[hr][hr][img]https://i.imgur.com/sND4cG7.png[/img] [hr][hr][h2][u]Part Two: Buying and Selling[/u]_________ __ __ _ _[/h2] Normally, the auctions at Ersand’Enise were reserved for Victendes. However, this was The Trials, and it presented a special opportunity that proved exceedingly difficult for the city’s merchants to turn down. Hence, the regularly scheduled event was being held a day early. Flush with their newfound prizes from the games, students bid extravagantly, spending their money with the reckless abandon of youth. In this instance, many of the older guard - the auction house's more usual buyers and sellers - stood towards the back of the crowded open-sided hall as the sun began to set, arms crossed over their chest, observing and gossiping. There was an uneasy air about the place, despite the outwardly celebratory nature of the day, for they knew that the auctioneers and the bidders were not the only ones buying and selling. The first day’s worth of negotiations proved a waste, as almost all had known they would be beforehand. Perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps that was just the way of these things. As fortunes were lost and won in the Mercantile District, the fortunes of entire nations remained uncertain as the last of the day’s light faded and the crickets and bullfrogs in the arboretum began their nighttime symphony. It was deep into the hours of Dami that people continued moving about the city, and into those of Ipte as well. Most of these late night ventures were innocent enough: foreign youths enjoying their final night in the city of magic, rollicking and reveling before a bleary-eyed departure the following day. Some, however, were about with real purpose. [hr][hr] The monarchs in their guest homes had not missed the jabs and jibes directed at them during the day. The papers had been everywhere. Their reception as they’d made their way through the Workman’s Quarter had been less than raucous. Some had opted to travel incognito. Those most foreign among them went all-but unrecognized. It was in this part of the city, seething and impoverished by comparison with the rest of it, that the ideology of the Traveler held most sway. It was here that a small group of nondescript people had been meeting - just as fruitlessly as their more illustrious peers - for hours. “I don’t see why the vote should have to be unanimous!” roared a large man, hammering the table as he stood. In truth, while they remained in the majority, he knew that his side was slipping. It had started, seven hours ago, with one dissenter. Now there were three among the ten, and at least a couple more wavering. “This is the best damned chance we’re going to get in a lifetime!” added a woman in a red mask. “I, as I’m sure we all do, lament the loss of life, but what is one bitter pill now if it frees us of centuries of their depredations?” Its tone was not raised, but it cut through the hot voices that had taken over the room. “And yet it is not you,” it reminded the man and the woman, “who will be swallowing that pill yourselves.” The black masked figure remained seated. It shook its head. “Us who lead the fight against the privileged few must be wary lest we become reflections of them.” A yellow-masked man snorted, his smiling mask belying what appeared to be his true feelings on the matter. “Fine words, Nero, but they take us no closer to our ultimate goal: the revolution.” “Hear hear!” shouted a couple of other voices. There was a ragged hammering of approval on the table. At the very head of it there sat a silent figure, its mask gold. For the first time in quite a while, it released its stillness by tilting its head to one side. “It is an easy mistake to make,” that silent figure interjected, “and one that I fear is becoming all too common.” It rose. “Our goal is not the revolution. It has never been.” “I-I merely meant… that-” A gloved hand reached up and the gold-masked figure placed a finger to its lips. There was silence. “The revolution is a means to an end, one of many possible paths.” The black-masked figure observed it and nodded slowly for its counterpart to continue. “Our goal has always been - and remains - ensuring the best for all people. Now, answer me this, Smiler, does a war that will kill millions ensure the best for all people?” “Does an endless cycle of poverty and exploitation?” interjected a gravelly voice. A lean figure in a silver mask rose to be heard. “Sacrifices must be made. It is the deaths of some now for the salvation of a great many in the future.” They had become lessened in their restraint over these past hours. A group of normally very composed individuals reduced to mere politicians in that time. The black masked figure was finished watching. It, too, stood. “If this were strictly the case, Argento, then you would be correct and we would have no argument. It is not, however, the case. You and those who have taken your side are eager to view this as a binary issue. Either we have the war and it will inevitably allow us to stage our glorious revolution and, of course, that revolution will lead to a utopia. Else, we do not have the war and the revolution will not be possible. Without that revolution, there is no utopia.” Nero shook his head. “Do you see how limited that thinking is?” “So you would gamble on some nebulous alternative?” challenged the red-masked woman. “If we are to be truly egalitarian, we must show some faith in people’s ability to recognize opportunities on their own and act upon these, else we are a ruling cabal, little different, in spirit, from those already in place.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “We do not need a war in order for things to become unbearable. If we can save lives, it is morally incumbent upon us to do so. Even a single one sacrificed in the name of our cause against her will is one too many.” Gold spread its arms. “Brothers and sisters,” it implored, “let us not lose hold of our ideals - the very things that ignite our cause and make it worthy - in a rush to be pragmatic. We are not warriors. We do not look to fight. We do so if we must.” The tenor of the discussion had changed. Red had nodded grudgingly. Yellow threw himself back into his seat, crossed his arms, and snorted, signalling his surrender. “You are great-hearted, as always, Dorato, but you are wrong on this,” grated Argento. “I am not so foolish, however, as to be unable to recognize that I shall be outnumbered on this.” He bowed his head. “I yield with a warning: more will suffer because of this decision than otherwise.” He sat. “And of our army?” inquired a new voice. “What of them?” It was a woman in a blue mask. Gold and Black twisted at the very same moment to regard each other. “Why, it shall still be used,” allowed the latter. “There is no better way to put the fear into tyrants than empowering their people.” Gold nodded in agreement. “Perhaps we shall have our revolution after all.” “Or perhaps the war shall be avoided through these very actions.” Nero leaned forward and pressed his hands onto the tabletop. “All rise for a vote.” It was ten against accelerating the war to zero in favour. [hr][hr] The masked figures who met at the edge of the Workman’s Quarter were not the only ones attempting to prevent a war or, at least a [i]hot[/i] war. In the Violet Enclave, lights burned into the darkness and plans were made for an announcement on the morrow. If any among the group that met here harboured misgivings, they did not dare speak out. If there was less hierarchy in this meeting, there was also less democracy. Besides, the stones had already been quarried. They had been carved and now lay hidden, as did the Traveler’s ‘army’, under canvas and tarpaulin in a series of warehouses. Contracts had been signed. People had been sent. It was far too late to turn back now, and so matters were decided with many long-winded speeches but minimal fuss. So it was that the city of Ersand’Enise finally found sleep that night of Velles the eighth. As the final fires and lanterns were extinguished, eyes ancient and arcane appeared atop the great windy spire of the Forked Tower. And these eyes looked down upon the city and its tiny people below. They stood at varying degrees of consequence to the being who watched over them, from foxbat to mosquito. Soon, they would spill each other’s blood in a war greater than any that had been fought in history: a war that had been in planning for many decades. A vast toothy grin split the lower half of the watcher’s face, teeth sharp and white and gleaming in the moonlight. [hr][hr] The morning dawned cool and overcast, a brisk wind causing flags to strain at their posts and great grey rivers of anvil-shaped clouds to migrate across the sky, their bellies heavy with rain. They gathered by the thousands, then, in Market Square spilling into the various labyrinthine streets of the Mercantile and Artisans’ Districts. Claresse Upta, Zenith of Ersand’Enise, was giving a speech to close out the four-hundredth iteration of The Trials. It was actually rather a good one, but Sven Bjornsson could scarcely pay attention to it. It was late the night previous when Ingrid had approached him with a plan. The funds for the music box were due today and they did not have them. It would either mark the end of their ill-advised little rebellion, or else they would be forced to take irreversible action. It had been a red-eye discussion, into Ipte’s hours, but they had settled upon a plan. The two of them and Desmond were to accept the government’s funds and make their way towards the secure facility where the music box had been stored. That was their alibi. Meanwhile, their co-conspirators - like-minded students who had joined them in the Hourglass Order - were going to use a distraction that Benedetto had assured them would arrive as cover for a daring caper. It was cowardly, dishonest, and underhanded, but it could work, and Sven found more honour in preventing a war’s worth of bloodshed than he did in abetting it anyhow. The others would rob them during the exchange, along with the item, as they patriotically attempted to defend it. All would make out with upwards of two thousand magus. He had wanted to take a stand, first, but the nail that stuck up at this point would only open itself to benign hammered down, and he had made the concession. The goal here was not to burnish his ego but to save lives: both human and animal lives. In, he breathed, and out. He’d said his goodbyes, already, to some of the foreign friends he’d made. They’d exchanged addresses and would write, or so they’d told each other. From his experience, such arrangements ran about a thirty percent success rate. Then, the customary speech was finished, and he duly provided his best applause. Yet, there was more. All at once, a colossal surge of energy filled the air. From seemingly every direction rose massive stones. They floated overhead, gathering above one corner of the expansive plaza that had been cordoned off, and there they took shape. A yawning circular gate solidified itself in front of the twin pavilions, fifty feet tall and as many in width. Then, the sky crackled with energy as students and laymen gasped and shouted. Time and space trembled and then tore. An enormous swirling mass of energy occupied the center of the portal and - faintly, on the other side - there appeared figures. “Ladies and gentlemen, students and laymen alike,” announced the Zenith, “It is my honour and privilege as Zenith of this city and this institution to announce the opening of a permanent connection to Callanast: the Silk Portal!” The crowd erupted in cheers, gasps, and a rising crescendo of raucous conversation. [i]A permanent portal to Callanast!?[/i] Sven could scarce fathom such a thing. He glanced about at his peers, and they seemed already to be hotly discussing its merits and drawbacks. “On the other side, as one steps through, lies the Hegelan capital of Hogh Munkhelad, now revealed in all of its majesty for the rest of the world.” She spread her arms, regal and beatific. “Every Victendes, from sunup to sundown, this great gate shall remain open, courtesy of the talents of this institution. In the future, there shall be a fee, and four more cities added to our nascent network, for the other four days of the week.” She nodded and gazed out over the crowd. “For today, this portal is free to use: free and open!” At that, they cheered. Sven wasn’t sure how to feel, and he was not the only one. The Zenith went on to explain that all neutral cities - those engaged in neither war nor aggression - would be eligible to bid for portal connections. The benefit to trade and exchange of ideas would be immense. It would be world-altering. His head swam. The opportunities! The [i]dangers[/i]! In the end, he joined the cheers. Most everyone did. It was that momentum that carried them all of the way through the rest of the closing ceremony. The visiting teams left, a half-dozen lesser portals closed, and the Hegelans of Shortlisted stepped through with waves and smiles. That was when the chaos began. A massive aberration materialized in the center of the crowd, and then a second immediately outside of the portal. One missed Niallus by inches, and another latched onto Marlijn and drew itself into her. They appeared by the dozens. They appeared by the [i]hundreds[/i]...