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| − | "... ten."
| + | #REDIRECT [[DarkheartOne/IdeaDump]] |
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| − | Imposing beyond imposing, terrifying beyond what mere words could describe, the dead general who bore the Title of the First and Forsaken Lion stared down at the container of smoky glass, soulsteel and orichalc wire. Within lay ten visible motes of light, almost too brilliant to look at directly. As much as he wanted to kick the thing over in his disgust, he could not bring himself to so much as draw another step closer.
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| − | "That, Lion, is the... hm, fifteenth time you've said that." Unlike the Lion, Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears looked... unamused, even bored. "The reality of the matter has long since sunken in." Leaning back a little in her chair made from the twisted corpi of her most recent 'mates', she fanned herself even though she has lost warmth countless ages ago. "Will you say it again, or shall we let someone else have that honor?"
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| − | "Allow me. Only ten. Absolutely preposterous." Directly across from the Lion was one of the 'upstart' Deathlords, the Mask of Winters, his fingers curling with loud, sickening pops as he beheld the cage with his so-called brothers and sisters. "Did the... thing even relay what stopped it?"
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| − | "Nothing." Dowager, as usual, was terse. Her voice rumbled with the dying snarls of countless predators, but was softer than normal. "Threatened to destroy it. Couldn't answer. It doesn't know. But..." All eyes fell on the Dowager, and she grew silent for a split second. "... it said it didn't catch all that came out. Another ten."
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| − | Cutting the silence, Walker in Darkness took a hesitant step forward. "We do not have enough to give back to the Yozis. This is the crux of the matter. Do we give up what we have worked to earn, or do we break out wo---"
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| − | <i>It is not your decision to make, dead king.</i> The collective voices of the Malfeans, the Once-Were, sliced through the very core of every attending ghost-king's being, and they grew both silent and inwardly fearful. <i>We, who are and are not, have pondered the matter in great length. Without these soul-lights, our desires will not come true. Thus, we will press on without their aide.</i>
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| − | "... they will surely take offense." Lion looked to the essences again. "We cannot afford to attract their ire."
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| − | <i>Truly avoiding the wrath of Malfeas, for any thing that exists, is impossible.</i> The presence of the Once-Were withdrew, and the cage itself simply was no longer there. For almost five minutes, none of the deathkings spoke, or even moved. Then, almost as one, they departed to their sanctums, their job done.
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| − | As much as Lytek loved his work, his incoming Exalted Essence workstation had been rather bland as of late. Nothing but the occasional Lunar essence in need of pruning and more than a fair number of Terrestrial Exaltation candidates, along with the suggested quota for the month. Dull, dull, dull.
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| − | So the new day was quite a surprise for the Right Hand of Power. Neatly lined up in their specially-designed adamant cases were ten brilliant globes of gold, and as hard as he tried to contain himself, he let out a whoop of joy. <i>Solars!</i>, he thought to himself, even as he tucked the cases away; quintessence-roach sprayers were coming through, and he didn't want anyone to know what he'd come across just yet. <i>I don't know how... but this is a grand day, indeed! It has been so long... too long! Those Bronze will go crazy once they find out...</i>
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| − | "Sir! Sir! Master Chejop! I have grave news!"
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| − | The lesser Water Dragon aide known as Crushing Tide (a rather unfitting name, as she was rather meek and not at all the fighting sort) burst into the meeting hall within the Manse of Ivy where she was certain that she'd picked up the scent of his assistant. As soon as she settled down to actually see if this was the place... her eyes snapped open, even as she covered them with her tail.
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| − | "... oh. Oh. Oh. Excuse me."
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| − | Said assistant, one Ayesha Ura, quickly removed her hand from under Kejak's robes, and the dragon promptly bowed out of the room, waiting just outside and to the left of the doorway. A twist of her hand, and said door slid shut. And locked, this time. "I knew I forgot something."
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| − | "Mayhaps we should meet like this less often." It was only a matter of concentreation, and Chejop was back to his composed self. "I know you enjoy the thrill, but that's been the third time this quarter." He nonetheless smiled down at her, toying with a lock of hair. "Still, business interrupts pleasure. Tide, enter." The door opened almost through Chejop's will alone, and Tide slithered in, hoping not to witness anything scandalous.
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| − | "Yes... Master Kejak. Our daily synopsis of the patter spider's dealings turned this up." She coughed up a (surprisingly dry) scroll, unfurling it to a specific section and showing it to both Chejop and Ayesha. "This was only a short while ago, maybe six hours. Notice the pattern of Essence flow."
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| − | Both Sidereals scanned the scroll, marked with the equivalent of an essence-weather map. Almost at the same time, they looked at one another, then fixed on Tide, who shrank back. "We have yet to confirm anything, but... we do believe those are trace patterns---"
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| − | "From loose Solar Essences. We know." Chejop could not, in any way, hide the sheer shock in his voice, scanning the scroll repeatedly. "... leave. Inform my Circle that we are having an emergency meeting within the hour." Tide gladly vanished, leaving the two Chosen alone. "Ayesha... I never thought I was going to have to ask this of you, but..."
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| − | "Say it." She knew what was going to come out of his mouth. She had waited far, far too long to hear it.
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| − | "... if this is real, I'm going to need your support. And your trust."
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| − | "Trust must flow both ways... but I can assure you." Ayesha lightly pressed a finger to his lips. "You can trust me to do what is right for Creation." And then she was gone, leaving Chejop Kejak to sigh.
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| − | "That is what bothers me, my dear."
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| − | * back to [[/RisingForce|Rising Force]]
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