[hider=Post Summary] Part 1 - Croak: [list] [*] Slums are shit. Croak makes himself some prayer beads, only to witness a nearby death. [*] Mourns the death through croaksong. Gets a lil’ carried away. [*] Gets chased off for singing loudly. Finds his hatred of humanity renewed. [/list] Part 2 - Princess Taomei: [list] [*] Note of Muha’s ambassador arrives at the Summer Palace at Amarra in Red Clay. Taomei’s so surprised she floats on clouds. [*] Guard suggests it may be a fraud. Taomei threatens to kill the guard for even suggesting that their cousins whom they haven’t had formal contact with for nearly a thousand years may be frauds. [*] Taomei’s brother Taozan manages to calm her down. They send for the emissary thereafter. [/list] Part 3 - Prince Yanri, Queen Liansong, Princess Wanmei: [list] [*] Yanri writes some letters on the porch and his mom comes to talk to him. They enjoy themselves until they hear the Emps being naughty in the background. Mommy leaves after she makes Yanri feel uncomfortable (secret: They’re dating). [*] Yanri writes a hate letter to his unfaithful father. Burns it thereafter. [*] Turns out he ran into the servant kitchens to burn it and attracted lots of attention. His sister Wanmei comes to the rescue, but the prince is not too keen on her help. Eventually, though, as she starts complaining, he takes pity on her and tells her to take a letter to the Black Dragon Triads for him. [/list] [/hider] [centre][h3][b]Ribbigus Croak[/b] - The Embers of Ancient Hate[/h3][/centre] [hr] [i]Spring of 998, Laojiu Lane, a slum by the docks of Shi...[/i] Rosaries were difficult to get a hand of around these parts - the pearls and stones on the market here were never of the right kind. The stonegrounds around Shi had grown barren after decades of desperate exploitation by prayer-starved mucklings - but how could he blame them, though? Finally the centre of the stone gave way to his improved rock hammer. With his spinkly, green fingers, he threaded the stone into his rosary and gave it a critical stare. Genuine pearls from local freshwater clams given to him by his old master, hung on a thread and spaced intermittently with polished pieces of charcoal, hardened fish scales and silvery rocks. It wasn’t perfect, but Croak hadn’t seen anything more beautiful in many, many years. A sudden scratch of foot against wet mud broke his trance and the muckling ducked behind a heap of rotting fish. “Fockin’ hell, bruv, what yer gods-damned step, would ya?” More scratching and slipping followed, hastened by desperation and fright. A skimpier voice than the first one replied, “Bloody-- oof, sorry, mate. Was an accident, I swear.” “Issat right?” the first voice replied again. A short whimper was heard, then the sound of an object, likely wooden, smashing against the old boards of the pier. Croak drew a silent sigh. Humans were always like this - always. “O-oi! What was-- agh!” “You talkin’ back, issat it?” The whimper grew smaller, replaced instead by gasps and coughing. Croak’s fingers anxiously fingered the pearls of his rosary. Would the black days never end in this purgatory of a city? “Oi, lads! Got ourselves someone dyin’ for a swim,” the deep voice cackled maliciously. Distant cheers egged it on. The small whimpers had by now been entirely overtaken by struggling snarls coloured by fearful sobs. Croak could hear it try to whisper something before it was deafened out by a deep cackle. “Feed yer family?! Hah! So you’ve got a wife, huh? Maybe I’ll pay ‘er a visit after ye’re sleepin’ in the Midland Sea, how’s that?” The sobs intensified. Croak looked down at his rosary and swallowed. He rubbed one of the pieces of charcoal with his slimey, wet fingers and drew across his face the symbols he knew so well by now. As the voices faded away and the ordeal was completed with a distant splash, Croak whispered to himself a sorrowful song in the ancient art of croaksong. His master had taught him every word of the long dead art, explained that it was a most sacred rite to their people - here, in the dead of night, witnessing so close a death of the innocent, would be a most natural place to exercise it. It started low, almost like a gurgle. His fibers vibrated with the guttural song; his bones quivered with the primal growl. A death necessitated a melancholic tune, as was tradition - at least in the beginning. However, Croak hadn’t know this man, and would therefore maintain the sorrowful undertone throughout the whole song, lest the spirits would be confused about his motivation for singing. After a series of sequences from the depths of his voice, he forgot himself for a moment and unleashed a wailing croak of the highest pitch. Momentarily, he felt a burning joy in his chest, almost intoxicating. He was singing - he was actually singing, expressing the song of his people in honour of the dead. Like the shamans of ancient times, he was-- “Blazes, where the fack is it?!” came a foul snarl not even twenty metres away. Croak shut himself up and immediately scrambled for the water. “There it is! Get it!” A group of thundering footsteps slapped into wet mud and soft planks behind Croak. The muckling fell onto all fours to pick up speed. Up ahead was the edge of the docks. He reached the edge and jumped. A second later, the lukewarm water of the Midland Sea surrounded him and the voices were shut out. He swam a distance away, still underwater, and surfaced for air once the lights of the docks above had grown dimmer. In the distance, he heard curses and spitting. He slowly crawled ashore and sought refuge between some wrecked crates and barrels. Drawing some panting breaths, he tried to calm himself. “Fackin’ mucklings,” came a voice from the other side of the barrel wreckage. Croak sucked in his breath and thought prayers to himself. “... Where are you… Don’t think I didn’t see ya come up!” Feet dragged themselves across the wooden boards. Croak felt his lungs cry out for more air, but he couldn’t allow himself to breathe. A heap of wood struck the floors - the man had overturned the neighbouring barrel wreck. “Damn froggy rats… People are tryin’ to sleep!” Another heap slammed into the ground. Croak squeezed shut his eyes. Then, however, the steps slowed and their owned clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Waste of my bloody evenin’...” he muttered and the steps faded away into the distance. Croak finally could breathe again and he gasped for it. His people couldn’t sweat, but he wiped his brow almost instinctively anyway. A sensation felt unfamiliar in his hand and he eyed the rosary in it. A black bile of rage bubbled within him, aimed both at his stupidity and humanity - for in his escape, he had shattered one of the pearls given to him by his master. He hammered the floorboards below with his fist; then he did it again and again. As he struck the ground, his fury morphed into sorrow, and it did not take long before he put his aching hand over his eyes and whimpered. He would sing again for another loss tonight, but it would be as he had done it every other night: On a distant spot with no one around within earshot - completely alone without even the spirits to keep him company. Abandoned like his heritage. [hr] [centre][h3][b]Princess Taomei[/b] - A Stranger at the Door[/h3][/centre] [hr] [i]Spring of 998, Summer Palace in Amarra, provincial capital of Red Clay, Eastern Gu-Wei...[/i] [@Slagar] “And hang those flowers up there. No, wait… No, there is much better.” The servant followed the princess’ finger from the centre to the corner of the room, where he promptly hung a large hammock-like bed of flowers from the roof. The princess hummed and pointed to the wall. “On second thought, hang them up on the walls - and make them symmetrical this time.” The servant craned his head in obedience and did as he was told. Princess Taomei pursed her lips and scanned the hall. Everything would have to be perfect. Spring was nearing its end, and soon the summer heat would make Shi an unbearable place for her dear brother. He would finally come back to her - finally come back and fulfill all those promises he always made in his letters, and-- “Daughter of the Phoenix, princess Taomei,” came a call from the hall door and Taomei’s thoughts returned to reality. She blinked and spun around, her silk dress dancing through the air like a whirlwind of leaves. “Yes? What is it, messenger?” The messenger fell to his hands and knees before the princess and put his forehead to the floor, or at least as far down as his large helmet allowed him to. “The peacekeepers on the Narcaepian border have received word that a stranger has entered Red Clay. Further reports say he arrived in Amarra this morning. He says he brings word from the King of Muha!” Taomei nearly dropped what he was holding, which was a sheet of paper outlining the interiour decoration plan. She looked shocked, almost, which she might as well have been, as she sat down on a nearby chair. The messenger dared look up anxiously for a moment before facing the floor again. “Our… Our home has sent its ambassador to us?” The messenger hesitated to answer for a moment. “Yes, Daughter of the Phoenix,” he eventually said. Taomei placed two fingers on her temple and shook her head in disbelief. “Well, what are you waiting for?! Send word for him to be brought to the palace at once!” The messenger looked up. “B-but Your Majesty - he could be a fraud!” Taomei gasped. “How dare you insult one of our own like that?! I will have you drawn from behind a chariot if you even dare repeat such baseless accusations again, do you--” “Sister Taomei, please,” came a calm, quiet voice behind them. It was the Emperor’s elder brother, Taozan. Taomei quieted down and stared daggers at her brother instead. The messenger appeared to be praying. Taozan put aside the calligraphy station he was using and rose to his feet, his oversized black robes falling to the ground around his feet like sacks of grain. “Messenger, return to the peacekeepers’ office. Have them escort our esteemed guest to the palace. I believe we can judge appropriately whether he is a fraud or not.” The messenger nodded shiveringly and sprinted back out. The doors shut behind him and left the hall quiet except for the interiour decor workers. Taomei scowled at Taozan. “You let him off too easy. Death would be a kind fate for those who dare accuse our brethren of something so foul as fraud.” Taozan sighed and intertwined his fingers behind his back. “He didn’t mean it that way. He was only worried for us. Family of the Emperor is just as valuable to criminals as gold and jewels.” He shuffled his way over to his sister and put a hand on her shoulder. “This can potentially be a momentous occasion. No need to sully it with blood and death.” Taomei huffed. “I hate it when you’re right.” She picked up the interiour design plans and went back to ordering around the servant. Taozan wrinkled his nose in worry and smacked his lips thoughtfully together before returning back to his seat. [hr] [centre][h3][b]Prince Yanri[/b] - A Dagger Before Me[/h3][/centre] [hr] [i]Spring of 998, Imperial Palace of Shi, capital of Gu-Wei, northern Gu-Wei...[/i] It was midday - the sun’s angle indicated as much. Birds tweeted innocently in the garden trees, chatting up their neighbours and pecking for bugs under the bark. Insects buzzed idyllically around the flowers and danced to the strings of a guzheng in the distance. On the porch sat a prince, one nearly as beautiful as the garden by his side. With his hand, he pulled a black-tipped brush across a white, rice-paper page. His movements were soft, gentle, controlled; his breathing was similar, easing in and out his mouth in harmony with his strokes. The characters of guwen that formed on the paper were expertly written - each was a work of artistry without deviating too much from a standard font. Soft footsteps approached. The prince knew so well the weight of these steps - the way the heel connected to the creaking floorboards and rolled over on a ball molested by foot binding, giving them an ever so slight limp. He did not avert his eyes from the paper, for he did not need them to see who was coming. Before long, a warm hand squeezed the shoulder of his free hand. “My, what’re you writing, Yanri? A poem?” came her voice like silk and cream. She smelled of lavender again. The prince wiped clean the brush with a rag and set it aside. “A letter, Mother,” he replied softly and sprinkled sawdust over the wet ink, allowing it to dry before rolling it up into a scroll and sealing it with a wax-marked band The queen hummed softly. “Is that so? To whom, if I may ask?” “To my brother. It is to wish him well in his coming campaign.” The prince held the letter out in an arbitrary direction. A servant came over, took it with a bow and left. The prince then gestured to the other side of the small table he was sitting by. “Would you join me, Mother?” “Of course,” said the queen and sat down, her smile as warm as the sunlight itself. She made herself comfortable and the prince snapped his fingers. Some more servants came over and bowed. “Bring my Mother and I some chopped fruit, biscuits and hot tea. No oranges.” The servants bowed with a quiet ‘as you wish, Your Majesty’ and hurried off, taking the writing itinerary with them. Silence reigned thereafter, broken only by occasional birdsong. The prince stared out to the garden. His mother stared at him, her eyes groggy with dreaminess, complemented by the smile about her lips. The prince gave her a quick glance and snickered. “What?” “You look so handsome in the sunlight, my dear,” the queen said softly. The prince snickered some more. “I have my grandfather’s looks, after all - you’ve said so yourself.” “Numerous times. All in hope that everyone will accept it as fact - even your father.” As if destiny had elected for it to happen, a holler of laughter escaped a nearby part of the palace, a fairly distinct deep voice present among all the women. The queen flinched, her eyes scowling at the tabletop. Yanri scowled over his shoulder. “... How can you let him treat you like this?” asked the prince venomously. The spite in his eyes was further reinforced by his hand massaging the pommel of a short sword on his hip. The other, he tightened into a fist on the tabletop. “He’s mocking you - mocking us!” “I know, Yanri, I know…” replied the queen and reached out wrap his fist in her hands. “But you know the customs of your grandfather. I will have to endure it - just as I have for the past century.” She brought her son’s fist to her lips and kissed it. “... That’s why I’m so glad to have you by my side.” The prince swallowed and slowly pulled his hand to himself. The queen blinked anxiously, her eyes full of questions. “Not, not in public, Mother. You know, you--...” His voice became a whisper. “... You know I love you, but we cannot let others know that -you- are unfaithful. Father would have our mutilated corpses rotting on pikes above the Phoenix’ Nest for all to see.” The queen blinked, her eyes shifting away with anxiety. “You… You’re right… You’re always right.” She snickered to herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking…” She rose to her feet. Yanri sighed. “Mother, I--” “It’s quite alright, Yanri. I’m… Happy you care so much for us.” She gave him a warm smile. “It’ll be our turn soon. I can feel it.” With that, she walked down the porch, her hand fingering the leaves of the many shrubs to her left along the way. Yanri remained by the table, and as the servants came with snacks and tea, he requested that they bring back his writing equipment. As he sat by the table writing, he could hear the rowdier and rowdier noises from the room behind him. It affected his form, soft curves in his characters becoming erratic edges. His brush lost its smooth shape eventually, aggressive strokes ruining the tip. By the end, his letters were nothing but paper smudged with blots of ink. The prince held up his letter to inspect it. The garden had grown dark as clouds blotted out the sun. Birds had deserted it, and the insects had moved to distant flowers. To the chorus of the voices, he read within him the hateful letter: [i]“Dear Emperor Yandi, son of Yanshen, founder of the Chu Dynasty, You are the phoenix, o Emperor - son of fire and ash, master of life and death. You are the sun and the moon, the link ‘tween heaven and earth. Undoubtedly, you are a divine among mortals. Such power, such immortality - the hubris within you overpowers them both. Water chokes flame, the seas was away ashes and embers. Life will leave you; death, consume you. The sun will set and so will the moon, and as the heavens reign flame upon your worthless spirit, the earth shall swallow your corpse and torment it forever. Beware, Father - for even gods will perish before the fury of mortalkind. Signed, Prince Yanri, son of Yandi, your successor.”[/i] Immediately upon reading it completely, Yanri froze. He ran inside the palace and found the first and nearest brazier, depositing the letter inside. He watched the paper crumble to ashes and felt the anxiety in his chest fade, but not disappear. What had made him write those words? Had he been caught by anyone, even someone so lowly as a passerby handmaiden, it would’ve been over for him. He smacked his cheek angrily. “You fool,” he spat to himself. A small host of curious servants had gathered behind him, spearheaded by his little sister Wanmei. She approached him carefully, her round, somewhat misaligned eyes frowning slightly. “Brother Yanri? Are you alright?” Yanri turned and nodded slowly after a moment. “Y-yes… I’m fine. I just thought an insect had landed on my cheek.” “Why are you by the fire? It’s hot outside,” Wanmei pointed out. The prince frowned. “What, can’t a prince of Chu allow himself a moment by the fire? How about you, sister Wanmei? What are you doing following me like this? And you, servants? Have you nothing else to do but to stalk royalty like this?” “W-with all due respect, Your Majesty,” went one of the servants. The prince took a moment to look around and colour drained from his face. “These are the kitchens, great Son of the Phoenix,” finished the servant. Cooks and waiters stared oddly at the prince from every angle. Prince Yanri blinked. “Y-yes… Of course. Forgive me, I have been quite rash and rude. Back to work. I will take my leave.” The prince stormed out past his sister and the servants at the door, heading down the labyrinthian hallways. “H-hey, wait up!” came a voice behind him. He didn’t turn around, for he knew who it was, and soon Wanmei had shown up by his side. “What’s the hurry?” “What’re you doing here, Wanmei?” sighed Yanri. “Why, following my awesome, lovely brother, of course! Why else would I be here?” “-Why- are you following me?” “Because I can tell you’re lonely - and that you need your beautiful sister to keep you company!” she giggled and took the hem of his robe in her hand. Yanri groaned and pulled his robe to him again. Wanmei huffed. “What? Why are you so angry?” “Can’t you tell?” Yanri replied back sharply. Wanmei stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You’re always so mean! I just try to be nice to you and all you ever do is throw me aside like, like, like some…” Yanri slowed down and turned, his tired eyes showing her a shred of pity. “Some, some… Ah!” Wanmei stopped mumbling as Yanri took her hand and knelt down before her. The young elf blushed and blinked. “Wh-what’re you doing?” “Wanmei… Would you do anything for me?” The princess swallowed. “O-of course, brother. A-anything.” Yanri packed his hands around hers even tighter. “Do you mean that?” The princess’ eyes took on a firm glow. “Yes!” “Then… Could you do me a favour?” Yanri quickly extracted a letter from the inside of his robe. It was different than those he had written before - and the seal was not of the royal kind. She put it in Wanmei’s hands and smiled at her. “You must bring this by yourself. Trust no one else with this letter. If you do…” His voice trailed off into silence. Wanmei swallowed. “O-of course, but… To whom?” “The Black Dragon Triads.”