Author Topic: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning  (Read 2598 times)

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Offline Persephone

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The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« on: August 18, 2020, 03:47:44 PM »
2 Weeks Ago – Zunetu

Zunetu was in a sour mood. The Talaos terrorists had proved to be far more capable than he had thought possible. And today was going to be a long day due to them. First him and Aerila were to finalize the arrangements for the funeral of their father. This was the most chilling assassination of them all. Someone snuck into his hospital room while he slept and injected poison directly into his IV. Quick and painless. At least Zunetu could be thankful for that. After this, he was meeting with the Dynasty military advisors to formalize a strategy of retaliation.

He looked behind him at his sister, Aerila. She was wearing a simple silver sundress which Zunetu suspected was chosen for its ease. Her eyes were puffy for crying and her head was bent down, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. It had not been easy for her. The death of most of their family left her with a complicated legacy. Her half-brothers who had tormented her throughout her childhood and a father who had largely ignored her. Zunetu had often wondered why father had taken her from her mysterious mother in the first place.

He reached his hand out to her. She looked up at him, her face scrunched in confusion. And why wouldn’t she be? When was the last time he spoke to her other than pleasantries? Two, three years ago? “Sister, we just have to get through today. After the funeral, I’ll make the arrangements, you can stay at the Winter Gardens.”

Her eyes lightened, but only a little. She would be safer there, isolated and surrounded solely by servants. “Really? I’ve never seen the Gardens out of season.”

“Yes, you can stay for the rest of the year. You’ll get to see the whole garden bloom.”

Zunetu nodded her forward. They just had to make it through today. Was that really so hard?

The pair continued their walk through the palace. The rest of the journey was done in silence. Even in better circumstance, the two had little to say to each other. They reached the doors of the meeting room; a large study. No doubt it was already filled with all sorts of religious and etiquette consultants. Zunetu took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

He barely stepped into the room, surveying his surroundings. It left Aerila trapped in the doorway. He saw mostly familiar faces, a handful of new ones were mixed in. But there was one that caught his eye. A young man, his face still full of boyhood. His eyes were downcast, as if they were afraid to look at the head of the Traetor family. The man felt Zunetu’s eyes on him and quickly looked up. He saw it in his eyes, the cold rage. The indifference of one resolved to leave this world.

Zunetu quickly flipped around towards Aerila. He felt the word escaping his mouth, but it was so slow, too slow. He raised his arms and pushed her back, out of the room. She fell back, landing far into the hallway. She had been holding the door open, and it started to close. Zunetu prepared to leap through the doorway, but he knew it was too late. He could feel the heat all around him. He closed his eyes and waited for the bang, but it never came.   

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #1 on: August 22, 2020, 03:10:24 AM »
Nerda took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes awake. He had drawn one of the short straws and was on late night watch duty. His unit were protecting a bank. A bank. As if the insurgents were common criminals. But apparently during one of the Wraith raids they uncovered plans to bomb the bank. Or rob it? The intel wasn't completely clear. Either way, it meant that the common Confederate soldiers had to do the boring stuff while the Wraiths got all the action. Nerda would have rather never left Confederate territory. At least that meant he'd just be on base and so he'd be in bed right now.

For not the first time, Nerda wondered if he should have joined up. There came a point in every Confederate soldiers’ career where a choice had to be made. Go through Wraith basic training or stay in the Confederate army. Nerda had actually been scouted, which meant that he could have done an accelerated training course. The only issue is that joining the Wraiths would have meant a 6-year commitment. Which at the age of 20, he didn't want to make. Now at 24 years old, he realized it wouldn't have been an issue. He had no plans of leaving service in the next two years.

But Wraiths got all the choice assignments. This whole deployment into Traetorian lands provided it. Two days and the Wraiths had already raided 20 different Talaos safe houses and all Nerda had done is guard duty. Granted the Confederate soldiers were only there to support the Wraiths and pad their numbers, but still. Two more years of mind-numbing patrols or six of being an elite soldier. Indecision as always.

Nerda's thoughts were interrupted by an explosion. Loud and big. He was covering the back entrance and there had been nothing. No one had even walked in the alleyway during his whole shift. And even if they did, the obvious armed soldier would have stopped them from trying anything. At least he hoped. No, the explosion had come from the front. The main street. It was then that Nerda realized his radio was silent. He always kept it on extra loud so he could hear the buzzing in his ear but nothing. He checked and it was still on so not a battery issue. The source must have been turned off somehow. Novuc and the others were covering the front. Where they okay?

Nerda rushed through side of the bank to the main street. There were bits of stone and burning debris across the pavement, but not much. Nerda serpentined to avoid most of it and came out to the main street to see complete chaos. There were multiple wounded, civilian and his unit. But they were being tended to by the uninjured soldiers. It was just a matter of waiting for the medics to get here. The professionals could handle it. The street had been pretty busy and so there were people clustered everywhere. Most were in a daze, still recovering from the shock. It made seeing him all the easier.

It was a dark figure rushing through the crowd. No hesitation, no shock. Nerda knew in his gut that this was the bomber.

"Hey! Stop right there!" The figure looked back for a second but continued running through the crowd. Nerda started to raise his rifle but thought better of it. There were too many civilians to safely take the shot. Without thinking he started running after the bomber. The chase lasted about five minutes. Desperate and unable to shake Nerda, the bomber turned into an alleyway. Nerda turned the corner to follow and something slammed into his face. In seconds he was on the ground, warmth rushing out.

Nerda looked up and saw a figure standing over him. He kept blinking, trying to get his eyes to focus. His head felt sticky and wet. He tried to lift his head to get a better look but that sent waves of pain through his skull.

"Damn Quin. No need to be so brutal, he's just a soldier."

"Well how the hell was I supposed to know that?" It took a second but Nerda realized this voice was common from the person towering over him. He couldn't make out any of her features, it was too dark. But her voice sounded strange, it had some sort of accent as if this wasn't her first language. She also sounded young.

He looked over to the other voice and saw a beast of a man. The beast was holding the bomber in place, a hand squeezing his jaw. It must have been a strong hold, cause the bomber was clawing at his jaw trying to free it. "What do you wanna do with this one?" The beast's voice was harsh and dissonant. It sounded like speaking was difficult for him.

"He's mine."

The beast let go of the bomber and he fell on his feet. There was a flash and then he crumpled without a sound, falling an arm’s length away from Nerda. He could see that the bomber's throat had been cut, twice. They were clean, professional, severing his vocal cords so he couldn't make a sound. He was still alive, but barely. In maybe a minute he'd bleed out. The girl was harsh. That much Nerda could tell.

"Should we leave the soldier? We have no business with the Confederates." She asked.

"We're off the reservation. You know the rules. No witnesses. No one can place us here. It's a direct violation of Darkspeak." The girl grunted her understanding. She pushed Nerda onto his back with her foot and knelt next to him, placing one of daggers at his throat.

"I'm sorry." It was the last thing he heard.

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #2 on: August 27, 2020, 12:53:14 AM »
"This is fucking illegal and you know it!" Maz was pissed and he didn't care to hide it. The Council of Elders has gone too far this time.

"We gave you what you've been asking for for years. Nova City is now free from Confederate regulations. Can't you just look the other way." Duchess Ciklo of the Traetor Dynasty. Not that it mattered much. Few on the Council of Elders ever remembered to remain loyal to their old allegiances.

"A puzzle box and a political disaster is what you gave me. The city and not the whole republic. What does that mean? And now I have to sort through this mess. Don't think I don't know that this was done on purpose. You want to silence me, to lessen my pressure on you." Maz was standing at the head of the conference table, his chair somewhere behind him from when he jumped to his feet earlier. His hands were gripping the table hard, trying to calm himself done. Surprisingly, Maz was a relatively serene man. But the Elders knew how to push him to his limits.

The room was empty except for Ciklo. The other Elders no doubt dealing with other matters. Maz didn't even warrant two of their attentions. It made him feel weak, small. The Council of Elders was designed so that their infight and national connections would act as a check and balance on the council's power. Unfortunately, in practice the Elders were almost all of one mind- centralization and an increase in Confederate power. It always came down to one of the national leaders to keep them in check. Maz, unfortunately, had stepped into that role some years ago.

"Maz, I'll be frank here. This isn't a power grab by the Council. My cousin Aerila asked for our aid. The Dynasty needs it. It's turning into a warzone. We don't know how the Talaos got this kind of power, but it needs to be crushed. Withdraw your complaint against the Confederate military presence in Dynasty lands and walk away. You stand to gain everything. I'll personally fix this SAR issue for you and extend it to the whole Republic, and the Council will owe you a favor. We don't have to be enemies. I never understood that about you. Why not work with the Council. Imagine what we could get done?"

"Duchess, you cannot buy me off. It doesn't matter how many favors you offer me. What you're doing is wrong and it sets a bad precedent. I won't allow it. I have the support of the Chieftains and the Legislative Courts have allowed voting in my favor. This will go to a review committee. And you and I both know they will rule in my favor."

"At what cost?" This time it was Ciklo who was yelling. "The Talaos terrorists stand to gain everything while we fight. You're playing into their hand. The Council needs you to step down from this issue. Immediately. I will not take no as an answer." Maz was about to open his mouth when the Duchess spoke again. Her words might as well have been gold. "The Decree of Northern Supremacy."

"You'll revoke it?" The Decree of Northern Supremacy is that has kept Griss isolated. The Decree bans any political connects to southern governments. And it only gets worse from there. Later Council has expanded and added to it in order to make any sort of connection to the south harder. Travel, trade, scientific research, international crime all have been severely hampered. Its removal would be Maz' greatest accomplishment. It would change the Confederacy forever. It would be his legacy.

"If you do this for me, I'll do everything I've already offered, and the Council will revoke the Decree of Northern Supremacy. Play your cards right and you might even end up being a special advisor to the Council of International Affairs, the Twin knows will need it." Maz looked up at Ciklo, uncurling his fingers from the table. They were stiff and hard from the strength he'd been putting into them. Her face looked sincere, there was no hint of mechanics in it. Instead she looked tired.

"They didn't authorize you to offer this did they?" She didn't have to answer, her face showed it all. "Why?" Why do this? Why help him, she didn't have to. She could have offered him something far smaller that he might have taken.

"Maz, I've told you so many times, we don't have to be enemies."

"Will the rest of the Council accept this?"

"I'll tell them it’s the only conditions you were willing to accept. We can't announce the Republic being granted the autonomous status for a few days. You'll have to say that because of domestic issues you cannot pled your case to the oversight committee yourself. You'll appoint a proxy. It can be a good one for all we care. The complaint will slowly die in oversight."

"How?"

"The provisionary Traetorian government is calling for a Talaos War. The Council is of a mind to declare one. If it happens, no one will care about some complaint on confederate military presences."

"Will there really be a war? A war against terrorists? What would you even call that? A war on terrorism? That sounds so idealistic and manipulative.” Maz couldn't help but almost laugh at the idea.

"No. Not a full war. I won't allow it. Your logic prevails on this one. It would set a bad precedent." Maz smiled. He and the Duchess exchanged their goodbyes. A good compromise had been reached tonight. And Maz had learned something even more valuable. The Council was not as monolithic as they have led him to believe.

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #3 on: September 08, 2020, 10:25:21 PM »
Solkikh was sweating bullets. Thankfully it was a rather warm day, the northern summer persisting long than usual this year. The cool summer wind was gently flowing, feeling rather nice against his wet forehead. He once again carefully eyed his surrounding, hoping not to seem suspicious. The famed Winter Gardens of the Dynasty. It was actually quite beautiful, despite not being in season. There were numerous stone paved walkways that eased walking through the flora. From his lessons on the Gardens, the pavement was constructed to form sigils and the signets of the Dynasty. But that could only be seen from the sky, down on the ground they seemed like a maze to Solkikh. 

It was relatively empty. There were a few ceremonial guards patrolling in pairs. A couple of visitors admiring the Gardens, Solkikh had even spotted a couple of Asurian nobles. But as a loner, the Talaos was mostly left on his own and rarely coming even close to one of the others there with him. Unconsciously, he started to reach to touch his backpack, to check on it, but stopped himself. Better to not draw attention to himself.

The plan was actually quite simple. The outer Gardens had almost no security and for the inner ones, you only needed to pass through a single security check point. It was just plain hubris. You'd think after all the Traetor Dynasty had been through these past few weeks, they'd do more than just move the last surviving family members to a few hours from any major city. That the Princess would be under strict guard and protection and no one would be allowed within miles of her without being tossed through dozens of security measures.

It was actually quite easy. Solkikh had been worried when his cell was given the order to kill the Princess. Aerila. But a few well-placed bribes and they got all the information they needed. It only took one more to ensure a guard on duty would look the other way while someone passed through the check point. That someone ended up being Solkikh. They had actually drawn straws for it. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead. Just walk in, find the Princess, drop the bag within fifty feet of her and walk away. Finding her wouldn't be hard either, since her brothers and father's deaths, she would spend all day on the same bench across from a bed of snow white roses.

He approached the check point, nodded at the single guard there to get his attention. Solkikh pulled his right hand against his stomach to hid it from anyone else and made the hand signal of resistance. The guard saw it, made eye contact with Solkikh and nodded. That's the hard part done. He walking up to the metal detector, placing his backpack on the conveyer belt next to him and walked through. It made no sound as he walked through. He turned back, waiting for his bag to pass through the x-ray machine.

But then there was a beep. It was subtle and small. If he hadn't been so on edge he might not of noticed it. The conveyer belt stopped moving. Solkikh looked over to the guard. What the hell was happening. Then he realized. The guard was moving his hand to the gun on his belt, but it was already too late. Someone crashed into Solkikh from behind, their shoulder spearing into his his shoulder blade and throwing him to the ground. Solkikh's face hit the stone first. It was hard contact, dazing him and cutting his forehead. He tried to move, but whoever had tackled him was already pinning him down. He could feel his hands being moved to be cuffed. It didn't make any sense. This was suppose to be easy.

They knew he was coming, they had to. Someone had ratted him out. The guard? He managed to glance up at the guard who had been running the check point. That's when he noticed it wasn't the right one. If the guard had betrayed them, they wouldn't have replaced him. Better to keep the rat in so Solkikh would be less likely to notice something. No this must have come from the inside. From the insurgency.

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #4 on: September 09, 2020, 05:03:38 PM »
Quin grunted. As a child she had always imagined the outside world. She had longed to see it. Begged her instructors to let her roam free, even if it was just outside the temple grounds. But the answer was always no. Darkspeak. She had grown to hate that word, same as any other member of the Temple. Now, older and wiser, she knew that was done on purpose. Everything in her childhood and training was purposeful. A Doll is not born but created through careful cultivation.

She finished adjusting her robes. She despised the things, their loose frame, the way they sort of drooped everywhere. In the temple no one ever wore them. She'd much prefer her form fitting temple uniform. But that would look too militant, it would upset the powers that be, scary them more like. Better the outsiders thought the Temple was still clinging to its lost nature as a Cadre. That they were lamenting what they lost rather than having moved forward decades ago. Quin almost smiled at the black silk; in a Cadre she would most certainly be a talent of her generation. She'd have walked the Way of Shadows and already passed the trials to be a Seer. She was glad it was the Temple that found her and not the Cadres, a life of mediocracy, no matter the unearned praise she'd receive, was not for her.

She looked across the room at Tezisi. She moderately knew him. While the same age, they had been raised in separate broods. The first time they met was over Gungi. Everyone at the Temple was an accomplished player in some right. But as children Tezisi and Quin showed great promise. They were singled out for additional lessons. After a few weeks, Tezisi proved himself as the superior player. While Quin had the mind of strategy, she lacked the patience. Why command the army to victory when you could lead them from the front? He continued his lessons and she was assigned to learn other things. It was her greatest weakness according to her instructors; she had such potential but focused only on the talents that brought her pleasure.

Tezisi was also wearing the black robes of the Way of Shadows. It sort-of surprised Quin. He'd always been well mannered and kind, a strange and rare quality among the Temple. His buzzed head made him look young and approachable rather than hard. His eyes were soft and unassuming. But Quin felt like there was something missing from them.

"Ready to go?" Quin spoke in Darkspeak. Even though they were alone, she dared not break the Decree. Punishment for the whole temple would be swift and without mercy. She knew she was assigned to guard Tezisi as a test of restraint. Everything had a purpose within the Temple. Everything was a test; the question was always could you recognized of what. Tezisi nodded and the two walked out of their modest hotel room.

It was a short walk to the conventional hall that the tournament was being held in. The pair walking in a line, Tezisi in front, and Quin his perfect shadow. They did not speak, did not look at the others passing by, despite the looks. The two were like celebrities, all the other players were enamored with them. To Quin, who had spent her whole life learning how to blend in, to move unnoticed, it was nerve-wracking.

They entered the hall, and Tezisi took a seat at his designated play area. For simplicity and ease, Tezisi had an assigned table and his opponents rotated. Everyone else was constantly moving between tables throughout the day, but Tezisi remained sitting. It made sense, he couldn’t ask questions, couldn't ask for help if he got lost. Not that he would have. Quin took her guard position behind him. One the first day she had been offered a chair but turned it down with a nod of her head. She didn't mind standing for long hours; her endurance training had been unspeakably worse.

This was the second to last day of the tournament before the finals. Quin was actually disappointed in Tezisi. He had done little to prove himself and seemed to be an average player. Quin constantly found him making simple errors while playing. She had wanted to say something, but she wasn't allowed to speak, even in Darkspeak, in case she was advising Tezisi during matches. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it meant she would get to go home soon.

Tezisi' first match took the seat across from him. He was an older man, his grey hairs blading. Quin could see his ley lines were blocked in numerous areas. His posture was horrible. She doubted he'd live for another year. He must already have some terrible illness. She guessed cancer. He must be a regional champion. Knowing he was nearing the end of his life, he thought he'd give the tournaments a chance. Or maybe he was seeking the prize money for medical care. No, from what Quin knew, money was not an issue for health care in the Confederacy. It was either an experimental surgery or a spiritual healer. Given his age, it was probably the later.   

He gave Tezisi a smile showing his numerous missing teeth. They had played on the first day and he had easily won. No doubt he thought Tezisi wouldn't be much of a match. They began laying out their pieces. Gungi was an interesting game because even the set-up was shrouded in tactics. Players took turns laying out one piece on their side of the board. It meant you have to keep track of what they were holding in reserve, which side should you defense, where their weak spots are, what are traps and feints. The old man placed his pieces in a simple left side rush. It was simple maneuver, the idea was that the left side aggression would to so swift and strong that it would overwhelm the opponent and then collapse on their right-side push, winning the middle no man’s land and eventually the game. Tezisi responded to every one of his pieces swiftly and almost without thought. It was not how he normally played, usually taking much more time. The old man sensed it too and rubbed his joints uneasily.

The game lasted a few minutes. The old man pushed, and his advance was quickly broken. Tezisi used his strong pieces to slow the advance while his fast-aggressive pieces flanked, breaking the old man's push. He quickly surrendered. 

The rest of Tezisi matches followed suit. No matter how skilled or cautious the opposition was, he crushed them in minutes. His moves were varied and dynamic, unlike games he had played earlier this week and unlike any other player. It took a few games before Quin realized it. In Gungi, personal strategy and tactics were sacred. It was why the Masters wouldn't play until the GCS and the Cadre players didn't join the tournament circuit until halfway through. No one wanted to reveal their hands. Players tended to develop unique playstyles similar to how one develops a personality. Tezisi had been hiding his own skill and playstyle for as long as he could. Using basics and common strategy to win. It was actually a testament to his skill that he was able to do so well with well-known maneuvers.

But now that pretense was gone. Quin had a small grasp on how Tezisi would play (she had been trained the same as him), but even she struggled to keep up. From the looks on those across the table, they had no idea how to counter him. Most didn't even understand what he was doing. Tezisi tended to favor sacrificing strong pieces to slow or weaken enemy advances and then rushing into the open spots and exploding the enemy's lines. He was reactive, using the other player's tactics against them. Where they fortified, he ignored, where they strengthen, he spread his line. When they advanced, he retreated. When they were careful, he was brutal. When they were aggressive, he was cautious.

The smartest of his opponents, those who had some grasp on his skill, simply looked on in awe. Even Quin was shocked. Lunch break was called. The board was removed from the table and their lunch was put in its place. Quin took the seat across from Tezisi. She looked up at him. He was unpacking their lunch from its box. Flash fried fish flaked with spices and a small side salad. He separated their meals, passing Quin her food, before quickly digging in. He ate quickly, but with precision. He looked up at her, noticing her eyes on him.

"Is something wrong?" He had just taken a large bite of fish and his words were muffled by the food in his mouth. She looked at his eyes. The emptiness was gone. In its place was something dark, powerful, hungry. He deserved the black robes he wore. And for the first time, Quin understood. Tezisi wasn't her equal, he was her better. When the two were learning Gungi, it was to see who had the superior mind. Who should inherit the Temple of Silence. Tezisi had easily won and Quin had never even known. This assignment wasn't a test, it was a punishment- humiliation for her failure.

"No, I just didn't realize how good you were. You've improved much since we use to play." 

"Oh, you are too kind Je'tu (sister). It's just hours of practice and study. If you had stayed studying with me, I have no doubt you would be my better. You have a much better mind for it than I. A natural talent."

Quin smiled weakly. He had always known. How she had thrown away her chance at leadership, to become the Grandmaster without a care. "Perhaps you could teach me."

Tezisi smiled broadly, all traces of the dark creature within him gone. "Of course, it would be my pleasure." It was in that moment she resolved to kill him.
« Last Edit: September 15, 2020, 11:53:37 PM by Persephone »

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #5 on: September 16, 2020, 04:30:08 PM »
Ciklo accidentally kicked the bag at her feet over, spilling the morning flower clippings all over the stone pavement. She got off the bench and started gathering them up and putting them back in the bag. She was far more nervous than she cared to admit. It wasn't often that she saw her cousin. The two meeting would be awkward at the best of times, and this was anything but.
 
She had flown into Traetor quite early, coming to the Winter Gardens directly from her flight. She had planned on waiting for Aerila here, on the bench across from the snow roses. But she saw that they needed clipping and almost without thinking ordered one of her men to bring her a tool to prune them and got to work. It had taken some time and she was covered in a dewy sweat and patches of dirt. But it reminded her of her childhood. Of the little time she did spend with Aerila and her half-brothers. The Traetor children grew up among the gardens and landscapes of the ancient Traetorian castles and keeps, including the Winter Gardens. To think the family was all but wiped out in less than a year.
 
Ciklo had wished Zunetu had lived. He almost did. He, like the rest of his brothers, was groomed for statecraft. Born to rule over the Dynasty. Aerila had been raised in daydreams, isolation and idealism. Her world was fairy tales and trashy romance novels. As they got older, Ciklo always felt such pity even just standing in the same room as her.
 
All that were left of the Dynasty was Aerila, Ciklo and Ciklo's father. And the Harbinger, Lady Emo, Aerila and Ciklo's great aunt. But she was disinherited once she joined the White Lily Cadre, not that she had much of a choice in the matter. And Ciklo's father had been locked away from the public's eyes for years for his own crimes. Never formally charged or triad for the scandal, he had spent the last decade under house arrest. The Dynasty truly was on the verge of collapse. And if the family did fall, it would be anarchy and chaos until the Confederate forces established order. Which every nation would take issue to. The Dynasty needed to survive, or it would mean civil war. Not to mention that in this scenario, Ciklo would have to be dead.
 
Ciklo finished gathering the last of the clippings as she heard soft footsteps approaching. She looked up, "Princess, it is good to see you."
 
Aerila slightly bowed to her cousin before taking a seat on the bench. Ciklo joined her. As Aerila took in the white roses, Ciklo analyzed her from the corner of her eyes. She looked in rough shape. Her face was red and her eyes puffy and raw. There had been an admirable attempt to this under a skill level of makeup, but it wasn't very good under close inspection. Aerila, who had been only seen as an annoyance to her family and known this, was now left with the muddled task of mourning them. She was carrying all the grief on her shoulders. Ciklo had abandoned her just as everyone else had for her whole life.
 
No. Ciklo was busy doing the difficult task of protecting and leading the Dynasty. The task that Aerila had ignored. It was her birthright and she didn't care for it. Ciklo took a deep breath to steady herself. It was Aerila's fault, none of this was. Besides, it was better that Ciklo took over for now. Maybe in a few years, when the Talaos were broken, maybe then Aerila could take her rightful place as the Traetor Queen.
 
"Y'know, I planted this bed of flowers." It started the Duchess and she turned her attention back to the roses. "It seems like a dream now. It was so long ago. We had only been in the Gardens for a few days, the beginning of the winter season. As always, I wished to play with my brothers, and they were content to ridicule me until I gave up. As a child, I never understood their hatred towards me. I thought we were one family. It was a long time before I realized their disdain for my mother was what guided their treatment of me. A mother I don't even remember. A mother I will never get to meet now that my father is gone. That day, as I did so many days, I ran from them to hide alone in the gardens and cry. My father found me, a hoe and seeds in his hand. He asked if I wanted to help him plant some flowers. We spent the afternoon working this patch of earth. It was the most time I ever spent with him. I don't know your feelings towards them cousin, but they were monsters. All of them. Just like their father."
 
Ciklo nodded. It was true. Aerila may be childish and weak, but she was correct. "Cousin, I want to apologize for what my brothers did to you. Forcing you away when you were so young. It wasn't fair."
 
"That is not your burden to bear."
 
"It is now. I am the last of my family. Their mistakes are mine now. It is up to me to atone for them and to right the wrongs they have done."
 
"Aerila-"
 
"Cousin, I know you would not come if you did not have something official to discuss, so go ahead."
 
As horrible as it was to say, Ciklo thought that the tragedy had done Aerila good. She had matured so much. Or perhaps she was always this way and the Duchess had refused to see it. "Aerila... as you know, the situation in the kingdom is complex and dangerous. You already asked the Council of Elders to oversee Traetor until you were ready. I'm here to ask to take that a step forward. We want you blessing in formalized the provisional government, with me as acting head."
 
Aerila smiled. "Of course, cousin. This way the Dynasty remains in our hands. It is the best solution. But in exchange, I ask a favor."
 
"Anything."
 
"Unlike my brothers and you, I have little knowledge of ruling. Could you, could you find me instructors so that when power is returned to me, I might actually be able to perform my duties?"
 
"Of course. I apologize, if there is nothing else, I must be going, there are things to finalized." Aerila nodded and Ciklo started to walk away. She could imagine that in a year’s time, Aerila would make a strong and powerful monarch. Her grief would be a powerful motivator. So much so she might even become a player. But whose side would she be one was the real question.
 
"Cilko."
 
"Yes?" The Duchess turned to face Aerila. Her face was bent down, her long hair dropped over it, hiding most of her features from view. In an instant Ciklo could tell she was crying.
 
"Do you think we could start again? That this time we might be friends."
 
"Of course, cousin. Does not the same blood flow through our veins?"

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #6 on: September 18, 2020, 03:18:50 AM »
Quin whistled, it was sharp and melodic and to anything but a trained ear it would sound like a normal bird. Half her body was sticking out the window of her and Tezisi's room, taking in the night air. She only had so much time before he returned so she prayed that there would be an answer soon. She surveyed the street below, the yellow tint of the streetlight illuminating several figures. It only took her a matter of seconds before she spotted him. Dovax was hiding his face under a cloth face mask and a black cap. She made eye contact with him and nodded.
 
She considered going the long way, exiting her room and walking down the stairs from her room on the third floor. But that would take too much time. She checked to make sure that no one else had noticed her and then leaped to the drainage pipe to her left. She caught hold and it buckled under her weight. But she kept in motion, using her momentum to slide down the pipe, in seconds she hit the ground, landing squarely on her feet. Her body easily absorbing the shock. Her hands were shredded, should have worn gloves. She stuck them in the pocket of her hoodie, best not to show Dovax or she wouldn't hear the end of it for the rest of her life.
 
He crossed over to her as fast as he could without alarming anyone else. Which was fairly quick. Without thinking, in an instant, Quin pulled her right hand up and made the signal for the prosperity ward. For centuries, the Temple of Silence had long used the common hand wards for signals while in the field. Prosperity meant no danger. Quin and Tezisi were under strict orders to not contact Dovax unless it was an emergency. His presence in Orphela was a secret and a breaking of the agreement that allowed Tezisi to compete in the Traetor Open. As such, Quin had to use the emergency whistle to get his attention, and to speak with him.
 
"What the hell is it girl?" Someone who didn't know Dovax would have thought he was angry. But spend any amount of time with him and you'd quickly learn that his tone was always like that. He pulled his face mask off, "stupid thing makes my scar itchy." This revealed the source of the gruffness of his voice. The right side of his jaw was covered in lumpy red burn scars.  Even parts of the right side of his lower lip was missing. It was nasty but Quin was used to it. Dovax never talked about how he got it but those around him eventually learned that the thing plagued him with constant pain and irritation.
 
"I needed to talk to you."
 
"All this for a chat. The Temple should have left you to rot when they had the chance." Dovax had been one of Quin's main combat instructors and normally she didn't mind his constant string of insults and unfiltered rage. But tonight, she wasn't in the mood.
 
"Will you wait until I tell you why before being an asshole. Twin's blood, talking to you is such a pain." Quin wasn't normally this harsh, Dovax could tell something was wrong. He nodded for her to continue. "Tezisi is going to be named the Grandmaster's neophyte, isn't he?" Once again Dovax just nodded. "You knew all this time and you weren't going to say anything?"
 
"Took you long enough to figure it out." From the subtle inflection changes, Quin knew he was disappointed in her. So much so he didn't even bother to call her a name. She really had failed.
 
"If, if I had known what was a stake-" She stopped herself. It was childish, to complain that she didn't know. Everything at the Temple mattered. Even the babies knew that. Your whole life was a test and if you failed for not knowing then that was your problem, no one else's. "Why should I want to be Grandmaster anyways? It's not a job that would suit me."
 
"Girl, you're a fool if you truly think that. And if so, allow me to give you some more motivation. Every Grandmaster singles out a number of individuals as their possible heir. When you are chosen, you are forever marked. The mark of command. It doesn't matter how many years pass, how many Grandmasters come and go, you will always possess the mark of command. Anyone with the mark of command may become Grandmaster through whatever means they wish. Being named neophyte or killing the previous holder, they are one in the same. It matters little. And because of this, most new Grandmasters are nervous creatures. To consolidate their power, one of their first tasks is eliminating all other individuals possessing the mark of command." Quin could easily connect the dots. One day Tezisi would sign her death warrant. She'd do the same. Perhaps a Grandmaster would pardon a good friend of theirs, a trusted ally, but Quin and Tezisi were not that.
 
"How many others possess the mark?" It was the logical next step. She needed to know all of Tezisi's rivals, those she could use against him.
 
"Besides the two of you, there is only one other. But he is gone years ago. A promising failure." Dovax was being purposely vague, but still Quin knew who he meant. He was only a few years older than her. If he had been a bit younger and Quin a bit older, they might have grown up in the same brood. Quin remembered seeing him around the Temple. He had moved with such grace and power, as if he knew the place was his. Now she realized it was. He had been sent away on a covert mission the details of which few knew. It was maybe six months later that Tezisi and Quin were put in a room to learn Gungi. Iatheus.
 
"Dovax, if I am to defeat Tezisi I need Iatheus." Already plans were swarming in her mind. Plans within plans really. Calculations for if Tezisi made this decision versus that one, it was as if she could see the coming battle between them as a game of Gungi. Tezisi was the far better player and if Quin was to win, she'd need every advantage she could get.
 
"Why? Who knows where he could be? He could be dead for all we know. He'll be impossible to track down."
 
Quin scolded at Dovax. "Do you want to bow to that kurtga[1]? Tezisi must think me an ignorant fool for as long as possible. But he needs a rival, someone else for him to focus his attention and time on. The Grandmaster is old and cautious, he is not like to grant another mark of command, not when he's been sparring with it so far. That means Iatheus must return. It will throw the Temple in disarray over succession. In the chaos, I will be able to thrive."
 
"Perhaps, but you are too young to remember what he is like. Iatheus will not be a feeble opponent. Grandmaster Enlius called him a talent born once in a generation."
 
"Dovax, this is my only avenue to victory. The only way I live. Can you find him?"
 
"Yes, but it will take time. Tomorrow is the finals, Tezisi versus that Talaos girl. If he wins, he wins his spot in the Champions Series. The three of us return home. I won't be allowed to leave the Temple on another mission, not until after the GCS is over. By that time, it'll be too late, Tezisi will be Grandmaster in all but name. You will lack the time needed to undermine him. For your sake, you must pray to the Twin he loses tomorrow."


 1. no direct translation, best would be observer or game player. An insult meaning a passive person that focuses on observing and watching rather than participating.

Offline Persephone

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Re: The Decree of Traetorian Mourning
« Reply #7 on: September 22, 2020, 03:01:00 AM »
Ciklo crossed her legs and looked out the window in front of her. The view outside the window was quite gorgeous with the giant Statue of the Reaper hover in the background. She self-consciously touched the briefcase on her right, making sure it was still there. The Oversight Committee Hearing was only supposed to take two weeks. Three at the most. But they were nearing a month, and no results. The Committee was still trying to come to a consensus on whither military operations should cease until after an official ruling was made. The whole thing was a disaster. Thankfully the vote was tomorrow, and then the Committee could finally get back on track. It was times like this that the Duchess wondered if the bureaucracy of the Confederacy was really worth it.
 
The hotel room door behind her opened. She didn't move, continuing to stare at the night sky. "Zonuc." She could feel the Special Delegates unease at her being in his room unannounced. But when an Elder came calling, you did not turn them away. "Please, take a seat."
 
He shuffled through the room, passing by her and took a seat on the bed as she was already in the only chair.
 
"Duchess Ciklo, how nice it is to see you."
 
"Always the charmer, Zonuc." Her voice was flat, showing her displeasure at being here. Zonuc was Azori's charge. But as pure usual, he was shrieking his duty. If there was one Elder the Duchess couldn't stand it was him. Ciklo was about to speak when her phone vibrated. "Excuse me," she held up her first two fingers, the Grissin gesture of one moment, and pulled out her phone. It was a message from Dutuzu. Reaper. Now. What could he want? And at this time? Dutuzu was currently dealing with the human trafficking crisis. She quickly typed out her response: Wait for me. In the middle of something. Should be thirty minutes. She then put her phone away and looked up at Zonuc. Silently, she sent thanks to the Twin. Now she could do this the fast way rather than drawing it out.
 
"I'm afraid another pressing matter has come to my attention, so I have to be quick. In the case next to me is 〆10,000. You are going to take it and tomorrow vote in favor of the Confederate military. And then when the time comes, you are going to vote in favor of the Decree of Traetorian Mourning. Is that clear?" Zonuc was one of the last votes they needed to secure. If not, he was the last one. And he had been annoyingly dodgy. Avoiding all attempts by the Elders at contact. Which sent a clear message to them that he didn't want to fall in line. It's why the Duchess had come herself. To show him the severity of the matter.
 
"This isn't right, you can't do this. I won't go along with it." Ciklo was already standing up, looking at the time on her watch. 11:23PM. She smiled.
 
"It's so exciting, being a Special Delegate, isn't it? Getting to be part of the Oversight Committee. It's a once in a lifetime chance. So sad that once this whole mess is over, all the attention will melt away just as quickly as it came." Ciklo paused. This was the important part, not too long or not too short, otherwise it wouldn't have the sinister effect she needed. "Do you know how poorly attended middle ranking government officials' funerals are? A tragedy really, for them to devout their whole lives to the state. A thankless job if you ask me." Ciklo turned and walked out of the room, leaving the briefcase. Not even checking to see Zonuc's expression. She'd get the vote she wanted tomorrow.
 
She took the elevator down to the first floor, exiting the building. Her car was already waiting. She got in the backseat. "Reaper." The driver nodded with a yes ma'am. It was a quick drive to the statue; she'd be there earlier than she had told Dutuzu. During the ride, Ciklo found her thoughts drifting to Aerila. "Do you think we could start again? That this time we might be friends." Those words had been ringing in her mind ever since. Aerila signed away her kingdom without a second thought. All while asking for friendship with her usurper. It was so childish. Weak willed. But why couldn't Ciklo keep her out of her mind? Why did it matter still?
 
The car came up upon the Reaper. A shrouded massive faceless figure, plunging a sword into the mountainside. Normally the roads around it were blocked off for foot traffic, but this late they were closed instead. Her driver had waved her clearance through security and drove all the way up. No one batted an eye; this was a common meeting spot for Dutuzu and Ciklo. She exited to see Dutuzu leaning up against his own car opposite her own. She waved to him and the two of the walked diagonally toward the statue, meeting at the sword.
 
"Seeker, it is good to see you." Dutuzu raised an eyebrow at her formality. The pair were quite close. Maybe too close. Azori had joked the other day about how often they were sleeping together. Ciklo cleared her head. She'd had enough of sitting next to that harlequin. His constant comments were slowly getting under her skin. She looked at Dutuzu, examining him with new eyes, thanks to Azori. He had a soft face, thick eyebrows, and the striking purple eyes of a Helgaran. She had to admit he was cute, although too young looking for her typical tastes.
 
"A nice chilling air, isn't it, Duchess." He stressed her title in mockery to her formality. She blushed but tried to hide it. In the night air he didn't see it, thank the Twin. "I hear tomorrow it might be warm enough for cold noodles."
 
"Seriously?" Ciklo was beaming at this. Cold noodles were a delicacy throughout the Confederacy. Unfortunately, it was only served in warm weather. And it was rarely warm in the north. You were lucky to eat cold noodles four or five times a summer season. And with it turning to autumn, this would likely be the last chance until next year. "I can already feel it in my mouth. Oh, man." Dutuzu laughed.
 
"Perhaps we could get some together. It's been awhile since we've had a work meeting." With Dutuzu and Ciklo working on two different projects, they had rarely seen the other in the past few weeks. Such was how the Council of Elders worked, everyone pursuing different objectives.
 
"Unfortunately, there's a vote tomorrow in the Committee. I'll be lucky if I even get a chance to eat lunch, much less noodles."
 
"You're right. I totally forget. Next year then, the first warm day of the summer, we'll carve out the time." Ciklo smiled and nodded her agreement. Dutuzu smiled back at her. He truly was the only friend she had made in their line of work.
 
"What is it that you asked me here for?" Immediately his demeanor changed as she asked the question. He went rigid and the smile faded from his face.
 
"I have information for you. About the insurgency." Cilko opened her mouth to ask how he would have gotten that, but he continued on. Whatever it was, he wanted to say all of his piece at once. "I went to Irkallu today. I saw Prisoner Humbaba." The name sent a shiver down Ciklo's spine. She was from Traetor, she understood just how fear inspiring of a crime lord he once was. She had never had to deal with him, even indirectly, he was imprisoned just before she joined government work. "He was extremely forthcoming. He gave me all the information I wanted and then some. But it came at a cost. Next time, he won't speak unless his release is guaranteed. And he knows another Elder will be coming for him soon, and he's right." This confused her, no one was actively pursuing work that they would need information from Humbaba except Dutuzu. Besides, nothing could be valuable enough to negotiate with him, especially if he wanted those talks to include freedom. "He knows things about the Talaos. I don't know how much, but he gave me the inner-workings of full cells, complete with their entire rosters. I verified a couple with the intel the Wraiths have recovered in their raids. It's accurate. I don't know how he knows this, but he does."
 
Everything had changed. "Does he have enough to turn the tide? To break the insurgency." It was all that mattered. Dutuzu had a pained expression on his face. He didn't want to answer. It was all the conformation she needed.
 
"There's a chance, yes." His words weren't necessary. Ciklo had already made up her mind. Breaking the insurgency would change everything. Her land, her people, they were under siege. If she could end this war, she'd do anything. "Ciklo, please. Don't."
 
She didn't respond. Instead she pulled out her phone and quickly dialed a number.
 
"Yes, mehk."[1]
 
"I need you to clear my schedule for tomorrow and arrange for a visit to Irkallu."
 
"But mehk, tomorrow is the vote in the committee." It was an awkward position for the attendant. He didn't want to argue with an Elder, but from his perspective this was insanity.
 
"I understand. Something has come up and this is more pressing. Now do it."
 
"Yes, mehk. I'll make the arrangements, who do you want to see?"
 
"Prisoner Humbaba."
 
"Yeh mehk." The attendant's voice cracked on that. "Is there anything else?"
 
"No thank you that's all." The line went dead. She pocketed her phone and turned to start walking back to her car.
 
"Ciklo, please, don't do this. There has to be another way." She looked back at him, shook her head and continued walking away.
 
 
 1. translation (Khimeric): ma'am; literally: "She Above Me"