Downpour

[Unwillingly 18125]

 

Downpour

 

 

---

 

A cold night for the Federation it was, much colder than usual, probably from the effects of the raging blizzard that stormed the southern lands of Atlas. The waves violently crashed against the stone of the bay, their song resonating throughout the city, while the banners strung from the square’s traditional memo tree danced to and fro in response to the howling wind. In the square, few lingered, choosing to rather collect in the tavern where they carried on with drunken laughter and wild conversation.

Sutica: a beautiful city, one that some have claimed to travel half of Atlas to see. Cyrene didn’t blame them. Sure, every city has its flaws and blemishes, though this city一 it was something different. A city that practically lives on the water, known for its diversity and successful trade. Perhaps some would even recall its time of stagnation and abandonment of its past leaders, when its people were left to die with no guidance or leadership, when the government fell along with the walls that had once stood so proud. 

“Come on, who is it?” asked Marienne.

Marienne. An ascended, one that Cyrene saw as the most selfless and giving, and whom she even looked up to as a role-model. Not only because of her gift of healing, but because of her sacrifice. An ascended who had literally given her own life for the freedom of others. Few seemed to remember what she had done, but Cyrene did, and she gave nothing but her absolute respect to Marienne.

How the woman came back from a willing death was beyond what Cyrene knew. Whether it’s the work of the monks, some foreign magic, or even the work of the beast Praependo once more, she didn’t bother with it.

“Oh, really, I shouldn’t say,” responded the Princess, giving her a weak grin at that as she glanced to the bay.

“Not even for me? Not even if you write it down? Bah, you’re no fun, Cyrene,” she’d jest happily. “I think all of this work is getting to you. It’s making you all grumpy and boring.”

“You think so?”

That is probably true. Perhaps Marienne knew Cyrene’s mind more than she did. Work did get to the woman from time to time, and she’s certainly had her moments. Her fits of anger, in which she’d stroll the quiet streets of the city to clear her head and get away from people.

“Yeah, we never even went on that picnic I suggested a while ago,” she’d say, leaning against the wall from her spot on the staircase. “You still want to do that, right? I can pick a spot in Sutica, and we can just talk for awhile and we can just relax. You need it.”

Perhaps she did. Her previous attempt at taking a break was futile, and only left her with a lingering feeling of anxiety and worry for what was yet to be accomplished. To leave for a long period of time was damaging to the work that needed to be done and only pushed things back, so she always seemed to be stuck doing one thing after the next, writing letter after letter. 

“Sure,” Cyrene said, smiling with a nod. “We can do that.”

[ThumperJack 927]

Miklaeil stood upon one of the rocky cliffs that bordered the Isle of Mists, staring out at the ocean as dark clouds indicating a passing storm began to roll in. As his light green gaze shifted to the blue waves, his thoughts turned to his friend in Sutica. While he would never openly admit such, he was very glad to still call her that. For good friends were treasure to him, even if his carefree demeanor might say otherwise. As wind crept in and light rain began to fall, the Keeper of the Silma turned and went to move inside with a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

 

((Good read!

[Viltaren 236]

Lily was relaxing in the cafe, her darling dwed wife leaning into her side as she casually speaks with Mystery Uialben. The topics of the night had been varied and almost at random, but things eventually shift to speaking about Cyrene. Lily smiles, a whistfull happiness as they discuss their princes. Eventually, Mystery gets that odd look upon his face that means he's starting to think.

The struggle to think seems to come to a head, and with a deep breath, the golem limbed elf would belt out into the night,”CYRENEEEEEEEEEEE!”

 

((Permission to post in his stead given by Mystery.))

[Skyrunner 257]

2 hours ago, Viltaren said:

Lily was relaxing in the cafe, her darling dwed wife leaning into her side as she casually speaks with Mystery Uialben.

 

Although Utaria’s wife-fiance was enjoying her time in the cafe, the storm outside reflected upon the inner conflict of Utaria. Every blink sent her through a cascade of emotions. Thoughts of her wife and her love of Sutica mixed with much thoughts. Politics was never Utaria’s game. Rather, she left that sphere to be handled by her father and oldest brother, but however it happened, she now stood beside her wife which was at the forefront of her nations politics. When she lived in Renatus-Marna as a kid, she had never dreamed of being this close to the decision making of a nation. The closest she ever wished was to be a legionnaire, but now, she rested into the side of Lily, one of the most important figures in the nation.

 

For a moment she thought about Cyrene, the woman who stood even higher than her wife-fiance. While her wife-fiance loved her so much that she made her the maid-of-honor for their second marriage, Utaria never was able to shake one policy in particular, and while she understood the reason why she did it, she couldn’t help but shake the voice of her father echoing from the far past “Death before dishonor.” The basic principal from which she raised was not so easy to shake, so much like the waves crashing against the rocks in the harbour, Utaria’s love of her wife, and her love of Sutica and the princess, crashed up against her basic beliefs and understandings. She also thought to the one time the princess’ boyfriend had shot a crossbow bold at her wife’s head. For a moment however, her thoughts cleared as she caught a glimpse of her wife’s face. A smile beamed out as she said “Have ya seen that guy around Cyrene? I tried to talk to him but all he did was repeat the word new, weirdly. I didn’t even get his name ya know? Do ya think she’s cheating on Evan?”  she giggles closing her eyes with more pleasant thoughts “Wouldn’t that be neat”

[LeoRabbit99 360]

Richard grumbles about something in his stall.

[LithiumSedai 5750]

In the same freezing night, the wind howled and blew around the spire of Blackwater, a mere half a mile across the narrow Sutican strait; heavy raindrops beat upon the tower’s flattened peak, carrying with them the scent of the approaching Vaeyl blizzard. Soaked, torn banners, quartered in azure-gold, crimson-black - cross and royal raven, fluttered over the heads of four men that, against all reason, chose to brave the storm out in the open. Below them the fortress stood silent - no refugee nor levyman would aimlessly wander the muddy grounds - but Jan Sigmar knew full well it was not out of fear of necromancers nor murderous stalkers in the night, as it has been for years in the city ahead, merely common sense. No bloodthirsty orc nor dark elven bandit ever set foot in this town, patrolled by brave men and elves who had taken up arms in defense of the Apostolic cause.

 

The flickering of shielded lanterns briefly illuminated the thin circle of gold set upon Jan Sigmar’s head; the Waldenian seldom bore the Opal Crown, his by right. Tonight was different. Gazing across the dark waters, flanked by his bannermen in magnificent Aurelian plate, he sought the Sutican walls through the veil of rain. His people were dying there, with no guidance nor leadership, left by the wretched sky-daemons to starve under the Lich-Queen’s yoke.

 

“...Aye, yer Majesty, them’s were th’ rogue magi!” The fourth figure broke the silence. Taken from his thoughts, the Apostolic King exhaled, turned away from the wall’s edge. His gaze narrowed upon an elf clad in simple, flowing robes; a poor shield from the raging elements.

 

“Rogue magi?” he repeated, his anger subsiding, to be replaced with earnest curiosity. The King observed and examined his guest’s attire; an indentured servant of the Federation, he thought, risking his pay and a brutal lashing should anyone learn of his visit to Blackwater. A form of slavery long banished from the civilized world; one more reason to bring the Federation to justice.

 

“As clear as day, yer Majesty, if y’allow it, ravagin’ th’ square, frightenin’ us good folk!” cried the elf, voice raising in complaint. The guards inched their visored sallets towards him in concern - but Jan knew no innocent man would fall to their greatswords, a fate many a victim of a certain morning star could not share. “Beg yer Apostolic pardon, yer Majesty, but th’ ol’ Lord Faroe, th’ Protector, he’d ‘ave never allowed it!”

 

“You know I cannot send my men to protect you as long as the Sky-Daemons allow the undead to rest upon my throne,” spoke the King in a firm tone, concealing any semblance of pity towards the poor elf. He allowed himself a pause to consider his earlier words. Despite what one might have thought of the so-called tyrant of Sutica, a cleric-turned-daemon as the stories say, Lord Faroe had never abandoned his people. He always stood firm and defiant in defense of Sutica - his legacy the Lich spat upon was relentless purging of the damned that threatened the city day by day.

 

“An’ why nae? Y’were there with Lord Faroe at Ceru, Tahariae bless ‘is soul, leadin’ us ‘gainst them dark druids an’ their livin’ corpses!” The elf stubbornly insisted, daring to match the Apostolic King’s gaze. Jan Sigmar stared back - although, for a moment, memories overwhelmed him. Few seemed to remember what they had done, but Jan Sigmar did and always would. The blackened fields of Ceru would never fade from his memory - the glorious, bloody day upon which Alstreim’s Deathwatch of Lorraine, Lord Protector Karyssmov Faroe, and Lord General Rhillen led the forces of Sutica to victory against darkness. Their blades clashed with the spears and shields of score upon score of skeleton and ghoul, until the undead were driven back into the sea and from the city of quartz. It was not a selfless sacrifice, no - but he and his men had fought for their homes, their friends, and what they believed in.

 

“Ja, I was - at least one man values the life we saved,” Jan muttered in a low tone. “The Sky-Daemons prevent the Apostolic Levy from shielding you. Why won’t the Lich-Queen and her Cerulean Watch save you?” he queried, knowing that no force but Cyrene herself, and her Ascended, roamed the walls in defense.

 

“Well, m’lord, I dunno nothin’ of liches an’ th’ sort, but th’ Princess an’ th’ Council are busy doin’ work, as they say. If tha’s wha’ they call courtin’ in th’ tavern all day long. Damned be th’ Sky-Daemon sort, save us from this plight!”

 

Blinking in disbelief upon his informant, the aged King closed his eyes shut. His gloved hand inched towards his pocket to grasp at the Cross of Lorraine contained within, seeking the Lord’s guidance. This was no time for a break.

 

“Ja,” Jan said, cracking a faint smile amidst a weary nod. “We can do that.”  

[Vindicant 642]

41 minutes ago, LithiumSedai said:

-snip-

“Fighter he may be, but King I know not. Those within Sutica have the right to choose their leader. If they do not enjoy the rule of the Trade Princess Cyrene, then they may raise their voices and post notices amoungst the lands near Sutica, calling for a new Trade Princess. Fighting to coup her-- to unjustly take the throne that I abdicated, stands against everything I stood for.”

 

Karyssmov murmurs from far away with the Hold of Greyguard, dipping his quill once more in ink to continue writing his letter.

 

“Jan, we fought together old friend, but do not fight to take something that should be left well enough alone. Earn the hearts of the people should you wish to rule, not fight and bleed Cyrene’s people. Democracy. Progress. Such is how the Sutican works, and their way you should follow if you wish to rule them. Standing as you are, a man of the Empire, gives people much thought and reason to question your allegiance-- whether it be to the Empire, or to the people you wish to lead.”

 

“Cyrene, all in all, has brought Sutica back from the muck that occured when I left the throne. I have not been there to see how it is in person, but I hear the sound of children playing and coins clinking. As they should, within a Trade Federation. Listen to reason. If not for your old friend, then at least for the memories we shared upon the palisades overlooking Sutica in Axios.”

 

With that, he sends the letter on his way, stamped with the ink-seal of the Faroean Crow.

[Inferno_Ougi 1454]

56 minutes ago, LithiumSedai said:

snip

Glottgut finds it ironic that Cyrene is accused of dark magic when Blackwater, the tributary to the Raguks before the original inhabitants dissapeared, was known for their use of their immoral and evil sorcery. "Eh, nub kare. Mi flat virgen, lal."

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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