[i][h3]The Hermit's Abode[/h3][/i]
Those who were smarter in their searches and actually took their time returned to the Hermit's Abode at later hours. It was honestly unfortunate that they too, for the most part, brought back nothing for the group as well. The only real lead to report was news of ships disappearing off the Kyoran coast, typically at night; for nearly half a year a ship had been disappearing almost once every two weeks, sometimes less.

Though the nautical industry in Kyora hadn't suffered in the slightest, it was more than enough to concern the King and his company. And so, without any other leads, the search area for the next day was narrowed down at least a little.

After all the docks of Kyora were so massive, with its branched out shore, that they accounted for about half of the city-state. There was also the performance to remember that night, with the Governor requesting at least some measure of presence, and so the search would be even shorter for some.

But that was the next day, and there were those who were content to live in the present. Perhaps the Divine Paladin, as calm as ever (when he wasn't slaughtering enemies of the crown), was one such individual; he did not seem bothered by the task that was facing them the next day.

Instead, he seemed more concerned with the state of Jeremy, the bartender who had returned to being curled up on the floor. After stepping around to gently lift the man to his feet and brushing him off, he only asked, [b]"The boy?"[/b]

Jeremy nodded, and the Paladin's glasses glinted.

Whatever fell fate that was waiting for Christopher would apparently be carried out later, as the Paladin turned with a smile and asked Sam, who stood nearby almost anxiously, for a small, simple meal of bread, chicken, greens, and water. He waited patiently for the plate to be brought out, and thanked the woman graciously for the meal.

Before eating, he folded both hands over his plate, and quietly prayed to himself:

[b]"Glorious Divines, thank you for the meal. Train my eyes for the days to come, and guide my hand. Allow me to be the second greatest tool you've bestowed upon King Serio, and help me in bringing and a swift and just end to this matter. And, Lady Ambrosia, grant me your patient love. Your favor is taxing."[/b]

With that said, he finally allowed himself to at least begin eating.

The door to the inn opened, the creak of its hinges accompanied by the frustrated sigh of a woman whose day had been about as successful as that of the others. Joy stepped through the threshold, her brow knitted, her eyes tired. To most it would appear as if it was just her usual look of downtrodden exhaustion, and she most certainly was, but there was something else thrown in the mix: a subtle hint of concern, of worry, but not the kind that normally peppered the cautious woman's face. She had been searching with Christopher earlier that day before the two of them had decided to split up to cover more ground, but when the young man did not return to their designated meeting spot the rest of her evening had been spent searching for Christopher. It wasn't until the sun had completely settled beyond the horizon that Joy had decided to return to the Hermit's Abode, as annoyed as she was hopeful that Christopher had just forgotten about their agreement. 

She scanned the common room, noting the absence of the one-armed idiot that she had stupidly taken under her wing, and cursed softly underneath her breath. She knew she shouldn't worry—he was an adult, technically, and a damned near indestructible one at that—but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was her responsibility. It was similar to how she felt about Cyril and Ayano, as if she was destined to be their protector. She grimaced. Yeah, right. Abandoned them for years and failed to save their sister. Some protector she turned out to be. She rolled her head back and forth, trying to get both the negative thoughts out of her mind and the creak out of her neck. 

Joy wanted a drink. Hell, she always wanted a drink, but she hadn't touched liquor in months and there was no way she was going to touch it again. She needed her wits about her, even if the thought of having something to warm the belly and dull the mind sounded so good right now. Something to take the edge off, let her relax, shrug off the days of walking and hours of wasted searching. A break, if only for the night, but of course it would not just be for the night, and her track record had proven that the sauce did more harm than good. She was faster than she had been in years and could actually keep up with the rest of them now, and it wasn't just because of what that lady did to her bum knee. She sucked on her cheek and looked away from the bar, her eyes settling on the Paladin as he ate his meal.

Shit. Not the kind of person she would ever want to talk to, but perhaps he saw the boy come back. She made her way to his table, her face growing stern as if she was steeling herself for what she imagined was going to turn into a lecture chocked full of proverbs and 'praise bes' as she pulled out a chair and took a seat. Now she really needed a drink. For a second she just stared at his food and decided against ordering a plate for herself, fearful that she might start gagging if he started going, and then she made a noise with her throat somewhere between a greeting and a retch as she leaned her sword against the table and folded her arms in front of her. 

"Have you seen Christopher?" asked Joy, getting straight to the point. 

The Paladin lowered his fork and finished chewing, taking his time to be thorough and clean; raising one finger to plead for more time, he ran his cloth napkin over his mouth before speaking, surprisingly clean for so big and scary-looking of a man.

[b]"I have not seen the boy myself, Instructor Debove, but I know him well enough to spot his trail. He returned before I did, and it seems to me that he spent his time terrorizing poor Bartender Jeremy over there. That, and whichever bottles he decided to nurse."[/b] The Paladin gave a slow shrug, his eyes shut behind his gleaming glasses.

[b]"The boy's chosen fallback makes me think he takes after his mother a little too much for my taste, but each and every day it feels like it is less and less my place to intervene. I have taught him what I can, spent years teaching him right from wrong. The mistakes he chooses to make now are his own, are they not?"[/b]

The sigh of relief that was about to escape her mouth when she heard that Christopher was back died off as the Paladin mentioned the bottle, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the man's decision to wash his hands of the boy. She placed one hand on her knee and one balled fist underneath her chin as she leaned forward and stared ice straight into the man. 

"You tell me. I would say that choosing to ignore someone acting irresponsibly and endangering the mission would be classified as a pretty big mistake," said Joy softly, a hint of anger in her voice. "Son of a bitch. If you won't talk to him when he sobers up then I will." 

She slumped back in her chair, letting her head hang over the back as she let out a groan. This was all becoming too much of a headache; she could feel her life being drained out of her. Simply put, she was tired. The years of hard living had caught up with her, or she had finally sobered up enough to realize that they had been caught up with her for quite some time. Even now, doing nothing but sitting in this chair, she could feel the aches and the pains of her body. They used to subside after a moment of relaxation, but now they were a constant. Always there, always nagging at her, serving as a reminder that she was no longer cut out for this kind of life. She let herself fall forward, her hand catching her chin so she didn't crack her head against the table.

"How do you keep up with him?" she asked.

The Paladin, who had once more returned to his meal in an attempt to finish it off, was actually brought to a stop by the sudden question. His eyebrows rose, and his fork hovered in the air just before his mouth for a full three seconds before he regained his composure, slowly setting the utensil back down before he crossed his fingers down in front of himself.

[b]"To put it simply, I have learned after years of watching over the boy when I should run after him, and when I should let him be. In all of my years, I have never seen such a case of self-loathing as his; he acts confident and arrogant, but it is all a defense to keep others away so he can... stand alone, so to speak. Fundamentally, he understands right from wrong. There is very little grey area for him, so when he chooses to indulge in the more... base behaviors he soon returns to his reality with intense disgust."[/b]

He gave a nod to himself, as if what he said was apt enough for his tastes. [b]"Now is one of those times. A moment where, in his frustration, he purposefully picked the wrong choice. To try and match his state with how he feels about himself. Tomorrow, when he wakes up he will throw himself into the next task once again with reckless abandon, and this will continue as a vicious cycle until, finally, he succeeds in a way that he believes is worthwhile. The most important part about all of this, and why I'm telling you this, is that it is important for someone to be there to catch him before he destroys himself with these swings. That person could, perhaps, be the one who took years to learn and understand that he needed to be caught, to be helped without obviously helping. The one who missed the obvious for so long, and barely kept the worst from happening. Or it could be someone who has the advantage of knowing in advance his difficulties and pains, and can be so much more effective from the beginning."[/b]

[hr]
[i][h3]H'kela, Fallen Temple of Danmun[/h3][/i]
The new peace between Barcea and H'kela was a strange, unfamiliar thing, and yet it was there all the same. Trade had opened, gingerly at first, and as the merchants traveled others followed.

Among those, many from Barcea traveled as pilgrims to the temple where their beloved Queen fell months before. When it had first become clear that they would freely be allowed to approach and even enter the ruins, the flood had been immense, but even now a few would come and go every so often.

The lone pilgrim of that night was named Joka, and he had once been a farmer who had lost everything in the war. One of the few survivors of the slaughter that began the war, he had seen plenty of death and destruction before it was said and done. Now, he had retired early to be alone. With plenty of time, he made the trip at least once a month.

He was still in shock and rightfully so, and because of that he didn't believe what he saw in those next few moments. When he finally told people about it, they too didn't believe him.

The change was immediate, overwhelming: a sudden shift in the air that brought rage like a plague, a rage that stole and destroyed all other thought, made him forget how to breath and sent him to his hands and knees. As he choked on nothing and struggled to stand once again, he realized that though he was feeling the rage, it was not originally his own; though he no longer felt sad about the fate of himself, his family, and his Queen and instead wished to see Gartian remains, wherever they were, torn to pieces and desecrated, his own anger had only been awakened by this other thing's rage.

It was a rage beyond him, ancient and unending.

Though his senses were shut down, drowning beneath emotion, he still heard the sharp impact of heavy hoof against stone from beyond the pit. He looked up, and failed to suck in the air he so desperately needed as a weak sound guttered out. The horse the hooves belonged to was a monstrosity, three times the size of an average horse and skinless, muscle, sinew, and bone exposed to the world between the once grand rusted armor. It had no eyes, only empty, dark sockets that twitched.

The figure that sat upon it was just as ridiculously large as the horse, its head above the remains of pillars. Like the horse it wore rusted armor that, long ago, was once absolutely majestic; now it was just a twisted, warped shell of its former self, clinging to the body that wore it. Unlike the horse the figure was more  skeleton than flesh, and both armor and bones were bound together with chains that clanked with each step of the horse.

The metal on its torso was an exception to the rusted rule, but rather than being a breast plate of some sort seemed almost like a grey cage with arms that looped through the ribs and around the spine. The metal even reached up the neck to the skull, where it seemed to fuse with the bone and reached up like a jagged crown. In the center of the torso section sat a great orb thatwas strangely dull and coloress, save for the moments where white or black pulsed.

At the rider's side were six skulls, metal hooks attached to a belt driven through burned bone, and they clattered together as the mount stepped forwards.

Both beast and rider were encompassed by a flame that was too red to be real. It filled their bones and licked along the muscle, dwelling deep where the eyes weren't and giving off a heat like the sun. Joka was amazed that he did not burst into flame as the pair got closer, never mind the city around it; yet that flame never spread to any of the wood that was scattered all around, nor did it linger on any of the stone.

When the rider brought the horse to a stop, Joka saw no more as he instead bowed his head low, touching his forehead to the step below him instinctually. He only heard what the rider said.

[b][i]"It was here a woman too good for this world offered up her life fearfully. Her Love led to Pain, and her Pain bleeds to others. She left this world willingly enough, and yet a small part of her still keeps hold. I can feel it lingering here, refusing to let go."[/i][/b]

Slowly, the head turned, towards the place to the south where the final battle of the war had taken place:

[b][i]"There died a man who was conten to drag the world screaming down into his own Insanity. One content to pull half the world into bloody oblivion simply because he was jealous of what others had. A man who did not realize he was being held on a leash, as he ripped and tore at anything within reach. His Madness will shake even the chains of Death until he is answered."[/i][/b]

Briefly, the fires seemed to die away, flames becoming embers. It was then the rider turned his mount, and departed the way he came with the following words:

[b][i]"The Cancer comes for them both. This does not bode well."[/i][/b]

Joka did not hear these last words. Unconsciousness had already taken him with the same force the air had left him. He only woke hours later, and by then the sun had begun to rise.

[hr]
[i][h3]Kyora, Grand Theater[/h3][/i]

As King, Cyril had many responsibilities. His least favorite of these various duties involved anything with the political game; where niceities and the like were required, words had to be carefully measured, and face time had to be given. Cyril saw himself as someone who was always honest and straight forward, someone who kept to business... And going to a play while a madman threatening society as he knew it did not feel like business.

And yet it was necessary, and he was well aware of that. The fact they had been allowed to move and search so easily was because of the grace of the Governor. If all she wanted in return was some measure of a meeting with the King at a venue of her choice, he was more than willing to pay for it. 

Preparation took the entire afternoon, as they had to gather supplies in the form of clean and new clothes, proper for the event they would be going to. Even the King needed a new wardrobe, a fact that Diane didn't let him forget as she berated him time and time again as they searched. Getting the attire so last minute caused its own set of problems, but one seamster with a knack for magic was up to the task.

The clothes they received were distinctly Kyoran, sleek and soft to the touch with plenty of capes and wraps. The King was able to have an outfit made of blue, but the canny seamster included Kyoran orange, especially in the fastenings that were closer to jewelry than anything else. The metal shone brightly, glinting with such intensity it would have made a gem jealous, and the King felt more conspicuous than he even wanted to be.

The Grand Theater stood alone in the middle of the city-state, with wide roads placed around it so the other smaller buildings stood an almost reverent distance away. Cyril couldn't help but be reminded of the Guratan Arena when he looked upon it; after all, both structures were shaped the same and held a similar purpose of entertainment, though through different means. The Theater was smaller than the Arena, but was more beautiful to behold, with great white columns and statues of everything from people to scenes of life or battle wrapping around.

There was a bit of a stir when the King's party first arrived; people stared and crowded, but a sudden wave passed through and they were forced to part as the Governor and her attachment of guards and fellow politicians approached. While the King simply tilted his head down slightly, the woman bowed fully with both hands out, the same that she had given Nia the day before.

[b]"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you finally, King Serio! Thank you for agreeing to come to this little performance."

"Of course, Governor Quloan. Please, lead on."[/b]

The two parties merged to one, and Cyril couldn't help but noticed that the Governor was pulling him further and further into her own guard. She didn't go far as to actually touch him, but her constant conversation pulled him from his own Sentinels. For a brief moment, it seemed like Diane was about to force her way through back to him, but a glance from him brought her to a stop.

The Governor's constant chattering aside, there was plenty to see on the way up to their private balcony. The inside of the Theater was lit with a grand light, floors clearly illuminated but the shadows beneath the paintings and behind the statues yawning deeply. The higher they rose the higher in society the Kyorans around them were.

The balcony was the largest one easily, but Cyril didn't expect anything else. Servants were at hand, ready to take any sort of requests for drink, food, or the like. There were plenty of seats, but Cyril could immediately tell that there were too many:

[b]"Expecting someone else?"[/b]

[b]"Perceptive, King Serio! Yes, some other friends of mine will be coming along soon enough. I play patron to them, and I'm excited for you to meet them."[/b]

[b]"What do they do?"[/b]

[b]"Consider them a political party, for lack of a better term."[/b]

Cyril just nodded, and soon they were all being seated. Down below, the people of Kyora milled together, the stage well lit but closed with giant red curtains.