Nagarian Imperial Castle

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Inside the large, intimidating castle, raised up higher than all of Barong, is the royal chambers of the all too well known emperor of Raj Naga. It wasn't really as high held as that of the Gods or Goddesses and he was sure that even a pesky leader of those disgusting rats would believe itself to be higher than that of Emperor Cyril, but that's probably more so because of the pride inferior creatures always seemed to cling onto. Yes, Cyril didn't have much respect for many races, but it wasn't as though he was one of those fairies, isolating themselves and hiding in the forest as scared pipsqueaks. No, their disdain for the other races was a product of fear, not something that the emperor of the most advanced land should ever have. It was precisely that that had Cyril sitting in the tea room of his chambers, drinking gracefully from the delicate teacups at his white and orchid table, looking quite content with himself as he relaxed. Now, did that at all look like some quivering fairy? No, not at all! Ah, proof that he certainly was the best among mortals – yes, even among his own kind.

As any who could possibly read his thoughts would be able to tell, this time of day was Cyril's tea time, which basically meant it was time for him to muse on his own greatness and stare out the window fondly at what little he could see of his town – and the distant land he would later take for his own. Not that any but those held in the highest regard would know that now. Speaking of which, his company for the day should be arriving just about now, if the sun was any give away. ..Oh, well, priests; they were always too busy appreciating some deity or other. He probably saw some silly dead squirrel or pigeon that reminded him of Ganga and.. oh, he hardly knew the drill. Cyril would just have to wait, which, while he had some hot tea in hand, he was fine with.  

[Zemblanity Insomnia]

Lucky for the Nagarian emperor, his guest had not seen any squirrel of pigeon that would have reminded him of Ganga, for the proper burial of those cases would have taken over a week to do. A lot of people these days seemed to forget all about the sacred art of burial. You couldn’t just dig a hole somewhere, shove the dead body in it and them hope that everything was well. How were they supposed to have their souls pass well on the other side if everything as taken so carelessly? No, first, they needed to purify the remain, than purify the surrounding of the remain, then the place of burial, then the remains in the place of burial, then call to the souls of the ancestor to allow a safe passage to the other world, then the Divine guidance of Ganga to take care of it on the other side. It was a long and complicated mater… for a simple commoner! If it had been something remotely reminding of their Diety, everything would be twice a long and twice as complicated! So, once again, the Emperor was lucky that he had been wrong in his thoughts, for Raja was now standing behind his chamber’s door.

A guard opened it for him, letting the priest walk inside. Like always, he was wearing one of the many sacred robe of his faith, as well as his High Priest Mask. It wasn’t an item to hide his identity, not at all, it was simply a symbol to let him separate, to distance himself from all the other living souls around him. Walking next to him was his loyal pet panther… Panthera. Well, he was a highly intelligent and skilled man, but that didn’t mean he was good at naming things… ”You wanted to see me, my lord?” He asked the Emperor, making a small polite bow to the man. His long ceremonial staff, following the movement, letting the light chimes on it make a faint sound, as the burning incent, trap in some small metal balls, released some smoke. His eyes, through his mask, had never moved away from the man sitting not so far in front of him. In the last five years, the two men had met each other often. Some time for counselling, sometimes for advising, sometimes… for other thigns.  

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A scraping sound informed Cyril to someone's presence, though he could hardly say who until the scent of incense slowly trickled into the air and the sound of metal gently clanging together in a musical way came to his senses. He should probably have that door fixed, but some small paranoia kept him keeping it as creaky as ever. What could he say? Being raised as a royal often did that to mind; everyone wanted him dead, whether it be jealousy, revolution, or just anger that had them wanting it. Even Raja, the priest, was a suspect of that, but the man was still as close to 'friend' as Cyril could have. The man should feel privileged with that. He hardly turned in his chair, though he couldn't see much of the priest from his current angle. Ah, it didn't matter whether he was in view or not. He would only be met with a robe and mask if he tried that, maybe catch a glimpse of the other's nose if the mask was somewhat skewed and Cyril concentrated hard enough.. But, he didn't have nearly the patience for that. He finished his sip of tea, having had the cup against his lips since Raja entered the room and took his bow.

He set the ceramic cup down with a clack and looked back at the window before he answered, taking his sweet time with it. It wasn't as if he needed to show Raja that much respect, high priest or not. It wasn't like the man was Ganga itself. “Yes, I did.” He replied idly, confirming what the other already knew. Why else would Raja be in Cyril's chambers if he didn't request him, after all? “What have you heard from Titiana?” He paused for a second, allowing Raja to think on that before he moved on to his next question, “And Cybel?” Had he sent messengers there? Oh, goodness no! He didn't care to contact the Queen or those dirty merchants – not yet, anyway. He was more curious on what was being heard in both countries than some response to something he said. Do, however.. That was a different matter entirely.  

[Zemblanity Insomnia]

The priest stayed as stoic as ever, letting the Emperor take his time. He knew that this was the man’s way to show that, in the end, he was more important that Raja. The priest didn’t care, however. Those were silly games played by silly men. People of his fate knew that time was only something trivial and he could wait as long as it was needed. One of the many training of the Ganga’s priesthood, meditation, required that the acolyte was staying immobile for days, afterall. Separating your mind and your body, knowing something more than just time and space. When the emperor finally decided to ask what was on his mind, the priest made another bow, showing respect before answering. He didn’t have to think about it. If there was something he knew that Cyril would want to know, it was the situation in Titinia. If there was something he even wanted to know, it was the situation in the Queendom.

”The birds and the beasts of the forests have many things to say, my lord. It would seem like some butterflies and some moles have had a sad song sung for them, where the trees meet the sand.” He redressed from his bow then, taking a moment before continuation talking, letting the emperor understand what he was talking about, making sure that everything was understood perfectly. ”The song did not reach the old oak, still staying as firm as ever, and have yet to be heard by the horned ones. It is being sung loud and clear in the land of the butterflies; a Chorus of sadness, anger and fear, my lord. They are agitated, flocking around, fluttering. The Lady demands a new verse.” Ah, those little bird and insect, they had so much to tell, didn’t they? It was strange the number of things you could learn if one knew to listen carefully. Walls had ears, yes, but birds and trees had mouths.

He took a moment of silence, thinking about what he had heard in Cybel. This was a bit different. No many trees in the desert and only vulture as birds. His panther, tired of sitting, stood up and started to walk around, making circles around the man’s feet. It’s tail hit the stick every time it passed by it, letting the chimes make a little rhythm noises. ”The moles aren’t very active, nor emotions. They are, however, tired of the butterflies sung. They want them to be silent, but knows they’ll keep singing as long as they’ll stay butterflies. They do not want to move, but they’ll stand their grounds if a swarm flies their way. They are stubborn little things, those moles.” That was all he knew from that side of the continent. At least, the only thing usefull for the Emperor. He doubted he would want to know that the price of apples in the desert had almost doubled in the past week.  

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Ah, Cyril should appreciate that staff of Raja's. Without it, he wouldn't have been aware of the man bowing so often and appeasing his own pride! A great many peasants had ended up arrested for perhaps years just because Cyril wasn't willing to turn around and confirm that they had indeed bowed for him. They couldn't deny any accusation of disrespect because that would have been even more disrespectful, while moving in front of Cyril's view was just as bad, if not worse, of a thing to do! So, yes, if Cyril wasn't looking at a guest while they were speaking, then they were basically doomed to prison for however long Cyril felt was necessary. ..That is probably why the man didn't get very many guests.

“I see.” He simply said at first airily, mulling over what was said, weighing it, considering it – doing everything one could when it came to information like that. He would rather he memorized it the first time, after all. Raja was good at speaking in a way that fooled the slower people running about, but anyone who had time to think on it could probably decipher it, so refraining from having him repeat himself was for the best. Recording it somewhere could have someone finding it and giving them ample time to study, so.. It was all for the best that he kept that information to himself. Raja was a high priest protected by more followers than any army could dream of having and he couldn't see the man breaking under pressure, while Cyril had more trust in himself than he did on any other; if anything was going to protect the information, it would be their heads.

He set the cup down as he finished his contemplation, the tea inside having gotten past that oh so sought after 'perfect' temperature anyway. He lost interest in his window and turned slightly more to the high priest, looking at him once again. “Good. Keep your birds and bees watching. I would like word when the butterflies carry through with their bluffs.” They would just need to wait, then. Cyril had some things to keep him busy – Him and Raja. “We will need a guide and crew for an airship. Is there anyone with a history in the plains?” Of course Raja knew of someone! Just about everyone had to have visited the church at some point or at least mentioned someone like that. Cyril just hoped it wasn't a woman. He had enough of an issue when that one girl made general..  

[Zemblanity Insomnia]

Oh, the emperor. Always so mighty! Always so vain! Would Raja not be a man of his religion, he would probably have hated the man, but if something had been thought to him was that every one needed to be respected as equal, no mater how they were like, because, in the end, they would all end up death. They were all mortals, they was nothing they could do to change that little thing that made them all alike. Even the fairies, who couldn't die from natural causes or old age could still be killed with with blunt weapon and powerful magic. Death was the ultimate thing in this world. "My lord? We? I would advise against such a thing. The plains are no where near appropriate for a man like you. You should send someone else in your stead. Someone you trust to get the job done. And who could take all the blame if something went wrong. " A good scheming emperor should never take part directly into things like that. That was, he could always choose a scapegoat to give to the enemy, saying they had act on their own free will without the imperial approbation.

"There is one man, my lord. He, however, will be difficult to find, for he never stays long in the same place. I would suggest looking in all of them for the blacksmith from the plains. His hammer is quite noticable. Someone is bound to point to him sooner or later." The emperor was right. Someone like Raja knew everything about everyone in the town, because, one day or another, someone was to make a comment on you and Raja's birds would hear them and tell him all about it. He wasn't a Nagarian citizen, however, so he might need some help being... convinced, but he was sure the emperor would find a way. He always found a way.  

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Cyril had to refrain himself from actually rolling his eyes at the other – he may not have had the amount of respect that most individuals did of the high priest, but he did have something. “Of course we won't be leaving the island.” Did he think he was insane? To leave his castle for something as silly as meeting up with a disgusting beast! There were the dangers of leaving his land without an army to escort him, of course, but there was also the issue of tea, food, lodgings.. Nowhere would be able to suit Cyril's royal tastes; he would hardly sleep at all during the journey! Selfish as that sounded, it was true that for him to be in the proper mind to rule a people, he needed to be in a proper, healthy mind. Having a few days of sleepless nights certainly wasn't going to give him the mental capability needed to make intelligent decisions. In the end, it would be better to send someone who didn't need their wits as much as he did. A high ranking soldier would have to do.

“However, considering the importance of this mission, it would be better for us to oversee who will be representing my empire.” He wouldn't have just any pudgy, old crew be going to speak for them, after all, whether they were all going to see the leader or not. “Make sure they're all attractive, healthy, and sharp. ..As I trust this man of yours is?” Well, what better way to represent their empire than by a civilized group? He wouldn't have any rumors degrading their people anymore than necessary and, besides, the more eye pleasing, the more likely someone was to agree to it. Or that's how it worked for Cyril, at least.