Atrophy — Roleplayer Guild

The Capitol of Barcea

Ennis

Ennis Cade stood on the balcony of his apartment with a letter in hand and a look of utter defeat on his face. Even the charming view of the castle and the city of Barcea to his east and the ever faint illusion of his home to the west did little to uplift his spirits. The chip, pleasant sounds of excited citizens running about their days in hopes of seeing the Queen served as a dissonant background to his gnashing of teeth as he tried to find someway, anyway at all, to possibility reinterpret the letter from his father. He sighed. There would be no mistaking the words; it would be a waste of time to even pretend. Tucking the letter into his shirt, the man took a moment to breath in the fresh Barcean air and to force a pleasant look onto his face before stepping back into his apartment.

The Queen had been kind enough to set Ennis up with a spacious and lavish two-room apartment located above a flower shop in the higher end of the capitol. Thus, the living room smelled of fresh roses and was decorated with fancy woodwork, fine chairs, a decorated fireplace, and was lined drapes and other frivilous things. In H'kela, a foreign ambassador's room would be located in the bottom of the castle dungeon, where one would hope to find a blanket smelling of mildew and, if they were lucky, a bucket without any holes. A small fire was going more for ambience than anything, as the shining sun was enough to brighten and warm up the room. Next to the balcony was a window, and next to that window were two chairs and a sturdy table rich with fine china, a steaming tea kettle, a vase with fresh flowers from the shop below, a plate loaded with scones, and one letter opener left out of place by Ennis. 

His guest was currently toying with the object. Her skin was a stark contrast to her dark traveling clothes. Her dirtied traveling clothes implied that she had been riding hard for days without rest, yet the hard look in her dark eyes said that she could still go for a few more. The cup of tea on her platter was untouched, as the scone on the plate next to it. Ennis saw her look up at him as he walked back in, a swath of black hair cutting across her forehead. She had, apparently, been waiting graciously for her host, because as he took his seat she at the scone with two bites and grabbed another. The act forced a smile on Ennis's face. He was glad to see that even after a decade his friend, Nia, hadn't changed—at least not in the way she acted. She was the daughter of his father's adviser, had been his friend since even the days of him being bedridden,  had been his second spell ever absorbed, his first kiss, and first love. Of course, now he had Orissa, and Nia had been married to the military because of her magic.

“I don't know how you can stand the tea here,” said Nia, wrinkling her nose as she put the cup down and popped another scone in her mouth. “It's nothing like the kind back home.”

“I had it imported from the Kirun,” said Ennis, taking his hat off and placing it on his lap.

“Must be the Barcean water then,”said Nia. “So, what do you think?”

She was talking about the letter. Ennis looked down at the tucked envelope in his shirt, trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. His father had gone out of his way to inform him that Gartian had tired of moving troops back and forth near the border like a chained, rabid dog and had given the order to remove the leash. By the time he received the letter, his father said, the first towns would must likely have already fallen. It wouldn't be long before offical word made it back to the Capitol of Barcea. The Queen would be forced to declare war. His father wrote of his fears that the citizens (or rather, “the barbaric animals that ooze false civilities”) would leap at this opportunity and make an example out of the first H'kelan they could find, namely Ambassador Ennis Cade. He had ordered his son and heir to return to the Kirun where he was to govern in his father's place while he joined Gartian on the campaign. In other words, Ennis was to turn tail and flee so he could stay out of harm's way until all of this was over.

Ennis was torn on what he should do. On one hand, he believed that war would be disasterous for H'kela. Yes, they probably had a larger standing army and men hungry for battle, but over the past decade Barcea had been growing in wealth through a golden age brough upon by the Queen. If his family's history had taught him anything it was that well-supplied and well-paid soldiers won wars, not bitter and disorganized ruffians. He believed that it would best if stayed in the Capitol. Yes, he would be targeted by suspicious eyes, but at worst he believed that he would be imprisoned during the time of the war. Somebody would have to be present come time to talk peace, however, and he knew that his voice would be more influential and more helpful than the rambling madness coming from Gartian. Staying would be the best course of action for his country. On the other hand, this was an order from his father. He was obliged to follow and honor his family. Yet there was one thing in the back of his mind that made him worry. Or really, two things. And they were perhaps the most important of all.

“Well, do you have an answer to my question or do you want us to continuing sitting here in uncomfortable silence?” said Nia, crumbles spilling from her mouth as she talked. 

“No, sorry,” said Ennis, shaking his head. There was another break in the conversation as he dove back into his mind.

“That's...not really how you can respond to that,” said Nia. She gave an exaggerated sigh and leaned forward, rest her chin on one hand while grabbing a scone with another. Food in mouth, she spoke. “Fine, since you're still twelve apparently I'll just tell you what to do like always. Come home to the Kirun. There's nothing for you in Barcea now, and from the rumors I've heard there never has been anything for you in Barcea.”

“That's not necessary true,” said Ennis with a weak voice as if he was unsure of it himself.

“You're an idiot,” said Nia, punctuating with her palm smacking the table. “You're surrounded by the enemy. Don't let there false pretenses of peace persuade you that these people are anything but monsters. Just because the Queen bitch isn't Olain does not mean she isn't a Serio. Her father killed your brothers. If the Gifted hadn't put that idiot in his place he would have seen all of H'kela burn, too. Don't tell me you've forgotten your country, your family.”

“I haven't--” Ennis paused,  realizing he had been shouting, and took a second to lower his voice and cool his nerves. “I will never forget nor forgive the Serio family for what they did to us. But like them, I will learn from the sins of our father. War devestated Barcea, but when they laid down their weapons for peace suddenly things became better for all of their citizens. War devestated H'kela, but when they had an opportunity to improve their country all they did were find ways to keeping fighting—even if meant destroying themselves.”

“That's who we are,” said Nia. “We don't cower behind a Queen's regalia and pretend to be what we aren't.”

“Yes, instead we're loyal to an insane King and pretend that none of us see it,” said Ennis. Nia, whose face had hardened during the conversation, quickly broke under a wave of nervousness as she glanced about as if to make sure nobody had overheard him. Unless the flowers were secretly spies for Gartian, Ennis knew that they would be fine.

“Is that why you are here? Are you actually loyal?” said Nia quietly. 

“I am loyal to H'kela,” said Ennis, not missing a beat. “But if I want to protect my family, I will remain here.”

“Gartian wouldn't do anything to your father or the Kirun. He needs their supplies for his war,” said Nia.

“I wasn't talking about them,” said Ennis, the image of his wife and daughter flashing across his mind. He hadn't seen them in nearly a year. He still remembered how he had argued with his father over his arranged marriage to the very day of his wedding, how he declared he could never love a daughter from  a rival family. He remembered the first time he saw Orissa. How her beauty had stunned him into silence, only for her brilliance and wit to make him ramble and laugh like an idiot throughout their first night. How she had given his daughter, their daughter life almost at the cost of her own. There wasn't a day where he didn't think about them. Gartian had said he would make sure they were kept guarded while Ennis was away, but the ambassador's time with him had taught him how not to trust the words of the Rabid King. If Gartian caught wind that he had abandoned his post surely he would find a way to justify bringing harm to his loved ones. “He has my wife and daughter.”

Nia was silent. Apparently, the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Perhaps she hadn't even known that he had married. Ennis watched as she fidgeted in her chair, his chin sitting on his bridged hands. The happy voices could still be heard outside; below him he could hear the store owner bidding a customer good day. Finally, after nearly a minute, Nia looked up. Her face was one of vast sadness and it said what she could not. Ennis cast his eyes down to his lap and grimaced. For the longest time, neither spoke. Ennis knew the next thing he said would be an issue, but he needed to say it. 

“Nia, I need you to help them make it safely to the Kirun.”

She said nothing.

“I promise you. If I receive word that they are safe then I will return home to them and to my father. Until then, I will continue playing the ignorant and ineffective ambassador. Hopefully I will be able to somehow prevent H'kela's total annihilation as well. Worst case I'll just be held a politcal prisoner until this is all over. It won't be so bad; I'm pretty much used to not having free rein.” 

“Of course,” said Nia, standing up to go. 

“Here, give this to my wife,” said Ennis, producing a letter for the woman. She snatched it out of his hands. “Thank you. I owe you.”

“More than you know. Farewell.”

Ennis watched as Nia left his apartment, stepping out onto the balcony to watch his childhood friend disappear into the crowd below. He knew his family would be safe under her protection; now he need to worry about his own. The ambassador rang a small bell sitting on his desk; the door to his apartment opened and his servant, Yan, entered. The servant was almost the absolute opposite of Ennis in almost everyway: short and muscular with a rounded pig face, tanned skin, and thinning black hair. Only his nice clothes, paid for and gifted to him by Ennis, made him appear to be anything more than a hired thug.

“Sir?”

“Yan, I'm afraid my situation here has become rather dire. Take however much is required and find me some people who are more loyal to gold and silver than to blood and borders. I have a feeling the Queen is going to require my attention shortly, and I rather have an empty pocket and eyes on my back than a new necktie made out of rope.”

Yan nodded, grabbed some coins out of Ennis's bag, and left the H'kelan alone. Sighing, Ennis sat down at his desk, produced a pen and parchment, and began drafting his will. He didn't know how long until the Queen's men would come knocking, but he knew the knock was certainly going to come. 

Joy

The ride to the Capitol had been wonderfully pleasant for Joy, who had spent the duration of it having a pleasant chat with Alasa that had begun and ended with a single grunt. She had been able to relieve herself of the symptomatic shakes during their short pit stop, dashing off as fast as her knee would allow her to the tavern for a quick pint and a refill of her flask. Overall, the pessimistic woman could hardly even justifying a complaint, although it didn't stop her from muttering the occassional criticism that, apparently, fell on deaf or uncaring ears. The feeling of relief soon turned sour, shifting into a lingering sense of dread as the group came closer to the Capitol. The first time she had come to the Capitol was as a hero, lauded throughout the land for her dueling prowess. Now she came to the city she had failed with only a gambit in her mind and doubt in her heart. The plan had shifted and turned so much during the ride that she no longer knew if she even had the same goal as before in mind, if she even had a goal at all. Perhaps when she was finally recognized she would just be left to rot in a cell somewhere. Perhaps she was fine with that.

A tiny voice in her head told her otherwise.

She kept her head down as the Prince spoke with the Captain. Joy doubted the man had served under her, and doubted even more that he would have recognized her even if he did, but she still wanted to play it safe. Even as the group made their procession throughout the street she kept turning her face from any gaze that lingered long. Fortunately, many eyes fell to the creature that trailed behind them. For once, Joy was thankful that the deathcrawler existed. Still, the overwhelming urge to leap from Alasa's horse and flee was only kept in check by the fact that she knew her legs wouldn't carry her far. The castle was in view, highlighted by the lowering sun in the sky and looming over her like the headsman's axe.  Her knuckles turned white beneath her gloves; only a matter of time before she found out her fate.

Samuel took the pack from Elmina, giving her an approving nod as she gathered her diminishing crew and vanished into the Apox. A quick, noisy rummage through the pack revealed it to be brimming with medical supplies. Of course, thought Sam with a smirk. Hopefully Doc would be able to keep herself safe and rejoin the others soon. Sam’s medical knowledge was strictly limited to putting band-aids on scraped knees and how not to kill someone with an overdose of anesthetics. Until now, anything else had been unnecessary. In all honesty, he didn’t really enjoy getting his hands all that dirty. His clients certainly liked to have their “packages” delivered in a mostly unadulterated, but restrained, state. Sam’s inability to stay out of things and imagination filled in the rest. 

He couldn’t argue against the young woman’s request for help with undressing the dead man. It had started out as his idea, after all, although in his mind he had not pictured himself being the one to deal with it. He eavesdropped while he could, gathering people’s names and housing information, and continuously begrudging the fact that he was unable to clearly focus on the crimes listed on their wrists. As the group began to move towards the woods he lingered closer to the back, giving him an opportunity to continue observing the others. The nervous glances from the others and the own man’s refusal to cooperate painted the Beast, who had wandered off on his own, as the largest liability to the group. Sam hoped that perhaps the big man would prove to be a larger deterrent than a threat, assuming he ever fully integrated himself. 

His gut told him otherwise.

The glacial pace he had taken to trail behind the group also gave Sam the time to appreciate the finer things, like the ache from his joints as they thawed out, the dryness in his throat, and the emptiness in his stomach. Every step was another reminder: hurt, hunger, thirst, hurt, hunger, thirst, hurt, hunger, thirst, hurt, hunger, thirst, hurt, hung, Fuck! Sam shook his head. The sight of the cryochamber was sweet relief for only a moment--having a place to rest only meant now they would have to scavenge for anything of use. 

No point bitching about it, old man, thought Sam as he rubbed his temples and shifted the medical bag from one shoulder to the other. Sam carefully made his way over to the cryochamber as he avoided the scraps of shattered space debris. It was like its own tiny replica of the Apox: a dark, twisted wreckage in the middle of a serene forest that nothing should have been able to walk away from. As much flak as Herrity Apox and the UN got for wasting everyone’s tax dollars, at least the man knew how to build a space station to pass a crash test with a top safety pick. Sam could appreciate that. He touched the cyrochamber with the back of his hand. It had cooled from it fall.

“Here, lemme give you a hand,” said Sam, approaching Christine and Ristachev and attempting to help her set the Russian in a comfortable position leaning against the chamber. “Should have offered my hand earlier; forgot my manners.”

Crouching down by Ristachev’s side, Sam said, “Sorry pal, I’m sure that hurts like hell. I would love to treat you with some painkillers, but the last time I played doctor the patient ended up handcuffed to a water heater in a warehouse basement waiting for a man known only as the Dermatologist. Hey, I agree, dumb name, but when you see a man wrapped in a coat made out of human flesh you start--sorry, the point is I’d probably end up hurting you more than helping you with this shit.”

“So, Red,” said Sam as he turned to Christine, standing up with a clap of his hands and holding them together in front of his chest like a mischievous child who was trying to appear to be an angel. “You said something about teaching us a thing or two about becoming a Scout, right? I suppose we’ll skip the merit badges and the door-to-door cookie selling to focus on the more important stuff like avoiding dehydration, yes? Or should we just sit on our thumbs and hope Doc brings us some juice boxes?"

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