Keepers and Villaros have launched a massive counter-air offensive."

[Duneczan]

Vector, Lost Ground
October 31, 1006 NE

This is Halloween...

"Ahh...All Hallow’s Eve. The one day of the year where magic is at its strongest, and strangest. Must’ve been all the sugar the god’s ingested before poofing. What do you think knife?" The knife carving the orange pumpkin stopped in its work to point it’s juicy, dripping blade at Aren and bob up and down in agreement. "I thought you’d agree. Now, you know what to do?" It bobbed again. "Good. Remember to light the flame and carry it outside after your done. I’ll be back soon."

Aren strode off out into the night, making his way to inner Vector. He didn’t quite know what to expect from the Alters on this day, really. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of holidays, or special days on this world. At least, none that he could see. Then again, when you were just as likely to open your do to death fungus as you were to cloudy sky, there didn’t seem much to celebrate. Then again, that was also perfect reason too.

Aren made it to one of the various markets that litter the lower rings of the urban-sprawl-in-a-fish-bowl that was Vector, this one close to the campus. Always the campus. The last he saw of Sayla, Serra’s younger sister, she said she was going to buy supplies for camping.

Joy.

She was enjoyable enough, but she could get annoying. Hopefully he wouldn’t see her tonight.

But hey, there were actual revelers here! Quite festive, given the general mood of the bloody place. Everyone on the planet who actually celebrated Halloween must have been there, because it was more crowded now than he’d ever seen it before. He dodged aside as women and men in masked capered past him, lost in their own world. Lights of orange and red hung from lines strung between booths.

In one corner he saw a man sitting on a few crates, blowing fire from a pipe, much to the delight of a group of children. Likely students from one of the nearby academies, given the stern-looking woman watching over them.

He sat down at a table at his favorite little cafe, and ordered a spiced wine from the cat-eared waitress that came to him. It was a costume, of course. The only real cat ears he’d seen on the planet belonged to a student at the university, a Thetan. He watched the man shape his flames into various shapes, wowing the young girls in front of him. Even the stern woman seemed to crack a smile. Aren himself smiled, taking a sip from the glass the server brought him, as the magician made a jack-o-lantern appear and gape and laugh with the children.
Aren decided to have a little fun. Drinking his wine, he took hold of the magicians spell and changed it. The jack-o-lantern turned into a snowman-like shape, complete with tophat and corncob pipe, and began dancing a merry little jig. The kids began to laugh, though the man with the pipe look on incredulously as his own magic went awry, though not in the harmful way.

Fiery the Snowman did a flip, took off his hat and bowed, before changing into a pair of floating hands that clapped together in tune to music wafting from somewhere else in the market. The hands changed into two figures, who took each one arm into the other and danced in a circle, before switching arms and dancing the other direction. They then melted into a sphere, grew a smiley face, and flew back into the man’s pipe. The girls, and the gathered crowd, cheered.

"You enjoy playing the fool, don’t you?" A quiet voice asked him. He looked up and saw the speak. The woman was slim, in a white dress that hung from her shoulders loosely. She was tall, he judged from his sitting position, a few inches shorter than he was. Her hair was long, falling well below her waist, and in the evening light he couldn’t make out its dark color, but it could have been black, or a dark purple when the light hit it right. Her face was hidden behind a smooth, white mask shaped like a fox. Or, given the day and planet, a kistune. Despite the masks lack of an opening for a mouth, just a black line twisted into a mischievous grin, her voice had not sounded muffled.

He cleared his throat and smiled. "I can’t say I know what you’re talking about, my lady," he replied.

She pulled out a chair across from him and sat, folding her hands together and placing her chin on them. He could feel her staring at him, though he could see nothing but the black, glossy eyes of the mask. It made him uncomfortable, and not because he couldn’t see her face. There was something more... "I saw you take hold of the man’s weave. Not hard, given his level, but you masked it well, something not always easy." Her reply was as soft and quiet as her questioning introduction. And still not muffled by the mask. "You perform jesters tricks with abilities rivaling the greatest of sorcerers. Why?"

"That is no concern of yours, my lady," Aren said. She said nothing, but those eyes still bored into him. His mouth went dry, and he all but drained his glass of wine to wet his lips. She was unnerving him, just sitting there, staring, saying nothing. That vulpine face she wore, with its black eyes and nose and somewhat malevolent grin, red lines forming whiskers did more than its fare share of unsettling him. He coughed into his hand and finished his wine. Standing, he gave the woman a short bow. "By your leave, my lady."

Aren paid for his drink before leaving, putting the strange woman out of his mind, and managing to chuckle as the man gaped at his pipe while the crowd thinned. Still, though he did not look back to see, he thought he felt those eyes on him. He practically dove into the massed revelers. He went along with the current, looking at stands and kiosks and looking at this trinket and that trinket. He even bought a few, to give as gifts to his friends the next time he saw them, if he saw them again. At one stand he thought he saw her out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked a mummer passed in front of where he thought she had been, and she was not there. He dropped what he had been looking at unceremoniously onto the merchants counter and left without looking like he was in a hurry.

He turned a corner, walking down one of the tubes he called a ‘Gerbil Run’ that led to the university campus proper. He wound his way through the complicated paths and twists and turns that seem to accompany all universities, though he had yet to discover any rhyme or reason to it. Perhaps as a way to make students learn quicker. Or just get them into trouble for being late. With any luck, if she was following him, he would lose her.

With every turn he took, he saw white skirts shifting out of sight, or that eerie face peering at him from behind a light, in his periphery. Yet whenever he took the time to really look, he saw nothing. He hoped it was his imagination. Given the events of the past year, events, memories, obscure visions, he prayed it was his imagination. Prayed.

He quickened his pace. He enhanced his senses, caught the sound of slippers shuffling on pavement. Barely. He didn’t believe the next thought that came to him. Hide. Then he felt the change. That sense of dread clutching at his heart vanished, the feeling of being watched disappeared. He didn’t let out the sigh of relief that pushed at his lungs to release. He did not let go of the detection spell.

He found himself standing in front of a familiar building within the Nekomi Campus: Sayla’s dorm. He scowled, but at the moment anywhere was better than here. He tread carefully as he entered, knowing who else lived here. Other young people, mostly young women, from worlds far off, worlds that responded to the odd call for transfer students. He hoped they were out. He tried to avoid them. They didn’t much care for him, as he’d been there, usually not of his own accord, several times. They probably thought he was a bad influence on Sayla. Little did they realize...

He passed by one dorm, sidling away from it quickly when he heard sounds-that-couldn’t-possibly-be-moans-of-ecstasy. And he avoided the rooms belonging to the Pendleton girl. Finally he made it to Sayla’s and knocked on the door.

Saldin answered the door, dour face growing darker at the sight of him. Aren brushed passed Sayla’s guardian, shoving him aside and shutting the door shut behind him. He locked it, then smacked the door with his palm, putting his own seal on it. The New Phoenician guardsmen glared at him, but his eyes betrayed worry. Not for Aren, of course, he could care less what happened to an itinerant oracle. Worry for Sayla.

"What is it Hale?" He growled.

"Nothing...nothing..." Aren said, staring at the door.

Sayla walked from her room, a dress of crimson velvet clinging to her. She looked startled to see Aren, at least at first as her surprise blossomed into a smile. "How are you today, Aren?"

"Uh...fine..." Aren said, trying to divide his attention between her, the windows, and the door. "Going to a party?"

"A masquerade ball, actually," she replied. She spun in a circle, showing off her dress. She held a mask in her hand. Thankfully, not one of a fox. "Would you care to accompany me?"

"NO! I...uh...mean no, I can’t. I just came by because Thunder wanted me to give Saldin here a message, that’s all."

"Well, then tell him and we can go together," she said, smiling.

"No, not in front of you. I mean, it’s a secret. Between the three of us. Male stuff, you know. You wouldn’t understand. Or want to understand. And you’d probably think us foolish."

Sayla’s smile wavered a little, but it didn’t last long. She gave Saldin a hard stare, but smiled pleasantly as she swept down the short stairs to the door. She stopped short of the door, next to Aren. "I hope you’re ready for our camping trip."

"Oh, sure, looking forward to it. Have a good time, Sayla." He opened the door for her, and bowed his head as she walked out. She gave them both a final, questioning look before leaving. Aren shut the door, not hard but fast enough, and slapped his ward in place again.

"Hale, if you’ve dragged us into some sort of trouble..." the other man in the room growled.

"Shut it," Aren snapped, spinning on Saldin so fast the guardsman almost went for the knife at his waist. Aren realized what he was doing and began pacing. Quickly.

"What’s with you man?" Saldin asked after a few minutes of watching the oracle walk back and forth.

Aren stopped for an instant to look at him, then resumed pacing. He spoke though. "Have you ever been terrified Saldin?"

"Fear is nothing new to a soldier, Hale."

"Not fear, terror. There’s a difference. Fear can usually be controlled, but terror? Oh no...not terror. It goes beyond simple fear. It eats away at your senses, gnawing at your reality, your control. It seeps into your nerves, turns your bones to liquid and muscles to mush. It takes all you have to keep going...no, not fear at all..."

"Once," Saldin replied, slowly. "I was part of a raid, attacking a small Drow strike force. It failed miserably. Everyone around me was dead, and we had only managed to kill three of them. There were others left. More. They had me, I knew they did, and so did they. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I could hardly breathe. But instead of killing me, they left me there. Alone among the dead. A survivor."

Aren stopped and nodded grimly. "Have you ever been terrified of a woman?"

"I can’t say that I have. Why?"

"A year ago, I was controlled. Force into the servitude of Illithid. A year ago, I met a man who hated me with every fiber of his being. His very presence seethed hatred for me. A year ago, I broke free of that control, or I was freed. My memory is full of holes, I can only remember the evils that I did in their name, and little of the good. A year ago, I heard a voice in my head. A woman’s voice. It was sweet and soft and loving, it was caring and seductive. The kind of voice that could draw a man in and keep him in thrall for eternity. I heard that voice...and all I can remember of it was the terror it caused in me."

"Odd..."

"You’re telling me? I don’t know why it did, it just did. Then I met that man again. And some months later another just like him. I think. Again, my memories..." he trailed off, staring at the door. "I knew, then, that they, or just he, was linked to that voice. And tonight, though it was a different voice, I encountered a woman that had the same effect on me. I was so scared out of my wits that the only thing I could do was find the safest place I could think of, and here was the closest. Believe me Saldin, if I was in trouble this would be the last place I’d come, but...I’m not even sure if I am in trouble."

"Just terrified."

"Exactly! I don’t like feeling this way."

"No one does, I’d imagine. Except the insane, who would not know it if they were."

Aren nodded and looked at the door again. "I should go. Enough time has elapsed, I think, that Sayla cannot be connected to me." Saldin made a calculating look, then nodded in agreement. "I know I don’t have to tell you that Sayla hears nothing of this." Again the man nodded. Aren removed the ward and slipped out of the door, and the dorm.


He made his way back to the church, taking his steps quickly, but without running. He would not run. Refused to run. He climbed the stairs leading to a park at the top of a hill. It was the quickest route home. The dread returned, welling up inside him so fast it was as if a flood was washing over him. He stopped, turned.

The woman in white was there, dozens of feet away, atop the stairs he had just stepped from. Her mask was clear even at this distance, even at this time of night. Then it struck him that there was light shining on her. He looked up and was startled to see a hole in the clouds. The stars and moon shone on them alone, and he wasn’t even sure it was Lost Grounds moon that stared down at him. In fact, somehow, he knew it wasn’t.

He heard slippers against stone, and his head shot towards her. She was gliding towards him, her feet barely visible beneath the long, white dress that shone in the moonlight. Aren blinked, and she was much closer than before. She took another step, and though he didn’t blink, she did. Teleportation so fast it disorients a person who manages to see it, as it makes time seem to jump. She did it again.

Aren spun to walk away as fast as he could, but he went rigid as a hand touched his cheek. She was there in front of him, craning her neck only a little to look at up him, given the closeness of their height. She murmured something under her breath, but he couldn’t make it out.

The sound of a pistol’s hammer being cocked broke the silence of the night, as loud as any cathedral bell. The silver barrel of Aren’s gun slid up between them and rested against her chin, tilting her head up more. "Hands off," Aren said, keeping his voice steady, just as he held the hand gripping the pistol steady. The woman hesitated, he thought he saw those glossy eyes flash, but she relented and dropped her hand. "Back away." She did, again with hesitation. "Who are you?" She said nothing. His eyes hardened, his pistol rose to point between her eyes. "I will shoot you. I’ve had enough of this, and though I don’t like killing women, I’m willing to make an exception for you."

"Is she the one you took as your woman?" It was not what he was expecting. However, he had no reason to not reply.

"No."

"Truly?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Answer."

"No." The pistol grip turned as hot as the sun, and Aren dropped it. Without thought, his other hand came up. Webs of blue-white lightning arced from his fingertips. The woman blinked before the attack even came. She appeared at his side, his burnt hand weaving the same lightning through the air, but again she blinked.

It went on like this for some time, until it looked like a small storm full of short bursts of lightning was forming atop the hill. Nothing he threw at her came close to hitting her, even when she did not dodge. The lightning just avoided her. Eventually she simply did not reappear, and the stars and moon were once again obscured by clouds. Or the whole to an alternate sky simply went away and did not return.

"I’ll accept your answer for now, Aren Hale," her voice said to him, coming across the wind and wafting through his mind both. "Just as long as you remember that you are mine, Aren Hale, and always will be." And she laughed, not an amused laugh, but one that shook him to his core as it echoed through the air and his mind.

He no longer wanted to walk. He thought of the church and found himself there, outside its charred, wooden doors. He strode passed the orange pumpkins and their glowing, macabre faces sitting on the stone landing, ignoring them. He walked up the middle aisle, along the lines of benches. In the middle of the altar sat the Compass of Order, its blue and green lighting the only illumination. And next to it...

A white fox mask. Her mask.

He rushed to the Compass, grabbed the mask and tossed it into the nearest pillar with all his strength. It cracked down the center, but did not shatter. He didn’t look at it as he moved behind the altar to head up to his room.

Thunder moved from behind the pillar and picked up the mask. He looked at it, then the retreating form of Aren. And he slowly shook his head.

[Duneczan]

Lost Ground
1006 NE

The Camping Trip from Hell

Trudging through forests with packs on their backs was nothing new to either Aren or Thunder. They had done so several times in the past, as both enjoyed the outdoors as much as the indoors. That the forest around them was made up more of fungi of every sort known and unknown to modern science, fungi that was as deadly as it was beautiful, than trees, though there was a scattering of various, disease ridden species, caused them no pause. That the forest could come to life at any moment and eat them right on the spot did not make them rethink their trip.

The two women between them, chatting away as they made their way through the path cut by Aren, protected by Thunder in the rear, and not weighed down by anything more than their own clothing (though the woman Mary did have a staff with her), it was they who brought about thoughts of rebellion. Oh sure, they had said they would carry what the two strong men couldn’t, laughing at their own little joke. And that had been that, the two men coerced into doing all the heavy lifting because of their egos.

Aren was above revenge. Thoughts about stringing Sayla up by her knickers and leaving her to be eaten by some animated toadstool had nothing to do with vengeance. It was justice. Really. The perfect justice, death by mushroom. No court would convict him of wrongdoing. If they did, it was mushrooms for them too. He wondered what Thunder was thinking of. Probably something vengeful. He was the vindictive one, after all. And everyone thought he, Aren, was a madman. Look to the giant lizard to madness, he’d say.

He almost wished for the ducks, squirrels and fish of Montpelier again. Worthy adversaries, they three.

With one last swipe of his machete, Aren hacked through a rather large truffle (Did it just scream? Aren thought, but it must’ve been his imagination), and found the clearing. "Aha! Found it!," he called back, kicking the truffle aside -and ignoring the whimper that did not come from it- and stepping out of the Forest of Fungus. "There’s my truck," he said casually, looking at the beat-up, three wheeled, green jalopy Alters called vehicles. Then his eye twitched. "My truck!"

"How the hell’d your truck get here?" Sayla asked, stepping over the now really-not-weeping truffle and coming to a halt next to him.

"If you were leading us in circles, I’d rather not know," Mary said, stepping over, but jabbing it with her staff by accident, the truffle. She murmured and apology.

"No, this is definitely not where we started from," Aren said, looking at his map. Fortunately it wasn’t upside down, which was a habit of his. "And we definitely weren’t walking in circles." He held up an old, blackened compass held inside an octagonal box and tapped it irritably. "And I’m pretty sure this thing doesn’t point to where my heart wants, because I took that enchantment off it. I think."

Thunder stepped out of the forest as the three of them peered intently at both Aren’s compass and truck. Instead of joining them, however, he sighed and bent to pick up the moaning truffle, placed it back on its stump, and went about healing its wound. Aren snapped the compass shut, glared at the truck, and whirled towards Thunder. His finger would’ve jabbed both when in the chest had they not moved out of the way.

"Thaddeus!"

"Yes?" Thunder asked between healing and keeping the truffle from trying to munch in his black hair.

"Where are we?"

"Right where we should be. How the truck got here is a mystery. No, I did not touch your bloody compass. And yes, there is a Santa Claus."

"I wasn’t going to ask that."

"No, but you were thinking it," Thunder replied. He straightened and deftly thwacked the truffle on its head. It listed to one side, unconscious. Aren scowled at him, and the two women snickered. "Just remember what you once told me about vehicles that move of their own accord."

"Yes, yes. If it says ‘Hello Michael’, look at it sideways but otherwise use it as you please. If it says ‘Good Morning Dave’, run like hell and don’t look back until you’re at least twelve great leagues away and behind the defensive line of a heavily fortified citadel."

"...No, the other thing."

"Oh. Shoot it and put it out of its misery. Got it." Aren turned again, gave the truck a wary look, as if he was expecting it to grow a face and start making comments about gas prices, and proceeded to their planned campsite.

He threw the overstuffed pack to the ground when he got their, plopping himself on the grass next to it a second later. Hands began rummaging through the bag, looking for the smaller packages inside. Thunder dropped his next to Aren and proceeded in staring at the truck. A sour look crossed Aren’s face as he found only one of what he was looking for. He tossed that pack aside and tore into Thunder’s. Mary sat down in front of the first pack and began sifting through it herself.

Aren growled as he, once again, found only one. The growl turned to a glare focused on Thunder towering over him. "Two tents! Why are there only two tents? There’s four of us!"

"You’re the one who packed them," Thunder said mildly.

"And you were supposed to recheck!"

"Boys!" Sayla called, putting herself between them, one hand on Thunder’s chest, the other facing Aren. "We can work this out. It’s simple, really. Thaddeus and Mary can share one tent, for some alone time that young couples need." She brought her hands together, index fingers tapping each other lightly. "And...you know...Aren and I can share one...I don’t take up much room, so..."

Aren gaped up at her. Thunder had a hard time keeping amusement off his human face. Mary continued rummaging through the other pack, almost oblivious to the three. Aren finally gave Thunder a panicked look, and the disguised kodragon chuckled silently before talking.

"I don’t much like tents myself," Thunder said. "I prefer sleeping outdoors, not that I sleep that much anyway. You can share with Mary."

Sayla gave Thunder a look that was almost a glare. "She’s a nice woman and all, and easy to get along with," she said sweetly, if quietly, "but I’m not sure if I’d want to share a tent with her."

"Found it!" Came Mary’s triumphant voice, pulling the large, orange, cloth bag from the pack Aren had been carrying. "A third tent! It was behind a can of sardines." Her other hand came up, holding a silver can far smaller than the rolled up tent. It was Sayla’s turn to gape. Her lower lips and finger trembled as she pointed at the offending tent, and the woman holding it. Aren collapsed back onto the grass in relief. Thunder put a finger to his lips to control his smile. "Now everyone who wants one has one!"

Sayla sputtered, watching her plans wash away. She had removed the other two tents, hoping her scheme would work. Mouth looking more like a fish gasping for breath, it took her a few moments to recover.


It didn’t take them long to set up camp. The tents were up in no time, and the fire at the center of their little camp burn brightly Aren and Thunder went off hiking while the two women stayed behind to talk.

Aren and Thunder came across a cliff overlooking vast expanses of even more fungal forests, more like jungles really. Enormous, natural pillars of stone dotted the land, towering over the forests. The distances between them ranged from so short they almost touched, to far enough away that the tops were hard to see. Grinning, Thunder challenged Aren to a race across them. The oracle looked at the situation and scowled, but nevertheless accepted.

The Kodragon started off with a sprint, hopping from tower to tower with ease. Reverting to his draconian form had that effect. As he tried to catch up with his friend, Aren wondered if he would ever actually revert to his dragon form at any point. Shutting that thought away at the back of his mind, Aren concentrated on the contest. It wasn’t easy, doing this. A Thunder now had a considerable lead.

Aren leapt from the tops of each pillar with everything he could muster, sometimes just barely making it, other times he overdid it and almost missed. He landed on the last one, Thunder already waiting for him on the other side, and didn’t take time to recover. He jumped again. And fell short.

"Aw crap!" He said in a loud, consternated tone. And he fell. Fast.

Thunder took two steps forward, then stepped aside calmly as Aren suddenly floated up, arms crossed and scowling at him. "Finally remembered you can levitate, didn’t you?"

"Oh shut up," Aren muttered, landing next to Thunder and continuing to glower at him. "If I had wings, it’d be easy for me too."

"How about working out more? Exercising your body as much as you do that mouth of yours? You’re not out of shape, but your definitely not the athletic type. Push ups! I recommend push ups!"

Aren canted his head to the side, one brow rising high. "Heke? How would strengthening my arms help my legs? Or do you expect me to jump using handstands?"

"No Mr. Hale, I expect you to fly." Thunder frowned at Aren, though it was an utterly mocking look. He turned in a flurry of cape and divided robes, stalking down the path behind him.

Thunder soon stopped, sitting himself on the edge of the cliff, looking at the sun, low in the sky. Aren plunked down next to him, legs crossed, elbow resting on knee, chin resting on palm.

"So," Aren said, watching a flock of some native bird fly by, and secretly hoping they weren’t hungry, "who is she?"

"Eh?"

"Mary. Or, ‘she who calls herself Mary.’ The name ain’t going to fool anyone my friend. ‘Mary’ is no Altar name, and she looks as much like a native-worlder as...well, anyone native to Lost Ground. She doesn’t look real, either."

"Funny, she feels real."

"That is so very not what I meant, and you know it. When I look at her, I can see right through her. Literally. Her outer look is like a mirage, a ghostly image just barely there. Underneath is a completely different person, solid, real, not an illusion."

"I’m surprised you noticed that. Sayla certainly hasn’t. She won’t like me saying this, but...her name is Kelvena."

"Ah..." Aren said, thinking for a moment. "I take it she’s not one of Aumaan’s friends, given your...friendly relationship with her."

Thunder didn’t answer immediately. He had actually been caught off guard by Aren’s comment. He just didn’t show it, and hid his surprise by picking up a loose rock and tossing it over the edge, like skipping stones across a pond. It did skip through the air before dropping quickly seconds later though. "An...interesting assumption. And a bit of a stretch-"

"Oh don’t go all evasive on me here Thunder. I’m smart enough to put two and two together, even with disjointed memories. Not everything is crystal clear about Montpelier, but I’ll never forget that man. Nor your apparent link to him. And your link to young Nephilim. That’s asking for too much."

Thunder let out a deep sigh. "Oh very well, you’re right. She is no friend of Aumaan’s. And I wouldn’t mention that name around her, either. She hates him more than you do, for other reasons."

"And you like her."

"Well, yes."

"Huh. How does that work out? You know...her human...you...scaley..."

"That," Thunder said, putting a finger to his wyrmic lips, smiling a smile full of teeth, "is a secret."

Aren opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he clamped it shut tightly. Then he reached a hand behind him, using finger and thumb to make a sort of gun shape. The thumb fell, and a needle of energy shot from his fingertip. A yelp and a crash followed.

A large, golden bird, as tall as Thunder, lay dead behind them. "Look! Giant chicken! Tonight, we feast!" Aren said, leaping to his feet and running towards the creature.

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Tsuki no Miyako
The Emperor’s Desk
After the Rman Revolution

“Akutagawa.” The Emperor spoke from his behind his work desk. He didn’t look up as the Count prostrated himself on the ground. The Emperor allowed him to remain in such a position a full minute longer then usual. It was a draconian ceremony heavily imposed by the Emperor when he assumed the throne to make it quite clear to the potentially independent-minded, and those that remembered the old days of the Shogunate, nobles and others who was the absolute ruler. The Count saw quite clearly for an instant the smoke on which his position was built start to be blown away, and beyond that was only a hollow fear.

“We have been informed of events on R’ma that threatened Our star cruisers and Our subjects. Rise, rise,” When he did the Emperor discarded the strict formality by a small, but important degree. “Admiral Goto has been most forthcoming in reporting the depth of their arrogance and gall that allowed them to dare threaten Our flagship….” The Emperor paused and made a decisive pen-scratch on the paper in front of him. “I want a report on why their revolution,” He spoke that word in such a way his depth of contempt for it showed. “Occurred and why their proper government failed to contain it.

I have reviewed your memorial,” The Emperor let it hang in the air for a moment. “As such you will assemble a new department in Our Foreign Ministry: the Department of R’man Affairs. You will also coordinate with Lord Toomi on the matter of finding a suitable and secure place for the very distinguished guest you’ve brought to Our house.” The Emperor deigned to look down on his Foreign Minister, who was sitting in a more relaxed manner before his Sovereign now that he did not have to prostrate himself.

“We are displeased with this Akutagawa, my Count of the first rank. We are displeased that a sovereign-ruler might be deposed in such a manner. We a-r-e displeased that none of our allies have chosen to disavow the rebels. Make note of this! ‘We do not find pleasure in the contempt and dishonor shown to the displaced sovereign of R’ma, who under heaven is Our friend, and therefore shall not permit such injustice to linger on’ and deliver it to our guest personally. We leave it to you to build a strong foundation for Our future policy.

Akutagawa, the treaty with Charris Blackfoot?”

“Complete, Majesty. Every condition was met and no concession was required. I believe that their.. Parliament,” Or did they have a Congress? Akutagawa couldn’t reminder and chided himself for such a lapse. “will have to ratify it but I have no doubt that it will be done.”

The Emperor smiled and then turned his head back to his affairs of state. After a moment the Count bowed his head to the floor. After a moment of that he backed himself out of the room, and the cold ceremony, until it was polite and lawful to stand. Somewhat unsettled by the cold reception and then the usually favor he’d had always been given, the Count hurried away from the center of power to his Ministry building. It was not far from where the Emperor resided but it was his. Another reason for quicker steps was that work was to be done. Plans needed to be developed, and he had to muster the energy to try to find the irresponsible Lord Toomi Kotone.

And after that he had call upon somebody and impose a question.


Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Tsuki no Miyako - the City of the Moon
The New City
Unknown 1006 NE

It was a cold day. The Count did not remember having such a cold day for months. They had been lucky with the weather so far in the new year, once small boon to praise nature for. Whatever propensity the gods had to cause the production of snow they vented out on Sahlin consistently. Already the streets were clogged with snow despite the snow plows and other hastily constructed three year old snow-machines best effort.

They had no snow here in the capital. The capital remained quite without snow for most of the month usually, but it was cold none the less. His palanquin came to a halt and one of his retainers lightly knocked on the door before opening it. The sudden change in climate blasted against his face. The heated air bubble contained in the palanquin would have lit up any infrared sensor a mile away: whoever invented the heated palanquin for winter use was undeservedly a genius.

He had no doubt of this.

The doorman opened up, for he had been given forewarning of the arrival of the Count, and let him pass into the mansion. Rather a old-style castle, and like any castle his servants waited in the gatehouse between the outer and inner war of the place. It was a simply castle-estate now. The wall ontop of the raised stone foundation ringed it and served to keep the creeping expansion of high raised buildings away. Etched into both the wall and the foundation was the elaborate gatehouse, it served as far more of decoration now-a-days then any real use, which was emplaced in front of a small courtyard backed by the gatehouse for guards and servants of guests. On the other end of the gatehouse, and the small court yard, was the inner gates made of the artfully carved large wooden doors. It reached out into the inner grounds. The inner grounds contained the residence houses, stretching around the central tower building, the garden and numerous other hidden things. It was like any other noble estate in a large city.. half a hold-over from the past and half new style of construction that placed art and ease of function over military defense.

It was good to see.

But he wasn’t here to consider the state of the house he called upon. The Count was a moderately wealth man, about average for his position. The some ways he was considered radical. Dangerous to some and most importantly useful to the Emperor since he wasn’t trapped in the old way of thinking that, to their sorrow, consumed the foreign ministry in the first few years of the new era. He headed the Foreign Ministry which implied hard work and plenty of determination to get his own way: but he could not neglect the other vital aspect of any position. He dressed the part. A suit of the finest memory-silk, a wide-rimmed hat provided a eccentric non-traditional appearance, and the grave and stern face required of the Emperor’s Ministers. Little of that had bearing on his task ahead, but for those not the object of the task it mattered enough to maintain it. While Otani simply wore the face of the General he was and the uniform he had earned fighting for the Emperor even as Minister others, like the Count himself, had no traditional authority such as the army to draw upon. To consistently enforce what they had they wore it at all times- even the incompetent Ministers that had come and gone.

His kinswomen wouldn’t be concerned about it, beyond her own understanding of the need for appearances, which would make the semi-formality of the visit easier to impose. He’d seen Nanasato twice seen their joint return to Kozun and the tremendous change that had overcome R’ma.

Giving the slightest impression of a bow to Nanasato’s majordomo as the man personally opened the door to his Lady’s… Office, sitting room? Or her personal room? He didn’t know, having never passed beyond the inner gate before, and couldn’t easily recognize the room with a single glance. He could have. It would have been his right. When her father had killed himself to avoid forfeiting the estate for debt repayment, the Count, along with the rest of the extended clan (those that mattered) had leant her house what help they could justify as gifts, dues, or collective clan wealth. He had taken another step none of them could, or were wiling to do, and became her patron by virtue of securing her Ministry at R’ma delivering both honor to her and him, for R’ma had been the second formal diplomatic contact. It was indulging in the practices which he normally despised but Nanasato was competent: others would not take that into consideration when finding throw-away posts for relatives. And for long years Nanasato had preformed her post without fail and without compliant. Ah, it had been time to bring her home but the way it had happened was regrettable.

Her replacement had never arrived when Admiral Goto has evacuated every Kozunese citizen on R’ma as its civilwar began. That threw a iron rod into his policy. R’ma had been a mostly friendly, and certainly non-threatening, far-off contact which would secure one flank of Kozun’s interests ‘north’ of Sahlin. And when the starlane project had been completed, his greatest achievement sans the Kaztroman connection, R’ma has fallen apart into civil war. Being a starch supporter of the Monarchy and Legal government that the populace of a state would overthrow their legitimate ruler was unthinkable, and could not be recognized. Which was why he had come to this place. He passed into the room, leaving the thoughts of now and then behind, and performed the appropriate bow for Nansato. It gave him time to take in the personal change he immediately caught. Instead of the harshly serious and tightly controlled women in pain from her injuries, delivered by a attempted mass-assassination attempt, he had seen during the meeting with
Charris Blackfoot, Nanasato wore a cheery façade and a colourful dress to match it.

“Greetings My Lord. When your man sent word of your visit we were surprised… But nevertheless it is good to see you today.”

“It is pleasing see you so well, My Lady. Has your return home been agreeable with you? I know you must have missed greatly the sights and spirit of the Capital…” Passing into polite small talk for a few minutes allowed each to gauge the other, and simply enjoy non-serious and non-life changing talk When one had the chance for such it was to be taken without fail, and fully appreciated. But happy things always passed so quickly.

“And so?” She asked so softly, betraying nothing.

“Stalsk is here. In the capital.” She said noting but looked at him with the same eyes of the girl he once knew. His face a distant mask he went on, plunging the dagger in. “Its been a secret for the last few months. We’ve determined to set up an R’man shadow government from the embassy officials, the few associates brought over with her, and other Rmans. So far we’ve ignored the lesser posts for lack of real need of them, leaving us the Four-Minister War Cabinet to complete. This includes the post of,” He paused to think of the correct title. “Senate Tribune for Foreign Affairs. To this we’ve insisted that Edo run it under a nominal R’man Minister via our Department of R’man Affairs. But…”

“… males are out of the question for the post, and otherwise you have no female officials with the right background? Even totally foreign female advisors would compromise the ‘true’ government in its own eyes. I know the condition Stalsk forced.” She laughed at him as she pricked the air out of his rant to convince her. Nanasato wasn’t surprised or even annoyed by what he was suggesting, and she didn’t show anything else. Anyone in the government learned to hold their cards close afterall.

“Do you think Stalsk is insane?” The Count suddenly breaking the mood and getting back at her for preempting a long winded explanation, “Or a monstrous tyrant?”

“Oh, yes. Completely to our standards of ruling for the insanity, but only a mere unsuccessful ruler for the tyrant part. As you well know. To other non-Kozunese regular standards and Rman’s themselves, she is merely a zealot or fanatic for her set of beliefs which ensured she could rule only as an intolerant dictator. Who at least could and would produce decisions compared to the endless bickering of the old mage council I’ve been informed existed before… Their change.” She shrugged not entirely believing what one drunken Senator had once rambled to her about. “Stalsk is not a pure-cut monster, as the rebels will say, not even by the standards of some Shoguns we had in the last two hundred years… They’ve been unfortunate in not having such troubles, as we have had to overcome, in isolation which ensured they would never produce a system that would prevent such rebellions from succeeding.” A strong government had been required to end the infighting, the chaos, and the shear squabbling the old warrior-ruling class produced every time the Shogun was perceived to be weak- which happened far too often. The concept of a minority segment of the population overthrowing the legitimate ruler (as Kozun could only recognize Stalsk as) was inconceivable.

“If your scheme, this is yours isn’t it?” Not waiting for him to lie or tell the truth she moved on. “If it works Stalsk would not find reason to be indebted to foreigners palatable for very long.”

He had read her official stance, and assessment, on the issue and state of R’ma, more then once but hearing the words from her own lips made all the difference in convincing him. He didn’t know this exiled foreign ruler and the psychologists that had developed a profile for her from all available information couldn’t really be exact. They always left doubts. Especially for the essentially old-fashioned and conservative members of the government who barked fears and numerous dangers when any foreign policy change came up. While the Emperor had assembled a hefty score of technocrats to manage some portions of the Imperial State they had not climbed to the top or earned enough trust to make up the bulk of the government leaving, mostly him, a uphill struggle against their concerns. The ‘old guard’ were very much in power, if not direct power but possed a certain respect that made it impossible not to listen to them. Even if the Emperor, or his senior state mangers, didn’t have to do what they wanted listening… could prove to be tedious.

Nanasato reached for the bottle of sake and poured them both a glass, honoring him by her own hand. It meant much to him, even if it did not the Count would be unwilling to insult her by refusing, just as much as it meant to her and so he bowed lower then needed when he accepted it.

“The Emperor is not concerned with it.” But he listened.

“Nichiren you can’t trust her ‘gratitude’ to remain forever afterwards. I know members, or knew if they haven’t been killed by now, that had helped in her raise of power and then were crushed for little obvious reason. Don’t forget that the Empress Lin said ‘A ruler never consents to be the ruled’,” She smirked at him as Kozun hasn’t had a female ruling in her own right for centuries which didn’t stop her from knowing about the few. “Even they don’t rule by their own right.”

“I don’t see any rejections to the concept, through. After reinstalling her, if it happens, I don’t believe the Emperor has the desire to dominate the New Consulate or whatever it will be called,” Somebody had proposed a radical new face for the government-in-exile, but it had been argued successfully by the R’man ambassador to Kozun that doing such made it artificial and stripped it of its legitimacy. “But certainly a closer working relationship would be order. As you say we can’t expect Stalsk, unless she changes, to be a meek compliant client. But one is not needed. I find that some of the other directors of this project are thinking with dreams and… unsuitably lofty goals. We need somebody with more straightforward ideas.” The snag.

“I… Have found myself lacking an occupation to divert my mind in these restful months, My Lord Akutagawa.” A sparkle in her eye and the suggestion it implied was all the answer he was going to get.

[Davion]

Gades
Detention Center Five

"How the fuck did they manage to smuggle that thing!?" A panicked voice crackled over the detention centers security network. The flickering light on the internal communications board indicated that the transmission originated from the fifth sentry station on the centers security wall. The station was really more of an escape deterrent to the unlucky prisoners of the facility then a true strong point, raising threateningly from the metallic wall it its sandbags and wooden supports provided minimal support against even small arms. However it was the southern most observation point and commanded the approaches from the dense jungles rarely visited by the Celestians. The identity of the voice was confirmed a moment later as a muffled thunder clap shook the half dozen officers and support staff in the dim communications center room.

"Witchcraft and black magic!" one of the more junior officers shouted in surprise. His pale features revealed wide watery blue eyes as he stared towards the room’s dozens of close circuit monitors. Half a dozen had vanished in a blizzard of twisting white and black, several more showed a cloud of fire and smoke rising from the southern wall. One screen a single soldier, lucky enough to have been away from the station itself slowly picked himself up from where he had been thrown to the walls surface a dozen meters from the billowing ruins of the obliterated strongpoint. The soldiers facial expressions were impossible to read in the grainy black and white film, but his reaction left no doubt to his instinctive thoughts as he first reached his feet and then his left arm extended to aim his bulky grey assault rifle towards the jungles edge. A single burst escaped the weapon, the rifle flash sparkling like a brilliant idea. Then it was snuffed out a instant later as a dozen high powered rounds burst across the soldiers black uniformed chest and forced him back in a explosion of blood and bone.

As the junior officer and several others who were more experienced stared blankly at the twisting monitors in shock, Inquisitor Geoffrey reacted with mechanical logic as he instantly silenced the dozen shouting voices in his ear. His gloved left hand reached across the silver table of buttons, dials and screens that represented the detention centers only communications with the outside world. He hesitated for only a moment before he activated a single button, then a second later he pressed another. All around him the communication officers were screaming into thier throat mikes as a response to the enemies assault was being organized. The soldiers who stood over those officers normally had already vanished towards the attack, with the exception of two guarding the subterranean bunkers entrance. Geoffrey found it surprising that no call for support had sent, he quickly pressed another button to access the regional communications network, only to hear a violent black of static in his ears. The great transmitter housed directly above the communications control had knocked out, it was terrifying thought.

"Damnit, we have to secure the main extraction complex" he shouted above the room’s almost overwhelming din to his two Acolytes. Inquisitor Geoffrey turned with a single movement, his billowing black cloak and white hair trailing behind him as he raced passed the frantic men around him. As he reached the twisting stairs that led to the centers main compound he turned for a moment, his grey eyes quickly insuring his followers remained but a few feet behind him. The twisted Acolytes gave no indication of thought or feeling as their lifeless eyes connected with their masters. Such human emotions had betrayed them once before, but now slaved to machine and metal they would serve without question and doubt. A slight smile crept across Geoffrey's otherwise grim face, if they could turn the followers of the dark gods to the true faith what could the children of humanity not cleanse? The thought however vanished in an instant as he climbed the stairs and reached the bunkers entrance. The door lay thrown several meters away into the dirt of the main compounds streets, its surface twisted by flame and splattered with blood. The remains of several Celestian soldiers lay scattered about in an abstract sculpture of limbs and entrails, the sight was revolting. The Inquisitor raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun and stepped passed the entrances threshold, the stench of death made his bile rise. He said a silent prayer for the broken men surrounding him, summoned to account for their lifes in a single instant.

The communications center was surrounded by barracks structures, integration centers and a large central headquarters, the buildings were all black and prefabricated and that helped to give the entire detention center a dark oppressive atmosphere. In the distance a few hundred meters away Geoffrey could make out the stretching outline of the centers wall, though his vision was obscured by great columns of smoke expanding into the air all around him. The sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air along side a different and threatening high pitched vibration. But before he could place the sound, a motion caught his eye as color flickered out of the smoke two dozen meters towards the prisoner complex. Before he could turn or raise his weapon, several figures in brightly colored prison uniforms darted between two buildings strewn with rubble and partially obscured with thick black smoke.

"The prisoner compound has already been breached. We are going to have to make it to the main barracks, we can't wait here, and the communications center will be one of their primary targets." Geoffrey spoke to his Acolytes, a habit many of his peers found odd. They questioned the point of speaking towards a creature that could understand only the most basic of commands. Commands like....

"Fire!"

Several more figures suddenly appeared into view in the same alley, this time they didn't make it. Geoffrey fired several quick bursts towards the lead figure and watched with satisfaction as he suddenly collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The rest of the unlucky man's group also vanished in a spray of blood as the grey acolytes turned their high caliber cannons towards the doomed figures and engulfed the area in fire. The weapons were fused to their right arms, while ammunition coiled around the acolyte’s massive bodies like a dozen intertwined serpents before finally vanishing into the folds of their robes. They fired for a moment longer then were necessary, smoke gently drifted from the weapons chambers as they waited in silence for further orders. Inquisitor Geoffrey quickly and efficiently reloaded his rifle, the smoke drifting across his field of vision allowed him to imagine for a moment that he was alone in the world. Or he would have been able to had, had not a sudden explosion consumed a habitat in the distance, and screams of the wounded constantly filled the air.

Geoffrey turned towards the direction of the explosion, repeated the liturgy of war in his mind and started to rush towards the extraction complex praying that he would find Celestian soldiers there, that his experiments and his subjects would be safe. Clinging to whatever cover in the alley's and structures he could find, he rapidly approached the extraction complex. Several times he had managed to glimpse a darting figure in the smoke, some had been prisoners, other dressed in the black of Celestian guards or maybe it was the dark green of the heretic insurgent, regardless they disappeared back into the smoke before he could react. As he approached the sounds of screaming and gunfire remained constant, the high pitched vibrations that seemed to pound in his ears only became stronger though. This attack was no ambush, were a Celestian or two would be killed only to vanish have their enemies vanish back into the jungles. This was a planned, well prepared and judging by the numbers of slain Celestian guards that lay motionless on the hard brown dirt, largely successful. If the insurgences had managed such a level sophistication, no doubt they knew the camps main facility, and the nature of its existence. Geoffrey was simply racing the clock to reach his experiments and subjects before the insurgents did.

As the Inquisitor moved threw the streets it appeared that the attack was not complete, dead bodies lay sprawled in every direction. The majority in the open appeared to be prisoners, while the armed combatants of both sides were largely hidden by the buildings that provided them cover in life and a monument to their death afterwards. Once in a while a fierce battle would be seem to erupt out of the streets or structures that raced past. The detention center was not a large base, but its confusing layout and the slow hidden approach of the Inquisitor seemed to extend his route to the point of several dozen minutes. As he ran he notied that it appeared the enemy was broken up into small groups, assault squads likely dedicated to the securing of key buildings or certain sectors of the camp. No doubt he thought to himself that if the insurgents were well informed they would have sent one group to the communications center, he gave a mental thanks to whatever or whoever had delayed their advance.
The moment of self indulgence almost cost him his life as a dozen pulse rounds cracked around him. One of his giant Acolytes loyally following him grunted and collapsed behind him with a heavy sound. Geoffrey didn't spare a second to look at his fate but threw himself to the ground as more rounds rushed towards him. The second Acolyte remained standing in place, raised his weapon up and started to release a hail of fire arching across the street. A moment later however and he two was struck several times and collapsed to the ground, body convulsing as his blooded rapidly flowed from a great wound across his chest. Geoffrey hung to the ground and slowly pulled himself over the rubble and dirt, using the cover that surrounded him. He was almost at his destination, but the intensity of the fire had assured him the enemy was ahead of him in strong force.

Geoffrey finally reached the shattered walls of the a small building a few dozen meters from the compact black walls of main extraction complex, the building had clearly been hit with some type of high powered round. The second story of the building had collapsed into the first, while the structure itself was perforated with a thousand small holes. A few beams lay crisscrossing the ruins, while the stairs that once lead to the second level remained jutting out the roof like a last defiant fist. The Inquisitor darted from ruins, walls and ditches as he approached, before throwing himself again to the ground at the walls edge. When he reached the far wall, he would have a direct line of sight to the extraction complex, and pulling himself across the ground with his elbows he approached he was careful to not expose himself in the dozens of bullet and shrapnel wounds that riddled the wall. The sounds of battle were dying down around him, a few rifles still crackled directly ahead of him, the odd sound of heavier weapons and of course, the constant screams of the wounded. Still he held out hope that the Celestians had held, or forced their opponents into a pyrrhic victory too costly to press. But as he finally reached the wall and peered towards the smoke filled building and the courtyard directly surrounding it he was too late, and he finally understood the pressing, almost painful vibrations that almost drowned out the other noises of the battlefield.

No more then two dozen meters away, a massive tank remained motionless while it was suspended over several feet off the ground. The tanks appeared to be painted with a twisting mixture of greens and browns. Several black and jagged circles of ruined metal pocketed the tanks amour, but it was clear that the Celestians who had opposed the several ton war machines had simply lacked effective heavy weapons to destroy the monstrosity. The tanks turret twisted back and forth scanning the surrounding buildings and offering proof of both the machines survival and its intent. The single energy cannon mounted on the tank was capable of punching threw anything but the strongest fortifications, and the surrounding building proved the cannons power with their gapping wounds, many still smoking. Surrounding the tank were at least thirty soldiers wearing the insurgents dark green, weapons constantly scanning their surroundings. Another dozen or so appeared to guard the extraction complex's main entrance, though access to the building could easily to attained threw one of a dozen massive rents in the structures first floor alone. The heretics had clearly taken the building, and either destroyed or freed the research and subjects inside. Geoffrey could do nothing but watch and wonder what the insurgents thought of his experiments, the rows of dissection tables, lobotomized bodies suspended from the higher levels and the like. He guessed the fact that he could see no rescued prisoners meant that they could do nothing for their brethren inside, at least he had insured that.

Near the entrance five Celestian guards stood with their hands on their heads, a look of shocked horror on their faces as hey attempted to understand the surprise and shock that had overcome them. Inquisitor Geoffrey was hardly surprised as a single insurgent walked out of the complex's entrance turned from the threshold and appeared to vomit. Moments later he approached the five captured Celestians, raised his rifle and systematically fired a single burst into each of the shocked soldiers. The black uniformed bodies lay haphazardly on the ground as several more soldiered fired into the dead men. In the background the fighting was dying down, replaced only with the screams of the wounded, given the last display he could assume only the insurgent wounded. The detention center was never well guarded and now that the fifth rifles had been reassigned from its security less then a week before it had been an easy target, though the Inquisitor had no clue how they had acquired their heavy weapons and the several tanks that appeared spread out around the extraction complex, let alone managed to deliver them here without being detected though. The attack itself still had to have taken at least several hundred men, the insurgency was hard pressed on Gades, estimated to remain at little more then that in total.

Inquisitor Geoffrey lay still could only watch is complete silence as the insurgences slowly secured the complex and their sentries slowly expanded their perimeter. The smoke surrounding the area was rapidly fading and any movement would give him away. So as the heretics rapidly turned towards the fractured building he sheltered in and started to approach his mind raced with desperate thoughts of escape. His grip tightened on his rifle as his fingers turned white under the pressure of immobility. The men kept moving foreword over the next several minutes, slowly working their way towards his hidden vantage point. In a moment he would have to either surrender or die firing against an overwhelming enemy. Geoffrey watched an enemy soldier stumbled on a piece of rubble mere meters away, so close he could hear him curse over the whine of the closest insurgent tank. He closed his eyes for a second, made his decision and prepared to sell his life dearly.

" Slavti..." he started to shout with his fear tainted voice as he threw himself to his knees, bringing his weapon to focus on the heretic sentry that was approaching his hiding place. The man's face flickered to surprise, but he still raised his weapon towards the Celestian Inquisitor's the black outline, easily identifiable against the grey and blue of the ruins he stood in. Both men fired several bursts, light and matter crossing the space between them in an instant, the ruined wall Geoffrey sheltered behind started to explode into fragments and gases. Geoffrey watched almost surprised at his own deed as red blossomed across his enemies body, time seemed to slow as one, two, three, four small red flowers appeared across the mans chest and he fell to the ground in silence, his weapon still firing bright pulses into the rubble as he clutched the trigger in death. The Inquisitor turned his weapon towards two more insurgents, firing towards him from the second story of another ruined building to his right, they both ducked out of sight. Before he could turn towards the enemies in front of him he heard a massive explosion reached into the air and knock his senses out. Moments later his eyes opened and he found himself lying on the ground, dust and rubble seemed to coat his body, he could hear the distant sound of explosions and gun fire, but somehow he assumed it was closer then what he would have guessed.

Struggling to sit up he realized that the insurant hover tank was rapidly approaching his location, but instead turning its barrel towards the helpless Inquisitor it was rapidly twisting towards the heights behind it. A single pulse raced from the tanks barrel, fired at a thirty degree angle. Though the salvo vanished in the blink of an eye Geoffrey traced its flight... ruins, the buildings, smoke, wait, and just smoke?. The tank was twisting left, then right as it fired unanswered shots and its target appeared to avoid the powerful bursts. Then suddenly one of the rounds connected, metal and fire flared as fragments rained to the ground in trails of smoke. A vast figure suddenly appeared in the smoke as to walked foreword, as tall as the extraction complex itself. The Celestian war machine paused as if to mock the desperate insurgent crew for a moment before thrusting its massive partial cannon at the doomed tank. The insurgent commander sensing his doom, threw open the tanks escape hatches and attempted to flee. The Celestian war machine fired a second later and the hover tank vanished in a blinding flash of white light that engulfed the insurgents. In response to the brutal explosion a single missile suddenly streaked from the broken extraction complex, the Veldan war suit seemed to accept the challenge as it sidestepped the streaking anti-amour missile and activated its beam sword. It turned in a single fluid motion, the fission blade swept though the complex in a single stroke, and the buildings top floors erupted in a massive fireball.

Other Veldan war suits broke threw the smoke and started to advance across the detention center. Another massive explosion detonated to south as a war suit threw itself into the air with a brilliant streak of orange trailing it. The humanoid appeared to remain suspended in motion over the broken ground before it landed on another insurgent hover tank. The chassis was shattered beyond recognition in an instant before the ammunition stores ignited. The harsh sound of heavy partial cannons seemed to burrow in the Inquisitor's mind as he watched a dozen of the deadly monstrosities appear out of the smoke and over the still intact portions of the compounds walls. The sound was too much for Geoffrey, and the darkness started to close around him. But as his vision faded to black, he could see several more massive war machines appear out of the smoke, and he would have sworn he could hear the comforting sound of Celestian voices.


***** Two Weeks Later *****


"You don't understand, I lost everything, my notes, my subjects..." Inquisitor Geoffrey was in a dark room, only a single unadorned light hung over his head to illuminate the room. The Inquisitor himself was in a white gown, in a white bed, talking to a man dressed in black.

"Even now you don't understand do you, this was never about your research" The man coldly replied, his facial expressions were hidden by the darkness, but there could be no doubt he was calculating his next few words. "We have a dozen detention centers, we have hundreds of men attempting to find the genetic trait for magical ability. We had one insurgent problem, it was a fair trade. They took the detention center, we took them."

"I don't understand...." the voice was confused.

The man remained silent for a moment his grey eyes slowly absorbing the injured Inquisitor, pausing for a minute to wonder what type of terrible wound would have claimed so much of his broken body. Something like pity appeared in his eyes, such wounds could heal over time, but he would be more machines then man, a monster in the service of humanity. It would almost be better for the proud man if it ended here.

"Have faith" he finally spoke, his cold words echoing lightly across the room. The visitor turned and without another word vanished threw the room’s single entrance into the white washed halls beyond the room.

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 7
Unknown 1006 NE

The monorail cart hurled them down the shaft. Evenly spaced lights on either side of the shaft soon turned to two single blurring lines of light. Wind and ancient, cool, air rushed past their faces and racked their bodies as they held onto the hand-grips with a fanatical desire to stay alive. Huddling together in the narrow confines of the cart they had no time, no ability, for words. With Tiako’s eyes pressed shut against the pressure Shinobu was left looking at him to avoid staring at the disorienting lights of the passage. The DOME! She wasn’t supposed to have had to penetrate it alone- not without Sozo who actually knew about it]. She had been informed of a few things. Essentially the basic information that Sozo had been forced to impart to her, and the Colonel, to get their compliance in something that otherwise they’d refuse.

Something was afoot. Turning her mind to the thoughts already pondered over helped her get past the sensation of being hurled down a shaft deep into the ancient DOME by machinery neglected and abandoned centuries before her ancestors had come from across the sea against the Itomi Shogunate…
She had already essentially told Tiako everything that she knew about the quest itself and what she thought was the reason of including him. Sozo’s spoken reasoning to Tiako was a lie- if they were really searching for the Shrine they wouldn’t need somebody whose estates just happened to be along the traveled route come with them. They hadn’t needed to make use of the Tomasaborou estate. She didn’t understand it, but the only person who did was some where else or dead.

One fact must be clear. The car continued to buzzed downwards faster then anything should travel, leaving her to mull over the same things over and over again. Sozo had known that the Cultists would catch on quickly about the entire thing. And so they delayed in finding somebody like Tiako to the extent that the Cultists had reached the country-estate first and slaughtered the minor noble house that held the secret into the forgotten valley. And at the same time he must have known they wouldn’t find the passage, else they would have blocked or put men in it, and so went into it despite the cover of the estate being broken.

How far did the rot extend? The theory she had put Sozo engaging on a impossible quest that the cultists, or other groups, were sure to try to complete ahead of them. Then he would trap them and call in the rest of the Metsuke. That conclusion was the only one she could make before the cart shuddered to a stop even if it could easily be wrong. The screech of metal against metal drowned out the roar of the wind and abruptly ended end just as the cart smashed into its stall. Only their grip prevented them from being shaken off, and once they let go and scrambled off the cart they fell to the ground. Behind them the metal pole, which attached the cart to the rail, snapped sending the cart falling off into darkness. The dock, or transfer station, was fairly simple. About a dozen two-person carts lay docked in their stalls for a dozen different ceiling-mounted rails leading off into a dozen different directions. It was a tunnel system, no doubt of that. But a tunnel system that was still perfectly lit and wide. Except for the ‘floor’ as only a black pool lay below for every route defying the electric lighting.

For a moment they were lost from the world around them. Shinobu blinked, letting her mind focus on what was happening at that very moment rather then questioning the quest. The sudden change dulled her, but like always that dullness disappeared as she turned her mind towards something else. Taking in the surroundings, which looked little like an ancient Shinto shrine, and the shear change of pace she rose to her feet. She had her gear and she wasn’t injured- always a good sign.

“Tiako… Get off the ground.”

Pulling himself up off the floor, ragged and hair in a mess from the descent, he answered with a tired voice. “I’m fine, thanks. You?” His capability for sarcasm wasn’t broken.

“Better then I look, but I look good anyhow . . .”

“I’m not arguing.” He pointed ahead. “Look at that…” A single giant door lay ahead, beyond the transfer station booth, partially open. It looked like, as they started to walk towards it, the train car had gone off its rails and wedged itself between the two thick slabs of the door. The car was empty when she jumped ontop of it and looked through the door. Nothing inside the interior of the car but the same, boring, layout every single cable car or subway car had. At least every single one she’d ever been on, which wasn’t terribly much. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” But the tunnel seemed to be clear all the way down to some sign, too far away to read, and a faint light above it. If she remembered correctly how Totomari base was laid out, and assuming the principals of design applied to DOME as it did to Tomomari, this would be a secondary route. Tomomari had a transfer station linking its secondary routes with its primary route, which ended up at the surface of the base and the labs. The shrine would be at the end of a primary line- having seen and known the types of engineers the Imperial Army took a delight in training and armed with the knowledge that those same engineers were reading the same text books written by some long-dead engineer a thousand years back (Her brother, the black sheep of the family, had become a construction engineer) she could be fairly sure she was right.

That’s if the light, or whatever it was, that had guided them here did not return to show them a path. Was that light the thing, or its power source, what they had come to find? It had come once. It surely could come again since they were in the place it... brought them too.

“Take a look at this.”

Climbing down she headed towards the booth where she saw Tiako walking towards. “This computer is running.” He tapped a button and nothing happened. Frowning he produced his datalink and tapped at it. Shinobu immediately lost interest in what he was doing, but having nothing else to do but explore past the train car she stayed. “…Damn! The things encrypted. Its ancient but maybe DeeBo can crack it. We might be able to learn something about this place, or at least when the last monorail cart came ... before us.”

“DeeBo? Are you talking with somebody with your datalink?”

“No, that’s the program that runs the datalink. It comes in handy in the... certain jobs… They were having me do at the Ministry.” Seeing some interest at that, he went on. “Industry, mostly checking up on some projects and harassing plebeian managers where somebody with a Court position could do it best. Nothing that would prelude getting waylaid by a Guards officer, a Priest, and a bunch of silent soldiers who say that we’re off to find a Shrine of a long dead king..” He stopped as if he was listening to something.

A cold fleeting feeling on her neck caused her to twitch until it receded. Was the voice trying to speak to her? She heard nothing, nothing in her own head, until Tiako touched her shoulder again. Then she heard as if the physical link between them had brought the voice to her just as it had before. It seemed, as then, that he heard it first.

“Follow the tracks. Come to me.” It was stronger. Louder and distantly at the edges of her mind it began to chisel at the walls that only let some of it in, and then only enough for it to ‘speak’, without a conscious recognition of it. “Our enemies will not see you… Come!” And they went.

[Fenris Ulfric]

A-Questing We Shall Go...


I don't like this place... Looking to the sky, Brenatt sighed heavily, his warm breath enshrouding his face in a burst of white mist. The storm had long since passed, revealing the beautiful robin's egg blue of the midday sky. Strangely, though, it seemed there was no sun. He was certain it was up there - he could feel its warmth and it cast shadows upon the ground - but whenever he turned to look where it should be, it was always somewhere else, just out of sight. It made the young arctic fox's skin crawl. It took him some time to realize what else was bothering him; there were no aircraft contrails in the distant sky. Ever since the accident, there was no trace of modern civilization. Utanome hadn't really told him where exactly Misty Hollow was, but it definitely wasn't anyplace anywhere near Regency Pass.

Beside him, Nehlira strode carefully along with a pair of snowshoes strapped to her boots and, like himself, a large rucksack lashed to her back. Every few minutes, he'd glance over to see if she was all right, but would immediately avert his gaze if she looked his way - which she often did. He couldn't now. He wasn't sure if he could even look himself in the mirror after what he learned. He'd just finished repeating the exercise when he caught a snowball to the side of his head, causing him to stagger sideways and plant himself in a small snow bank.

He looked up towards the source of the attack, brushing the snow out of his fur. Nehlira was staring daggers at him. "Stop it," she demanded. She wasn't quite the same person he'd met when he first awoke in this strange place. At Utanome's, after their revelation, Brenatt had promised not to force her to do anything else under the guise of the Summoning. The two vixens had taken him at his word. Soon after, Nehlira let show a far more rambunctious side. This was a fine example.

"Stop what?" Brenatt looked back down towards the ground, still fidgeting with the last of the snow embedded in his cheek.

"That," Nehlira replied. "If this is some kind of weird game, I do not care for it. If you have some aversion to the sin of summoning, that is good, but stop showing aversion towards me. It makes me feel... unwelcome."

"Sorry," Brenatt mumbled as he eased himself back to his feet. "I just... I feel bad about all this."

"You should not," she countered. "When I found you, you were unconscious and bleeding to death. I was not forced to help you; I made that choice on my own, with full knowledge of the possible consequence. Yes, there was a risk, but there are far worse tasks that I could have been bound to."

The wind shifted for a moment, causing Brenatt to pause as his nose caught a new scent. Nehlira didn't seem to notice it, or, if she did she, was ignoring it. "Well," he continued, "it still doesn't make it right."

"Of course not, and I would have thought poorly of you if you thought it did," she replied. "We do not tolerate our kin to be bound against their will."

"Then why...?"

"Because Utanome thinks it will be a good lesson for me, and because you do not will it." She smiled impishly at the other fox. "So... Why a kiss?"

Brenatt nearly tripped. "What kiss?" Nehlira arched an eyebrow, and Brenatt's eyes widened in recollection. "Oh! That." His ears flushed and he folded them back to hide his embarrassment. "It was the first thing that came to mind. My mom reads us, err, the kits a bedtime story each night. In some of those fairy tails, the fair maiden is released from an evil spell by a kiss." He smiled wanly at her and scratched nervously at the back of his neck. "Kinda silly, huh?"

She didn't reply to that, instead just regarding him bemusedly. The focus embarrassed the young fox, and he desperately hunted for some distraction. Looking into the sky, he recalled his earlier peeve. "So where the heck is the sun, anyway?"

The vixen snickered and pointed. "Right there."

Brenatt looked where she was pointing, and, sure enough, there it was. The bright golden orb showered the world with its distant warmth. He glared at it for a moment, and then turned his attention back to the path. "Where exactly are we heading, anyway?"

"We are following the path taken by a dark shadow."

"Oh, that makes total sense," Brenatt grouched, rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

"You have no need to be snotty," Nehlira chided him.

"This means a lot to me, Nehlira," he replied. "But I'm lost, here. You're the only thing giving me direction here, so I don't want bizarre riddle-answers."

"Thing?"

"Thing, guide, person, it's just a word." Brenatt was getting exasperated. "In Freedom's name, aren't you listening to what I'm saying?"

Her voice was low as she spoke. "Yes, which is what troubles me."

Brenatt wasn't sure why he was mad, but he snapped anyway. "No you're not. You're grabbing stuff and getting mad for no reason. Look, if you don't want to tell me where we're going, then fine, just say so. I'm not playing this stupid game anymore." With a sweeping gesture, he declared angrily, "Fight over. If you wanna, you can fuss more, but I'm not answerin'."

***

They were silent for a long time after that. It wasn't until they stopped to set up camp for the night that Nehlira broke the looming silence. "I have no way of knowing where your sister may have gone," she said as she began arranging stones in a circle for their fire.

"Then... Where are you taking us?" Brenatt asked, unrolling the cloth of the small pup tent. The motion blew aside the light mist that had begun to gather in the greater chill of the evening.

"We are following the path of the shadow-"

"Again?" Brenatt interrupted. Nehlira glared at him, causing him to flinch back this time. "Sorry. Look, I just... I've no idea what 'following the path of shadow' is supposed to mean. Like I said, if you don't want to tell me..."

"I am telling you," Nehlira growled back. "You're just not listening."

"I am too listening! I'm just not comprehending."

The vixen grimaced and rubbed the base of her snout. "Okay, I will try explaining this again, more slowly."

"And in more detail," Brenatt added.

"Do you want me to tell you or not?" she snapped. Brenatt shrugged and held his hands up in surrender, so she continued. "Some time ago, a darkness passed through these lands. We do not know what it was, since all who went to investigate either failed to find it or failed to return. Whatever it was, though, moved with a purpose, as if it sought something that was eluding it. It was around the same time that the Path closed. Whether we find your sister or not, we need the key, and whatever that thing is, it is our best lead. Considering the timing, where you found your sister’s sled, and the opening to the path, your sister may be connected with the events. The reasoning is weak, but it is the best lead we have."

Brenatt was watching her closely now. "Okay, what's the catch?"

"I am unsure what we shall do if we find it. Also, its trail ends in the western woodlands. That's where the Nightmares are coming from..." she trailed off.

"And...?"

"Considering events, if your sister was involved in this, my hopes for finding her alive are diminished."

"You mean, whatever’s causing the storm monsters might have… gotten my sister?" Brenatt asked, not ready to speak in more final terms. Nehlira nodded and set the last stone in place. "You need some help getting some firewood?"

She shook her head and fished around in her pack, withdrawing a large, slightly scorched pinecone with a triumphant "Ah-hah!" She winked at Brenatt and twitched her tail, cracking it like a whip. The soft brown fur kicked out a small spark that arced over the vixen to land gently upon the pinecone. A soft blue glow grew in its heart and she planted it stalk-down in the middle of the stone circle. Slowly, the light grew until cerulean flames filled the makeshift fire pit.

Brenatt watched with unconcealed amazement. "Nice...trick..."

Nehlira smirked back at him. "You like the enchanted pinecone, hmm? Teacher wasn't too impressed with it. Too utilitarian."

"Did you just light that with your tail?" he exclaimed, oblivious.

She sighed in disappointment and stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, I lit it with Foxfire from my tail.”

Wincing, Brenatt apologized. “Sorry. Yeah, I like the pinecone. It’s just that that’s the first time I’ve seen you do anything… magical.”

She just shook her head at him and went about unpacking the bedrolls, leaving Brenatt alone with his thoughts. He tried to mull things over, but it was too much information to take in at once. The result was a mottled jumble that resolved nothing. The magical pinecone before him wasn’t helping either. He let his gaze drift to Nehlira, and after a few moments the jumble melted into something more warm and fuzzy. The wind gusted, carrying her scent to his nose – his eyes snapped wide open– and the scent of another.

“Nehlira,” he said softly. She didn’t seem to hear him as she struggled with a stubborn knot binding her bedroll. “Nehlira,” he hissed with greater strength.

Her ears perked up and she turned slightly to look at him. “Could you help me with this?” she asked.

“Uh, sure.” Brenatt quickly knelt beside her and began to work the stubborn rope. Now much closer, Brenatt switched back to a low whisper. “Nehlira, did you smell that, right when the wind shifted?”

“The scent of old leather and moldy leaves?” she asked back, voice lower yet than his. Then louder, “No, here, let me try something.” She pushed his hands out of the way and worked on the knot some more.

Brenatt took the hint. “Yeah,” he hissed back. “I’ve been catching it whenever the wind changes direction.” He then growled and proclaimed, “No! You’re pulling it the wrong way.” He poked his claw at the knot. “This one, that way.”

“Stop it,” she growled back, baring her teeth. The sudden snarl caused Brenatt to flinch back. She continued to talk low between growls, “Yeah, he has been following us for some time. I’m surprised you could smell him.”

“Why?” he said a bit to loudly. Then, to cover his slip, “Fine, do it your way!” He sat down and took to sulking, or so it looked. “So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure. If we could catch him, we’d have some options, but we’ll never beat him openly, and we’ve nothing to set a trap with.”

Brenatt smirked. “Oh, I think we might. There were a few back home… Is there a hot spring anywhere around here?”

Nehlira gave him an odd look. “Yes… But what does a hot spring have to do with anything?”

“Trust me,” Brenatt replied, winking at her. “I think I’ve got it figured out.” He gestured towards the errant rope. “May I?”

She watched him warily, “Okay…”

He reached over and gave the sides of the knot a few good tugs with his claws, and it finally came loose. This time Nehlira glared daggers at him for real…

[Lokar]

Thersonian Embassy, Thetis
Late June, 1006

Pathetic… Absolutely pathetic…

Those were the only thoughts that Ambassador-Baron William von Armitage, as he watched the vidscreen. Armitage served as the Reich’s representative to the Thetan Federation and by extension Therson main diplomatic presence on star way that ran from Phoenix Nord to Kozun and the various smaller worlds that lay nearby. It was one of these “side worlds,” Rma, which had drawn the ire of the Thersonian diplomat.

Baron Armitage had no real reason to hate Rma at the moment, in fact, he more reason to be love them or at least look favorable upon the strange man-hating fishwomen since after the Gnoll attack at the Second Rman Conference the Rmans graciously repaired Armitage’s severed arm with such skill that no one would ever know that some beast has bit the arm off. No one save for Armitage, who still suffered from what some would call “phantom pains” that the Thetan doctors assured Armitage were purely psychological. Armitage never forgave the Rmans for their complete lack of security for a conference, but still he was appreciative of their medical technology so when the Rman Senate requested a corps of Thersonian “military contractors” for use in their war on Sahlin he was more than happy to forward the request on to the Reich.

However, after only a few successful holding actions the Rmans chose to abandoned their positions rather than strengthen them and completely remove all forces from Sahlin, retreating back to their homeworld. It was the destruction of the of the Rman’s odd-looking crystal fortress, off the shore of their holdings, that was now being eagerly broadcast by various news services, since the silly antics of the Rman Republic were always good for ratings.

Rma had, once again, become a laughing stock of the community of nations and Therson, thanks to Armitage recommendation that the Reich join on, now shared in the shame. There was also the matter payment promised by Rma that the Reich needed to fuel its continued economic and industrial expansion for its eventual next war against the COMINSTEL states that were now lost. This included the advance fee which the Rman ambassador has made clear to Armitage would not be paid since there was no longer a need for Thersonian “military contractors.” But there was more than just pride and lost treasure that fueled Armitage’s rage, there was almost the matter that Therson and Rma come from two completely different cultures. Therson would have never left Sahlin and spent untold amounts of treasury and blood to maintain their control over Sahlin and take the war to the Slavs but then again the Thersonian psyche cannot tolerate defeat and would never sink to becoming the interplanetary joke that Rma turned into.

A sudden beep broke Armitage from his thoughts. Still seething he reached across his desk and pushed the intercom button.

“What is it?”
“Ambassador Armitage,” began the voice his secretary, “the vice-legate from the Rman Embassy is here. She says there’s some important matter that she wishes to discuss with you.”

“Send her in,” responded Armitage. So, he thought , not only are they cowards on the battlefield but cowards in the diplomatic field as well…

Armitage sat down behind his desk as the Rman vice-legate entered his office and extended her hand in the common universal gesture. Armitage looked at for a second before getting up and shaking her hand.

“I’m sure you already know about the Sahlin…’situation,’” said the vice-legate as she sat down opposite Armitage.

“If you wanted to keep it a secret there are better ways of going about than pulling out and blowing up your own fortress on the way out in full view of the Kozun and a Thetan news crew.”

“I agree. It was a mistake… One of many made by the Water-bourns…”

Armitage raised an eyebrow to hear a representative of a government talk so critical of their own government.

“I have come to inform you that we wish to continue the military contract and for your forces to travel directly to Rma where they will receive further instructions. Half payment will be provided upfront, of course.”

“Rma? Is Rma preparing an invasion of Sahlin? If so it would have been far more economical to have reinforced the garrison and…” Armitage trailed off as he noticed the vice-legate’s eyes shift as he spoke. Armitage then took note that the vice-legate looked different from the several Rmans he encountered before: thinner, paler, and more willowy then other Rmans. Armitage pushed a button on his desk activating the door lock.

“I believe Madam Vice-Legate; you should explain to me why you are here with me and not the Ambassador.”

“What,” began the Vice-Legate, “She indisposed. Sick. Something she ate… You can’t do this to me! Under Thetan law I have diplomatic immunity!”

“Yes, and under Thetan law this office is sovereign territory of the Thersonian Reich. Now I think it would be best if you start answering my questions. Where is the ambassador and why do you want the Thersonian Expedition sent to Rma.”

The Vice-Legate looked around for a few moments, not wishing to make eye-contact with the Thersonian ambassador who continued to fix her with a piercing stare trying to look into her very soul, before breaking down.
“The ambassador is under arrest.”

“Arrest?”

“Yes, we the Space-bourn of the Rman species have watched for too long as our Water-bourn sisters have frittered away their potential… our potential on the mad policies of Stalsk! Finally, finally Stalsk was removed and we had the potential to reach our rightful place and what happens? We shamefully fled from Sahlin before even attempting a relief mission and to make matters worst they LET STALSK REGAIN THE REGINS OF POWER! This madness must end now, and it grieves us all by we must shed the blood of our sisters to do this but we must stop Stalsk.”

Armitage listened as this previously scared and meek diplomat become impassioned as she described what had gone wrong with Rma and how the Water-bourn must be dealt with before they further damaged Rma. Armitage weighted the various options: he had no loyalty to Rma and frankly after he exposed the Rman intentions behind the Second Conference Armitage was inclined to believe that Rma did indeed present a threat to Known Space. However, he did owe the Rmans his arm but it was these spacenoids that treated him after the Gnoll attack…

“You make a strong case for a regime change Madam Vice-Legate. This is a terrible task you ask of both me and the Reich since if your rebellion failed the impact will be felt not only on your world but mine as well. However, this will not happen since your forces will be supported by one of most professional armies in Known Space with a proven record established in two wars.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes, Therson will honor the contract and support the Space-bourn overthrow Stalsk. I recommend that you contact your government but tell no one else… There are other might wish to profit at your expense.”

The Space-bourn Rman rose and shook Armitage’s hand before leaving. Armitage went over the micro-refrigerator and removed a bottle of Thersonian beer before going back to his desk and activating the intercom.

“I want a tight beam ready for the convoy heading towards Sahlin as soon as its in range, there’s been a change in plans…”

And may the gods help us all…

[IXJac]

Faêran

Emerséa Demesne

“You summoned me, Lady?” The Herald asked, bowing low as he entered the hall of the Lady of Emerséa.

The Lady Eversene was seated on her silver throne at the far end of the dining table, now devoid of any tableware – including little serving mice. The Herald smiled, the Lady did not.

“Our game has come to a premature end.” She said. “The mortals have broken the rules and escaped.”

“That saddens me.” The Herald said, honestly. “They were most entertaining.”

“Yes, you took great interest in them.” She said. “From how you were playing our little game, one might almost have thought you wanted to join them.” She said that with a small tinkling laugh that held no humour whatsoever.

“One might.” The Herald said evenly, “But my place is with my Lord, the High King. I have much to tell him, and he often grows bored and short tempered of late, with the long absence of his consort. I am afraid he might become entirely irate were I not to return to regale him with tales of those most glorious parts of his Realm.” He bowed deeply again. “If the Lady will excuse me, now that it seems our game has been ended I must return to his court.”

“Yes, of course.” The Lady of Emerséa said leaning back in her chair and looking down imperiously at him. “I’m sure your King would be most entertained by your stories of the Land of the Silver gates. Go then.”

The Herald backed out of the room and let the doors click closed behind him before he let a frown show on his face. There had been a dangerous subtext behind the Lady’s words. When the High King learned of what dark dealings and mortal meddling the Herald had spied while at her court, Lady Eversene might find herself in a prickly situation indeed, and she clearly suspected him in the collapse of her little game. She would not take such stings quietly he knew, though due to guest right she could not strike him until he had left her lands.

He strode quickly through the white halls and out into the marble garden that surrounded the castle in a deathly quiet ring. “Peloiar! Come!” He called, and his golden steed galloped out of the shadows to rear before him. The Herald swung up onto its back, then galloped through the silver gates and onto the High Road back to the Court of the High King.


****


He took a circuitous path, using the best of his skills of deception and trickery, and so was halfway to Caer Maegarion when they finally caught him at the Crossroads of Amúin. Crossroads always were places of fate – good and bad. The Herald wondered which this one would be.

One rider came from the road ahead, one from the road to his right, and one from the road to his left. They wore nondescript cloaks of unremarkable grey, with no house seals or crests visible, and he knew they were there for him. They were of the fair folk, but their manner was not that of Fae lords, but common riders. Morragan’s rabble he guessed, out to gain favour for their ever troublesome lord. The Herald eased his sword in its scabbard and settled an elbow on the pommel of his saddle, resting his chin on his hand as Peloiar stood quietly.

“As a Herald, it is traditional for me to introduce myself, but unless I wager poorly you gentlemen already have the advantage of me,” He said. “So instead I will ask for your names.”

The three lined up before him. “We aren’t here for names.” One said, and then they charged.

The Herald’s sword was in his hand, and it danced in the air around him. Three swords clattered onto the road, and the three riders fell crashing from their horses soon after, uttering curses and oaths. “No, names would be embarrassing at this point.” The Herald said lightly. With the respect due a Herald of the High King it had been some time since he had occasion to practice his skills, and he was pleased to see they had not waned.

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” Said one of the riders, picking himself up off the road and cradling a broken wrist. “But we’ll see who’s laughing soon.” A healing charm glowed on his wrist as the bones straightened, and he flexed his fingers. He put his hand inside his cloak, then drew it out, flexing his fingers within a black gauntlet.

The Herald’s blood ran cold at the sight of the Warblade. The other two assassins had also drawn similar weapons. The liquid metal of the Warblades flowed through their skin, and black scales and spines erupting to cover the three in a mesh of impenetrable armour.

That someone was willing to send three Warblades against him meant his enemy here was far greater than the Lady of Emerséa alone. He had seen nothing in Emerséa to justify such excess, but perhaps his enemy feared the Herald had seen more than he himself was aware. Whatever – that someone within the Realm was willing to break the Peace and wield three weapons banned by binding oaths was, by itself, something the High King must know.

Yet the Herald knew he would not live to tell his liege. Matchless swordsman though he might be, a Warblade, much less three, was beyond his powers to overcome. Worse, death to the Cold Magic of a Warblade was final, and his spirit would be utterly lost, never to be reborn. Though he had taken precautions – hidden a small part of himself away in the most unlikely of places, though for an entirely different purpose. . . Perhaps it would be enough. Yes, of course - the game with the humans was not quite over yet. Now if he could just get a name. . .

“So,” He said straightening in his saddle and speaking the tones of judgement, his voice ringing out like a damning curse. “You would use Cold Magic against a chartered emissary of the High King? Does Prince Morragan desire war against the Realm? Do you think one such as the Light Pretender will defend you when the High King comes to claim the weregild?”

“Not the Prince, fool.” One of the assassins said, and the Herald heard his vicious grin from within his concealing ebony helm. “She has returned - we serve the Winter Queen!”

And three spears of living metal shot out, and the Herald died.

[IXJac]

Gamma Orionis, Vittrix Xenofront

Tugs pushing massive S-Containers full of stores and armaments flared and puffed as their little chemical rockets shunted them around the vast bulk of the SHIELD warship Justicar - formerly the Kamazuki super-Q-ship Yamato.

Aliza den Paranelion relaxed on the bridge of the warship, impatiently tapping her fingers on the arm of the command couch as she frowned absently at the sickly grey-green orb of Vittrix, slowly rotating below. The death of her brother presented her with an option too tantalizing to resist. Vittrix had proved to be a grand disappointment, but without having to spend decates fighting back out of the breached Eschaton like his siblings, her brother had had the time to build his puppets into an empire that had no parallel. That empire now was waiting - leaderless - for her to step in and take the reins. She would take this wonderfully fast Kamazuki ship, an army of her most loyal minions, and arrive before any of her kin could act on similar impulses, leaving the Xenofront to its pathetic mediocrity.

A call from the surface interrupted her fantasies. “Madame Executive.” The SHIELD officer said. “It's the President on text. Shall I put it through to your console?”

“What does he want?” Aliza asked testily. She considered just brushing Styris off.

“The message header just reads national security.” The officer said. “It's all high level personal encryption.”

Had it been a voice call Aliza would have just ignored it, but an encrypted chat was unusual enough that she accepted with a curt nod, inputting her authentication codes as a small screen unfolded from her chair arm. Privacy fields activated in a ring around her, turning light and sound away as the screen lit with curt glowing words.

Aliza. A matter of grave national security has been brought to my attention. Come immediately to my manor.

The President

Aliza frowned for a moment wondering what had gotten into him. A thought came to her, drawn from the unusually curt text; Could he know the truth. . .? Well, she would go to make sure. Whatever he thought he knew, Styris was no threat to her, but he could become. . . Inconvenient.

She sent a short acknowledgement, then closed the message and, still behind the privacy field, called up a new line to Césare.

This one was standard vid phone, with the Sergeant-Major's head appearing on her screen encased in the helmet of a spacesuit. He was clamped to the belly of the Justicar with magnetic boots, supervising the loading of the most sensitive cargo. Reflected in the tinted glass of his helmet she could see the tugs pushing a large container emblazoned with warning symbols into the open bays of the superfreighter. A crate containing a technomagical device that even Aliza could appreciate.

It was the so-called “Black Globe”, a single-use generator of an impenetrable defensive field that functioned by pulling the area within the globe’s effect out of normal space time so the outside world could not touch it. Vittrix scientists had taken the device off the Justicar in a futile attempt to learn its secrets, but Aliza had made sure to have Césare recover it before they departed.

“Césare, I've been called away briefly. Keep the ship secure.”

“Gotcha darling,” Césare said. “Almost done here. Once it's all secure I'll come up to the bridge and keep an eye on things.”

Césare was coarse and irreverent, but so long has he was allowed to indulge in his sadistic vices he was happy enough, and loyal. Perhaps as a result of her patronage, the man was altogether too familiar now. She had also forgotten that as a “Non-commissioned officer” how low he fell in these people's rank hierarchy; her favouritism for him was seen as a slight by many senior officers, such as the nominal captain of the Justicar.

Too bad for him she trusted Césare's crudely straight-forward nature over the captain's conniving calculations. Until Aliza returned Césare could mind the ship for her.

****

She stepped off the VTOL shuttle at the palace landing grounds, as an honour guard in full battle dress snapped to attention with a rattle of black gloved hands on heavy assault rifles. A strong wind was blowing, bringing an acrid throat-scorching smell from south. Aliza's long grey coat whipped and tugged as she descended the shuttle's stairs.

“Welcome Madame Executive.” A helmeted officer of Styris personal guard saluted her, his face hidden and voice distant and tinny behind the black goggled snout of a gas mask. “The President is waiting for you in the atrium.” She brushed past him, paying him no mind as he fell in a half-dozen paces behind her.

More guards at the wide marble steps snapped to attention as she entered the atrium, a wide enclosed hall with twin staircases rising along the back wall up to the second, third and fourth floors of the manor beyond. Styris stood on the third floor balcony dressed in his military regalia and flanked by a platoon of fully combat-ready soldiers.

Aliza looked them all over, then sneered up at Styris. “So what's this about?”

“That's what we will soon find out,” The President of the Vittrix Xenofront said curtly, and pressed a button on the back of his wristwatch.

The floor under Aliza shivered as hidden machinery below rumbled to life. Glowing arcs of energy spiralled up from between the frescoed tiles, like lazy ghosts at first but quickly gaining speed and energy. Aliza stood at the centre of the rainbow storm, legs braced wide and arms defiantly on her hips. Then as the arcs flashed past her tugging at her clothes her outer aspect began to tear away like stripped paint. A strip of skin from her hand here, and a patch of red from her hair there, until the entire illusion ripped to shreds revealing a pale skinned and silver haired woman with furious azure eyes. The whirling lines of energy receded, leaving her clearly visible to all.

The President let out a hiss of breath. “Who are you? What happened to Aliza.”

The silver haired woman glared up at Styris. “I have no intention of explaining myself to you.” She sneered.

“Then you'll explain yourself to the interrogators.” Styris said coldly. “I will know what you've done with my wife. For your sake she had better be alive.” Two soldiers raised their guns, and two pairs of electrified silver darts trailing copper wires shot out towards the woman.

They bounced off an invisible shield and fell twining to the floor. There was a rumbling, grinding sound from far below, as if a great machine were tearing itself apart. “Meryllium generator?” The woman said. “Guns? Bullets? Do you think me a common mage. A two-penny human hedge witch?” Her voice grew louder and full of fury. “I'll show you what you're dealing with!”

Her hair and coat billowed behind her, a blinding silver nimbus encompassing her as the Xenofront soldiers recoiled backwards, covering their faceplates as polarized optics seared out. “No! Aliza-!” Styris yelled, and then a thunderclap removed the palace and all around it from existence.

Sybil floated in the air over the crater that had been the palace. She had thought off making Styris’ death longer, but the fool wasn’t worth that, and she was in a hurry. She let Aliza’s features reconstruct themselves, pushing down the brief feeling of vertigo that always accompanied the assuming of her host's form.

Aliza again (but not for much longer, she swore) she looked around for her shuttle, then remembered she’d just disintegrated it, along with everything else for a quarter mile. With an annoyed *tsk* she teleported back to the bridge.

There were startled shouts from the bridge crew as she appeared, but she ignored them. Let them think it was some new function of the Kamazuki ship. “Captain, ready the ship for departure.”

The Captain swallowed noticeably. “We can't ma'am.” He indicated the main tactical screens. Around the Justicar was arrayed a squadron of four Xenofront super battleships, liberally interspersed with flotillas of battlecruisers and destroyers.

A video link snapped open. “SHIELD warship Justicar, you are ordered to stand down and prepare for boarding. If you do not comply we will fire upon you.” It was Général Alphonse de Tassigny, and he said that last with great relish.

That traitor. Aliza thought. I should have killed him and all Duvalier’s little cabal.

“Power the link drive.” Aliza said.

“But they'll detect it!” The Captain said. “The shield can’t hold against-”

She disintegrated him and turned to the XO. “Power the link drive.”

The woman gulped, and then shoved a stunned junior officer aside, frantically punching at the controls. The ship began to rumble as its huge dimensional engines began to spin up. They would take at least 30 seconds to reach the desired power level.

The surrounding battleships clearly had no intention of waiting that long. There were no further warnings. In thunderous waves that temporarily hid the ships behind them, they began launching missiles.

“Césare.” Aliza said, forgoing her chair and tapping into the vid phone net with her magic. “Activate the black globe.”

“Right away, darling.” The Sergeant-Major responded, and she realized he was still outside the ship, on the outer hull.

“Césare, what the hell are you still doing out there?”

“Hey, so long as I’m on the right side I’m fine. Nothing gets in or out of a Black Globe right?” He smirked. Behind him a thousand points of light from the incoming missiles twinkled steadily brighter. “So this gives me the best view in the house.”

She couldn’t care less for his thrill seeking at the moment. “Then fucking activate it!” The missiles were of minimal threat to her – she could always just teleport away, or sidestep into the astral realm - but it would be a great annoyance to have her carefully prepared ship – her mobile base of power – destroyed.

“As you command.” Césare said, tapped a panel on his bulky gauntlet, then he looked straight into the vid pickup at her. “And when you get to hell, tell them Césare fucked you. Hard, bitch.” With an evil grin he flexed his legs, and with a flash of his MMU shot up and away into space.

“Césare! Are you crazy?” But the globe activated surrounding the Yamato in a sphere of impenetrable darkness and Césare was already on the other side. For him time would continue to run as normal, but now within the Kamazuki sphere she could already feel the colour leeching out of the universe as the stasis field began to take hold.

There was a commotion on the bridge, “What. . . now. . .?” She drawled in an elongated snarl. The globe would last for over an hour in the “real” world, but during that time no more than sixty seconds would pass within the ship – more than enough time to power the drive up and escape. So why were the fools panicking?

“Thhee rreeaaccttoorr!” The XO’s high pitched terror was reduced several octaves. “Hhee’ss lliinnkkeedd iitt ttoo tthhee gglloobbee ssoommeehhooww! Iiittt’sss gggoooiiinnnggg cccrrriiitttiiicccaaalllllllll!”

And then Sybil realized Césare’s betrayal. She released her hold on the helpless form of Aliza den Paranelion and hurled herself outwards away from the ship. The darkness of the black globe swallowed the glowing form of her soul, dousing it then throwing it back. She howled and tried again, slower this time, and then again and again, slower every time as the stasis field dragged her down, and the reactor continued its infinitesimal but inevitable build up to its pocket Armageddon. She clawed for outside space, astral space, even various hell dimensions. She had to escape! She had to escape! This would not just be banishment back to the Eschaton, but true death!

But it was just as Césare had said – nothing escapes a Black Globe.

The reactor exploded with a good forty seconds – or forty minutes, depending on your perspective - left in the globe’s stasis cycle left to run. By the time the jet black sphere flicked off, the trapped antimatter fires had run their course and there was nothing at all left of the great warship or Aliza den Paranelion, or the being called Sybil save a brief burst of hard radiation. . .

. . . By then the purge of SHIELD and the Xenofront government and the bloody birth of the Second Republic was already well underway.

[IXJac]

Altermanga Hime - The Story Begins, part one

Vector, Lost Ground

Nekomi Campus

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” The fox girl said worriedly, trying to hide in the shadows. “In fact, I know we shouldn’t.”

“Shhhh, Temma!” Melana hissed in a loud stage whisper as she swing the windows open. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” The little girl swung out onto the sill, paused for a moment, then dropped into the tangle of red wirethorn brushes outside. “Ouch!”

Temma bit her lip, then climbed after her partner, making sure to catch neither her maroon nightgown, nor her bushy tail on the prickly bushes.

Melana yelped as she pulled herself free, yanking her long black hair from snagging coils with a wince. She scowled at her numerous scratches, then healed them with a thought. “We’re not supposed to use that kind of magic without-” Temma began, then stopped at Melana’s look.

“For a Kitsune you’re not very mischievous.” The younger girl said with aspersion.

“I’m not a Kitsune.” Temma said with a wary glance around for anyone who might have heard Melana’s thrashing. “And I don’t want to get kicked out is all. Middelschool students aren’t supposed to wander the grounds after dark.”

“They’ll never know if they don’t catch us.” Melana said, then grabbed Temma’s paw and set off across the darkened courtyard to the great stacks of empty buildings that surrounded the outer walls of the Nekomi Campus.

Temma followed without further protest. Though Melana was maybe ten, and at least five years younger than the vixen, it was clear who was the leader. Melana had arrived at the school earlier that semester. Rumour had it she was the orphan of some allied Ikarian Prince who had been killed in the League/Triad war, and was now being sponsored by the Alter state. A precocious prodigy, she had been moved into Temma’s year, though it was clear she found even that level of study beneath her. Despite her recent arrival the vixen doubted Melana would have any trouble at all passing the quickly approaching State Examinations, which were known to be brutally hard and which many of the exchange students were dreading.

This had served to alienate many of the other students, but Temma was used to feeling like an outsider among all these humans, and had gravitated to the young Melana. Plus, Melana’s tragic history appealed to her inner romantic. Still, she wished the little girl wouldn’t feel compelled to drag her along on every wild excursion she came up with. And that she didn’t feel compelled to follow and try to keep the wild little cub out of danger. Honestly, Melana was worse than her kid brother!

As they approached the outer campus fence – a weighty ten foot tall thing of brass, copper and red stone, adorned with somewhat tasteless gargoyles at regular intervals – Temma’s fox ears pricked up, and she grabbed Melana, pushing the two of them into the shadows beside a copper walled outbuilding. The school’s Coral Golem stumped past, continuing its patrol route around the perimeter, it’s horrific visage glaring to the left and right, sweeping the grounds for intruders. The students called him “Squeaky.”

Melana looked at Temma and her grin flashed white in the faint moonlight, and Temma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Quickly now.” Melana whispered, and they dashed up to the fence, Temma boosting her friend over, then scampering up herself.

The lights and sounds of the bustling Natakomi market area immediately assailed them. Store lights glittered and flashed, advertising everything from spicy ramen to exotic clothing, even to foreign electronics.

“Come on, come on.” Melana said, pulling her nightgown over her head and revealing the oversized pants and shirt of the Alter street clothes she was wearing underneath. She wadded the nightgown into an ever smaller ball until it vanished into her palm with a *pop*. “Let’s have some fun.”

“I hope you didn’t drag me out to the market just to window shop.” Temma grumbled, pulling off her own nightgown to reveal a short brown dress, and then casting a simple glamour over herself. Her red fur rippled and turned to ruddy flesh, until at a passing glance she looked like a young human with a largish nose and a mop of wild red hair on her head. Her tail flicked up under the skirt, coiling out of sight. There was only one Freewindian at Nekomi after all, and it wouldn’t do to have the wrong shopkeeper mention her presence to one of the teachers.

“You’ll see.” Melana said conspiratorially.

They moved through the lights of the market, as Temma followed in Melana’s wake, the little girl peering at store after store as if she was searching for something.

“So what are we looking for?” Temma asked as they trotted past a kebob stand, the sweet and spicy scents catching her nose and making her mouth water.

“A Duriash.” Melana said. “Maybe a Dar-Ghaba - but probably a Duriash! I thought I heard it during the Heaven’s Point exercises today, you know how they react to even nascent space folds so long as you hit the right planar note – and you’re on a viable fissure on the right vector, obviously, but of course we know that there’s one here, otherwise Father would never have been able to make it to Lost Ground . . . The Alters have all sorts of stuff lying around, but I haven’t seen one of those since. . .” She stopped and bit her lip, but Temma hadn’t understood anything but the verbs anyway.

Melana led them to a stand of knickknacks and bobbins in the shadow of a slightly leaning factory structure, lit by a flickering red sign with far too many light tube burnt out to still be legible. They were on the edge of the market now, and beyond the city quickly shaded into darkened slums and industrial sectors, many of the buildings here being abandoned stone shanties built on the magitech metal of the city’s original levels.

“Looking for something, little miss?” The stand’s proprietor asked, an old man with a face scared by past ravages of fungal pox, one watery grey eye fixed on Melana while a patch made out of tolbin shell covered the other.

Melana stood up on tiptoes, peering over the rows of shiny glass and polished metal fashioned into crude ornaments. Her eyes alighted on an asymmetric crystal which looked like it had spent too long in a fire, and then been inexpertly beaten into a clasp of folded tin to make a clumsy broach. “That one!” She demanded.

“Five Rumi.” The old merchant said, clearly smelling a mark.

“Pay the man, Temma.” Melana said imperiously.

Temma sighed, then fished in her pockets and deposited a coin in the man’s gnarled hand. “Wait, maybe three Rumi?” She said, belatedly – barter just wasn’t a Freewind thing – but the man just grinned toothlessly at her and the coin vanished. The vixen sighed again. Her scholarship’s expense account was negligible – if this happened any more often she’d have to start suggesting Melana take Kym with her on these little excursions.

“Look at this!” Melana said excitedly to Temma, clutching her find. “It is a Duriash. Even if it does look like it might be broken.”

Temma squatted and peered at the scorched gem in Melana’s hands. “Well, um, assuming it’s not just a burnt crystal, it looks like it might be some sort of magical anchor. Is that what your – Durash? – is?”

“Sort of.” Melana said. “Aunty Ri said we used to use these to communicate across big distances.”

“We?” Temma said. “Like, to the next city?”

“Of course not. That’s not big.” Melana said haughtily. “To the next universe.” And Temma had to smile, the glamour distorting the expression in ways a natural human face would be pressed to match.

The little girl glared at her. “You don’t know anything. Here. Watch.” She closed her eyes and held the stone out in her open palms. The stallkeeper was also watching them with amusement. “Kor tel’ash. Nartala dam Melana y’o dam Qaderis.” She said, in a string of strange syllables. They didn’t sound much like Greek to Temma.

Nothing happened. Melana opened one eye. “Well, I said it might be broken.”

The stallkeeper snorted, as if to say, “You think I’d have a real magical artefact?”

“Come on.” Temma said, glancing at her watch. “If we’re gone too long they’ll notice.”

“Mmm.” Melana agreed with a nod, and the two girls set off back for the campus.


Behind them the stall keeper chuckled to himself as the two girls departed down the winding street, then went about fussily rearranging his wares. The red neon light overhead flickered and buzzed. He looked up for a moment. It flickered again, flared, and then went out. There was a low basso hum in the air that shook the old man’s bones, and he grasping the edges of his counter for balance. Then his eye rolled up into his forehead, and his head snapped backwards to follow. A soundless blast billowed his filthy clothing and overturned the cart, sending trinkets flying. In an instant it became a blinding but still silent storm of pale light, and just as quickly it was gone, and where the old merchant had been towered an armoured warrior of ghostly white, his armour scarred with the marks of a hundred battles, and his long beard braided with the knots of a hundred victories.

He drew a huge axe of razor edged ambrium suspended in crackling air, and his eyes blazed holy fire. His unearthly voice rumbled: “Let the wrath of the Einherjar fall upon those who would breach sacred Valgrind!”

[IXJac]

Altermanga Hime - The Story Begins, part two

Vector, Lost Ground


The girls were trotting through an empty street, using a back way to return to the campus with as little notice as possible, when Temma’s ears pricked up. “Melana-” she began, then gasped and grabbed the girl, throwing them both sideways as a huge axe whistled through the air where they had been seconds before to demolish the face of a house across the road in a roar of collapsing stone.

The two girls coughed and choked as the dust roiled outwards. Sparks flashed between the clouds in an artificial storm, and a huge armoured figure strode through the smoke towards them.

Melana’s brows lowered with a rage and confidence wholly outsized for a ten year old, and raised her hands to cast. Temma grabbed her friend and threw her backwards and out of the way as the advancing figure swung his axe, the blade whipping out far ahead of him and almost cutting Melana in half. Whoever, whatever, this was he knew how to fight a mage. “Run Melana!” She pushed the little girl aside hard. Another building behind them shuddered from the Axe head’s passing, a thin cut crumbling through the wall as the second floor began to slide sideways before crashing down between them and their attacker.

Temma used the instant to summon up a “pixie”, a mindless etheric automa bound up by her thoughts. She fashioned the little dragonfly-thing with something sharp and sent it back through the rising smoke. The white clad warrior smashed through the falling debris and swatted her creation aside with a negligent swipe of a massive armoured fist, the backlash of the dispellation sweeping over Temma and also wiping out her human disguise. His helmed head swung to glare at the fox girl and for the first time he spoke in a basso rumble – “Kitsune! In service of the Old Ones? What betrayal is this!”

He advanced on Temma as she gulped and backed up hastily. Unmolested for the moment, Melana did not waste any time. “Elmekia Lance!” A bolt of astral energy slammed into the warrior, runes on his armour clowed bright, and there was a colossal explosion, sending him flying backwards to crash into yet another building, destroying it as well in a rumbling implosion.

A pillar of lighting erupted in a fountain of exploding masonry, shooting up towards the dark sky before bouncing off the low clouds and then arcing back down towards them. Temma’s eyes went wide with horror – foxlike reflexes or no, there was no way she was dodging that!

A shield flared around Melana and quickly encompassed the fox girl in its dome. Lighting crashed down and then split into a score of wildly snapping streams as it impacted the dome, arcing away, blowing the remaining buildings to bits, ricocheting over the metal Alter structures underneath. “Unnngg!” Melana gasped, but her shield held.

The rubble was thrown aside, and the warrior rose, at least five times larger than before, and still growing, his armour expanding in ever growing layers of runic force until it hid all but his furious eyes.

“Ooops.” Melana said. “I guess he gains power from attacks like that.” She bit her lip as if considering what spell to use next.

There was a whine of sildron boosters and a streak of electric-blue across the sky and an Alter mobile armour swooped over their heads, slamming into the rising warrior and impaling it with two spears from its huge crima claws. The Warrior bashed the Sapphire Armour back with its axe, and the blue machine did a half somersault over the roofs of the buildings, before folding its limbs in, and zooming upwards in a blast of downward force that knocked Melana and Temma to the ground. Another Sapphire swooped in from behind the warrior, diving as a sleek teardrop, then transforming in the second before it hit and four lances of crima speared clean through, bursting through his breached breastplate. The network of protective runes shattered like falling snowflakes.

“Estartis ma’d eresh! Akh hoft!” Melana shouted, making a throwing motion towards the huge warrior from where she lay sprawled on the ground. The warrior glowed with internal fire, light beginning to break through the chinks and holes in his armour. The Sapphire Armour leapt back like a wary fly, and then the warrior detonated outwards in a soundless blast, as Temma yelped and curled her head into a ball.


****


“What in golden fire was that!?” Katsuro gasped, slamming a fist against the wildly twitching dials of his armour as the energy wave dissipated past his hastily activated energy shield.

“A Samothracian Ancient Hero perhaps?” Hideki Holland said bringing his armour down smoothly to hover beside his wingman, his face and voice floating in Katsuro’s mind, transmitted two-way by a mental link beamed through the chips of blue mindex stone fixed to each pilot’s left temple.

There had been many battles between Alter Weapons and Armours and Samothracian summoned warrior spirits during the war between the Polemic League and the Alpha Triad, but Katsuro shook his head. “No, it felt different somehow.”

He frowned as the static on his screens finally cleared, the polished metal resuming its flawless depiction of the world beyond the Sapphire Armour’s hardened shell. Beneath his hovering armour and empty street strewn with fans of rubble greeted him. “Holland, you see those two girls? A small dark haired one, and another like a. . . fox.”

“Foxy girls?” Holland affected a lecherous leer. Then he shrugged. “Um, no, I was too busy paying attention to this great big monster that was flattening the city.” He affected a mock sterneess. “Instead of ogling the local shopgirls and then swooping in late to vultch my kill.”

“I don’t think I did kill it.” Katsuro said. “A spirit like that you have to hit the heart. I’m sure there was a girl down there who banished it.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Hideki said. “Don’t tell the squadron leader that or she’ll never award you the kill – and I don’t think they’ll give me points for an assist of an assist. C’mon, that high speed scramble all the way from Tempus Sancta used up a lot of fuel – we’d best head back to base or we’ll be walking home. ANBU can handle it from here.”


****


Standing unhidden but unseen atop a nearby factory stack, Cuselis watched the two Sapphire Armours swing their pointed limbs back into flight mode and then accelerate away low over the rooftops of Vector. Their reaction time from Tempus Sancta, the armour training and operations base located on the north side of Vector, had been good considering the distances involved. But the initial reaction to the incursion should have come from the much nearer Illumis Sancta. He would need to quietly check on that unit – and if it was not up to professional standards that would be confirmed, and then rectified.

“Cuselis.” Rhianoor’s voice whispered in his head. “I’m hearing word that there’s been an attack in the capital. Some sort of rogue Summon near Nekomi?”

“Yes.” Cuselis said, a squad of ANBU police on horseclaws were now riding onto the street, some dismounting to cordon off the area as others shouted orders from beastback. Soon the area would be swarming with them, and the first Shie agents would be arriving to sweep the area. “An Einherjar. It seems you were correct. Somewhere in this area is the old dimensional exit that Seretor used. This area is dangerous.”

Rhianoor did not miss the disapproval in his voice. “Please don’t lecture me about placing Melana’s life at risk again. You know the Spiris encoding will only react to her, and her alone.” His disapproval did not abate, and the Atlantean Archmage grew snappy. “And, hey, while we’re at it, some bodyguard - you didn’t see fit to intervene to save our little princess I’ll note.”

“My intervention wasn’t required.” Cuselis said. “But while we may have confirmed that the fissure to Valhalla does still exist, we have also learned that it is guarded. And now the guardians know that we are looking. There will be more.”

[General G]

Carthinia Province
Belmar


“Yes, it’s some sort of unscheduled orbital defense drill” said the shuttle pilot, his voice coming into the passenger compartment over the intercom. “Control is diverting all non-military flights down from the orbitals into the capital, including us. This is the third time in a month and I’m afraid there’s nothing at all I can do about it, we’ll have to wait it out in the capital.”

After the long years spent in the sidelines of Archangel and Franco Domini, the minor inconvenience of a bit more time before reaching home seemed of little consequence to Countess Eisi Breu as she watched the shuttle begin to turn east through the cabin window. She was alone, the shuttle had been quickly contracted in one of the orbital ports to take her quietly back to her own estates north of Aldan. But this diversion might allow something that she would have done anyway to come sooner. “I do have some business in the capital to attend to, if you could have a car waiting when we land?”

“Certainly, I can call ahead and have a driver ready. We should be able to continue on to Perast when they sound an all-clear in a few hours.”

“Thank you” replied Breu, as the pilot cut the channel. Through the window it could be seen that the shuttle had finished its turn and was speeding along over the dark blue of the southern seas east toward Aldan, the capital city of the Belmarian Empire. It had been just three years since Breu had departed from her homeworld, but it seemed like a lifetime. The world that the Countess returned to was not the one that she had departed.

The Empire had crumbled from power nearly half a century ago, gone were the days when it ruled over the whole of the ancient Tyrol system. The peace and prosperity it had maintained for hundreds of years had vanished in the self-destructive apocalyptic conflict of the Deldan Rebellion, a war that had wrecked the planet and outright annihilated most of its outposts in the far system. For decades the remnants of the Empire had simply wasted away under the rule of ailing and broken Badenburg King Fredrick IV.

It was from that dying nation that Breu had departed, the disastrous mission carried out to show support for the Crusade and learn about the newly accessible worlds of near space was an entire story in itself. But while she had been gone, Frederick’s Court had embarked on its last and greatest failures. An ill-advised invasion of a neighboring world had ended in retreat, and a bid to join in the conflict against the relics of the hated Soviet Star Union had cost the Empire’s fleet dearly. A few short months later Fredrick was dead without an heir, and chaos had followed.

Breu had never met the Duke William Badenburg, though she had heard of him. The last quiet survivor of a minor branch of the Royal House, last of a line as lost as that of Fredrick. How exactly he had managed to maneuver himself into power was certainly still a mystery to Breu, but he had. King William III had inherited a nation in disarray and with its old Deldan enemies on the boarder. He had defeated them in a manner that Fredrick could never have managed, and now the worthies of Deldan apparently swore allegiance to the Royal House Badenburg once more.

It was all very hard to believe that all of this had happened so quickly, or that things were still happening now. To say nothing of trying to find out details about what was really going on from abroad, Breu suspected that William’s agents had a fairly solid grasp on the communications of the Founding Houses. She doubted that her own Breu family, old allies of Fredrick, were likely to be held in high regard by the new order.

The shuttle was approaching the coast and beginning to swing north toward the private starport that it was preparing to land at. As it turned the city itself came into proper view from the cabin window. Aldan was an attempt to recreate the vast and legendary cities of lost Tyrol in the new frontier of the southern continent, a long and unending web of linked towering skyscrapers inland and smaller structures and complexes descending from the upper city toward the coastline. Here and there a few even vaster structures rose above the main line of buildings, these grand buildings were the palaces of the greater nobility and the headquarters for the Empire’s government.

Aldan had never been properly finished before the war and great sections of it remained unoccupied, but even then it was the largest city left on Belmar and housed as many people as some nations. Breu noted the cluster of dark gray warships floating above the skyline, no doubt part of the military drill. The army wouldn’t have dared to divert the ships of the nobility before, but things had changed. It would soon be time to find out how much. The shuttle made its final decent, flying over the port district of the coast and coming into land inside the cave-like entrance of a private spaceport within the labyrinth of the middle city.

The pilot ducked into the passenger cabin a few moments later. “The car you requested is ready out on the field, and I’m to keep this ship ready for when control lifts the ban and you wish to depart. I will send word the moment we are able to leave, of course.”

Breu nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you, it may be a few hours before I return anyway.” The pilot had already opened up the steps down to the landing bay, and Breu walked down and out of the shuttle. The spaceport was the sort of private point of departure used by the minor nobility and those with the money to have a shuttle but not their own hanger, it was mostly devoid of activity at the moment. Word of the flight grounding had gotten around quickly.

Waiting a short distance away from the orbital shuttle was the car that Breu’s hired pilot had called up, the usual black luxury model. “Countess Breu?” asked the driver, as Breu approached.

“I need to visit a residence a few sectors over from here, I believe. The Baron Steinhauer’s current home” replied Breu.

“Certainly, m’lady” said the driver, opening the door for the Countess. “We can be there in a matter of minutes.”

The car departed, leaving the starport hanger and making its way out onto one of the city’s countless enclosed roadways, speeding across bridges between vast self-contained towers and travelling down long darkened tunnels. The Steinhauer residence was some distance away, leaving Breu to watch the other vehicles on the road. There seemed to be a great deal more activity on the streets of the city than before, more private cars and larger commercial transports than seemed proper in a city that had been half-dead just a few years before. She also placed a single call, it wouldn’t do to arrive unannounced.

Baron Steinhauer’s palace took up a large portion of the top of the city’s towers. Like many of Belmar’s urban palaces the residence sat atop a larger structure that also was owned by the noble who dwelled there, the floors below the palace being mostly sealed and below that being some form of useful commercial enterprise. The only entrances to the residence itself were across wide gated bridge tunnels from other structures, almost an island amidst a city that was greatly interconnected. Or by aircar, but that sort of craft was still very much out of favor on Belmar.

A guard at the outer gate exchanged a few words with the driver of Breu’s car, waving it through and across the bridge and into the palace entrance. On the far side of the bridge was a large open chamber, the road curved up to the doors inside the inner palace itself, marked by tall pillars and elaborate decorative classical architecture. The car halted not far from there, and the driver exited to open the Countess’s door.

A contingent of Steinhauer Guards in their dark blue uniforms and silver armor were waiting outside, along with the Baron himself. “Eisi! It’s about time you returned home!” exclaimed Steinhauer, smiling widely. Baron Steinhauer was not a young man, his age showing in his worn face and grey hair, but his pleasure at seeing Countess Breu seemed to light up a man who otherwise might have seemed a gloomy and unpleasant sort. “Much has happened and there is much to talk about, please come inside for Tea.”

Steinhauer waved toward the Palace entrance, and Breu followed the Baron and his guards inside. The Steinhauer palace was as grand on the inside as it was on the outside, Eisi Breu had visited here many times before. It seemed almost as much home as anywhere, now that she walked through its entrance halls and past the portraits of previous Steinhauer Barons once more.

“I’m afraid to admit I was worried they might have you arrested” commented Steinhauer as they walked through the palace corridors.

“Arrested?” asked Breu, quietly. That much was not something she had considered.

“You’ve not been here or heard enough, then. His majesty has not been forgiving when it comes to his predecessor’s agents and advisors from the Houses. Cerfas is all but gone now, though they certainly deserved it long enough, and others have paid heavily.”

“They’ve. . .attacked the Founding Houses directly?”

“Not without more than enough just cause, no” answered Steinhauer. “Things were not at all good after Fredrick died, and they were so busy stabbing at each other that they never properly managed to do anything other than let William take the throne. And when they attempted to manipulated or sabotage him. . .well, that was not a fight they won. I could believe that some of them tried to sell us out to Deldan, at any rate.”

Breu nodded. “So they savaged each other and left it clear for William to take full control, then.”

“The army is commanded by his generals for the most part, and even if he’s not the murderer he was accused of being his man Troger has no such hold.”

“Troger? The new security minister?”

“Entirely the King’s man, the first thing he did was put him in charge of the security forces. A single-minded defender of the new Badenburg, and someone slipped up enough to let him hack into them. . .”

One of Steinhauer’s servants was waiting a short distance down the corridor, at the noble’s approach he opened a door to one of the room’s off the corridor. Bowing as Steinhauer and Breu turned and entered, he closed the door behind them. The room was a dinning hall with a series of windows overlooking the city outside and below along one wall. A small table and two chairs had been placed next to one of the windows, away from the long formal dining table, a small teapot and several cups waited on top of it.

“Just like days past” said Steinhauer, sitting down. “But I suppose you should know what little I do, and that is that his majesty sees your trip to the Crusade in an extremely poor light. Your cousin Leopold’s gone into exile after communicating briefly with the crown, from what I understand. . .”

Breu nodded as the Baron poured himself a cup of tea. “I haven’t talked to Leopold since he left our contingent, I don’t think he was entirely well even then.”

“You were always the better of the two, though my opinion is biased. But given that his pilfering of its garrison undermined Koln, it seems entirely likely that our King frowns upon the whole endeavor. Though I can’t say for certain, my ears don’t go much farther than this house of mine these days. It’s safer that way and I’ve seen enough in my lifetime to make myself avoid any trouble now.”

“You seem to think I’m trouble” said Breu, taking a sip of her own tea.

The Baron sighed. “It wouldn’t do to abandon the one useful student I’ve trained to take to the dueling field, I couldn’t stand the thought of my family’s art dying with me.”

Eisi smiled, remembering the childhood years when a younger Steinhauer had quietly taken time to instruct the daughter of one of his friends in the use of the pistol. The Steinhauers had in their time produced the greatest pistoleers on Belmar, and it had been something of an honor to practice under the last of them. Like King Fredrick, the last Baron Steinhauer seemed content after the long years of war and the loss of his own kin to simply let his line die with him.

Though unlike the now deceased monarch, who had withdrawn to his own lonely thoughts for so long, Steinhauer had spent his time working to better the Empire in what little ways he could. He had also seen fit to spend his energy and wealth to try and direct at least a few of what he saw as the more useful scions of the old nobility to better purposes.

It had been Steinhauer, some years ago, that had encouraged Eisi Breu to enter the diplomatic corps in light of her father’s stern disapproval of her serving with the more militaristic services of the Empire. In a way he likely considered it his own fault she had been caught up in the Duke Emory’s Crusading venture in the first place.

“No, it wouldn’t do at all” answered Breu. And I would imagine you have some grand advice for the future in this new world ready, too. . .”

[Fenris Ulfric]

Fanservice? This is Plot Advancement!

"I still cannot believe you talked me into this..."

From his vantage point amidst some snow-laden rocks, Brenatt barely suppressed a snicker. I can't believe I talked you into this either, he mused. He spared a quick glance at the small stick held in his hands - it was his alarm should someone sneak up on and muzzle him - and then focused his attention back on Nehlira.

The brown-furred vixen had paused by a large rock on the edge of the hot spring. She smirked, as if laughing at some private joke, held one hand above her with the other arm wrapped around, and flicked her tail hard. There was a snap, like a whip crack, and a plume of blue flame leapt up into her raised hand. The flames grew brighter, then swirled down around her, following the line of her other arm. From top to bottom, the flames died nearly as quickly as they'd been born.

Brenatt's jaw dropped. Where had once stood an anthropomorphic girl-fox now stood a young human girl in her latter teens, pale skin softly tanned and her face framed by long brunette hair, her wide brown eyes alight with mischief. She turned into a human?! Oh that's just not fair! With some degree of disappointment now, he watched as she disrobed - a little too slowly at that. He was now certain she was teasing him. First were the boots and mittens, then the heavy coat. She turned away from his position - ostensibly to maintain some modesty - and her big bushy tail, surprisingly still present, bounced around behind her, blocking that view too.

Definitely not fair. Without exposing herself to him, she drew off the shirt and pants, folding them carefully before placing them with the rest of her clothes on the rock. She stepped down into the warm water, steam wafting round her, only stopping once she was immersed to her shoulders. She leaned against a large boulder near the center of the pool and lay back against it with a sigh.

Brenatt slumped a bit and forced himself to his own task. Silently, his gaze wandered about the hot springs, seeking anyone else who might be trying to take a peek. It took nearly an hour before Brenatt saw what he was looking for. Where there was no wind, a bush nearly halfway around the pool moved in a way unnatural. To the credit of whoever this was, the movement made no sound at all, but this guy was probably distracted.

Brenatt slid back quietly and quickly scrounged together a head-sized snowball. He placed it where he had been watching from, then placed his coat behind it to complete the crude illusion. Bereft of gloves or boots, or any heavy winter clothes at all, he moved silently through the wet, shallow snow around the spring. With the twig between his teeth, he spent nearly ten minutes easing into position behind this mysterious stalker. He crouched down, ready to pounce, then took the twig into his hands. [I]It's showtime...[I]

The snap of the twig was like a gunshot in the perfect winter silence. The mysterious being jumped and spun around to face the sudden sound, then again as Nehlira shouted, "Who is back there? Show yourself!" Doubly startled and now halfway between standing and a crouch, he was totally unprepared when a huge ball of white fur launched itself out of the snow, tackled him through the bushes, and carried them both into the water.

The stranger gasped and struggled, trying to gain a footing while Brenatt struggled to wrestle him back down. In the shallow water, their struggle came to a screeching halt at the enraged scream. "PERVERT!" The two former combatants looked up at the source and found the angry fox-girl glaring down at them, fists clenched at her sides. Brenatt couldn’t' help himself, really. Even though she looked human now, his eyes flicked down and up her body. When they met hers again, they were alive with rage. YOU TOO?!"

Her foxtail, though soaked and drooping, whipcracked so hard it threw the water right off. Nehlira's eyes glowed with cerulean flame, and lightning danced down her shoulders to wrap around her fists. She raised them above her head and brought them down with supernatural force, sending a large electrified wave towards the two offenders...

[General G]

Yoink

[Rex 290]

Kozun; the Kozunese Empire
Lost and Found Pt. 8
Unknown 1006 NE

They walked. The immaterial light pulled them ahead- across the abandoned tracks, through the dimly lit tunnel. At its end they stood under the flickering lamp and turned, as the guide turned, down onto the transfer station. Shinobu was correct in that regard. A car waited for them. It wasn't hard to guess they were to board it, and so they did. Looking wary at it Shinobu instantly turned her eyes to find something to strap down in. The voice, the light or whatever it was had been pleased to introduce them to a stupidly fast descent in such a flimsy looking cart before... It was displeasing to be right. Almost at the same instant they stepped down onto it the car started to move. The doors snapped shut just behind Tiako. Creaking and groaning as the neglected motors fired into life for the first time in however long, they threw themselves into the closest booth.

The acceleration ensured they wouldn't be moving around. The sudden change in speed held them against the still soft seat-padding. Shinobu snapped the seat-buckle together while Tiako fumbled for his and managed to connect it before the acceleration prevented it.

“I thought it said they wouldn't see us!” Shouted Tiako as he held onto the bar for dear life. The monorail car continued to accelerate, as the walls of the tunnel whipped by, roaring past an transfer station where Shinobu (having the window) was able to catch sight of several very surprised looking people. For a instant- then they were gone as the car roared past.

“They only saw the car!” Shinobu elbowed him for good measure. “Why didn't you sit somewhere else?”

“Hey, be happy--” The car was instantly plunged into darkness as it made a sudden turn to the right. Tiako crashed into Shinobu who really elbowed him.

“Get off!”

The car shuddered to a halt, with the car shrieking as it is did, leaving the only light the light that was outside of the car.

<<<>>>

Cage of the Controller

“Welcome.” The Voice screamed into their ears, pounding against their heads, coming from all directions at once. The room swayed, warped, and with as if with a dying breath the facade they saw collapsed. “Welcome!” It came again- and they did not recoil.

“What are you?” Queried Tiako, raising from his knees.

“I am...” The Voice faltered. But they heard from where it came- and they saw the room. The walls made a near perfect sphere, the walls were black and uniform in that. The central walk-way which projected out into the middle of the room was illuminated by the virtue of its light colour compared to the dark of the walls. And it was in the middle of the platform, that the walkway connected too, that the Voice came from. Sharing a glance with Shinobu they nodded together and started towards it. Her face was more pale this usual and sweat glistened on her forehead. He could only imagine what he looked like- the pressure of the voice was great.

“I am the control system of this fortress.” It paused after its declaration, but it went on with what Tiako understood to be some sort of confidence. “I am the last. All the others broke their oath- all but you. Finish your sworn service! The enemy have burned their way through the outer walls...” Closer and closer they came to the center, and the more the Voice sounded.. normal. Sounded human- and less the unidentifiable mystery it had been before.

“What is this place? I was told it was the Shrine of Isao. You say its a Fortress. I was told it was called the 'DOME'...What is this place, Voice?” Pressed Tiako, eager for answers.

The Voice shuddered at a blanket of incomprehension between them and they felt it.

“Lies! They shroud everything in lies... I will show you. Yes, you shall soon see the shame!” Imaged appeared on the walls, buzzing by with an intensity and speed neither of them could understand until they slowed down. And when they did, in the spat of a second

“Doctor Kuzuma.” Called out a man in a obviously military uniform. But it was one Tiako had never seen before and he'd seen just about every kind. Nothing of it was recognizable but the single little golden star on the man's collar. The Doctor, the second man, turned from what looked to be the platform that stood before them. “Roua it's time to go. We can't keep the zero-point line open any longer!” The other man's reply was not simply spoken out loud from a recorder but projected into their minds. For a moment they lived the scene and it became part of them. They understood and saw what the voice had seen and heard, so long before.

“Get your men out of here, Yotmoi. The CSSC hasn't been activated yet.”

“You said it was already functioning!” Totmoi's face twisted up in anger. “You've said a lot of stuff lately. Get moving. Now.”

“You don't understand. I encountered a snag in the application. Once I reset it it'll work!”

“I don't care. My orders are to get everyone out until the storm passes. You should know better! They'll pass in a few days and back we'll be. This place is too valuable to be...”

The scene faded, warped, and then they were somewhere else but not before they saw, even as they dissipated into nothingness, one figure turning and dashing down a hallway...

“But Kuzuma Roua did not intend to return as they desired. He caused himself to remain, knowing that when they returned he would have completed his work so that his ideals could be realized. The storm lasted far longer then anyone could imagine. Kuzma completed the system and finished the project alone... But he was betrayed! Betrayed by those that violate this tomb.” The Voice was angry. Its anger, sudden and desperate lashed out at them. Tiako tried to turn his head and with what seemed like a gigantic effort managed to move it enough to notice the ghostly outline of his companion standing at his side. He drew strength from that and the fury of its anger vanished back into the essence of the voice.

“Kuzuma understood that their intention was not to harness what I protect for the good of the planet, but for their own unlimited ambition. Knowing that he had been betrayed he worked to prevent it. To prevent what they would do when the day came the storms lifted. The Etherstorms touched down through the shield sometimes. In this region, and others, it blotted out the sun and made settlement impossible. Kuzuma had time.”

Then his vision was turned back ahead and he was lost in the memory ahead with only the narration of the voice to guide them.

“Another stayed behind.” A Kuzuma and a ghostly women standing, talking, walking, in a fury of images that spanned several years considering the fact their hair kept growing and growing... “Only by accident. It was from this accident that she came to understand him and that he was warned of the betrayal.” At last the Voice faded and Tiako only saw, stood with, another memory-image. The entire building shook- lights flickered as a tremendous force beat back the gateway. Men poured through the sundered gate opposed by nothing, but advancing as if they knew a foe awaited them in ambush. Cautiously and relentlessly they tore through the complex and found its only inhabitants.

“Damn you!” It was the Doctor, much older and worn down. Yotmoi stood before him, also much older, with three stars on his collar. The older Yotmoi reached up and took off his helmet, virtually the same as ones Tiako remembered the militia using, showing a head full of gray hairs. Time had passed- the storm had lasted so very long. The two men stood in a wide room, its limits boundless behind the old Doctor, with only a very narrow frame of it apparent.

“You stayed behind and broke the law, Doctor Kuzuma. While you were right about the storm lasting far, far, longer then the few weeks we originally believed the Shogun doesn't like to be disobeyed. Your brother isn't around to bend rules for you anymore.”

Kuzuma's face went hard.

“Not even you,”

Yotmoi laughed but never let his eyes move off of the other man. Tiako seemed to be standing behind the Doctor, viewing everything with a foreign sense of horror creeping into him. The Voice seemed to be whispering along with the mans next words.

“Certainly not. The Councilor was retired when the new Shogun took power. Lord Itomi is most desirous to restart the attempt began so long ago.. I trust you didn't try to do anything with the gateway? You see Doctor we've found one of the keys. In all places, and all people, the Emperor had it in some dusty storeroom. What was taking you years will take us a few weeks at most.”

The Doctor laughed, then, shivering with a glee that was his secret alone. Yotmoi frowned.

“You fool. I've completed the CSS. Kill them, all of them.” Yotmoi fired his gun, a simple slug thrower, without hesitation. The other man tried to throw himself away, as those with guns pointed at them usually did, even so the slug ripped into the middle of his chest; at the same time Yotmoi vanished in a blinding burst of light. Coughing the Doctor slumped down to some piece of machinery, looking down at his failing body. “None of you bastards will touch it.” The storm has lasted long enough for Kuzuma to complete his work.

And then the images, the memory, was gone. Tiako and Shinobu stood where they had before. Not needing to talk to one another they knew what they needed to do. They started moving forward again even as images, pictures, and voices called out from the walls. The shrill voice of the being that had brought them here yelled out over the commotion.

“They have returned to steal Kuzuma's work! They've come to defile the mystery for no reason other then to empower themselves.” They saw now for the first time just was was in the middle of the platform. A towering mass of machinery, pipes, cords, panels and biomachines spliced into one giant system. They circled it, seeking the heart of the voice, and came to the exact opposite side. A metal casing lay embedded in the column and above that was a plate with engraved words. Words in the flowing script of a old master that spelled out the name for the Voice, and the title of the entire 'control system'. Control System Slave, Cage 887 NE. DOME, the . The voice rattled out once more, waxing and wanning as it spat out words into a vast silence now broken by their presence. “Kuzuma was helped by one of your kind Metsuke women.”

Metsuke? Tiako nodded slightly to himself, a piece falling into place.

“... That would explain why Sozo had some sort of information on this place. Voice,” Shinobu touched the little icon of the Metsuke engraved into the shoulder of her combat gear. “Show us those that have betrayed your creator's ideals. We came behind our enemies.”

This time the images showed them something from the present. But they were not totally clear. It was as if they were being viewed through a sort of haze, or perhaps it was the simple distance the image had to be brought from through old and decaying cables and data-lines.. It showed them what they had thought. A great set of doors and a swarm of masked workers behind power-torches steadily burning away at them. Behind the doors, no doubt, was whatever they sought and whatever the Priest sought to protect. Protect or steal for himself.

“The internal defences do not function anymore. Treason defeated them, but nothing can disconnect me. I will bring you to them and you shall destroy them!”

Tiako stepped ahead. He put his hand over the plate under the sign.

“Do you guard the tomb of Isao?”

“The Tomb and the Mystery are here, here forever, and never shall they be allowed to be used in such a way Kuzuma would despise...”

“You are the.. other that stayed behind with Kuzuma?”

It didn't answer.