[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/E8KxTVi.png[/img][/center][hr][hr][h2]A Clash of Kings[/h2][hr][hr]
They were gathered in a single room: the leaders and colossal figures of many of the world’s greatest nations. Among them were various zenos and arch-zenos of the academy. If yesterday’s negotiations had been utter futility, today’s represented only a marginal improvement. “…and yet Rouis is too craven to even show his face!” barked Silke of Kerremand. For a moment, other speech died down, and the voice that replied to her dripped with the patience of a learned elder addressing the concerns of a very small child. Ironically, it was the prince, Arcel. “I have said it twice already and say it now a third: my father does not believe his presence would be conducive to a peaceful settlement. I am empowered to speak with his voice and act in his stead.”

“More like your pop wants war, kid!” It was Prince John of Enth, brother to the king. “‘S a calculated insult.” He sat with his arm draped over the back of his chair, two empty bottles on the table in front of him and smoke slowly curling from the pipe that hung from the corner of his mouth.

“You assume much and know little,” snapped Salman Gahari, Vizier of World Affairs to his Magnificence Osman of Virang. “Who can know, beyond certainty, another man’s mind?” He rose and shook his head. “And, if it was, has not Perrence earned such a right after the disgraceful fiasco that was the conclave?”

“Hear hear!” roared a handful of voices. They hammered raucously on the tabletop and Salman was emboldened to continue. “We know it for an absurdity and injustice that Virang remains still outside the halls of power, and now Perrence, while minnows such as Joru and Kerremand occupy their rightful places!”

Atundo Yibozo, who had mostly been reading, looked up at those words. “A minnow that, if I remember correctly, you were not eager to tangle with last time around. I only pray that you recall that restraint and cooler heads prevail.”

“If much was slander, then the last bit was at least truly spoken,” interjected Arcel. Towards the back of the room sat the hulking figure of Horik. He had refused to speak among “imbeciles, vipers, and weaklings,” and contributed mostly the occasional glower. It was Namiri of Belzagg who spoke next, instead. “I share the concerns of my colleagues from Perrence and Joru,” she began. “Is not the idea of this conference to avoid a ruinous conflict, or am I yet young and missing some vital piece?”

Prince John leaned over, then, and whispered in the ear of one of his attendants, smirking. The attendant stifled a laugh. Namiri knit her fingers before her. “My Enthish colleague says that the piece in question is a ‘penis’.” She stood tall and stoic, expression regal and unamused, and a dozen sets of eyes found John. He glanced about and cleared his throat. “You mishear, my lady. I would never -”

“That is ‘your majesty’ to you, [i]prince[/i].” She looked down her nose at him before pointedly shifting her attention elsewhere. “Now,” she resolved, “Is this a council for peace or is the goal here to justify a war? Tell me, for this is my first such performance.”

“And a stirring one it is,” interjected a voice. Its bearer was a man in robes of state, his silver hair swept back. A signet ring on one finger. “And I shall answer your question in the spirit that it was asked.” Much in contrast to his customary approach, Prospero Malatesta had spoken little thus far. It had served as a source of great speculation. “Perrence desires war and Revidia, peace.” He clasped his hands at his back, pacing forward like a lecturer before a room of pupils. “The former is a declining power and unwilling to accept their changed status, while the latter shall make no apologies for its rise. Is it not natural that the one should seek to overcome the other? The results of the conclave are a referendum on Perrence’s place in the world. The only blow struck was to King Rouis’ pride. His fields are still green, his borders secure, and his people fat and happy.” The doge rapped his knuckles on the table. “We have done them no violence. I have said it before and will say so again: we are not desirous of war. It is in the best interests of no nation here and most especially of the common people under our care. The decision lies solely with my Perrench counterpart or, since he lays bare his contempt by his refusal to attend, his young son.” Prospero turned to face Arcel.

There were shouts of affirmation. People hammered on the table. From a far corner of the room, where a screen hid its occupant, attendants rushed in and out. Then, it was the prince’s turn, and Arcel stood. “I present to you the Revidian lie.” He was met with both vociferous denials and cheers alike as he gestured in his opponent’s direction. “They will frame this as a natural process. They will employ knowingly flawed logic and reductive reasoning to hold up a simplified picture where all of us, versed in statecraft, know it is not so. Nations do not rise and fall on their own. They do so as a result of greater processes and the machinations of their fellow nations. If Perrence is to decline, as the Revidian party so eagerly proposes, then it is because they would act to make it so. Was not the farcical removal of Perrence from the conclave just such an act? Is not the fact that we now conduct this meeting under the umbrella of the Revidian navy’s guns further evidence?” His voice had risen. “This man,” he gestured, open-handed, at the doge, “has made no secret of his enmity towards us Perrench. Is it not then our right - nay, our [i]prerogative[/i] - nay once more, our [i]duty[/i] to resist him?” He leaned forward, fists upon the table, and scanned the room slowly. “Were it your nation thusly attacked, would you not seek to take action? I do not believe that any of you would stand quietly by and allow what you have built, what it is your divine right and responsibility to protect, to wither on the vine, courtesy of a thousand small cuts.” Arcel shook his head, golden curls swaying as he did so. “It is a less obvious attack than the fire and brimstone of war, but one every bit as dangerous. Perrence will not bow to it. We come with demands and they must be met.”

“Belzagg stands with her allies,” confirmed the empress. 

“I speak with the sultan’s voice in lending my support to our allies.” It was the Virangish vizier. 

A Nikanese man in fine but simple clothes stepped forward. “His Divinity, the Emperor, recognizes Perrence’s right to act in its best interests.”

Johann the Pious stood, making the Sign of the Pentad. “I shall speak for all of Eskand, as Horik and myself are of one mind on this matter: the overreach of Revidia is unacceptable. We demand our nation’s reinstatement and make common cause with Perrence and our further allies.” He was quickly seated. Horik crossed his arms.

Further affirmations of Perrence’s position streamed in, from the quarters that one might expect. Queen Anne of Huulendam made clear her objection to Kerremand’s ‘aggressive actions and bald-faced self-promotion to the detriment of a great many others.’ Representatives of the other Darhannic nations followed that of the vizier. As Inipor and Virang went, so did they. 

Then, it was the doge’s turn. “And who shall stand against war for the sake of pride?” he asked, rising. He scanned the room. “Revidia is committed to peace but stands ready to defend itself and its allies against the military aggression of hostile parties. Segona stands equally prepared. The interests of each serve the other.”

“Joru stands similarly resolved. We ask Perrence, respectfully, to cease this dangerous brinkmanship.” Atundo Yibozo was brief in his statement.

“Kerremand will not see the well-deserved and peacefully-earned fruits of its labour stolen away. We make common cause with Revidia.”

A colourfully-dressed Retanese gentleman stood, another having spoken in his ear moments earlier. “His Vigorous Majesty affirms Revidia’s right to peacefully advance its interests.”

Prince John scowled. “Aye, you’ve got Enth,” he spat. “This is no time for a war, but we’ll fight it if it comes to us.”

All eyes turned to King Sancho of Torragon - called ‘El Alacrán’ - for he was the linchpin on which this hinge swung. He let a brief silence build before getting to his feet. He removed his feathered hat and bowed gracefully in the direction of his royal counterparts. “Your majesties,” he began. “I lower myself before you now so that you may know that the words that I speak next are no insult but come in the spirit of honesty.” Murmurs rose. A few looked at him hopefully. Others glared. Sancho seemed unmoved. He returned his hat to his head. 

“I have seen, this day and the one before it, the kings or… something like that of the world’s greatest nations gathered at one table. I have listened to their words. I have watched, with great interest, their actions.” He gazed upon them all, expression grave. “What I have witnessed fills me with shame that we call ourselves leaders.” He shook his head quietly as voices rose in protest. Prospero knit his hands over his midsection, face intense and pensive. The King of Torragon continued, however. “All of you stand here and puff out your chests, playing games with the lives of your people for the sake of your personal pride or ambition, for meaningless symbols of status and power.” He tilted his head. “You want to see true power? Look around this city. Look at the wealth, at the safety and prosperity! Much comes from [i]magia,[/i] but much does not, and [i]that[/i] is power! While you are busy fighting because you cannot accept that you are not what you once were -” he gestured towards the Eskandish, “Or because you still pursue an old grudge and wish to claim a piece of land -” it was the Darhannics this time, “Because many have spoken down to you and you need to be seen as strong and relevant -” Kerremand, “You fear that your bold new experiment will be sabotaged by others -” Joru, “You must maintain your power or else you fear they will feed upon your nation’s carcass -” Perrence, “You are threatened by a more powerful neighbour -” Enth, “Or you know that your country must have a friendly port on the ocean as trade booms with Callanasta -” He addressed the Doge last. “Ersand’Enise grows stronger through guarded peace and wisdom.” He paced slightly, now. “You are windows, all of you,” he decided, finger wagging about the room, taking a moment to sniff. “But what I have seen is that all of you are so afraid to [i]lose[/i] that you don’t take the time to [i]look.[/i]” He shook his head. “We Torragonese are known as conquerors, and it is true that we took the land that is now ours from another people, but that did not make us a country. That did not make us great. We were founded by war, but built by good policy, by wise action, by recognizing what it seems none of you care to: your goals, they do not need to be in such conflict. It is all of your weaknesses - the ones you will not share - that lead you to lie.” He shook his head. “It is these lies that fester and cut you off from understanding. Why do we believe that one nation’s rise must mean the fall of another? Why can Perrence and Revidia not both be strong? Why can’t the ships of Retan call at both sets of ports? There is no reason except the people here at this table saying it cannot be.” 

Sancho clenched his jaw. He could [i]feel[/i] the hostility in many of the expressions around him, but he hardened his resolve. “I do not say these things to insult you. I do not think that you are estupido. Perhaps you have entertained thoughts like mine yourselves, but you did not want to be the first one to say them. It was a risk and risks do not always pay off.” He nodded. “I understand, for I feel it too. In this moment, I feel it, but I must speak, for I will live in shame if I do not: the shame of failing my people, of failing in my duty as king, of failing [i]all[/i] people!” He pursed his lips. “Why do we rule?” He spread his arms. “Are we not supposed to be a better sort of person? Are we not supposed to be above petty conflicts and squabbles?” He took a final look around the room. “Today, I speak for Torragon, and Torragon stands for the good of its people and, I hope, the good of [i]all[/i] people. We have no quarrel with any of you and we will play this game no longer.” His courtiers rose. As one, the Torragonese turned. “Let the chips fall where they may.” They marched out, then: a single, purposeful unit. The remaining leaders were left to sort their issues out or else fail to. It was no longer a concern of Sancho’s or his subjects’. 

The precise details of what took place next were known to none but those in the room and, perhaps, not even fully to them. The three arch-zenos of Ersand’Enise who were present had the next word. The Paradigm, Hugo Hunghorasz, scarcely raised his ancient head, though he could be heard muttering under his breath. Yet, that day, by methods unknown, the bickering monarchs turned reasonable. War was averted, and peace preserved. The great wizened wizard was the last to leave, visibly drained yet triumphant in his manner.

[hr][hr][h2]Apocalypse Now[/h2][hr][hr]
He emerged from his bubble into a hellscape. He had known of the Zenith’s coming announcement. She had not been able to keep that from him. He knew, also, that many found it a threat and that there were others who would use the attention given to the opening of the portal to launch their own attacks for their own reasons. 

Thousands of aberrations had been scattered across Ersand’Enise and Hugo knew who had done it. He had, after all, occupied a room with one of them for hours. He would likely meet them again this very night, in combat and he would succeed, for success was his only option. The world would fall to chaos if he did not. 

So it was that the paradigm himself wandered the city of the bells as those bells tolled in urgency, meeting with those maddened by the gaps in reality. He handled them as people instead of problems to the extent that he could. He cleansed aberration after aberration. He reconstituted buildings. Then, his age caught up with him and the old man needed to rest. There were other arch-zenos who took up the banner, though not so effectively as he had. Zenos, students, and citizens rushed about. Many hid. Some did not. At least a few purposely absorbed the dangerous things. They had either figured out the first - encouraging- part of the secret but not the second, or they were agents of the Traveler. He could not stop [i]all[/i] of the young and the foolish, however. 

Hugo Hunghorasz sat on a bench for some time longer and watched Ersand’Enise burn. He could feel each fire and each explosion, each collapsing wall. There were flashes of temporal magic and even dark magic, but he was tired and would need his strength soon, he knew. 

After his rest, he returned to his work and, soon enough, the city was set right. Soon enough, he placed himself in Balthazar hall and drew from space and time. He drew to set most everything right: to undo a thousand or more deaths, to reconstruct the devastated buildings, and to spare people’s minds the most painful parts of it all. He could not fix everything, however: not even Hugo Hunghorasz.

The aberration that formed as a result of his efforts was not one of the usual types. It was, in fact, of a kind that he had seen only a handful of times in his storied life. The first had been during his days as a student. The first had been with Benedict, Leluun, Vander, and …Enna. So the students, some twenty or so in all, proved worthy of the puzzle. Nobody else intervened. They stepped into the strange plane that existed outside of space or time as they knew it, and they emerged much as he had one hundred years ago: empowered.

[hr][hr][h2]Darkness Triumphant[/h2][hr][hr]
It was that night when the titans clashed, just as he who stood at their head had anticipated. There had been the day’s other events, chief among them the opportunistic theft of the much-sought-after music box said to be able to pacify a Fiery Mountain Dragon. Moli’s Emporium had gone up in flames, its performers homeless, merchants jobless, and dozens of exotic animals released, pell-mell, into the local environment. That was not to mention the dozen or so people maimed and killed or the persistent stories that would soon spread of great flying insects, snakelike people, and a vast conspiracy involving wave upon wave of colossal sanguinaires and the Revidian Navy. To some, it seemed as if Velles the Ninth, DZ54 would be the end of the world. Those stories, however, are theirs to tell at length should they wish to share them. 

Yet, this day of all five hells had saved its worst for last. As the Hours of Eshiran gave way to those of Dami, its final and most consequential act commenced.

[hider=Blood Feud]The sun was gone and scant light lingered, deep blue, on the horizon. In a couple of places, distant fires still burned and smoke curled up into the sky, but none of the street lights were lit this night, as if Ersand’Enise was suddenly a much lesser city. There remained dozens of students milling about. Some simply sought the perceived safety of Balthazar Square. Others were in desperate search of some knowledge as to just what was taking place. Still others had emerged, empowered, from a land beyond space and time. They staggered about in a daze and, among them, lurked a predator who sensed an opportunity.

Yuliya Ilyanovna Vasilieva, crown princess of Vossoriya, in truth, but here under a ruse, was a sanguinaire, though nobody else knew it. Lurking just outside of the square, she scanned the crowd, passing up those deemed too weak, too strong, or too vigilant. Then, she found a likely target: a young Revidian girl all by her lonesome, heading into the maze of darkened side streets that marked the dormitory district. 

She chose Lucia Moli: an internal chemist, and not nearly so unaware as Yuliya may have hoped. In the brief conflict that followed, the sanguinaire found herself struck by magics of unexpected power, and they turned her muscles to jelly. The unthinkable happened as her seemingly mundane prey decided that discretion was the better part of valour and ran, screaming, towards the still-busy square. [color=red]"Vampira!"[/color] she wailed. [color=red]"Demone!"[/color] Her calls did not fall upon deaf ears.
 
It was mere moments before a pair of voices shouted back, and they were Eskandish. [color=0b2cf4]"Øje for øje! Blod for blod!"[/color]
 
[color=D2691E]"You're mine, bitch!"[/color]

The twins Marlijn and Owain, generally affable and easygoing sorts, had been brutally attacked less than a weak prior, and nearly killed by just such a beast, and now they sensed their chance for revenge. The Eskandish rite of Blood Feud was invoked and, within moments, a half-dozen students of that nation had congealed. For all of Yuliya’s considerable strength, she knew that she could not fight so many. Thus, in the burgeoning darkness, as the entire world seemed to have gone insane, it tipped just a little further still. She ran. They pursued: a small but wild mob, baying for her blood. 

Obligated by land of birth, Sven Bjornsson found himself among them, but he was a gentle soul, advising or perhaps [i]demanding[/i] some levelheadedness. His entreaties, however, fell upon deaf ears as he raced to the head of the pack, hoping to nab the bloodsucker for himself and resolve this with minimal bloodshed. Owain and Marlijn streaked through the night along with him, and it was Niallus and Ingrid who soon fell off the pace, mingling with the growing gaggle of curious onlookers who followed. 

Some had figured it out more than others, but the electric feeling that something [i]big[/i] was about to happen permeated the air. [color=C78A2C]“Oi,”[/color] Zarina demanded of Marci, passing the smaller and slower girl. [color=C78A2C]“What's going on?"[/color]

[color=598527]"Eskandr blood feud!"[/color] Marci called back, bleeding anxiety. [color=598527]"Didn't you hear? Some sanguinaire attacked and tried to kill Owain and Marlijn last week! You been living under a rock, Zaz?"[/color]
 
[color=C78A2C]"... I thought they were exaggerating."[/color] Zarina blinked, arms crossed, [color=C78A2C]"Sanguinaire. Like, aren't those just story-things? The sort of thing you call some creepy stalker or molester."[/color]
 
Marci shrugged in response. [color=598527]"Apparently not... Marli's usually as relaxed as they come, but she was spitting mad. Owain too."[/color] She shook her head. [color=598527]“Honestly, it's madness, but I'm like... morbidly curious."[/color]
 
[color=C78A2C]"Same."[/color] Zarina agreed, pursing her lips, watching her pet dormouse Nibbler grow restless. [color=C78A2C]"He's super worked up over this too. I'm actually surprised."[/color] She whistles to get Nibbler's attention, and he glanced back, but his hackles were raised and fur bristling. [color=C78A2C]"You alright, bud?"[/color] The small creature didn't so much as respond, not even to a chemical brain-to-brain signal, [color=C78A2C]"Whatever's really happening, it's about mild on today's scale,"[/color] Zarina joked nervously, but she was wrong.

On through the Dormitory Quarter they raced, and then across one corner of the Mercantile District before barreling into the Crafters’. Yuliya disappeared into a warehouse, barely ahead of the others, and they had her surrounded. If some, like Ingrid, lost their nerve, Owain plunged headlong after his prey, finding himself alone in the building’s darkened reaches with her. A sense of seriousness and finality overtook the Eskandish, then, and they seemed to hesitate at the precipice. Marlijn used her finely-honed skills as an illusionist to render him invisible and now it came down to this: the settling of the feud with someone’s life as repayment. 

The sanguinaire’s preternatural reflexes saved her life, and then a well-earned dispelling of the expected chemical attack. [color=0b2cf4]"Where are you all!?"[/color] Owain called out anxiously, suddenly alone with her and exposed. His heart hammered. He locked eyes with the masked figure. Then, the others came: Marlijn, under a cloak of shadows; Sven, insistent that this should not be played to the death; and Niallus, clumsily addressing his hidden ally. 
Then, it happened: Yuli closed the warehouse door behind everyone once they had walked in. She flicked a switch on the magic dampener that she'd acquired from the trials, letting it rest in her jacket pocket, before turning to Owain.
 
[color=Pink]"One has had their chance. One chose blood, and blood shall flow, though it shan't be mine."[/color]

Without magic, she was still stronger, faster, and more resilient than a normal person. Without magic, a normal was nothing. [/hider]

[hider=Deliverance?]It was right about then that the entire roof lifted off of the warehouse.
 
[color=DAA520]"You savages will cease,"[/color] boomed a voice. [color=DAA520]"All of you."[/color]
 
The parties within looked up and saw the roof come off. It hung above them in the air. Those who were nearby fled in fear or watched in awe, as Zarina hung back with Marci and Nibbler quickly retreated into the former’s arms when he sensed the overwhelming power. [color=C78A2C]"Well shit."[/color] she looked up, impressed by the display, but with little context to truly admire it.
 
Those closer by recognized the voice of Augusto Frannemas as it cut the silence. [color=DAA520]"Your trinket, you will switch it off or I will switch you off... [i]permanently.[/i]"[/color] It was a command that chilled Yuliya to the bone as he made a near-identical promise to the rest of the students in the warehouse. [color=DAA520]"If these animals harm you, the same outcome awaits them."[/color].
 
Then, as he spoke, Augusto felt a pathetic attempt to influence his perception. Owain dashed in to try to take Yuliya's head off with his shortsword. Augusto’s eyes flickered in the boy’s direction and his magics did the rest, rendering him blind, deaf, and numb as he collapsed in a heap. [color=DAA520]"Worm,"[/color] came the sole word from Augusto's lips as Marlijn screamed and ran to her brother's side.
 
Augusto reached out again in an attempt to crush her mind but she was supremely talented with chemical magic. Her reality wavered, but she glared up at him. [color=D2691E]"You defend a murderer!"[/color] the girl snarled. [color=D2691E]“We are seeking justified revenge!"[/color]
 
Augusto tilted his head to one side, [color=DAA520]"We have rule of law here, savage,"[/color] he replied high-handedly, looking down his nose at her. [color=DAA520]"Seek your vengeance in a court of law."[/color] He reached out again and rendered Marli the same as her brother. More than one gazed up at him in terror, but the Torragonese was unmoved. [color=DAA520]"I warned them,”[/color] he advised, [color=DAA520]“They ignored my mercy."[/color]
 
Yuliya, meanwhile, had gone silent, and completely ignored the people in the warehouse, staring up at the almost godlike power that was lifting the roof and taking people out like ants. Underneath her mask, she blushed intensely. She knew Augusto was cool, but [i]this[/i] cool?
 
Yet, she found herself his next target and responded with instinct. As he tried to lift Yuliya from the ground towards him, he could feel her resist. He released her momentarily. [color=DAA520]"Don't fight,"[/color] he warned, looking pointedly at those who had. Yuliya put her hands up, as if being asked to be lifted, while almost wanting to laugh at the two bodies on the floor of the warehouse.
 
Niallus looked towards Sven, meanwhile. [color=3d5a88]"Help me get these out of here,”[/color] he whispered. [color=3d5a88]“This is our chance to get away."[/color]
 
Sven nodded.  [color=385403]"I think I can heal them. Jusht need shome time."[/color] He was not good with Kinetic magic, but the tall youth was able to heave Owain over his massive shoulder and begin his getaway. Niallus picked up Marljin simultaneously, agreeing with his ally. [color=3d5a88]"We'll get away first then you can heal"[/color].
 
They started to move and had gotten maybe two steps before they found themselves separated from the people they were carrying and lifted into the sky. [color=DAA520]"I am not finished with you [i]vigilantes,[/i]"[/color] Augusto advised.
 
If those outside were not directly involved, they were nonetheless able to feel the immense energy constantly flexing and roiling nearby. Some felt sick. A couple collapsed. Ingrid had watched the roof be raised and listened to the multiple shrieks that came from inside. [color=8882be]"Oh boy ,”[/color] she repeated. [color=8882be]“Oh boy oh boy oh boy. This is bad."[/color] It was all that she could say.
 
Then, vaguely in the distance, they started to feel energies creeping about, drawing nearer. They cast about and found nothing yet, within, Augusto and Yuliya were none at all the wiser. Augusto pacified both Sven and Niallus the same as he did with Owain and Marljin. He returned his attention to Yuliya as he lifted her and the box into the air. Once she was near, the sanguinaire was able to hear. [color=DAA520]"Yuliya,"[/color] he began to whisper into her ear, [color=DAA520]"do try to choose your targets more carefully in the future. You kill,"[/color] he warned, [color=DAA520]"you die. Okay?"[/color] He shook his head, [color=DAA520]"and I don't want that, but we have standards here. Only if you have no other option."[/color]
 
Yuliya simply nodded along and smiled, as Augusto softened the blow. [color=DAA520]"You are better than your Eskandr blood. Act like it."[/color][/hider]

[hider=A Clash of Titans]Then, Augusto froze. The roof dropped roughly and the air boiled with a feeling of immeasurable magic. Almost everyone within the area disappeared.
 
Then, there was a presence: A figure in a black cloak hovered beside Augusto. [color=B22222]"Please release her,"[/color] it asked.
 
Augusto obeyed, but he offered a warning of his own. [color=DAA520]"You would be unwise to try to kill - "[/color]
 
With a single action, he was sliced in two.
 
[color=B22222]"Go feed, girl,"[/color] said the figure, and Yuliya was able to feel that this, then, was the master sanguinaire, [color=B22222]"and kill. It is your right over these lesser beings."[/color]
 
Yuliya looked puzzled. Even if she had wanted to be upset, or cry, or be shocked, she wasn't capable. She hadn't been for years. This was.. unexpected. Her cold rationality took over. This would cause incident. [color=pink]"Yes. But he was good suitor, it is a shame."[/color]
 
[color=B22222]"Feed,"[/color] commanded the Progenitor. [color=B22222]"Claim your birthright!"[/color]
 
She went to drink from her bisected suitor. [color=pink]"Farewell. I will miss you."[/color]

[color=B22222]"ASCEND!!!"[/color] he hissed, eyes glowing.
 
It was just as Yuliya had sunk her teeth into the mangled body that the Progenitor's chest exploded.
 
[color=DAA520]"Did you think I would be so easy to kill?"[/color] asked a second, utterly unharmed, Augusto. His sword retracted and he was gone.
 
The sanguinaire coughed up blood. He wavered for a moment. Then, his wounds healed, as a thousand upon a thousand tendrils of darkness leapt from his form.
 
Augusto did not respond. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen… not until a bellowing [color=DAA520]"WEAK!!!"[/color] resounded through the area. [color=DAA520]"You bloodsuckers are all the same."[/color]
 
The Progenitor's tendrils turned in on themselves and impaled him. He fell from the sky. Then, there was a second Frannemas. A pretty blonde woman appeared below. [color=C71585]"You, Vossoriyan, did you just try to eat my brother?"[/color] There was something unnatural about the way that her head tilted.
 
[color=pink]"Yes. I quite like him. I thought he died,"[/color] Yuliya answered calmly.
 
There were ten flashes. Then, they assembled: the Elder Council, ten sanguinaires, each thousands of years old and unfathomably powerful.
 
The strongest of them all rose from the shadows: the master sanguinaire. Being once impaled by his own tendrils seemed to almost mean nothing to the Progenitor, and he showed no sign of injury. Not even looking down at the girl who had come to help her brother, he commanded, [color=B22222]"Kill her."[/color]
 
In that moment, the [i]true[/i] violence began. Augusto's sister, Avril, stood there for but a moment as her head exploded.
 
Then, the elder who had blown up Avril's head screamed as her skin peeled away, followed by her muscles. Her organs sloughed out onto the concrete. Augusto set his sights on a second one, and then Avril's doppelganger exploded with colossal force. A third elder drew its power in and… nothing happened.
 
Then, Augusto had a hole through his chest. Things very quickly became absurd. Nothing made sense. People died but didn't die. Things happened but didn't happen.
 
Yet even with none dead, the Sanguine Council gained the upper hand. As Avril and Augusto stood still, Internal Chemical magics seeped their way into the siblings, rendering them helpless. It appeared that, even when things did not make sense, some magics stayed true. Even with this upper hand, however, the sanguinaires did not kill. They held.
 
[color=B22222]"Who will enjoy this feast?"[/color] the Progenitor crowed. Two Elders came forward to do so.
 
[color=FFD700]"I think,"[/color] declared a new voice, [color=FFD700]"actually nobody will."[/color]
 
[color=000000]"These humans are not yours to feed on."[/color]
 
A slash of pure energy sliced through the night with blinding light, causing many to reel and blink. Yet, once their sight returned, they could make out three masked individuals, each possessed of immense power, standing between the Sanguinaires and the Frannemas siblings: Gold, Black, and Silver. Over the shoulder of the third was slung an enormous broadsword held in one hand.
 
As the Sanguine council fell into a standoff against the Frannemas siblings and the three masked figures, the five Eskandr, plus Marci, Zarina, and Nibbler awoke some ways away on the offshore island known colloquially as The Tip. There, they found a nice warm fire going. Moths zipped and twirled around it. From this safe place, they began to heal their friends and discuss what they had just seen, trying to make sense of it.
 
If the alliance that had been made between the Masked individuals and the Frannemas was beneficial, it was shaky at best. Augusto mocked them, [color=DAA520]"Oh, so you care about the rich now too?"[/color].
 
[color=000000]"Silence, boy,"[/color] replied the Black-masked figure, [color=000000]"or I will cut your tongue out when I am finished with these fiends, and you will not regrow it."[/color]
 
There came another flash. A figure in a pale green mask floated above the concrete. [color=FFD700]"Certosa,"[/color] said the gold-masked Volto. Jocasta had arrived, unnamed but present, finding herself a minnow in this sea of sharks despite her immense power. For about a minute, now, it had been a standoff between some of the most powerful beings alive. The Sanguine Council had the numbers advantage and they knew it. They attacked.
 
Then, Radomir, the Elder of Vossoriya, dropped with a hole in his head. Starchilt of Kerremand dropped next. Each wound was recoverable, in some way or another, but they held up the sanguinaires, leaving them vulnerable. They searched for the cause, but they searched in vain.
 
In truth, it was the Volto Lupa and the young initiate Desmond, who she had found headed for the calamity and wisely held back. [color=D8BFD8]"Don't give up your range,"[/color] she had advised, and he did not. They continued to be a nuisance: a potentially deadly one.

Yet, no action lasted. People died only to live again. Such power was, in a sense, futility when it was mirrored by another.

Until [i]he[/i] showed up.[/hider]

[hider=A Death in the Family]Karan Harrachora took a slice from reality and deleted everything within it. Itzinco, the guiding hand of Xochi, ceased to exist: forever and in all realities.
 
[color=BDB76B]"You will all die if you continue to fight,"[/color] he warned. [color=BDB76B]"Stop."[/color]
 
They had no choice but to heed his words. Yet, it lasted mere seconds before one came for the eminent Arch Zeno. They varied their movement. They varied themselves in time. They simply... [i]avoided[/i] him until the time was right to strike.
 
Then, there were six of him, and the evasion on which their lives depended became much harder. The Progenitor was next, but it was only his hand. That, he regrew in about one second. He summoned darkness of his own and three of the Harrachoras fell. Cataclysmic, was the best way to describe the action that prevailed over the Crafters’ Quarter but, outside of the bubble where they fought, nobody had the slightest notion of what was happening.

Not a soul saw, heard, or sensed the colossal powers at play, for such was the privilege of master magicians over all other beings in existence. In that same moment, another shot was fired. A bullet grazed the night empress, and she winced. Never before had she been struck by a gun. She reached out with her senses and looked for a sniper, but nothing could be found.
 
[color=483D8B]“There is a sniper,”[/color] she warned, turning to Zengumah the Lion, [color=483D8B]“a very good one. Watch out."[/color] A trickle of blood dripped from the wound on her cheek. 

Then, the fight ended with one word: [h2][b][color=FFFFF0]"KNEEL."[/color][/b][/h2]
[hr][hr]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c0/02/ed/c002ed92e55a21b423170f0c4eba7692.jpg[/img] 
[hr][hr]
A mage in white and gold appeared. His great hat hung about him and from it flowed long black hair and a great beard. He held a simple gnarled staff and there was something familiar about him. 

Hugo Hunghorasz COMMANDED the lesser mages and the sanguinaires and, no matter the struggle, they had no choice but to listen. The nine remaining Elders dropped to their knees, the four Volti fell, Augusto and Avril were reduced, and even the Arch Zeno Harrachora bowed.
 
The Progenitor, however, did not. He stood and glared at the master mage. [color=B22222]"How many times has it been?"[/color] he inquired.
 
[color=FFFFF0]"Too many,"[/color] replied Hunghorasz.
 
[color=B22222]"To the finish this time?"[/color] said the sanguinaire.
 
[color=FFFFF0]"If you truly wish it,"[/color] Hugo answered. At that, they disappeared, for they fought in a way that nobody else could comprehend.
 
Then, for a flicker of time, the two of them stood before the kneeling row of titans. Each mage or sanguinaire present could have been peerless, were it not for the others. Each of them, avatars of unfathomable power, yet seconded, here, to a mere man: one who seemed eager to play god.
 
It was so fast that it was almost imperceptible. The eyes of the Progenitor met those of Volto Dorato. Then, the Volti struck. A slice of pure blackness split reality and then Hugo Hunghorasz in half. He was erased.
 
The command magic faded and they stood eye to eye across from each other: Volto Dorato and the Progenitor. Itzinco reappeared and he and Harrachora exchanged nods. Augusto dusted himself off. Avril sighed. [color=C71585]"That was a close run thing,"[/color] she admitted.
 
[color=483D8B]"No hard feelings,"[/color] the Night Empress clarified.
 
Yet, the entire sequence was not without its witnesses. In the distance, the magusjaeger Lupa and her young charge saw it all, though they were sworn to silence. Far closer tot he action, however, was Yuliya. She had been rendered unable to move by both the overwhelming power on display, and her own instinctual shock and fear. Now, it was finished, and she pulled herself together as best she could, looking to Augusto incredulously. [color=pink]"This… this was setup!? [i]What?[/i] I don't.. I don't understand.. I'm sorry."[/color] Her head spun.
 
Augusto turned to her. [color=DAA520]"I'm sorry for my deception. There's a lot you don't know. Hugo Hunghorasz is... not a good man. He has tried to make himself into a god and nobody has that right."[/color]
 
She could see one of the masked figures turn his way. [color=d3d3d3]"Truly spoken,"[/color] it agreed.
 
The progenitor merely watched.
 
[color=BDB76B]"So I guess we all go back to being enemies after this?"[/color] asked Karan Harrachora, twirling a keyring between his fingers. [color=BDB76B]"Seems a bit of a shame."[/color]
 
[color=d3d3d3]"At least we have our free will back,"[/color] the silver Volto reminded them. [color=d3d3d3]"And that is most important. Our field is now level. Let the strongest win."[/color]
 
Hugo Hunghorasz was gone and, in the mighty place he had filled was left a yawning vacuum. Who would rise to claim it remained to be seen.
 
First, however, Radomir, the guardian of Vossoriya, came forward. He placed a hand on Yuliya's shoulder. [color=AFEEEE]"You have done well today."[/color] He smiled warmly. [color=AFEEEE]"I know that what happened before your senses must have been terrifying, but you survived it and you helped us immeasurably. To lead our nation is, in some ways, to serve. Remember that and hold your head high. You show much promise, Yuliya."[/color]
 
Yet Yuliya, who had just watched a battle of monsters play out, saw herself as nothing but weak, [color=pink]"I am unworthy. I could do nothing, even if I wanted. I feel the gap between us is so great, that I might never catch up. How am I fit to lead being so weak?"[/color]
 
[color=AFEEEE]"I once led, my child,"[/color] assured Radomir. [color=AFEEEE]"It was merely preparation for the role I hold today. Someday, you will find yourself on the other side of this question."[/color]
 
Then, one by one, the fantastic beings who had gathered to destroy a man began to depart. It had all been a ploy: every last bit of it, but it had succeeded. Hugo Hunghorasz had risen from humble origins and, through sheer force of magic and will, had climbed to the peak of the mountain. For over a century, he had stood astride the world, ensuring his own imperfect but earnest vision of peace, order, and justice. Now, that was no more, and it was all there for taking.[/hider]
[hr][hr][h2]There Will Come Soft Rains[/h2][hr][hr]
They were awoken by the soft, moody rumble of thunder. Whether it was nature or the Zenos of the academy mourning the death of one great man - and, if people suspected the latter, they were loath to say so - the clouds cast a deep grey pall over Taldes, Velles the 10th. 

In the short term, it was a victory of sorts. A ruinous war had been averted or at least put on hold. The Illustrious Navy departed, as did most of the quasi-military forces that had temporarily occupied the city. How Pyrrhic it all was, though. Many did not realize quite how badly so, and still, they had some inkling. The portal, opened with great ceremony the day before, remained closed, for the time being - its structure repaired, but not the magic that had animated it. Flags flew at half-mast and stores remained closed. Students who showed up to classes found them canceled for the day and for the next on top of it. For Trypano Somia, her long-awaited appointment with the Paradigm, scheduled for thai afternoon, sat there, pinned to her corkboard, a reminder of… something.

He had run a fever and died in his sleep that night, or so it was said, and few had reason to suspect otherwise. He was very elderly and had missed the morning’s event. The combat that had seen him felled had been assiduously kept from the senses of all but the most eminent of mages. And so the rain came and people huddled indoors in their small clusters, huddling around their fireplaces and discussing just what the passing of one man would mean for the world. It seemed somehow a bit of a colder place now, a little less certain. 

In silent teams of five, Zenos swept the remote corners of the city, searching for remaining aberrations and either absorbing or cordoning them off for removal. Bells tolled at each hour and the rain did not subside. Yet, this was Ersand’Enise: a place where there was always a show to be taken and where it would need to go on. There flickered stubborn signs of life amid the lingering pall of death.

In a small tavern, a girl who lived under a false name leapt into her father’s arms. They held each other tightly for a moment before exchanging stories. He was worried. He was angry at others, but he placed that aside, for the girl was nearly a woman grown now and she had a full and bustling life of her own to share with him. A man used to talking stopped to listen. A girl used to listening had learned to be heard.

In a kitchen, a young couple, each half with brilliant blonde hair, moved about, endeavouring to cook a meal for friends and family to celebrate a bold and unexpected step in their lives. The young man spun his bride-to-be around and she used the Gift to lift a half-dozen implements and stir, heat, and knead ingredients. 

Some of those who she found herself sitting among shortly after were also those who she left with. The mumbling groan of thunder and the spattering of rain accompanied them as they made their way across the city. The welcome was perhaps not quite so grand as it might have been under different circumstances, but the six youths found themselves passing through the threshold and into the Violet Enclave, led by the lone figure of Karan Harrachora. Before them lay the Forked Tower - an odd, ancient, and storied structure that evoked endless mystery and promises of fruitful learning. The week was theirs and it began now. 

Of course, there were those left behind, but they found their own purpose. After bidding farewell to her friend, the younger of a pair of young business owners locked up and headed out in a different direction. It was… eerily peaceful as she splashed, idly childlike, through puddles. During the course of her walk, however, she came upon a cloaked man. He regarded her hopefully for a moment before turning away. There had been something of a rapprochement between them the day before, but it felt hollow now, given the context in which it had happened. They began to pass each other awkwardly until the weight in her heart grew to a point where she could bear it no longer. [color=598527]“...Hello, brother.”[/color]

[color=1a7b30]“Hello, sister.”[/color] He turned eagerly and their eyes met. [color=1a7b30]“Are you holding up alright?”[/color]

She nodded and shrugged. [color=598527]“As good as one [i]can[/i] be, I suppose.”[/color] Marceline paused. [color=598527]“How about you?”[/color] she asked.

Manfred was about to answer a simple affirmative, as he always had but, this time, he caught himself. He paused and considered. [color=1a7b30]“I’ve… been better”,[/color] he admitted, hesitating to meet her eyes. [color=1a7b30]“I… failed my girlfriend. I failed my compatriot during that… aberration episode.”[/color]

[color=598527]“It was terrifying,”[/color] Marci commiserated. 

Manfred swallowed tightly. [color=1a7b30]“I… I wasn’t strong enough,”[/color] he squeaked. [color=1a7b30]“She had to save me. Dory had to save me. I… died.”[/color]

Wordlessly, Marceline reached out and enfolded him in an embrace. [color=598527]“I’ve… failed some people too,”[/color] she admitted, patting his back. [color=598527]“Now, why don’t you go talk to her, hmm?”[/color]

He did not let go of his sister. [color=1a7b30]“I… couldn’t burden her. I can’t let her see me like this.”[/color]

The girl rolled her eyes just a bit. [color=598527]“Silly brother,”[/color] she chided. [color=598527]“If you feel this way, do you not think she can sense it? Do you not think she is also worried?”[/color] Marceline pulled back to arms’ length. 

[color=1a7b30]“I did not think -”[/color]

[color=598527]“No, you did not, silly brother.”[/color] She shook her head. [color=598527]“Go to her. You need each other.”[/color]

They parted and Manfred took a few steps back before hesitating. [color=1a7b30]“And you, silly sister: do you need anyone? Anything?”[/color]

The girl let out a snort. [color=598527]“Maybe,”[/color] she admitted, [color=598527]“but I have my stacks of money for now. They don’t make half-bad tissues in a pinch.”[/color]

He shrugged and managed a tight, knowing smile. [color=1a7b30]“Well, I know we don’t have so much in common, but you always have me, for what it’s worth. I… love you… kid. Okay?”[/color]

Marci blushed. [color=598527]“Ahem… [sub]Iloveyoutoo[/sub],”[/color] she replied quickly, almost under her breath.  [color=598527]“Thank you.”[/color]

He was walking backwards, smiling out at her from under the hood of his cloak. [color=1a7b30]“No, thank [i]you.[/i]”[/color]

The girl shook her head, also backing away. [color=598527]“No, thank [i][b]you,[/b][/i]”[/color] she insisted.

He shook his head. [color=1a7b30]“Unacceptable. [i]I[/i] am the more thankful party.”[/color]

[color=598527]“Nuh-[i]uh,[/i]”[/color] she retorted [color=598527][i]I[/i] am and I’m the younger one, so you [i]must[/i] concede.”[/color]

[color=1a7b30]“I think not!”[/color]

[color=598527]“I think [i]so![/i]”[/color] They were quite some distance from each other now, shouting to be heard over the rain.

[color=1a7b30]“Over my dead body,”[/color] Manfred warned.

[color=598527]“Ah, so then it is war between us, [i]brother.[/i]”[/color]

He nodded in response. [color=1a7b30]“Indeed,[/color] he called. [color=1a7b30]I shall meet you on the field of battle!”[/color] Then, they were parted and Manfred found that he had strength enough for another conversation that was perhaps well overdue.

Indeed, across the city, there were myriad moments such as these, glimmering like stars amid a vast dark canvas. Sometimes, when we are pushed to our utmost, strained against the very limits of our endurance, we unlock doors, we progress. We find things within and without ourselves. Perspective is a powerful tool and it was, perhaps, Hugo’s final gift to the world.

[hr][hr][h2]Epilogue: The Scorpion’s Last Sting[/h2][hr][hr]
“And you are certain there can be no rapprochement between us?” It was Sancho. “No compromise for the good of the nation?”

The man who sat across from him was Huarcan Frannemas. They were in a hunting lodge at the northwest tip of Lake Albadòn. A fireplace roared behind them and, above it, the mounted head of a froabas surmounting a coat of arms and a pair of crossed swords. The duque shook his head. “It is past that,” he stated evenly, if not [i]quite[/i] smugly. “Though you would make things easier for the both of us and for our country if you surrendered and made this peaceful.”

“I have a great many supporters,” the king remarked. He reached for a decanter of wine. “It will be ruinous for you.” He rose to pour himself a glass and Huarcan watched him closely. “It will be ruinous for Torragon.”

“Which is why I know that you will propose something else.”

“Wine?” offered Sancho.

His great enemy snorted. The soon-to-be-deposed king poured it anyhow. “It is a very good Vintage: Casa Soledad AI51.”

He served the duque before seating himself and crossing one leg over the other. “My proposal is this, and I will toast on it: we duel, you and I.” He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Oh, there is little chance that I can win, but I must at least say that I tried. I owe this to my family and my honour. Surely, you can understand that. Can you not?”

Huarcan glanced down at the deep crimson wine in the glass. Sancho was a simple enough man. He had always been, and yet - 

“What?” the king interjected with a smile. “You believe that I would win with poison?” He shook his head. There was no hint of magic being used as he took a hearty sip. “You are too suspicious, my friend. Let me give you that advice: it does not make for a good king. I would know. I have held the job for some time now, though I see I was merely keeping your seat warm.”

“Honour, I find, is a quaint concept, but there is only power, so far as I see it, in all of its various forms: social, monetary, military, magical. Why would I take even the slightest risk in dueling you?”

Sancho sighed and took another sip. Huarcan followed, though, out of habit, he cast a small chemical spell upon the drink to neutralize the taste-removing torzophine that it would contain if it were a deadly poison. That way, he might know.

“Well, for one, I will first give you the document you seek, written in my hand and sealed in wax.” The king shrugged. “The second is because it’s always been personal. Hasn’t it? You are so much better than me, and yet I have always stood above you. I will do so once again. You will see.”

It was all rather pathetic, Huarcan mused to himself, an obvious attempt to goad him. Likely, Sancho had some gambit. He was half-inclined to accept just to see what it was, and yet… one should always beware a cornered animal, even one so weak as this. “You will give it to me regardless, or your entire family will follow you swiftly to Echerran’s embrace.”

Sancho’s grip on the armrests of his chair tightened. “You are a wicked man,” he growled, “but you do not scare me. You would kill them anyhow.”

Huarcan took another sip and smiled. “Yes, I suppose I would. They are too great a political threat to be left alive.” He shrugged. “It’s… nothing personal.”

The outgoing monarch glared at him, then. “Fight me, you carriage-riding coward,” he snapped. “I know you are curious, what trick I have up my sleeve. I know you want to see it! Why don’t you see it!?” he taunted, rising from his seat. The duque merely sipped and watched. “Or are you scared?” tried the angry little man. There was panic on his face now. He had come to the realization that it was all about to end. Huarcan was unmoved. “Sign the document and I will let your daughters live, at least. I will even marry Radolfo to the one with the eight-point-ten.” 

“She will own him,” hissed Sancho, “utterly.”

Huarcan downed the rest of his glass and rose. “Oh, I know, but I have another one anyhow: a better one, and I suppose you can consider this your revenge from beyond the grave.”

They stood across from each other now and the ‘king’ glowered helplessly. He clenched his fists and his jaw alike and then he broke. “I will do it,” he grated, looking quickly away. He strode stiffly to the small table nearby and pulled a sheet of parchment. The duque stood in front of the fire, holding his empty glass dispassionately. 

“Tendremos nuestra venganza,” Sancho muttered beneath his breath. “Tendremos nuestra venganza.” Huarcan could see that his hands were shaking. He dipped the quill in its ink and began to write.

“I, Sancho Afraval, eighth of his name,” the duque dictated, “do hereby declare that, upon this tenth day of Viela, Dami-Septo cincuenta y cuatro, I release in perpetuity all of my duties and titles…”

“This ink,” complained the king, “is bad. It has sat for too long.” He straightened in frustration and then, he dropped the ruse. In one smooth motion, he drew his sword. 

Huarcan tilted his head to one side. “You realize that, by doing this, you doom your entire -” Then, Sancho was upon him, with a lunging strike aimed for the duque’s midsection. He just barely leapt out of the way. 

The greater of the two men did not normally carry a sword, for he had no use for one. Instead, he called upon the deep and ample strength that was his Gift. he called upon it and…

Dread congealed into an icy ball in the pit of his stomach. It… wasn’t [i]there[/i]. Sancho swept in again and Huarcan pulled for everything - [i]anything[/i]. His manas would not respond. He could not feel them! He managed a weak kinetic shove: enough to push the king’s blade out of line. “Let’s see what sort of man you are now,” Sancho snarled, relentless. Huarcan stumbled back. “Guards!” he called. “Guards!” But they were out of earshot, as he, himself, had earlier requested. 

“If you are wondering,” taunted the king, “it was plushtail oil. Your little spell to remove the taste-maskers is what activates it.” Thinking quickly, the duque  snatched one of the crossed swords from the mantle and parried Sancho’s thrust. He was by no means a poor swordsman, but he had learned with the Gift. 

“Your paranoia,” grunted the king, “is as predictable as your arrogance.” Huarcan could not beat him in a swordfight, not without the Gift. He began circling, throwing out feints, until his back was to the hallway that he knew led outside. He swung in a great big feint from long distance and shouted and that would have to be enough. He turned and ran with everything that he had. “And your cowardice,” hissed the king, rushing after him. Plushtail oil! How could he have been so stupid! Hadn’t he checked for poisons? He always did so but, this time, he had not! Sancho had strategically interrupted him just as he’d been about to, and demonstratively taken a sip to reassure him! He’d purified his glass, just to be sure, and tasted nothing out of the ordinary. Then, a few sips from the king, to lead him on out of passive habit. He’d been led to this juncture like a steer by the nose, every step of the way!

Huarcan Frannemas was about ten paces from the door when the sword impaled him in the trailing leg. He screamed and stumbled and instinctively called upon the Gift to heal and empower him. Only, it wasn’t there. Sancho, the man who they called ‘Alacrán’, loomed behind him, and a mighty slash, barely blocked, dropped the duque to his knees. “You will be reviled!” Huarcan roared. “Your other banners: what will they think that you murdered a duque?”

“They may not all love me,” Sancho replied, grim intensity giving way - for a moment - to sadistic pleasure, “but they hate you even more.” It was a quick combination and it slashed the would-be usurper across the shoulder and down the forearm of his sword hand. True fear filled him now. This was not real. It was inconceivable! That he would die this way! For one stupid mistake, at the hands of this… [i]weakling![/i] All that he had worked towards! All that he achieved and had yet planned to achieve! His children! Dear Augusto and precious Avril! He would never see them again. They would have no father. He was sorry! Truly, he [i]was![/i] “Please,” he begged. “Please, your majesty! I repent! I will join the Sages! I will live as a hermit.”

“You are a bad man and a worse liar, cousin.”

There was a flash of cold pain. Then, he was falling and the world was spinning. For a moment, Huarcan looked up and thought that he saw a headless body.

[hr][hr]
King Sancho, the Scorpion, strode through the doors of Villa San Miguel. His white clothes were stained in blood and his gloves soaked in it. He held a sword in one hand. In the other was the head of the would-be-king: Huarcan Frannemas. Half of the guards were his men. The rest were the now-deceased duque’s. “I claim, once more, my throne by right of [i]conquista del guerrero[/i],” he shouted into the blustery wind of the lakeside steppe. “This man tried to kill me. He tried to take my throne.” He tossed the head on the ground at the guard captain’s feet. “I have handled the challenge as a Torragonese should.” His men formed up around him. “Your traitorous lord is dead. I am here for you to challenge should you dispute my justice.”

The Frannemas men exchanged glances. The king waited. Then, one by one, they sank to one knee and bowed their heads. He gazed upon them from above. “Lay down your swords and depart in peace. I am a man of honour when I deal with honourable men. You are free to go.”

He had little enough time for them. Stalking up to Vencedor, he mounted the great warhorse. It would now be known that Sancho was no fool. He was under no illusion that there would be repercussions. He had not acted without a plan in place, however. “Scribe!” he shouted, tossing his bloody gloves on the ground and pulling on his riding gauntlets. “Scribe!” he repeated impatiently, as one hurried up. “You are to send a message to his majesty Prospero of Revidia and Segona.” The man fumbled with his quill and papers. “Tell him that he may act with full confidence. Whatever action he takes, Torragon stands ready.”
[hr][hr][h2]Action Opportunities[/h2][hr][hr]
[hider=Action Opportunities]Welcome to our penultimate chapter! Here, you'll have the chance to play out your actions during the soon-to-be infamous Bloody Victendes. These may include:
[indent]- Any aberrations scooped up during the madness.
- Any time or interdimensional travel.
- Any boss fights participated in.
- The Moli's Emporium side mission and its fallout.
- The Death of Hugo storyline and its fallout.
- Any interactions you may have had with figures of note.[/indent]Summaries are A-okay! I'm really looking forward to people's individual takes on the great many events of this chapter.

You will also be able to start moving the plot forward, as this chapter willt ake us all of the way up to the mini-timeskip that leads to the end of the semester and Nox Arcanum. Please feel free to post about the following:
[indent]- Group projects.
- Classes taken.
- Personal interactions and growth.
- Hugo's funeral (info on this will be up Saturday evening. We may play it out on discord if peopel like).
- The Secrets of the Tower (this will be run on discord as a thread over the course of the week).
- The Revidian Sabotage side mission (this will take place just before the mini-skip and will be run on discord as above).
- The Stolen Goods side mission (this will take place quite soon after the post and be run as above).
- Whatever else you can think of! remember, most eggs aren't hatching yet![/indent][/hider]
[hr][hr]