[Location; Planet: Sekaia/ Continent: Xelryia/ Country/Nation: The Holy Imperium of D’varoh / Province/District/State: Pillar Province/ City(ies): Dov’ruah Colrui/ Pyrllika , Time; 1YBFA/ 750AGGS]
The air shimmered, itself unable to keep still under the oppressive summer sun. It was hot, too hot for even a season as intense as this. If that wasn't enough, it seemed that industry itself was under pressure given the lack of rains for the 3rd Floral season in a row. These heavy thoughts lay on the shoulders of an irsu whose back a good 5th of D'varoh's manufacturing rested on. An irsu currently burdened by the large bag of salt being carried on foot. There were far more efficient ways of getting it from Dov’ruah Colrui to Pyrllika. But Itharaak was not just on a simple ten mile trek. He had information to gather and a stub or two to collect. And the sack of salt? One of many bags being delivered for an experiment. The commander threw the salt off his shoulders. And rested upon one of many stone pillars spread throughout the clearing. Itharaak picked a berry that had sprouted on the boulder he was resting on, enjoying the shade and thinking about the assignment he had accepted, the chore he was in desperate need of a break from. One underestimates the amount of honor such responsibility the Clan of Colrui imparts upon its scions, Itharaak thought to himself. This Thermidore’s intense heat mirrored the warmth sprouting from the simmer of his growing irritation. He chewed over his task as he swallowed his snack. He smacked his lips, taking in just enough moisture. Just enough to temper his salty mood. Perhaps taking a few of these munchuk puffs would be a good idea. Itharaak popped another puff into his mouth as he prepared himself a few handfuls for his trek to his friend and her lab.
Night had fallen, but the heavy cloud cover was holding the day’s heat hostage. Pyrllika was a vertical cliff. It was a city literally built into and onto a mesa-like mountain wider than it was tall. Itharaak had practically rucked all the way there via the highways that spanned the region. He had overseen their construction. For the airships and rotor copters that transported all the construction material for the airbases. Airbases where the Imperium’s jets were being prototyped. Past the urban projects and secret military landing strips sat the gates of Pyllika. Itharaak was at the upper gate, a large bronze set of double doors sandwiched between hardened granite. Guarding the lift into the city, they dwarfed the walls flanking them. The general walked forward, the guards flanking the door moving in perfect synchronicity: the royal marine to his left gave a quick salute as they turned to face their partner across. The guard on the right turned to his left to face towards him, opening the door and only saluting the general as he passed. He could hear the doors clang close as he approached the lift. His heels turned as if on a swivel as he walked down one of the two paths perpendicular to it. Itharaak was headed for the face of the city-mountain. He marched down the cobbled steps, pausing as he approached his apartment at the far end of the walkway. He knelt, pressing a palm up against the warm granite and sandstone wall. The scent of burnt earthy hardness permeated the olfactory folds distributed throughout his nose, sinuses, and throat. His scent tracking offered him a story of visitors to his estate. He took in the various odors that had settled throughout the day. The familiar scent of the guards tasked with patrolling flowed through his nasal passages. Their lunch was drowned in garlic, he noted as he took in Akitch’s unique scent tones. A hint of tangerine and bitter cinnamon. Her musk. Itharaak could feel his body surge with vitality as the familiar smell of a delivery irsu or iluun. His parts had arrived. And Akitch had been there to receive them.
The door pulled back and slid into the wall as Itharaak walked into the closet-sized front lobby. As he cleared the threshold, it slid back out and retreated back to become flush with the wall. Panels lit up as he continued past the terminals, tools, and weapon racks embedded in the atomically reinforced steel-textured oak walls. Various armors stretched along the wall, simple lamellar and stone plate, and more advanced combat jackets and vests. A tactical lamellar stood to the right of a towering construct of metal – an exoskeletal armor shrouded in a heavy plate of its own. An exhale shivered through Itharaak Colrui’s body. The reddish – orange mirror of the faceplate 's visor seemed to reflect those vengeful horrors he visited on many during the Yghastian Civil War. The chances of needing to deploy to Aedlaan. They were low, but they weren't zero. The central portions of the neighboring continent, The Audenuitch, were the most dependent on the well. D'varoh, while being the source of the well, also extracted water from its forest canopy. But the well was D'varoh's direct sovereign right. And Aedlaan was scourge of the seas during the Ebonsrekki Postyrdo, that volatile period between the Insian invasions of D'varoh, and the Salt War. And Aedlaan, despite being a coastal country, drank deeply from Arem.
East and North of Xelryria, that land on which the Southwestern Imperium of D'varoh was established, life was moving steadily toward the fears and pangs of Itharaak Colrui.South of the cold lands of Glacia, the land that crowned the titan continent, sat the coastal nation of Aedlaan, a people’s whose hot-headed ambition rivaled the turbulent waves their famed seafaring craft rode atop. Despite the rampacious and ravenous swath of seafoam that consistently ravaged the surface shores, the settlements that dotted the coastline were never too far from the ocean waves. Silhouetted against stalagmite - shaped pillars stood a female llcyran – an iluun. The high tide was lower than usual. Which meant only one thing: Arem was dry this year. Thoughts raced through the lady’s head, thoughts distracting from the invitation to Torghan’s Sheers she was currently attending. The city was built on strut-like columns extending from the subterranean coast. The few exterior surface structures were squat and broad – meant more for sheltering against the harsh hurricanes that flooded the inland canyons and channels than any permanent shelter.
“Captain Yrena, captain Yrena!” It was one of her many aides, a young irsu – a male Llcyran named Todd. “What are - are you doing alone on the pier? Harvest week celebration just kicked off, and Lady Ylvaine of Chanreig has just started the dance of suitors. Will you join us?” Todd blushed, failing to hide his excitement amidst the celebration. Within the distraction. Yrena, Idris Yrena stood blankly – thoughts centered on another possible conflict with D'varoh and a possible financial disaster – before shaking herself awake. She took a breath, weaving her Rhas to help focus her mind on the present. Her back braced, as if straightened by a rod. The soles of her feet felt as if they were magnetized. The access to so much energy allowed her to contemplate the ramifications of the coming drought while talking to her aide.
“I’ll be right there,” she said trying to smile, “I just wanted to breathe in the saltwater brine. “You know, to get ready for the dance. Fetch me some of that Glacian fire mead I love so much and I’ll be right there.”
The irsu before her beamed before he ran off, his sandals plodding heavily on the imported Insian truffle wood planks. If the weather continued drying up, they’d probably have to be replaced with tile by year’s end. Idris tapped her iron-capped boots together as she centered herself and continued weaving strands. Lady Ylvaine would probably want her to perform her Rhasweaving feats for the crowd. She was a songweaver after all, and Harvest Week always started off with an ode to the moon’s reaping. She stomped along, walking through the bustling crowds illuminated by the colorful paper lights overhead and the fireworks being summoned through the blasts thrown from the hands of the Flame Remitters trained for such an occasion. Tempermancy always impressed Idris. Oh how interesting it was knowing that this was a power that came not from the soul and an essenceborn’s connection to the Everessence, but one’s own metabolism. Tears fought to spring forth from her eyelids as the realization that the year would be especially tough for them as their hunger was known to be more ravenous than the typical llcyran.
“And now, the event you have been waiting for!” Shouted lady Ylvaine, to the assembled crowd. “Our famed Captain Yrena will sing the famed moon-dance for us all to dance to this Ard!”
Right, today was Ard, the last day of the week’s first triad. But the traditional start of Harvest Week due to it being the weekly day of celebration.
Idris took a deep breath. And started singing.
“Oh, how the moon glows tonight
And oh, it’s not just any night
I see – you looking on the seafaring
I see you all toiling for reprieve
Oh how the moon shines shines through the clouds
And through the deep of the seas roiling waves
It’s moon shine, and moons shine away
It’s moon shine and moon shines always
The tides sing as we go
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And harvest all the rain
The rain that feeds
The rain that keeps our dreams
We toil for the future
We toil for our children
We toil not to get but to keep on giving
This harvest moon we hail
It breaths into our sails
And our hearts go out to it as it smiles on our faces
And our hearts go out to it as it shines upon the seafaring
It bounties Sekaia’s gift to our great nation of Aedlaan
Its bounties meant for us to share among our kin elsewhere
The moon it shines it shines so bright for the future”
The crowds danced as she weaved out the symbols in her people’s glyphs and the glyphs danced with the people assembled for the dance. Idris focused as she sang her last words and set an intention for the song to repeat three more times as she took Todd’s hand. She would dance with her people and pray that the drought was not as bad as she feared. Lady Ylvaine took in the energy her captain had shared with them that night. And she smiled as a single tear crawled down her cheek. The drought had already hit the plains of Yghastia hard. But Aedlaan wasn’t doing too bad. Yet. But knowing Lady Ylvaine, Idris suspected preparations to raid Xelryia were under way if negotiating with D'varoh proved impossible.
Across the plains, eastward and deep within the empire of Yghastia, the mobile cities of Rhokast lay planted on the scorched earth. Flattened portables escorted by motored barges and bikes roared past the empty and scarred landscape.The snows, which were at least high enough to cover one’s moccasins, were absent. A lone irsu stood among a large throng, a chieftain of the Yghastian steppes addressing his people. “I understand that the rationing has been hard on many, but I strongly stand by my decision to step ahead of the council of the khans and cut our water usage.” Growls and grumbles surged through the crowd. “I use the public baths unlike most of you. I've already cut down on water usage. We could suspend the city heat lodges,” he offered, smiling. His jest was met with silence as many had lost their livelihood in cattle and crops. Families had split up due to issues rooted in this increasing scarcity.
“People of Rhokast, I will be getting supplies to stretch our stores. However, we have to be prudent. Most of us remember the 2nd Unification war. One of a few wars we recently lost.” The crowd hushed now, half of the quiet built on reverence, half on shock of mentioning such a recent defeat. “We are a resilient people, forged from the same depths as the Fey elves, but having conquered the chaotic plains. We will survive and even thrive under the current pressures. What other concerns of my people may I address?” A single hand shot up like an uncoiled spring, almost fast enough to warrant a crack of thunder. The hand was wrapped underneath a thick mitten, an over-preparation on the visitor’s part. Rokuud called to the visitor, wrapped in thick furs, who had to pull down on their scarf in order to be heard.
“Hello, I'm not a local. I come on behalf of the Glacian Delegation of Trans-continental Deliveries,” began the visitor. That explained the thick coat. Which was ironic given that the majority of ice thermids came from Glacian, a land almost entirely covered in snow and frost. A humorous detail where their temperature sensitivity was concerned. “On behalf of the Glacian court of chieftains, I introduce myself as Adrhan Dhaedhrus, diplomat and air messenger of the YU-CO committee. As a gesture of goodwill and to inform you as is my duty,” A large float stocked with hardened melons, their shells having the texture of elephant skin. Bodies ruptured with the flowering reds and blacks of viscera, as these transports forcibly parted the crowd. “I present to you, D’varoan butter melons, a nourishing source of hydration in such dire times.” It was the last thing he heard before rising anxieties jolted him from his nap. He had had the town hall earlier today, but the uncanny nature of the nightmare he'd just had ended at the butter melons. Adrhan had arrived, but no such miracle as D’varoan butter melons was available; the fruits were currently embargoed due to a tariff dispute. Getting up from the floor, Chieftain Rokuud grabbed his urgroot pipe and paced the floor of his Mobile House Van or MHV. Dozens of fellow citizens had died of the previous year’s drought already, and the spearbeaks, a large mountable bird they depended on for transport and sustenance, weren't faring too well. The nightmares reflected the massive weight this had on his Artul, a weight that was starting to buckle the Union. Usually things like this were left to the Khan, but tensions had popped up nearly everywhere. Inqui was seizing on its water surplus as leverage against Aedlaan. They wanted to expand their northern coastline. But Aedlaan wanted sovereignty. This had the Khan, his family, and the court too occupied with foreign affairs to be of much help. As the Khan’s advisor, it fell to Rokuud to figure out how they were going to resolve this crisis.
Rokuud sighed, turning from his pacing to where his friend, Adhran, sat on the floor eating at the dining table. Adhran, hailing from Glacia, was from a country unaffected by the drought; his homeland was completely covered by frost.
"Adhran, how have our requests for aid been met by your Chief-king? Has he agreed to our request for snow-water?"
Adhran chewed on his portion of roasted ornivaptor flesh, seared over a fire and seasoned with an earthy blend of japena and vilbeet sauce. He thought for a pause before swallowing.
"Chief Thoddaus continues to assert that any attempt to send you water will conflict with the Ice Cream treaty we've managed with the Fey Elves. While we stand in solidarity with the Yghastian Union, we can not risk a conflict with them or the other eilonkiin."
Rokuud held back his contempt for the elves. For all their wisdom, they held no sympathy for the plight of their neighbors. Save the Drow. Somehow they showed empathy exclusively for the D'varoans and Harazites.
"It's their willcrafters, isn't it?" Rokuud asked. His suspicion was intense, strong enough to be picked up by the younger irsu.
"While we are glad for the collaboration between our two cultures, Glacia holds that the use of willcrafters for civilian and security projects is much appreciated, I as a representative of the kingdom must insist that our collaboration has mutual benefit outside of either faction's military. While our access to their extensive knowledge is a benefit of the Ice Cream treaty, I must insist that its existence is to secure the safety and partnership between the kingdoms of Feystern and Glacia."
"Is that your diplomatic response?" Rokuud asked, trying to hold back a grin.
Adhran nodded eagerly, not so successful at his attempt.
"You could always threaten a unified strike against The Haeydlaic Territories using the Union. You have a strategic advantage and Aedlaan could force a war on two fronts through sustained raids on D'varoh's coastal Province."
"Adhran," Rokuud replied, his voice heavy with concern, "I already lost my brother to the second unification. I don’t have the taste for war anymore.”
“Do you think they’ll send their Syngruun?” Adhran asked. Bundled in his heavy fur coat, he looked like a weary, lumbering bear. It was cute, and was almost enough to drive the chieftain wild. Chief Rokuud blushed as he turned his mind to the present problem.
”Well,” Rokuud, Seth Rokuud began as he walked to the table and poured himself and his lover a cup of tea, “I believe that D’varoh’s premier spiritual advisor has no choice but to attend the two union summit. Their king, also known as a Seinjath is scheduled to attend himself. Or at least that’s what my Khan’s emissaries have told me through the global data weave. The younger ones call it the G-DAW, right?”
It was Adhran’s turn to blush as he grabbed Seth’s pipe to take a smoke. He drew in a large puff and sat with it as he mused on the older irsu’s unfamiliarity with the new technology, long restricted to Sorcer science and record keeping. He exhaled as he nodded to confirm his boyfriend’s answer.
“Nice to know this 570 year-old hasn’t forgotten how to learn,” Seth replied. “As I was saying before you snatched my late brother’s pipe away, Seinjath Akuun and Eilajynth Almia are going to be attending along with Syngruun Tylagen to the Summit of two Unions. I want to thank you for the good news you brought along with your presence. It’s good to know that Chief Thoddaus Brava and his wife have agreed to host the meeting. It bodes well despite their hands being tied from helping us all directly.”
“Sarisha is quite the diplomat, much like D’varoh’s queen. Or Eiljynth considering how every position is some kind of warrior or priest within their government,” Adhran said with a scowl.
“There, there,” Seth cooed, stroking Adhran’s cheek before snatching back his pipe. The younger irsu frowned before taking a sip of the tea. “We all have our traditions, and traditions should be respected. How else would our relationship not be accepted if not for Yghastia’s own acknowledgement of the sacredness of our love?”
Adhran purred at his lover’s affirmation. The tan and brawny Yghastian did have a point. Uthathu or same sex intimacy was something honored within the nations of Harazan and Yghastia, only permissible in Glacia due to their application to become a member state of the union. Ironically Harazan was not a member state of the union, but their version was restricted between student and teacher. It had the two feel uncomfortable whenever discussions of the topic came up due to the cultural distinction.
“The meeting is scheduled to take place in a tower constructed by the Syngruun himself. He’s naming it the Snow tower of thirst. The irsu is a maniac - I refuse to call him eccentric. The naming of it - it’s just such a mockery.”
”This was something I was hoping you’d reserve for pillow talk,” Chieftain Rokuud sighed.
“Oh, I have plenty more conversation for pillow talk if you’re interested,” Adhran giggled back.
“Anything to prepare us for the rest of this year and having to meet with this crazy sorcer you know,” the burly Yghastian grunted.
Seth chuckled back as he grabbed the 270 year-old and threw him onto the bed.
The laughter distorted as colors twisted and senses blended and snapped in a chaotic cacophony of static. The sensations buzzed out as Ronjah removed his Synaptic Remission VISE, the haptic pads still thrumming against his eye sockets. He could feel the tingle of nerves completing their signals while his vision, hearing, and smelling desynced from the Synaptic Remission he had just endured. Joints popped as the irsu, on his way to Ranova, prepared to insert another stub.
Zalmar Zalmoon’s shadow stretched over the events he’d just witnessed. A shadow that was bending back from a loose thread the traitor had failed to cut. It was weaving itself tighter as the minutes ticked. An explosion of salt and cold hit him, as he redonned the goggles and waited for his eyes to adjust as he sat quietly within the jumpjet in transit to Tachnen Spaceport.
