[h2][color=ed1c24]Revolutionary[/color] Kurtiye[/h2]
[color=ed1c24]Rosusta[/color] pulled his gloves tighter. His fingers couldn’t reach the ends. No matter. No matter. He kept the refrain in his head like a catechism. It took his mind off the council meeting. It kept him from thinking too hard. Ten minutes to landing.

The air was stale. Perfectly moderated. No breeze to ruffle through his fur. Not quite warm, not quite cool. No smoke, no dust. And a slow thrum. It was -- different. Different to the screams and laser-crackles and pounding, pounding mortars…

A shrill electric screech scratched through his head. They had landed. He was ushered to a bare waiting room, a few empty chairs and a couple of old, forgotten paintings. Nothing to do but think. He picked at his gloves.

“Father!” The voice rang out, soft like honeyed wine and sharp as a shamshir. His mouth -- a jagged slit in old leather -- curled into a smile.

“[color=ed1c24]Hani[/color]! My little lily. It’s goo- oof!” Hani lurched into him and hugged, tight.

“Father! It’s been too long.” 

“Three days.”

“Too long! 

“And I spoke to you half an hour ago.” She clicked her fore-legs in annoyance.

“Too long, too long.” She paused. Tilted her head, her eyes fixed. She saw his worry, and it worried her. “We’re all behind you. Every step. You’ll be great! No slave is born brave. Just bare your fangs! You’re a straight-bred Kurt, you couldn’t lose to these peasants if you tried.”

“Breeding isn’t everything, you know. I hear some insects can be pretty outstanding.” She licked her mandibles. He had found her egg so long ago. A brutal uprising...

A servant called across the waiting room. 

“The council is ready, so if you’ll follow me--

“Who are [i]you[/i]?” Hani’s voice was cold as iron.

“I -- I’m -- uh -- I was told to--

“Your name. And title. You do [i]have[/i] a title, yes? It must be a pretty impressive one, to talk to my father like that. Not even a ‘sir’!” The servant writhed.

“Leave the poor man be, Hani. I’ve no doubt it’s been a long day.” He kept himself from unsheathing his claws. “Besides, it’s time. We must go -- I’ll need you to keep me from running with my tail between my legs.”

[center][color=ed1c24]---[/color][/center]

The door opened, and a wave of hatred tore through him. A hundred glaring eyes bored into his fur. A rustling rose as hands reached at hips. Dusty jezzails, hunting rifles, smuggled Savarogs-- the tools of their revolution. Plain jackets and coarse cotton shirts with the occasional reeking tapestry draped around a village chief’s chest. Waxy feathers mixed with gleaming scales and clear glass wings. The stench of fear and anger rolled down his throat. They wanted him dead. Rosusta puffed up his chest and tried to hide his rising hackles.

“Ahah, here ihs the great Lord Roshushtah! It ihs good to seee you.” A voice like sand against steel. His eyes whipped to the man who spoke.

The stranger’s feathers lay smooth against his back. Deep black eyes pierced through a face of rugged ugliness. Like beetles in mountain dirt. “I ahm [color=ed1c24]Bahl the...Bahl[/color].” His beak gaped in a horrific grin. “The name dohs not translate well. I will be -- how is it you nobles put -- reparenting us freesoldiers -- Ozgerssaries. Forgive my not-good peasant speaking. I ahm learning how it ihs you-- people speak.” People. He spat the word. Rosusta licked his teeth, and steeled himself.

“It is as good to see you as you to see me, Bal the Bal. I know we can deal with each other as fellow gentlemen.” Bal inclined his head at the complement. He realised the meaning of his words. Recognition of their equal status. “I know you think we are different. That we cannot reconcile. But we can. We want freedom. We want justice. We want an end to suffering, all suffering. We want -- peace.” The room relaxed, and Bal cocked his head. The air was sweeter, fresher. “No young Sipahata raised an arm against fierce Ozger. No righteous Ozger shot sparks at noble Sipahata! Our enemy was not the Mutlagi. It was the Mutlaginate. And the Mutlaginate is no more. So let us eat together, let us live together, let us grasp hand in hand and lead a new world--” He stopped. Figures stepped out of nothing, pointed something at him, then disappeared. 

Everything was curiously silent. He looked down. He stuffed his hands into the hole where his heart had been. He clawed and clawed and clawed until his chest was bloody tatters. There was some kind of commotion...terrible business. Some shouting. The floor was hard against his head, but the painted rafters… Colourful. His daughter’s face. Screaming. Screaming...