Hey all. 

Was looking through some old folders and found the first ever post of the previous iteration of the RP. It's an interesting read and shows some of the differences and similarities between the two different RPs. Check it out if you want! :p


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[B][CENTER]Chapter I:
On the Sacred Side[/CENTER]
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[CENTER][B]The Great Basilica, Cardinal Igor Valentin's Chambers[/B][/CENTER]


Even in this hallowed place, with the ether casting its fake warmth through the half-lit halls, the cold clung to Captain Zoya Kiriyev's bones.

The cardinal stood silent before her, his elegant azure robes hanging limp from his broad fat shoulders like an old curtain. He stared through the crystal windows of his chambers far down to the massive procession of ant-sized humans as they pushed against one another throughout the colossal open square which seemed miles below their position. The writhing mass of men, women, and children, appearing like a massive shadow over the pristine white square cobblestones of Vhtak Square would now be pouring into the great hall in the depths of the Basilica below them, where the crowd of thousands would congregate for Sunday prayers. Somewhere among that pulsing exodus of flesh, Zoya's husband and son mingled with the rest of Lord Varya's flock. She longed to be down there with them, an ordinary Varyan like any other, free from the clutches of faith and service. 

But no, Zoya had been summoned. And when the Church utters your name, it is best for one's livelihood to heed the call. Thus there she stood in that massive chamber overlooking the blackened city she called home, in the company of a man so powerful that he could have her killed with a mere thought. 

The cardinal's office was larger than any room she had ever been in, so cavernous that the light from one end of the richly-decorated chamber could not reach the other side, thus shrouding the end of the hall in darkness. The floors were a hard black marble and when Zoya's heavy boots stepped on it the sound cascaded and echoed throughout the impossibly large room like the ghostly beating of a distant hailstorm. The cardinal made no such noise when he walked however. [I]You have dainty feet for such a large man[/I], Zoya had mused wordlessly.

The walls of the high priest's office were made of some kind of black glass, like the obsidian that was said to come from the volcanoes of the prehistoric lands buried beneath the foundations of the City. Countless ethereal torches, held aloft by marble statues of small angelic figures which appeared to be children, licked at the crystaline black facade of the walls, sending their ghostly yellow light dancing across the glass ripples. The blood-red and midnight-blue banner of the Varyan empire hung like a half-bruised serpent's tongue from the obsidian walls; the Phoenix, wreathed in black, soared triumphantly on the dual-colored cloth. 

The banner brought her courage in this dark place, a new fire burning inside her that the former captain desperately needed. The banner hanging from this priests' office did not solely represent the Church. No, to Zoya, the Phoenix symbolized much more--- it was the military, the chocked-in streets and factories, the orphans, the dead men and women forgotten on Lanostran snow. It was not a symbol for the Church, but Varya itself. She seized that courage and held it close like an ember to her breast as she tried to ignore the cold snaking its way through her, a frigid void that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was the familiar yet ominous, dark feeling that filled her whenever she stood in the company of a member of the Varyan priesthood-- a strange awareness that something was not quite natural about these people. 

Cardinal Valentin stood with his back to her, his small, black shiny eyes staring off at some point in the misted distance. If she had listened correctly during the tour, Cardinal Valentin's office was located somewhere up in the Angel's Tower, one of the great keeps of the Basilica, the monstrous and all-encompassing monolith the Varyan priesthood called home. 

He was the fattest man she had ever laid eyes on, with a strange spherical shape to his body that reminded her of a particularly large matryoshka doll. A ghost of a smirk appeared on Zoya's face as she wondered if there were other, smaller clones of Cardinal Valentin hiding in layers within him.

"Captain Kiriyev," said Valentin in a thin, tired voice. It was the first time he had addressed her since her arrival. His voice was higher pitched than she anticipated, like a false note played by an out-of-practice flutist.

"Your Eminence," Zoya responded curtly.

"I hear you've some misgivings about your assigned orders," spoke the cardinal in a tone both dismissive and curious. Zoya was taken back by the cardinal's use of the word 'misgivings'. Such a word was... dangerous.

'You have been misinformed, Eminence. I am prepared to carry out any task assigned to me. It is only that...," Zoya inhaled softly, remembering the exact combination of words that she had rehearsed ceaselessly since the Church's orders came to her.

"... I am retired," she said in a voice strong yet placid, "The Ministry granted me leave from the military after my service in the Lanostran war. It has been eleven years since the Goddess' surrender, and I have not picked up a rifle nor have I given a single order during that time. I am no longer a soldier, but a regular Varyan citizen, Eminence," said Zoya in as pacifistic a voice as she could muster.

The Cardinal seemed to consider her for a moment. In his silence, Zoya could not help but glare at the wide expanse that was the high priest's back. [I]How could he be so fat?[/I] she wondered. The priests and inquisitors she served with in the god-forsaken ice rifts of Lanostre were lithe, powerful and athletic-- as physically capable as any of her soldiers. But this man? He reminded her of the butcher who lived down the street from her childhood home.

"The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was dissolved three days ago," Valentin suddenly said, his strange little voice cutting through the silence, "It was a weak and dangerous institution, one who's policies have been in conflict with many of our own doctrines. It is understandable that you would desire a life of peace after spending so many years fighting in that war, but you have rested for long enough. A new war is dawning, and it is a soldier's sworn duty to fight for their Lord and Saviour until they can no longer serve the interests of our great empire within the best of their ability," added Cardinal Valentin, his boot-black eyes still focused on the masses congregating in the streets below, "You are forty-three years of age, still capable, both physically and mentally, of serving as an officer in the hallowed ranks of our military, and have had a long and decorated career leading soldiers to victory in the battlefield. Thus, you have been chosen for this most-important mission."

Zoya's eyes fluttered in disbelief. [I]The Ministry dissolved?[/I] Zoya gritted her teeth, but allowed no trace of her fury to show. She was an old hand at burying her anger in the face of the Church, five years of serving half-blind priests and merciless inquisitors in Lanostre made certain of that.

"You're upset," the cardinal spoke, almost sadly. Could he sense her anger? He wasn't even looking in her direction.

"I understand your plight, captain. You have a husband and a son who you will not likely see for many years after you embark on this expedition. It is a powerful thing, a woman's love. But perhaps, as a silver lining, think of what glory awaits you when you return. Think of the life that you could give them as a pioneer of El, of the opportunities that could open for young Devi," Cardinal Valentin added, turning his head so that his small, shiny black eyes met hers.

Zoya could not be sure, but for the briefest moment, she could see a smile cutting across the cardinal's pale lips.

She understood. Hearing her son's name spoken by this man made the message clear.

Feeling her courage and resolve deflate like an old balloon, Captain Zoya Kiriyev bent her knee and bowed down to the Cardinal. The obese clergyman turned to her, and for the first time Zoya saw the cardinal's giant meaty hands and the shining gold and silver rings adorning each of his fingers. She lowered her eyes to the dark marble floor and swallowed her pride.

"I was not made aware that the Ministry no longer exists, Eminence. If Lord Varya has need of me then I will be proud to serve Him in any way I can. Please forgive my ignorance, and with your Blessing, I shall take my leave," Zoya spoke in a placid tone, ignoring the pain of the old wound flaring up in her knee as it rested against the hard marble floor.

"Rise, captain."

Zoya pushed herself to her feet, the burning in her knee sending waves of pain through her right leg. The cardinal glided toward her, his footsteps not making a sound on the dark marble floor. Valentin placed his massive butcher's hands over her arms and stared unflinchingly into her eyes.

"You have never felt the hunger nor the torment that Lord Varya endures in every passing moment. Every tick of the clock is an eternity of thorns for our Lord, and the only succor which eases his suffering is the adoring worship of His flock, though even the love that burns within the hearts of every Varyan is not strong enough to cease our Lord and Saviour's suffering," Cardinal Valentin told her, his thin whistle-like voice wavering as if the man himself could feel Lord Varya's supposed torment coursing through him. As the high priest spoke, his massive fingers dug into the hardened muscle of Zoya's arms. Whether he realized that he was hurting her or not, Zoya could not tell.

"Spreading our Faith to the lost and misguided lambs across the sea will go a long way towards healing our Lord. This is God's work, captain. You must be grateful for this honour," Valentin added, suddenly releasing Zoya from his grip. Had he been in some sort of trance? It was difficult to tell at times when speaking to members of the high clergy.

"I understand, Your Eminence," Zoya responded, trying to instill as much power and zeal in her voice.

Cardinal Valentin bowed his head ever so slightly, his beetle-like eyes never peeling away from hers. Captain Zoya Kiriyev formed her right hand into a fist, placed it over her stomach and bowed once more before the high priest. She then turned on her heels and made her way down the long length of the darkened half-lit corridor. All the while, Cardinal Valentin's eyes never left her back.



[B][CENTER]***[/CENTER][/B]



[B][CENTER]Fort Grasnigrad, the Western Wall, Magnagrad[/CENTER][/B]
[CENTER][B]July 25th, 702 ATS[/B][/CENTER]


"... It's a fucking disaster," Zoya spat out as her muddy grey eyes peered out from the red curtains of her office.

"Mama, you said a bad word! Lord Varya will--" 

Zoya could hear Devi say something behind her, but her nine-year old son's voice fell on deaf ears. She stared down at the steel deck beneath the window of her newly furnished office and scowled at the sight of the hundred or so onlookers, both soldiers and civilians, watching on as the ten Inquisitors of the 1st Elurian Mission stood before the huge viewing gallery, their strange ethereal eyes focused on the two shining arks moored in the distance. Before the inquisitors stood an old priest garbed in light azure robes, moaning out a blessing for the ten recently ordained priests, the forty five soldiers who would accompany them, and for the expedition into the East itself. Zoya could hear bits and pieces of the priest's spiel, the usual tenants of Varyan prayer which had long been ingrained into her, and wondered if the Inquisitors were even paying attention.

The crowd stood quiet on the viewing deck of Fort Sinvojna, watching idly as the priest finished his prayers. The soldiers in that crowd were young, Zoya noted, and even from where she stood behind the windows of her office, she could see the spectrum of emotions on their faces. Some were dressed in the faded wine-red coats of common infantry, while others wore the grey and crimson officer's longcoats. Mixed in around the ocean of grey and red, Zoya could spot groups of civilians-- family members, perhaps even some journalists here to write about the blessing ceremony. The crowd was standing about fifteen or so feet back behind the Inquisitors, as if they were not allowed to impede on the hallowed space of the divine soldiers. It made Zoya sick to her stomach.

"Permission to speak freely, captain," 1st Lieutenant Lev Dragonov spoke suddenly from somewhere behind her. Zoya had forgotten he was there. 

"... What?" she answered bitterly, drawing the crimson curtains closed and turning around to face him. Lev was a tall, thin man with an easy-going manner about him which never failed to annoy her. He had an angular and handsome face, with thinning dark hair and a severe, chiseled jawline covered in stubble. His bright, intelligent eyes were a vibrant green and the spectacles he constantly wore had a way of making him appear as though he had all the answers-- which, much to her annoyance, was not far from the truth.

"It's not right, I know that. Making you wear the red again after all this time... But perhaps you should see this from a different perspective. They chose us because we--" 

"I know why they chose us, Lev," Zoya interrupted, "I understand... it makes sense. It makes perfect bloody sense.... I just don't like it," she answered somberly. Zoya forced herself to look at Devi, who sat on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy figure of a red-coated Varyan infantryman. He was a small boy, even for nine years old, with the same head of wild black hair as his father. Devi noticed his mother looking down at him and stared up at her in return with the same grey eyes, flashing her a warm smile. Zoya instinctively placed a hand on her stomach and remembered the twenty-seven hours of pained labor she endured in order to bring him into the world, followed by the sight of his blue face and the moments of silence, and then finally, the ear-splitting cry. She wondered how long it would be until she saw him again. 

"We'll return home soon. This class of inquisitors, they're different from the rest," Lev said, making his way toward the window and drawing the curtains open once again. Zoya turned to look at Lev's face and saw how he peered at the ten young men and women in black standing out from the crowd of soldiers and civilians. He had studied them, Zoya noted, and she was once again reminded how much she had grown to admire the once young and arrogant officer. When they had first served together in Lanostre, more than ten years ago, she hated him on sight. He was the son of a nobleman, and she recalled how the lieutenant would brag to their fellow soldiers about how his family's manor was located on an actual [I]forest[/I]. She had derided him as nothing more than an arrogant boy who would be felled by a Lanostran lance as soon as they stepped onto the battlefield, but Lev Dragonov had surprised her by surviving. Year after year, he surprised her, and the tall handsome lieutenant would eventually earn her respect and his arrogance would be dulled, as it always was, by the seemingly unending years on the warfront. Zoya despised being in the military again, but part of her was relieved that the Church had enough sense to pair her up with Lev once more.

"I had the privilege of being invited to watch them during the Pentacle Games. They are powerful for being so young, but that's not the most important thing I took up from the ceremony. What I noticed was how much they seemed like regular young men and women. Of course they can all kill us without a second thought, but it seems to me like they're a new breed for a less severe era. They aren't the same as the heartless murderers we served with in Lanostre," spoke Lev, his deep voice as calm and measured as always, "Dare I say, they aren't unlike how we were during our first years there. Young and eager to prove themselves. I wager we shall see them safely across the sea, stand by and watch as they convert the Elurians to the faith, and come back home after all is done. And that will be the end of it." 

Zoya was not convinced. The captain had been consumed with a dark feeling ever since her eyes read the Church's orders. Of course the mission sounded simple on paper. She would take command of a company of forty soldiers and fifteen servicemen to accompany ten recently ordained inquisitors on a journey across the Sea of Solitude, to the unknown continent of El. They would board two highly advanced steam arks, the Tigress and the Fafnir, which had been specifically engineered for this journey, and navigate through the hellish ice fields of the frozen sea. Once they reached El, the inquisitors, accompanied by Captain Zoya and her company of soldiers, would journey through the continent and attempt to convert the savages of El to the Faith of Varya by any means necessary, all while mapping out the foreign land. The Mission was to set out a mere four months after the Expeditionary Armada, the grand invasion force with both the Church and the military's High Command at its head, first set out to establish a foothold in El, and only three weeks since the armada's transmission with word of their arrival reached Varya. Needless to say, this expedition had been hastily put together, and combined with the little that both the military and the Church knew of El (besides the initial "all clear" transmission received from the expeditionary force) was enough to fill the captain with all sorts of misgivings.

She had discussed her worries with Peter the night prior, but her husband reassured her that she and the inquisitors had been named 'holy crusaders' by Lord Varya himself, and that it was expected of them to delve into the unknown without fear or hesitation. Peter, a historian, reminded her that the men and women who had first set out from Varya to conquer the then-unknown lands of Omestris, Muraad, T'Sarae, and Lanostre faced much the same consternation she did, but were now known as legendary pioneers who set out into the cold darkness in the name of Varya. 

"When you get back, you and the other members of the expedition will be known the same," Peter had told her. His heart was in the right place, but his words came out cold and mechanical to her, thus they did little in easing her fears. As far as she knew, the High Command had not received any other transmissions from the Elurian front since the initial message. Had something happened to them? The soldier in her knew that the expeditionary had been composed of several thousand soldiers, dozens of inquisitors and just as many war engines. Such a mighty force would be nigh unstoppable, but still... she worried. Why had they been silent for so long? Of course, sending transmissions from one side of the world to the other was no simple feat-- especially with the ice storms-- she reminded herself. But still... Zoya mused that if she had been in command, she would be sending hundreds of transmissions back to Varya.

Zoya could not help but be transported back to the legends of El, the ones that kept her up at night as a little girl. She was a soldier, and one of the pillars of survival for her kind was preparedness. Like every other Varyan, she understood that Lord Varya suffered day in and day out, and hungered for the Gods across the sea, but surely he could wait a few more months.

"Those inquisitors aren't what's worrying me, Lev," said Zoya suddenly, "It's the fact that we're the canaries being forced to fly down the mine shaft without knowing what awaits us in the dark," she added.

"The Church and the High Command are running out of time to send in a second expedition. We must cross the sea before winter comes. If we disembark any later than now we will be caught out there during the dark season, and I doubt even those two Arks will be able to keep us from an early grave," said Lev, motioning towards the two shining arks moored on the western naval yard, perched high atop the western ice wall. Zoya looked at the two massive vessels, their silver hulls catching the ghostly ethereal light being cast down from the Aegis. 

Lev was right, she knew. The winter months, or "dark season"-- as soldiers called it-- was death incarnate out on the ice fields, ether veil or no. Her eyes fell to her open hands and scowled when they were met with the sight of the six bronze artificial fingers which sprouted forth from her pale palms. She had lost them to a winter's cold during the war, while on a routine return trip to Varya from the Lanostran sub-continent. Her ship had been attacked by a group of Vestrian while out on the Lanza Straight, the ice corridor that connects Varya to Lanostre. The vile insects managed to tear through the outside of the ship before she and her men were able to fight them off, and the supernaturally frigid air that blew in from the massive scar that the demons had inflicted on the steel hull was unlike anything she had ever felt or wished to experience ever again. Zoya had no grasp of what fire felt like, but from the way the priests of her childhood described it, she likened the cold of winter to burning red flames. It took them an hour to repair the hull, but the damage had been done. Seven of her men died from exposure, while she she got off considerably better, with only six fingers taken by the cold. 

"Captain," said Lev, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I understand that you're upset, hell I'm angry too, but there is very little we can do about our misgivings. With the Ministry gone the military now has very little say in the way things are run. Like it or not, we serve the Church now. If they truly believe that Lord Varya's pain will be soothed by capturing the hearts and minds of Elurians, then that is what we must also believe."

'"What if I'm tired of believing? What if I just want to stay home with my family and tell the Church to go fuck themselves?" Zoya spat, pushing the lieutenant's hand off her shoulder. She could hear Lev take in a quick agitated breath, which is what he always did when he was having a difficult time in holding his tongue. Zoya ignored him and held open the crimson curtains from the window again and stared down into the crowded deck.

"Looks like His Holiness is done gesticulating. Time to go introduce ourselves to our superiors," the captain said dryly before walking towards the coat-rack at the front end of her office and removing her grey and red officer's coat. Zoya draped it around her shoulders and looked back at her son as  he played on the carpet.

"Devi, stay here. One of my men will come up to take you home in a few minutes. I'll be home in time for dinner," Zoya said before opening the door and stepping out with Lev not far behind her.


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