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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == The House At the End of the Street ==
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| − | There was a house on a street in the corner of the city, gray and dull and all alone.
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| − | And it sat like a beckon, calling the night. A lighthouse for those with no home of their own. The street all around it was paved with twisting stones, whorls unlike the rest of the town. And the pitch of the earth rose and tumbled oddly, like trodding over the shallow graves of a burial mound.
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| − | Dead ivy clung it's rough stone walls as thickly as the silence on the street around them. The creepers and vines twisted about, spinning patterns like words amongst them selves. Images of sad faces and grasping hands reaching out through the wood caught the ones eye in the corner. But a glance and they were gone, a trick of the eye or perhaps simply shy. And the stone walls themselves seemed to bulge in odd places, like a man trashing bellow his bed sheets trapped in tableau.
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| − | Two floors rose upwards with colors mismatched, like two different buildings had been stacked one top the other. All windows were closed and shuttered up tight, save one that was boarded shut as well. Only one door stood to greet the Exalted, painted black though chipping all around. And hanging above it, with all the pride it could muster, dangling on only one hook, was a sign that informed them they had reached their destination;
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| − | "Office of Unusual Investigations.<br>
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| − | Positions Always Available, Inquire Within."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael walks up to the door, dressed today in a perfectly fitting shirt and pants of smooth grey silk, buttoned up with small black dragons. Over this he wears his usual white greatcoat, unbuttoned at present, trimmed with gold, and in the gold, strange characters that shimmered when they caught the light in the right way, the pure white seeming so out of place in the Boil.
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| − | "Well, it appears we have arrived." Cael remarks to Ryshassa, walking to the door and knocking on it.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa looks around at her surroundings curiously. The Boil fascinates her, for all she should be out of place here, slender and delicate and untouched by the roughness of life in the foundries, on the streets. It is entirely different from any other place she has been in before, but at the same time, it shares a certain vibe to her with Gethamane -- a sense that the people here, despite the odds and the danger, are determined to survive and care for themselves their ''own'' way.
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| − | By an odd coincidence, her appearance for the moment is particularly appropriate to the dark ambiance of this place. She is clad in a gown of black and purples, with lace-trimmed puffed sleeves and an elegantly embroidered bodice, and a richly layered skirt that drapes dramatically to her feet. Nodding to Cael as he knocks on the door, Ryshassa waits patiently for it to be opened, not at all sure what to expect.
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| − | '''Spookies: ''' A suit of armor answered the door. Or, at least from Cael and Ryshassa's perspective, the breast plate for one, a veritable wall of burnished brass. An armored chest broad enough to all but completely fill the doorway loomed before them, the glittering roundness of a bright blue gem set deep into the center twinkling at them like an unblinking eye.
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| − | "''Greetings, Princes of the Earth. ''" Hailed a voice from somewhere above Cael's head and the doorframe, copper-toned and oddly flat.
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "Greetings, disembodied voice and armour of brass." Cael says with a curious smile on his face.
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| − | "I am Cael Pattona, this is Ryshassa Krauser. We wish to speak with your commander."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's mouth forms a little "o" for a moment -- when was the last time she had heard that phrase? She is anything but a Prince of Earth, nor had her parents in the Blessed Isle ever believed she would be so.
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| − | ''But they gave me a purpose. '' Ryshassa stiffens momentarily, remembering vividly still the feelings and memories that had been triggered when that... that woman... reached out to her through Kanti's scars. ''The only purpose I thought I would ever have... ''
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| − | With some effort she pushes the reminiscence aside, trying to formulate a response -- Cael, fortunately, speaks for the both of them in her brief moment of hesitation.
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| − | ''Perhaps it would be better not to correct the... armor? anyway. ''
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| − | '''Spookies: ''' "''Of course, you were expected. ''"
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| − | The armored figure took a broad step back to clear the way for them. Puffs of purple-hued Essence-steam blasted from between joints. A long sigh hissed from the armored form as he repositioned himself and sank slowly into a settled position. Up and up a little more, a shovel-faced helmet tilted down to look down at them, flanked on both shoulders by two stovepipe steam-stacks that chugged more Essence-laced steam that rapidly dispersed into the air. A grill of bars arrayed across the front of the helmet, giving the odd impression of a huge grin. But there was nothing behind the helmet and nothing to see through the grill by the shadowed motions of turning gears.
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| − | "''Apologies for the mess though, We did not really have a chance to clean up and the other teams get irrigate when we mess with their belongs. ''" Armored plates clanked and hidden gears rattled and crunched as the brass legionary dipped into a respectful bow. "I am Kozak, temporary Special Investigator for the Office of Unusual Investigations. Team B."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael inclines his head in thanks, and gestures to Ryshassa, inclining his hand as a Gethemanean gentleman might.
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| − | "After you, my dear."
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| − | And then he follows her inside, glancing about him as he does with idle curiousity.
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| − | "The advantages of living almost alone shwo themselves." Cael murmurs mostly to himself, though in response to Kozak's question. "I have no doubt you have been rather busy in the wake of the occupation. Regardless, I am sure we can deal with a little mess." ''or even a lot of mess''
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa returns the bow from the odd steaming construct almost instinctively, more of a curtsy really, what with her wide skirts. She finds herself wondering whether Cael prefers these sort of dresses, or her kimono...
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| − | "Thank you for receiving us, Kozak. Do not worry, we did not come here expecting to be pampered," she says politely. And she does enter, gathering the heavy black and purple fabric around her as she does.
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| − | * "Mess," perhaps though, was an understatement. The Spookies apparently had a very strict policy of organization: A place for everything and everything on the floor.<br><br>Vying for space in the large common room with desks and chairs was a clutter of epic proportions. Piles of papers, stacks of books, wooden bins of scrolls overflowing with parchment all heaped together with the little brik-a-brack of every day life. Clothing lay discarded on the ground or left crumbled on desk tops. Plates and eating utensils balanced atop small towers of books. There were several cabinet beds imbedded in the wall, but also a hammock strung up between two support beams, and a whole array of wood and metal framed folding cots. Trophies of inexplicable sources hung from walls or adorned desk tops.<br><br>The whole room was filled with the scent of old paper and cigarette smoke and thick black coffee. Apart from Kozak, the only other apparent occupant was a young woman with stark white hair and platinum antlers curled up asleep atop one of the desks, a heavy blanket pulled over her, and a fat red-brown lizard who regarded the two Exalts disinterestedly from atop a file cabinet beside the door.
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' A (comparatively for who Cael and Ryshy usually hang out with) beautiful woman, dark skinned with beautiful golden blonde hair which falls immaculately back into place as she runs a hand through it, comes out from 'round a corner. Obviously not a native.
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| − | She wears an immaculate black suit with a white blouse, the collar undone and left high, giving her a bit of a nonchalant edge in appearance. She puts a hand on her cocked hips and smiles.
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| − | "You'll have to forgive Kozak. He still stands on form, and all that jaz. Not something most people afford themselves what with the war going on and all."
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| − | The woman almost seemed out of place, looking so well groomed in the mess of a room.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa finds the mess... quaint, though hard to navigate. It is not so much mess, to her, as the gathered belongings of people who were too busy with their work to think about mess. A little bit like Alexsei's study, really, but a lot... a lot more cluttered. At the very least things seemed to be piled together by similarity, so it was not an entire loss.
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| − | The appearance of a new figure makes Ryshassa turn and bend her knees in a short curtsy again. "Well, some people find that protocol makes business matters run more smoothly. I am Ryshassa Krauser... are... you the commander here?"
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| − | '''Kozak: '''"''She only wishes she was. ''" Kozak said, his flat metallic voice making it rather unclear if the construct were being serious or making an attempt at humor. He only bowed again though, making introductions with a wave of his broad hand. "''Gold Lords Cael Pattona and Ryshassa Krauser, please meet Senior Officer Franciska, the Most Beloved Daughter. She is in charge of Team B. ''"
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "And if you loose your culture while you win," he says, without apparent irony despite the city he finds himself in "Then what exactly is the point of fighting the war? You've lost it anyway."
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| − | After the minor philosophical diversion, Cael gives the contents of the room more study, looking decidedly curious at some of the odder artifacts, but then he did love curios from other places.
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| − | "Never-the-less, I greet you, Franciska, Most Beloved Daughter." He inclines his head respectfully.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Excuse my assumption, then. A pleasure to meet you, Franciska." Ryshassa likes the suit, at least. It looks quite attractive and professional, quite stunning on a woman with Franciska's... assets.
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' She tips both of them a rather casual nod.
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| − | "What Nuts'n'Bolts said. Although, I would've been running this place by now had I not retired. It was the war that made me come out of retirement, in fact! I couldn't very well let the Bishop's lot go make a playground out of my town, could I now?", she grins at the pair, then gestures behind her.
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| − | "And sleeping beauty back there is Fellen. You'll have to excuse her appearance, she had an urge for behemoth blood and you know how those things go."
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| − | "As for culture and ceremony, I always much prefered to just get in there and do what needs to be done.", she says while patting the handle of one of the two red short daiklaves hanging off her hips.
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| − | "If you'd like, I'll escort you to the Chief's office."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "If you would be so kind." Cael says with a gesture of 'lead on'.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa smiles; as much as she is a woman of manners and aesthetics, she cannot fault Fran her attitude. "Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you, Officer Franciska, the war and revolution have done quite a bit of damage here. I wish you luck in keeping things orderly and helping the city recover."
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| − | "If I but had the time to spare I would stay longer, and help with the wounded... but there is so much left to be done... I fear the reprive we are enjoying now will not last forever." She is not merely extending her desire to help as a courtesy, of course. Ryshassa has seen with her own eyes what destruction the undead have wrought here, the wounded and the destitute that remain in the wake of it. Being the compassionate soul she is, she always feels a pang of guilt having to turn away from giving her aid.
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| − | "Yes, please, we would appreciate it," Ryshassa nods to Francisca's offer.
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' She nods and starts leading the way, up the stairs she had just come down from, ironically, speaking as she walks.
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| − | "Well, to be perfectly honest this is what I've done for the most significant chunk of my life. Boil's never been a decent place to be, though this is definately the worst of it. Used to serve in the Patrol before it got disbanded, then got hooked up with the Spookies."
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| − | "The Boil'll get back to it's feet, as far as it ever does, so long as the Bishop's defeated, don't you worry."
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| − | She pauses for a second...
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| − | "Though I sure wish I could go after the bastards myself. Sitting here holding down the fort isn't my cup of tea.", she sighs, then shrugs, as they approach the Chief's office door.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Well... we would certainly welcome the help, but your job here is important, too," Ryshassa replies kindly, seeming quite a bit more at ease with Franciska's casual, friendly attitude. "And you never know if the Bishop's minions will return in some shape or form."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "Somehow it didn't strike me as such." Cael says with a soft grin.
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| − | ''The future of the Boil, on the other hand ... well, I am not entirely sure you will like it. ''
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' "Oh, if they'll return, they'll have to deal with me. I can assure you, I can be a real pain if I choose to be. The Boil's a bad place, but it's as close to a home as I've got, and after you've been here long enough and you haven't cracked, you start to ''almost'' love it. Like you would your ugly, smelly, stupid one legged dog."
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| − | She opens the door, holding it open for the two to enter.
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| − | '''Chief: ''' The plaque on the door didn't have a name. It only read 'Chief,' like a powerful pronouncement of that single word was all that needed to be said. There was a strange and unearthly rumbling from behind it and a constant, heavy wheeze, like the breath of a dying dragon. The door was cracked invitingly, they ''were'' expected after all. As Franciska pulled it open, amber light poured from behind it and painted the walls of the narrow hall strangely necrotic yellow.
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| − | The wall that loomed before them was a beast of industry. Clockwork and steam mechanisms jutted out of the wood like half-formed births of metal and glass. Canvas tubes bound up in nets of silk strands stretched off the wall from every contraption, finding their way inevitably to the small brown figure who sat behind the great wooden desk that occupied most of the room. Cylinders filled with amber fluids bubbled high above an iron-faced furnace, heat fed to them through bulbous fumes. Beside them, a deep burgundy substance floated in glass-fronted cauldrons, stirred constantly by steam-driven rotary blades swishing through the bottom.
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| − | Ryshassa's medical training could identify the substances almost at once; powerful alchemical narcotics and false blood. Other containers on the wall without open faces reeked of antiseptics and the bitter smell of second-rate life-extending drugs. Leather sacks inflated and deflated as bellows pumped air into them and out again through a fat, shivering tube that wrapped around the Chief's body and thrust into his throat.
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| − | From left and right, they were greeted by walls of images. Sketchy pictures inked in black on pure white paper, shadowy scenes and figures, contrasts of focus and obscurity where only a few details stood clear in each. Without the pictures, the wall would have seemed like some instrument of death, hundreds of needle points waiting to close in on them as soon as the door closed behind them. These images, curious as they might have been, did not draw they eye quiet as much as the painting that hung from the wall of strange machines, clearly placed up only recently for the benefit of the two Exalted guests. Like a mirror, Cael and Ryshassa looked upon a portrait of themselves just as they stood now, a moment caught in time before it had happened and now ''just'' as it ''was'' happening, even the expressions on their face inked in vivid relief.
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| − | "Come..." the Chief summoned them, his voice muffled and slightly slurred, echoing oddly down the tube that fed into his neck. He did not look up at first when they entered. His face, hidden away behind a mask of metal, hung low over the broad desk before him, fixed intently upon the blank sheet of vellum he was rapidly filling with images. Two attendants in the fashionable black coats and formal suits of the Spookies stood on either side of him; nearly androgynous blind twins with strangely bright eyes and cheerful, empty smiles, their arms folded behind their backs patiently.
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| − | The Chief was a sight unto himself, a creature of leather and canvas and bits of steel. His thin body was covered by a layer of smooth brown leather, fit snuggly like a second skin across his torso and down his arms. The stitching upon it was thick and tan and ringlets of metal rose out of his hunched back where the tubs from the great machine fed into him. He sat like some spider's half-finished and forgotten meal; shriveled, dry, and bound to the chair he sat in by the hoses coming off the wall. A thin hand raised, each joint cast into relief against a brown leather glove by rings of iron, and gestured towards the pair of chairs that waited on the other side of the desk. "Sit."
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| − | "Page," he called. One of the twins leaned in and pulled the filled sheet of paper away, replacing it with a fresh page. In the pause as the papers were switch he raised his head with a painful, tiring slowness. It lulled back on his neck, loose as a rag dolls limb, leaning up against the thick cushions of the headrest behind it. Through the single eye slot carved into the mask of unpolished steel, he peered out at Cael and Ryshassa. His eye was odd. Dark yellow, nearly brown, where it should have been white, and the baby blue of the iris seemed to glow against it's murky backdrop. He regarded them for a measured moment before his gaze flickered up to Franciska behind them. "Find yourself seat Franciska. Nothing that requires your attention will be happening soon and it will be good experience for you to have time to study two Princes of the Earth up close."
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| − | "Provided, of course, our honored guests bare no objections." His eye returned to Cael and Ryshassa, managing to somehow stare both in the eye at once.
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' "Don't I know it.", she says with a dramatically bored flair.
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| − | "I'll just stand if it's all the same with you chief."
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| − | She always did prefer standing when she was in an office, especially one belonging to one of her superiors. So she wandered in, closed the door, and hung back, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael regards the office with much the same curiousity he has regarded the rest of the building, noting his portrait with interest, though with no visible surprise, studying his picture and then Ryshassa's with curiousity.<br>
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| − | ''Perhaps she does look better in these dresses.... ''
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| − | "I have no objections, certainly." Cael holds the seat for Ryshassa as she sits, then seats himself after hanging his long coat over the back of the chair. "Thank you for recieving us."
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| − | He had mentioned something of what they might talk of in the letter he had sent to ask to speak with him, and if he wished to talk over such things infront of Franciska, it was not his place to say.
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| − | ''And just how will Ryshassa take his appearance? ''
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' The interior of the room Franciska leads her and Cael to is... well, she is not quite sure how to describe her impression of it. There is simply nothing in her memory she can think of that is anything like it, except perhaps the Bishop's undead war machines, but even then... this is different. Not dead flesh sewn up with necrosurgery and bestowed a pitiful form of "life".
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| − | The Chief, despite being an incredible eyesore, all shriveled and flaccid and unnervingly inorganic, fascinates her. She wants to turn away with disgust, yet finds herself transfixed, wanting to learn more about just how this thing moves and generates coherent thought. It (he?) is not a particularly pretty job, patched together with bits of metal and leather and tubing and fluids, but still... a living construct!
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| − | All she can do is try her best not to stare too openly, and take her seat where directed, crossing her legs beneath her skirt and folding her hands atop her knee. She isn't sure, either, about how interesting or informative it would be to "observe" her, as she is not expecting to use any of her Chosen abilities just yet.
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| − | "No... no objections, Chief, thank you..." Ryshassa can only hope her voice sounds normal.
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| − | '''Chief: ''' Ryshassa realized her mistaken first assumption almost immediately. These machines were indeed keeping the Chief alive, but he himself was not made of them. Beneath the layers of tubes and leather and metal, there was a person. Or at least what remained of one. She could see his skin through the eye-hole of the mask, drug-hardened and aged nearly to the same consistency as the leather that encased him. It was a wonder what he might have looked like, if the outer shell were peeled away. Not, it was likely, something all that human.
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| − | One of the Chief's twin assistants laid a fresh sheet of paper onto the desk before him. His pen dipped before the page had even settled, the darkly glistening tip scratching across the cheap, roughly made paper. This was seemingly done without the attention or acknowledgement of the Chief, whose attention remained thoroughly locked upon Cael and Ryshassa.
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| − | "May I regal you with a tale, before we begin your questioning?" he asked. "It is of a matter which has weighed rather heavily upon my mind for some time now."
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| − | The second of his assistants finished pinning the page he had been drawing when Ryshassa and Cael entered a sketch of what was almost certainly prince Alexander, his head rimmed by the now familiar halo, surrounded by a veritable ocean of identical female faces all oddly similar to his own. Both of the androgynous twins moved back to flanking the chairs and stared at Cael with their shimmering bright eyes and beamed vacantly at him with their broad smiles.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's quiet analysis leaves a great deal of questions in her mind, not to mention worries. ''How did he end up this way? How old is he, really? Does it hurt to be kept alive in this way? '' and so on. But she is not there to examine him, and this Ryshassa reminds herself of firmly.
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| − | At the Chief's request, Ryshassa's eyes glance briefly to Cael... certainly she can see no problem with it, and she doubts Cael would either. She only has but one pressing question, herself, being that she had promised Iselsis she would ask the 'spookies' about Acelia.
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| − | "Go right ahead, Chief, I am listening. If it is something we can help with I think we would be glad to."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael gives a small shake of his head.
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| − | "Please, tell us your story, Chief."
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| − | If the strange androgynous twins bother Cael with their staring, it doesn't show.
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "I was already well into my middle-age when I experimented with narcotics for the first time," he began nearly the moment both Exalts gave their consent. The Chief made a weak gesture towards the bubbling amber liquid in the cylinders near by, pumped into his body through the writhing tubes. "I over-dosed by far, nearly destroyed my body and mind, but in that moment between life and death, it seemed that the future of the entire world lay bare before me. It was the first time I ever used my "insight" and the furthest I have ever looked ahead into the world. I saw, there, the vision of the keepers of this city handing over the reigns of power to those such as yourself, Princes of the Earth, and saw nothing but death and destruction to follow"
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| − | As he continued to speak, his hand upon the desk never ceased moving. As if driven by a will of it's own, it dragged the ink-damp quill point across the paper with a persistent 'scritch, scritch, scritch,' cutting the black outline of a tall tower like that of the Spire piercing through a thick mist engorged with hideous faces. "Some would have thought it nothing more than a drug-addled vision. An hallucination. But I knew my own mind too well to believe it had the creativity enough to conjure such things. In that moment, I thought to save the city by destroying the establishment that would surrender itself to the Princes of the Earth. They called me "The Anarchist" then. I did nothing to correct this false assumption. A man out to sew chaos alone seems far less mad than one trying to save a city by burning it down..."
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| − | "But in the end, I realized I would accomplish nothing from the outside, save to achieve a certain limited infamy and something of a status as a folk legend. So, I stepped within and tried from here instead to halt the fate that seemed to be rushing towards us so quickly. Page." The final word was accompanied by a lift of his hand. The ritual of changing paper passed once more, his quill just as quickly setting down to the next blank page as it had the last. His eye never left Cael or Ryshassa and his head lulled again to the side. "Now I look upon the two of you and wonder if the future I beheld back then has already come to pass or if it still has yet to be..."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "It is not likely my place to speak of such things," Ryshassa says after a moment of considering the Chief's 'tale', "for I am a foreigner to this region. I do not have an official authority here, as the Prince of Whiteshield does, nor do I wish to take over or exert my control over your city. In my opinion you have survived well enough thus far -- and you should continue to be able to do so by your own devices, so long as that makes the people of the Boil happy."
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| − | "People here have a great pride in what they have accomplished here. However dirty it might be, however lacking the quality of life, it is your home, and you have survived. It is the way it is because of your own hard work and your own preferences, and this life is all the life you've ever known, so why change what is not broken? At least, that is the impression I get of the thoughts people in the Boil generally have."
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| − | "If it were up to me," Ryshassa says earnestly, "I, as a ... Prince of the Earth as you call me," she has realized by now it is simply an honorific, and nothing to do with her time in the Realm, "would extend my aid to the Boil and its denizens wherever they decide they want to be helped. Obviously, what with the destruction resulting from the Bishop's attack, the Boil is likely desperate for help with rebuilding, caring for the wounded and such. But I would not change it or overturn it or displace it into some vision of perfection that I, alone, have decided would make things better for everyone."
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| − | Ryshassa pauses, taking a deep breath, then bows her head briefly in apology. "I am unsure if I have interpreted your words correctly, Chief, or whether anything I have said would ease your worries. As I have said, I am here on behalf of Prince Alexander, but am not myself a Whiteshield authority..."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' ''So you are the anarchist. ''
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| − | ''I remember reading of you when when I was growing up. ''
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| − | ''Creation is such a surprising place. ''
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| − | ''Lets keep it that way. ''
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| − | "I would wonder that too." Cael says with a small shrug. "We certainly hope to avoid further bloodshed ... Whiteshield and the countries surrounding it have suffered more from this war than they deserve. If I thought you had not considered it already, I would point out that they did hand over the city to the Princes of Earth, albeit corrupted ones, and the destruction here is what followed."
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| − | "Still, we do not seek to bring death to you, or to Whiteshield, and to rebuild both all the stronger once the darkness has passed."<br>
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| − | ''But there will need to be changes here. ''
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "The fault of my insight, lord Pattona, is that it is often not until after the fact that we can even discern which events I have predicted. There are no names or dates to come with it. Rarely even faces that can be easily identified. Page." As if simply to prove his point, he finished scrawling out the next image, the shadow of a winged figure rising high over a mountain littered with broken wings. The Chief laughed as he spoke, a weak and wheezing sound that put both of the twins on edge. "A pathetic lot, is it not? To know the future of the world, as seen only through a fog of drugs and madness."
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| − | He paused to take a breath, an act that drew his eye closed in obvious pain. A sigh seemed to deflate his already slim form, the air-bag and bellows that feed into his throat bloating and shriveling as the deep breath passed out of him. One of the two attendants turned to adjust several valves on the great machine and rapidly twisted a crank fixed to the bellow until it began steadily pumping again. The second twin raised a decanter of oddly glistening water to the mouth-slot of the Chief's mask, slipping a spout inside and dribbling out a few droplets. The Chief waved the water-barer away with an irritable gesture, pulling his eye open languorously. The blue circle focused again upon the two Exalts.
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| − | "We in this city have never been particularly accommodating to the Princes of the Earth. Most the world welcomes your kind with open arms or else you would simply force your way in. We let you in and let you leave when you realize there is little sport for you here. I could not say where this obstinate streak came from, but as you say, lady Krauser, we are prideful. Prideful enough to reject the gifts and blessings that only the Lords of Creation could bestow. We have long survived without you. We have even thrived without you. Yet now, here you are. You have saved us. You have saved us from your own tyranny. Let there be no misunderstanding of that. It was not the dead we submitted to, but your kind. Darker mirrors perhaps, but mirrors are still nothing but reflections. It was Princes of the Earth who drove us to surrender and Princes of the Earth who lead us back to freedom, such as it is." The Chief's head shifted again, moving the slot through which he watched Cael and Ryshy, physically displaying how he watched them now from a different angle. "I mean no ungratefulness for what you have done for us, but I cannot help but wonder; whose conceit is greater? Ours for believing we could survive without you? Or yours for thinking we could not?"
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' Franciska couldn't help but snort at that last bit. Obviously ''her'' opinion lay with the latter option.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "I think..." Ryshassa frowns; the Chief's last sentiment seems to have struck a strong chord with her. "I think they may be close to equal. Even now I admit I have looked at you from across this desk and wondered whether my medicine could help you, allow you to live a life unhooked to such... cumbersome machinery. I wonder this because... because I can help. Because I have the power in me to help, and I do not believe I was given such without reason. Should I not, then, give a person, or a city, the chance to have something better, if I could grant it with the blink of an eye?"
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| − | | |
| − | "On the other hand... I respect you, all of you in the Boil. Prideful as you may be, squalid as the conditions here may be, you ''have'' survived. That is quite the feat in a world you share with beings of great power, for which ordinary mortals are but indiscriminate specks to be used or squashed on the way to a greater goal. I do believe you have a reason to cling to your pride, and to want to maintain your home as it is -- without having to depend on the methods of others."
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| − | | |
| − | "So... it is difficult to really say, who is the better and who is the worse. I cannot speak for the other Chosen, perhaps, but I know that whenever I heal, whenever I sing or play my lyre, whenever I soothe the minds of others, it is because I want to help. But I also can see that it may look arrogant from the perspective of someone who does not want to be helped. From my perspective, I am easing suffering. From your perspective, I could very well be taking away your freedom."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "Such, am I told, is the fate of all those who seek to see the future. It apparently does not want to be seen." He shrugs.
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| − | "It is a strange conceit." He says. "I am capable of, and in all probability will end up, running the bureaucracy on which this city runs, far more effectively than any of you ever could. I say this not to boast, it is a fact of Creation. But then, I could do nothing without the city. You as a people, guided by me or by some other person or persons, Exalt or no, are the city. It would be a hollow shell without you."
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| − | "I am sure that without our aid, you will survive and even after a time of rebuilding, thrive. I am equally sure that whether you do or not, I will be continue in this world, as will Ryshassa here, and the Prince and all of the other chosen we move with."
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| − | "It is when we choose to work with each other that we can do far better than we could alone."
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "Hm," he laughed singularly and softly. "Such a precious gift would be wasted upon me, I am afraid lady Ryshassa. My condition is of my own doing and even healed of it, I would simply begin the long road back to this state once again. The thought, I confess, is a tempting one. But there are others who have had their ills pushed upon them, rather than inviting them as I have. I do not think even the Lords of the Creation can cure age and stupidity. Or prideful conceit. Page."
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| − | The next sheet moved away, it's surface scrawled with the image of a shield sundered in twain, and as the next came to rest before him, the Chief leaned heavily into his chair. "I wonder though, lord Pattona, if we really have any choice ''but'' to serve you. If we refused or were obstinate on what we desired from the... partnership, you could simply use your power to charm us into taking your views instead, and we'd nere be the wiser of it. Probably be congratulating ourselves on the wisdom of our choice, like that fool Barr was."
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| − | The Chief paused and made a gesture with his hand. One of the twins turned back to the great machine and began twisting the valves on the bubbling colanders of narcotics. The tubes writhed with fresh vigor as the chemicals flooded through them and into the withered figure at their end. A tiny shiver passed through the Chief, though seemingly unnoticed as he was already speaking again by then.
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| − | "Those are both good answers. Both interesting views. I suppose my curiosity has been settled, for the moment. You have, at least, offered me something to think about. That is a greater gift you've offered than even my restored health. I've little to do with my days anymore beyond ponder such matters. Reflecting my insight onto paper is..." His eye dropped, gesturing to where his hand continued to move and mark the page quickly, filling it with the image of a man with a dog-like head floating above him smashing apart what seemed to be chains upon the earth, then looked back up with a slight shake of his head. "It passes from my mind to my hand so quickly that I barely notice."
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| − | "But you came for reasons of your own," he said, brushing the matter away with a weakened stroke of his fingers through the air. "So ask your questions first and I will answer as best I can. Will you take tea while you're here?"
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| − | '''Cael: ''' He acknowledges the Chief's 'accusation' with a nod. "All I can do is make you the most persausive arguement you have ever heard. You would still have to agree, or not." He shrugs.
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| − | "But yes, tea would be very well appreciated."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Well, I--" Ryshassa looks unsure what to say now. The Chief apparently thought the matter closed... "No, no tea for me, but I must say this at least: I would not heal one that refused me, so long as he were not dying of his ailment. It is life I wish to restore and keep whole, but even more so than that, a life that one can accept as his own. If your present state is a reminder of your foibles, a reminder of what you have experienced and endured, I would rather not take what has become your identity. Yours or anyone's..."
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| − | "But if it cannot be helped -- if the Boil is fated to become shaped by the vision of those who can create beauty and order with but a thought, if you and your people will then lose what you believe is your freedom, your identity as a community..." Ryshassa inhales deeply, having blurted those words in a single breath as if afraid she might lose her train of thought if she stopped. "Then I would at least like to make sure that the Boil as it once was is remembered. That is what I... what my husband and I would want. To be changed against your will -- even for what may very well be a cleaner, more organized existence -- that is a difficult thing to accept. But to be forgotten as well in the process... that would be a tragedy."
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| − | "I suppose we should move on, though..." Ryshassa refolds her hands upon the black and purple silk on her lap, realizing belatedly that during her speech she had raised her hands in front of her, gesturing impassionedly. A faint pink blush colors her cheeks as she feels... vaguely self-conscious, for even assuming she understands how people in the Boil might feel at all. "Yes, we are here to ask about someone on the behalf of a... friend. Have you on file any records about a girl named Acelia of Indigo Blooms?"
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "Modi," he beckoned, turning towards the twin on his left, only to have the one on the right step forward at the summons. The Chief settled back in his chair and rocked the other. "Ah, you were over there..."
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| − | | |
| − | "No he wasn't." the other twin said, the unflinchingly vacant smile on... her? His? It's face flooding with an air of smugness. "He only switched when you said his name to try to fool you again."
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| − | "I did not!" the first, Modi, gave it's (his?) sibling a guilty glare.
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| − | "That will be enough," the Chief sighed, easing into his seat in a chorus of creaking leather. "Please just go and fetch the tea service, Modi."
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| − | The willowy blond twin sullenly headed out to obey the command. It was the twin on the right side. The Chief did not seem to notice. He looked at Ryshassa, this time without seeming to regard Cael at the same time, and his eye was sadly bemused. "Those are noble sentiments, lady Krauser. I fear, however, that once changed, the city would little care to remember where it came from. That is the way of things. Oh, it might be noted in some journal or on a statue somewhere about how we valiantly gave our lives for the freedom of this city and nation. But I do not believe that this place, the Boil, will be remembered once you or the prince or whoever else comes to power begins to change it. It is a creation of mortal hands. What memory of something so small and sordid could stand in the face of something crafted by the Prince's of the Earth? Page."
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| − | The remaining twin quickly switched in a fresh page and the Chief seemingly used the momentary ritual to recompose himself. His bright eye took in both Exalts once again. "Acelia of Indigo Blooms? Yes, I remember that name well. Sweet child. Truly a shame about her father. Magni," he called, his head tilting towards the remaining twin, who was busily pinning the finished image to the wall. "Once you are done there, bring me the personal file for Acelia."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa looks sorrowful, but not thoroughly convinced, as she gazes at the Chief. She can never believe that remembering is a futile exercise. Alexsei's profession -- at least his outward one, as a funeral priest -- is devoted to remembering those who have passed on in life. And ever since Ryshy has watched him work, as a quiet young teenager nearly mute with shock from past abuse, she has never been able to believe that what he does is in vain. There are so precious few that wish to remember, that understand the importance of history in the grand scheme of things. That is why, in Ryshassa's mind, those who do take the time to honor the past with compassion are people to be treasured.
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| − | And who better to remember, than those who live for centuries beyond any common mortal would be dust in a coffin?
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| − | But Ryshassa does not press the subject, for now. It is something, perhaps, she will speak of to her husband later. For now, she concentrates on what the Chief says about Acelia, eager for Iselsis' sake to know what lies in her personal file. The twins attract her attention for only a split second, strange as they may be; compared to the Chief himself they are not particularly outstanding eyesores.
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| − | "So you know her... what about Acelia's father? What happened to him?"
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| − | '''Chief: ''' There was a rattle behind Cael and Ryshassa, the squeak of poorly oiled wheels and a grunt of effort. The air in the room, already on the comfortable side of warm, grew suddenly hot as Modi laboriously pushed a cart into view. The top was covered by a fine porcelain tea set and a tin kettle resting on a coil of glowing iron puffed out steam steadily. The lower half flickered with open flame, resting behind a pane of glass. Shimmering strangely bright, the flames pushed against the glass wall and, for a moment, a face seemed to form in the writhing tendrils, watching the silent Franciska.
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| − | "Oh, he turned traitor and tried to kill us all with a giant elemental of the earth," The Chief said. His writing hand shifted and slid the page it was filling to the side to make room as Modi dropped a small stack of hand-written papers onto the desk in front of him. Magni had moved around the desk and began to pour the tea. The Chief went on as he weakly fingered through the file. "Thankfully at least someone was able to drive Kodak from his body and we were able to capture him, rather than killing him outright. Not that he deserved any better. Poor Acelia though. Being a bastard child could make life difficult enough. Being the bastard child of a traitorous nobleman could hardly improve her prospects in life."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa winces, then frowns at the news of the betrayal. "No doubt, it would not. Though Acelia seems to have found a place among us. She has taken a liking to one of our number." Again, she refrains from mentioning Iselsis. Of course, "Iselsis" is itself a code name, but she would rather not let the Chief know exactly who wanted to know if she did not have to.
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| − | Her brow furrows as she tries to remember exactly what Iselsis had wanted her to ask. "One of the particulars we are interested in knowing is ...whether Acelia has been known to manifest any unusual powers. I do not necessarily mean Chosen powers, but perhaps those of a god's or elemental's progeny."
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| − | '''Franciska: ''' For some reason the tea set is the second thing throughout the talk that makes Franciska stir. There's a faint glimmer in the eye as she uncrosses her arms just long enough to blow a kiss at the flames in the glass box, and when she resumes her position of leaning against the wall all sternlike, a slight smile creeps along her features.
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael listens as Ryshassa talks with the Chief, glancing over to the tea set as it is wheeled in, watching with detached interest as the face forms and smiling a little bit more as Franciska blows her kiss.
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| − | '''Chief: ''' The fire flickers at Franciska's gesture, twisting around itself in a funnel and then roiling up a puff of thick smoke. Approaching Cael unobtrusively, Magni beamed emptily at the Exalt as it set a tea cup down onto the table in front of him and backed away steadily to her place at the Chief's side.
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| − | The Chief had finished his next drawing, a tower of twisting words that rose into the heavens and chained the clouds above, and called for another page. His attention though was focused mostly on the files in front of him. He slipped a finger into the middle of the file and flipped it open, his eye scrolling across the jittery and coded writing. "Yes, we had some reports of that. I fear it was nothing we could specifically label in any fashion. It was a bit unusual, as those who work as filers and office assistants for us rarely show such skills. She left before we had the opportunity to study her more thoroughly and help her better understand what she was capable of."
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| − | "Her brother may know more of it, if he is still alive."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael takes the tea with a nod of thanks to the strange woman, and raises the tea to his lips, sipping it, then smling gratefully at Magni before taking another sip.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "I see. And Acelia's parents? Her mother, perhaps, must have been a god or spirit of some sort."
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| − | | |
| − | Now that Ryshassa has had time to focus on matters less philosophical and weighty, her eyes are inexplicably drawn to the pictures the Chief is drawing. In particular the one that he has just finished, which reminds her very much of Cael's Empyrean Binds. Has the Chief ever seen him ''use'' them?
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| − | "It would be interesting to contact her brother, perhaps," Ryshassa continues, lifting her eyes from the paper, "though I am unsure we would have the time just yet. May I ask what he is called, and where he resides in the Boil?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Cael: ''' It's as Cael glances over the pages that he almost stops drinking his tea, taking a long sip of it instead, as he looked at the words lifting up into the sky...
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| − | ''Now, I wonder what he saw in that? ''
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "Page," the next drawing comes off his desk, the most elaborate one the Chief had painted so far; a man with a skull for a face clad in a black robe and a black hat, facing someone with a wide-brimmed hat who grasped a pair of objects that looked startling like Iselsis's weapons, and beside them both a winged figure scratched out in shades of gray. Modi moved to pin it up and Magni returned Cael's smile with the customary empty grin as she laid a fresh page out.
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| − | The Chief sighed softly and his head moved fractionally from side to side apologetically to Ryshassa. "We know nothing of her mother. I could not say if even ''she'' does. Given who her father was however, whatever manner of mystical inheritance she held could have just as easily come from him. He little showed until he betrayed us, but the Sheriff ''was'' a powerful figure, by the standards we judge such things."
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| − | "The brother, she spoke enough of. He does not live in the city I am afraid. He lives on the mountain outside of it. Crimson Needle Peak, where the fairies hold a small court for idiots and fools to come and gamble their souls away. That is why he may not be alive. Or at least may not be whole anymore."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Oh..." Ryshassa mentally files away the knowledge about Acelia's brother. Crimson Needle Peak... "Well, if he is at all salvageable from the Fair Folk's 'ministrations', I should be able to reach out to him and question him myself." She dearly hopes it could be so, but one never knows, with the fae...
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| − | | |
| − | ''Wait. The Sheriff? '' "The nobleman you spoke of was the Sheriff? What manner of being was he, then? And if you could tell me of any details of the supernatural manifestations Acelia has had, that would help, as well."
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| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa's eyes drop to the new drawing for an instant, and she nearly loses her train of thought altogether. If the figure with the guns is Iselsis, then the other winged one is... lady Aine? The figure with the black hat may or may not have been someone she saw in Iselsis' dream the one time she pulled her back to consciousness.
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| − | ''Interesting... he had said the narcotics helped him to see the future... then his paintings, they tell the glimpses that he sees...? ''
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| − | '''Chief: ''' "The Sheriff, yes. Though, as I said before lady Krauser, we did not have opportunity to study young Acelia before she departed. Page."
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| − | | |
| − | Had the last image been the most detailed, the next was the most simple and perhaps the most obscure. A string of shadowy animals trailed across the page; a fox hunting a crow hunting a raven hunting a rabbit hunting a horse.
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| − | The Chief had began to slow, the motions of his hand a little less sure and steady. Each word that came bore a slight pause, as if for reflection or perhaps a moment of concentration to find the proper word. Even to Ryshassa's trained eyes, it was difficult to tell if the withered man across the table were falling deeper under the effects of his drugs or if he were simply growing weary from the long conversation.
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| − | "The Sheriff, at least, I can be of some assistance regarding, though you may find better answers from the young prince. It is the blood of the Holysword family that the Sheriff, and our own dear Captain Iria too, gain their power from. Different branches however, I think perhaps. No one has ever reported the Sheriff taking the form of the Seraphim as many have seen Iria do. Though, I suppose given how loathe he was to display his power at all, it could simply be that he hid it..."
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| − | | |
| − | Drifting off, the Chief's eye wandered a moment, then closed. Both of the twins turned at once to the great machine, opening valves to the containers of false blood and one of the unmarked cylinders. Steam whistled out of a pipe at the top of the wall as the tubes writhed again. "Great Lords of Creation, I fear I cannot hold this conversation well much longer," he said a moment later. "In better days, I could continue for hours yet. But these are not better days. My officers will abide by whatever you ask of them and do their best to assist you, should you need it."
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| − | The Chief's eye remained closed, though his hand continued to move as if the rest of his body were simply another creature entirely and his weariness no burden upon it, finishing the next drawing mechanically. The image that took shape was one clear and crisp, edges sharp and image certain a lyre which shattered apart into a swarm of knives and swimming among the blades, a scattering of rings, identical to Ryshassa's own.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's face takes on a sympathetic cast. "Thank you for telling me all that you know on the matter. It has been most revealing... at the very least it gives us a place to continue our research."
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| − | Or for Iselsis to. They could ask the Prince, or perhaps travel to that Crimson Needle Peak, in due time. One thing is for sure, Acelia definitely has both the lineage and has shown the potential to be more than just an ordinary mortal. ''Though if the Sheriff is related to the Prince, Ryshassa realizes belatedly, that would mean Acelia is as well...! ''
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| − | "Cael and I will leave you to rest now. I am sorry we have taken so much of your time, Chief," Ryshassa says politely, her gaze falling onto the new drawing as she rises to her feet. She is unsure whether she even wants to know what that might mean... A shiver runs up her spine as she turns away from the picture to Cael, then to the distracted Franciska, wondering whether she might escort them back out. "Shall we, then?"
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "I thank you for your time, and your tea, Chief." Cael nods as he rises to his feet, placing the empty cup on the tea trolley once more.
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| − | "But yes, let us go." He looks to Franciska to guide them out from the room, wondering just what the chief knew of Ryshassa and her lyre...
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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