Tales of the Betrothed (closed)

[Angst Werewolf]

Trial By F I R E

-- Part 5

The collapsed ceiling had provided them an exit as well, making a somewhat stable ramp up to the floor above the arena. Miraculously, the very edges of the ceiling (such as the spot right above the two of them), had held up.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Chandar said for what was probably the fourth time since he and Eston had left the arena. The smith was really still trying to process the fact that he was not dead, though the two men were hardly the image of victorious battle heroes. Blood was everywhere and Chandar was pretty sure the two of them were both leaning on each other as they walked. Panic, shock, adrenaline, pain, you name it, they probably had it.

“I didn’t think anyone in this group knew how to think.”

It was safe to say the adrenaline that had been keeping his pain at bay was long gone now. Walking was proving to be a significantly harder task than he remembered, one foot screaming in pain at the smallest of movements and the lightest of touches against the ice frosted floor, the other (and in turn the entire rest of his body) growing too tired to continue moving. (He was vaguely aware of how it was mostly Chandar doing much of the actual walking, and most of the talking.) He managed to give a simple “Hnn,” in some sort of conversational agreement that hopefully didn’t sound too much like a grunt of pain. (Oh who was he kidding, it probably sounded exactly like that.)

He was only somewhat aware of what was actually being said, though well aware that he should be paying more attention than he presently was. He was clutching one of the scraps on his side with his opposite hand. He couldn’t tell anymore if it was still bleeding. Probably. They should probably be bandaged, to prevent him from bleeding out. (He was fairly certain his inability to stay grounded was due to blood loss.)

“We... I need to- to stop,” He barely waited for a response before his other hand, the one not holding his side, was against the ice wall and being used as some mediocre support in his (un)graceful attempt to sit. An action that ended up being him slumping against the wall and sliding to the ground.

Chandar grunted an agreement as Eston made his way to the ground. He probably would have joined the other man if not for his hip; the damn thing hurt so much he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to bend enough to sit down. Instead he leaned against the wall next to Eston, keeping his burned side against the ice. It helped... sort of.

The smith glanced down at Eston and scowled. Or, half his face did; the other half had sort of crusted into place. “You’re bleeding.”

He made slow attempts to rip the edges of his cloak, to get something to wrap his wounds with. With his hands occupied though the wound he was trying to keep somewhat blocked was free to bleed out some more. He went to rub one of his eyes, but doing so didn’t seem to help him much. (If anything it seemed to make things worse.) “Yes, thank you,” He finally got his hands to cooperate long enough to get the cloth to start ripping, “For that astute observation,” Finally with a first piece of makeshift bandage, he used it to wrap one of his arms, to keep the scratches and scrapes there from bleeding out.

“How’re your... uh... burns?”

Chandar hissed angrily and glared down at Eston. Logically, he knew the question would come up at some point, but he had sort of hoped Eston would be too worried about his own wounds to pay any attention to his partner’s face.

He scowled. “I was hit in the face with a ball of fire, how do you think they are?” he finally spat out. Talking turned out to be more painful than he’d expected, as he managed to tear some of the freshly-scabbed skin around his mouth. Chandar raised his hand to touch the blistered skin, caught himself, and instead reached down and jabbed a finger at Eston’s shoulder. “Not all of us are fireproof.”

He kept his focus mostly on getting his own wounds covered, he had managed to get another strip torn off, and was using it wrap the wounds on his bad leg. It all honesty it did not feel like it was helping at all. But It had to be better than doing nothing? Right? He glanced up, to get at least a semi-decent look of Chandar’s burns. He didn’t look long at all, the burns were unsightly. He’d never liked the look of burns, and it would seem ones half-trying to heal were almost worse looking. A small part of him was telling him to be disgusted with his current companies apparent less than pure blood. Before quickly realizing he wasn’t much better. (And briefly tried to figure out which a true Gradian would hate more, a halfling or a deserter.)

It also seemed that he was finally exiting the post-combat crash, normal thoughts returning for the most part. Punctuated with the overlaying idea of ‘ow pain’ but it was no longer the singular thought in his head. That was good, hopefully.

Eston’s quick glance upwards did not go unnoticed. “What? This too disgusting for you to look at?” he asked, a sneer curling up on the one unblemished side of his face. He braced one hand against the ice wall and leaned over Eston. “Can’t stand to look at someone not nearly as supreme as you?” For all his big talk and showmanship before, Chandar was perfectly aware of how much of a stain he was to the Gradian ideals. Maybe it was the pain, or maybe he’d just hit a wall with his whole charade, but everything was bubbling to the surface, all the anger and disgust he had harbored for years about himself and the Gradians and the whole damned situation. And now here he was with another Gradian who’d fought with him through a pair of hungry kebirs and once again the nasty halfbreed was too repulsive to look at.

“I made myself kebir bait for your plan to get us out of there, so the least you can do is look me in the eye!”

“You will have to forgive me if I find half-healed burns unpleasant to look at.” Which was entirely true. Burns were horrible things to look at. Some sort of cross between a bloodied rash and scabs. He tied the knot on one last strip of cloth on his heavily injured arm. It would have to do for now.

Eston's excuse did little to improve Chandar's mood. But instead of pushing the issue, he grunted and leaned against the frozen wall again, his anger petering out as abruptly as it had come up. "Well, excuse my battle wounds, princess," he muttered. There wasn't much bite behind the words; Chandar was just too worn out to antagonize the other man.

He glanced up and down the tunnel as well as he could without moving his head. "Where you think this goes?" he asked. The arena was somewhere Chandar had only been a couple times, mostly with his father to watch the warriors use their weapons. He had most certainly never been down in there, or in any of the side tunnels that led away.

Eston looked down the hallway, the almost blue ice fading into black into the distance. It was hard to say for certain where they were exactly within the city, even less for what could lie ahead. The ice shielded the old Gradius from them, making the entire city feel like some foreign place. The last time he was in the city was years ago as well, his memories of the time pushed behind his more recent ones. “I imagine we won’t find out until we get there,” They should probably begin moving ahead, he thought. His body was protesting the idea before he even attempted to stand up again though, wanting to remain right where he was and not move at all or do anything.

Well that was helpful. Chandar grunted and pushed away from the wall. They weren’t getting any closer to figuring out whatever was going on or where they were. “Let’s go then,” the smith said, leaning over to grab Eston’s arm and help him up. Of course, it wasn’t helping so much as just tugging until the other man got to his feet. If they were going to die in this frozen wasteland, he’d really rather hurry up and have it over and done.

He had little choice now, time to leave as much as he would have preferred to not do anything. He grabbed Chandar’s offered hand and pulled himself to his, somewhat unsteady, feet. It was probably for the best though. Were he to stay still too long he might risk falling asleep and not waking. As well as the fact neither of them actually checked if the kebir’s were truly dead. He gave a nod before taking up point and heading towards the unknown.

There were voices, he could noticed, now that the two of them had stopped sniping at each other. They were too muffled to make out words, but the anger and pain echoed clearly down the tunnel. Shouting, screaming, and, strangely enough, cracks in the ice. But there was nowhere else to go but forward.

[Ariiadne]

That which was not impervious to flame burned and floated away from her body, making it appear as if the fire which burned around her started from within. Her hair writhed around her head like a cobra’s hood. Nearly all of her features were devoured by the light, and only the haphazard dancing of shadows occasionally revealed the face -- carved with pain, rage, and frightening determination -- beneath them.

The chimera stood unwaveringly before Kunal’s body, unfazed by Bashirah’s display. It squinted in the face of the brightness, believing the young woman to be all bark but no bite. The chimera was more impressed that she could maintain the fire in such a fashion, considering that she was badly battered and drained of life. Not enough life, though, apparently.

She was Gradius incarnate. Molten skin, eyes like liquid diamond. The fiery tendrils billowing from her arms were her feathers, her wingspan, and they burned with all the brilliance of the sun: orange and yellow and crimson and gold. Bashirah was livid, wild, her eyes set on her prey with hawk-like fury, her fangs poised for kill like a viper’s. She was the phoenix reborn in human flesh. She fell into her stance.

Sneering, the chimera grabbed Kunal with its long tail and constricted him, displaying to Bashirah that any wrong moves and he would be crushed instantly. She lifted her foot to step, but almost immediately after she did, a small, sharp gasp escaped from Kunal’s lips. Bashirah put her foot back where it had been.

“You aren’t doing him any favors,” it spat. “Didn’t you see how he begged to die? This is what he wants. Just like you wanted when he wrapped his hands around your throat. You would deny him this comfort?”

Bashirah clenched her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “He denied mine, so I suppose I’d be returning the favor.”

“Silly Bashirah, we are here to free you both. Neither of you can return to your people as they see you now. All that is left is death. Your family rejects you. Your people reject you. You have nothing.”

For a moment, Bashirah’s enveloping fire calmed down. Its tongues shrunk and its light dimmed.

“Good girl. Now, come here. It will be fast and painless. You know it is the only way to redeem yourselves. Come.”

She obeyed, her eyes plastered to the floor. She watched as the Gradian nation followed her every move, their songs nearly muted. Snow hissed and melted at her feet, puddles turning the rest into slush. Soon, the only thing left alight was the long trail of oil behind her. In no time at all, Bashirah was only a few feet away from the monster that held her brother hostage.

“That’s far enough.” The half-snake half-bird abomination seemed quite pleased. “You have chosen wisely. There is nothing here for you. There is no one here for you. You have never been and will never be loved. It is a crime to feel. You have no name to salvage. You two will be forever known as failures, as mistakes, and as inferior.”

Bashirah nodded deeply, as if to give the chimera permission to do what it must, still glancing downward.

Confidently, the grotesque creature bent over so that the mutated face of King Mahapatra lingered nose-to-nose with Bashirah. “Look at me, Bashirah.”

Reluctantly, the princess averted her gaze to lock with the garuda chimera. A few long seconds went by. It unhinged its jaw. From Bashirah’s lips came an ethereal mist. Her legs wobbled, struggling to support her weight and remain standing. But she held up as it neared her face even more.

“Surrender, Bashirah,” the naga half added as she watched the Gradian princess’ knees buckle. “There is no need to fight.”

But she did not listen.

“Bashirah, darling,” it called once more. But again, she did not acknowledge it. Her attention was completely and utterly transfixed on the demented face inching closer to hers.

The naga queen hissed in frustration, squeezing Kunal tightly involuntarily. He let out another pained gasp. “Bashir--”

She reignited.

Hellfire launched itself into the gaping, hungry mouth of the garuda king, consuming him from the inside out. The naga queen shrieked furiously, though she did not have the chance to react. Bashirah’s solar flare soon expanded like a dying star, consuming the entire cave and everything within, roaring down the earthen corridors adjacent to it. The supernova burned so hot it was white, and nearly all the stalagmites and stalactites began to turn molten. The Gradian populace below shielded their eyes desperately, waiting for the light to die down. But it burned and burned, only fading fifteen seconds after its initial explosion. For the first time in weeks, the trapped Gradians halted their prayers, speechless.

The cave looked more like a cove after the firestorm, with no trace of snow and a layer of ice a few inches thick melted into water. Ribbons of vapor danced from the surface, choking the space with warmth and humidity. The earthen walls glowed, their reflections tinting the small lake with tangerine. At the core of the fallout crater kneeled Bashirah, nearly waist-deep in water, the bits of her exposed skin steaming. Her limbs felt heavy, but she lifted her head after a few moments to scan the area for her brother. She found him still tangled in what remained of the naga queen, charred bones weakly sticking up from the tiny waves. Shakily, she got to her feet.

Kunal's breaths were steady yet shallow, and just by looking in his eyes, Bashirah could see he was somewhere far, far away. His eyes were puffy, his face pale, and all the wounds he had sustained appeared graver in this weakened state. When she neared, his chapped lips parted slightly.

Real emotion painted Bashirah’s face when she looked upon his. With fear gone, there was nothing to keep her from doing so. Kunal wept soundlessly when he saw her crouched over him.

"It's all over, Bashirah," he said hoarsely. Beads of salty water rolled from his eyes and down his cheek in sluggish, steady paths. "I don't want this life... Take pity on me, sister. Kill me." His body buckled beneath a shuddering, painful sob as he spoke of which had always denied. "I am no Supreme."

His sister splashed down beside him, shaking her head back and forth. “Well,” she breathed, stroking the damp hair from his forehead, “you are my brother, after all.” The humor may have been ill-placed, but the princess did not care. It was true. “And if you could go all these years knowing my secret... then I would be a terrible sister for not accepting yours.” Gently, she lowered her face and placed a light kiss on his brow.

Her words washed away so many fears. Kunal buried his face in her lap and cried in earnest, as a child would. When Bashirah wrapped her arms around Kunal, he molded to the shape of her body and made no attempt to break from her embrace. She squeezed him ever tighter, her own fragile composure compromised as his shoulders heaved. Nuzzling her cheek to his, Bashirah ran her fingers through his hair and let out a few sobs of her own.

[Rada Han]

a t r i p i n t i m e

↘ all is lost again



Gradius

Meanwhile, the remaining members of the party were hacking away at the crystalline structure that was feeding the ice of the mountain. They had made good headway on destroying the thing, as at that point, they were standing in three inches of water, and even more of it was falling from the ceiling and pouring down the stairs. Icicles and large chunks of ice were crashing down around them. On the surface, the ice began to melt as well. The volcano was heating up, but what would happen to them when the lava began to flow into the caverns again?

For the Gradian members of the party, their ordeal was not yet over. There was yet one more step to their journey.

When the twins defeated their demons and found themselves and each other in a completely different light for the first time in their lives, an important, enchanted item presented itself to them. With the death of the garuda and the nagina, laying within their charred bones lay the sacred tome of Gradius. Not unlike the other books found within the other kingdoms, the tome, glowing a soft orange, also had magical properties. By simply placing a hand on the book, the Gradians’ powers changed in a way never witnessed before.

If that effect wasn’t enough, the book deactivated the seal on the gate of Gradius and opened its doors to all of the soldiers waiting outside.

The first one to run through the gates was Nayak Bandarji, and he bounded on all fours through the melting ice, through the city, with one goal in mind-- to save his beloved.

The Gradians and Asaph quickly took to hacking away at the ice that trapped the people of Gradius. Because the core, deep inside the caverns of the volcano, was weakened, the ice chipped away like it was supposed to. With three dozen strong men and women stabbing at it, they made immediate headway on freeing Gradius’ citizens.

For Bashirah, Kunal, Chandar, and Eston, a door opened up. It was more like a portal-- somewhere that brought them all to one place, despite where they really were. It didn’t come in the form of a fiery torrent like before, but rather a decorated door, not unlike the doors of the palace. It opened for them when they approached it.

Behind the door was a room colder than any other room anyone else had ever been in. It was so cold that frost threatened to creep up on the Gradians’ skin and freeze them to death. The room was bright, and in the center of the room, there was a clear, recognizable face staring back at them.

Sitting slumped in a decorated chair, with a face that was swollen, sickly and blue, was Drona, a sage, and brother to the King of Gradius. He was Kunal and Bashirah’s uncle and one of the King’s most important advisors. He looked like a dead man. In truth, he was barely hanging on. His soul had been taken from him, exchanged for power from the Izar the Illegitimate. Her seal was branded on his chest, a snake-like dragon.

Frozen beside him was a group of people inside of blocks of ice, frozen in time exactly how they stood when it happened. It was the entire Gradian court of advisors, but there was someone that they didn’t recognize. A woman whose identity was obscured by frost.

Drona was not happy to see them. When his eyes lifted, he sensed something powerful moving towards him, quickly, faster than the Gradians. Flying past them was Nayak Bandarji, bludgeon wielded dangerously in his hand. With a screech, he jumped to attack the old man, and was quickly transformed into an icicle, falling to the ground and sliding against the others like a toy.

---------------------------

The Gradians in the group now have the ability to make and control fire without drawing it from a source. Flame on!

[Angst Werewolf]

The tunnel ended with a doorway. Chandar was certain that it was not supposed to be there, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Sitting in the tunnels wasn't going to do them any good. The door swung open on its own and the second he walked through the threshold, the cold came sweeping in. It sunk through his skin, right down to his core and frost formed instantly over his clothes. His face stung and he winced as he moved into the room, momentarily missing the arrival of the twins.

And there was a pressure building up inside him. Chandar had no idea what it was, but it set his hair on end and made his skin prickle. It tasted of power and it boiled inside him, thrashing madly. His hands flexed and he grit his jaw, glaring at the floor as he tried to adjust. Its arrival was so sudden and alien that he had to stop, one hand going to his face. It was everywhere; the smith could have sworn it was in his very blood.

It burned like-

Nayak's arrival dragged him back to the room and finally took in his surroundings. The twins, both looking just as bad as him and Eston (if not worse), the raging Gradian, and, surrounded by the frozen court was Drona. Chandar had never met the man, but his face was a common enough sight at ceremonies and events that even Chandar could place it.

For a moment, he couldn't comprehend what the man was doing, why he wasn't frozen, or where they even were. Nayak's attack came to a screeching halt and the truth slammed into Chandar with all the force of a rampaging kebir.

Gradius's fall had come from within. From the King's court, from royal blood itself. A Supreme had turned on his own people. It was disgusting and every inch of him burned to tear the man apart. Chandar had spent his whole life struggling, fighting, bleeding, to uphold the Gradian image, be perfect, be Supreme. And Drona, who had been born into perfection, had thrown it all out and brought his people to their knees.

The pressure, momentarily forgotten, came boiling back. There was nothing holding it back now and Chandar let out a wordless screech as flames erupted from his hands.

The Zuleidan in him was not so easily ignored. The fire rolled like waves, not phoenix wings, dripping from his arms and pooling at his feet before snaking up his legs. There was a definite blue tinge to the flames and it was thicker, more akin to lava. The plating on his arm turned white with the heat, but any pain he would have felt was burned from his body.

Chandar's control was weak at best, as he had never before had to manipulate fire. It flickered madly, pulsing in time with his breathing and fueled entirely by his rage. He was so consumed by the power that the fact that he was actually controlling fire was lost. All that mattered was that he had it and he could use it. And he would use it.

"Traitor!" The word echoed through the chamber. Chandar whited out, the power driving all thoughts from his mind besides the raging desire to see Drona dead. Nobody degraded Gradius. Nobody.

The flames condensed into his open hand and the smith let the fireball go. It went low, scorching across the floor before smashing into the base of Drona's chair. Predictably, Chandar's aim was lacking and the miss only served to fuel his rage.

Sides heaving and teeth bared, Chandar pushed for more flames. It was almost easy, as out of control as he was. A second ball of fire formed in his hand, writhing angrily between his fingers. This time he would not miss. Drona was staring, trapped on the chair and too weak to move; a perfect target. The second fireball flew, a wild, messy streak of flames. It crashed into the wall just above Drona's head, showering the man with half-melted shards of ice.

Sloppy, yes. But for Chandar, it was a victory.

[Rada Han]

a t r i p i n t i m e

↘



Gradius




In his current state, Drona didn’t stand a chance against Chandar’s rage. His death was painless, but Drona’s suffering had gone on for far too long by that point.

When Drona’s heart stopped beating, all of the ice encasing his prisoners cracked and fell from their bodies, leaving them cold, but alive. They had witnessed everything, but they were eager to return to their normal lives. Unfortunately, normalcy was far from possible, but the Betrothed and their companions were the ones who made it possible. They were victorious, but Drona’s death was about to create an extremely hostile environment unleash itself upon the rest of their group.

Thanks to those beneath the caverns, the crystal structure was destroyed and on the verge of collapse. Despite the fact that they were now standing thigh-deep in heating water, they were willing to keep going for the sake of the Gradians who had been trapped for so long beneath the ice. The volcano shuddered back to life. None of them ever had the chance to feel the warmth of Gradius until now. That warmth was growing dangerously, and some of them were getting the feeling that if they waited too much longer down there, they wouldn’t have the time to get away if they needed to.

Meanwhile, a new face had been unveiled to Gradius. It could be none other than Basanti in all of her vibrance. Her face was bright and kind, despite her imprisonment, though by no means was she close to being as beautiful as most Gradian women. Her skin shone like the crystals in the mountain’s stones were embedded in her. Every inch of her body was covered in jewels and beautiful, precious metals that jingled delicately with every move she made.

She fell when she was freed from the ice, but was quickly caught by Nayak. When they were near each other, they were both blessed with a flame that crept from their bodies, flickering softly and bathing them in a mystical glow.

Relieved, but clearly concerned, she looked to the Gradians. “Where are the others?”



Nayak, having seen the effects of their work on the rest of the city, speculated correctly. He could see them faintly, and knew what danger they were in. “They’re at the heart of the mountain. They’ve been hard at work getting the ice to melt.”

Basanti, who ever wore her emotions on her sleeve, was quick to fret. “We should rescue them before the lava starts to flow again.”

With their fingers entwined, the two deities prayed.

At the pit of the volcano, conditions were deteriorating. The water they were standing in had become too hot. It was time to flee, but they were struggling. The stairs were shaking so much, that upon their ascent, they were slipping and could barely hold on. Finally, long before they were able to reach to top of the pit, the magma burst from the center of the pit, destroying whatever was left of the crystal, and was quickly filling the cavern. Then, another burst of magma broke through the ice, and another, until the group could no longer go anywhere. It seemed like all was lost until...

CRACK!!!

Like a loud spark, their world vanished for just a second, and when they opened their eyes, all of the betrothed and their companions, and everyone in their vicinity was transported to the central floor of the city where they began.

The image they saw was not unlike the image of the Dradecan citizens pulling their families from the sand. The Asaph and Gradians alike were pulling their brethren from the rapidly melting ice. A great many of them were wounded and their extremities frost-burnt, but they were no longer in danger, and for that, they were grateful.

Nayak and Basanti stood in the center shrine, holding each others’ hands, and praying still, that the lava flowing would flow exactly as it did before.

After a frantic search, the Gradian King and Queen were found alive and whisked away to tend to their severe injuries.
The aftermath was a medley of complex feelings for Gradius, who had been universally known as the people who saw feelings as something that needed to be suppressed. Their Gods had revealed themselves to the people, as two beings that were unlike anything that they had believed them to be. Their portrayals of them had been sorely inaccurate, and nearly everything they had worshipped for as long as any of them could remember, was wrong. For the overwhelming majority of the population, this was not a cause for celebration. It was a cause for confusion, for anger, and for a growing percentage, a cause for relief.

Many, if not most of the Gradian people suffered from frostbite. Fingers, toes, legs, arms, hands, feet, and ears had to be removed if they could not be saved, and for once, the Gradians were collectively put into the position where they knew that they were not perfect. They were damaged as a whole, but with victory, their fiery spirits shone through still. Through the mass confusion and devastation, the strength of the people was still ever present. The people were yearning to hear word from their rulers. They had heard and seen so much that they could not comprehend, and had countless questions about the cause for their suffering.

The efforts of the Betrothed and their companions did not go unrecognized. The many Gradians who were lucky enough to be well, made entirely sure that they were comfortable. Healers spared their precious minutes to tend to them as well, and they were given dry clothes to wear, and a warm place to rest.

Things remained hectic, but by morning the chaos had died down. It was a day of rest and recovery.

---------------------------

[Ariiadne]

Time ran its own course, and whether the twins spent a minute or a month together mattered little. The tome of Gradius rested amongst the ashes of their nightmare, its warmth growing the longer it waited for them. It could not be ignored forever.

When Kunal brushed the book with his fingertips, that warmth flowed into him, soothing his aches though not healing them. He and Bashirah opened the tome together and felt the arcane knowledge contained within the book sink into their flesh. It was a new and familiar feeling all at the same time. They did not need to learn or be told; they knew. No longer were they the children of the flame -- they gave birth to it. Bashirah held her palm out and fire reared up weakly. While amazed, she did not have much energy left to do much of anything else. She looked tiredly to her brother. Did this mean it was over?

It seemed that way when a portal of some sort opened before them. The princess could barely stand and required the aid of Kunal to walk, and even he was not very sturdy on his own. Acting as one another’s broken crutch, the two managed to step through the magical door.

When Bashirah opened her eyes, she realized it certainly was not over. Her body immediately retaliated against the unearthly cold that sank into her skin. Kunal shuddered against his sister, a shiver passing along his spine. If he had ever experienced true cold, it was nothing compared to this. The air was hard to breathe, and each inhalation sent aches through their lungs. Instinctively, Bashirah clung tighter to Kunal, hoping that whatever energy remained within them might generate enough warmth to keep them thawed.

Before them sat a man she recognized, though his appearance had been warped. Drona: their uncle. And frozen beside him was everyone worth knowing in Gradius. Though her fatigued mind sluggishly put the pieces together, Bashirah gritted her teeth and held back severe frustration. Her suspicions were only affirmed when Nayak, the great ape man from the gates, charged in and towards the sage. With a simple look, Nayak became frozen just like all of the others. Kunal stiffened next to her, the muscles in the arm he supported her with flexing reactively. She’d expended all of her power fighting the monster before. Now how would she be able to deal with this?

In addition to the twins, it appeared Chandar and Eston -- the only other two Gradians in the group -- had been transported to this room as well. Where were the others? There was no sign of them. Did the four of them, as worn and weary as she and her brother were, stand any chance?

“Uncle!” she called out, voice raspy and indignant. “What have you done?!”

Though his body reacted - to the cold, to the sight his bloated uncle upon the throne, to Bashirah's weak voice pregnant with betrayal - neither Kunal's mind nor his heart responded. He waited for his anger, even longed for it, but it would not come. Breathing alone was task enough, and Bashirah was the only reason he had found the will to proceed.

In a twisted sense of logic he saw himself. Had Izar approached Kunal, what would he have done? What would she have promised? At his core Kunal had never craved power, not truly. Stability, yes. He had wished to change himself entirely, and if she had come to him bearing such gifts, Kunal was not certain he could deny her.

Izar had not spoken to him, though. He hadn't betrayed his people... Or at least not in the same way. Drona had to die.

Kunal stepped forward, out of a sense of duty as opposed to a need for vengeance. But his feet were unsteady and tired and he slipped, slumping to one knee while half-dragging his sister with him. He grimaced and clenched his jaw to keep from shouting.

The heat which boiled from Chandar's strange flames revived him in some small way. Never before had he seen something so alarmingly brilliant, so simultaneously foreign and familiar. An ocean on fire, dancing magma, gaseous and liquid all at once.

Chandar's rage provided him the energy he required to fight. Drona was impaled with the same icy curse he had brought down upon his people, his kingdom. Despite Kunal's emotional numbness, there came a quiet and morbid satisfaction at his Uncle's death.

"It's over," he whispered to Bashirah. "It's over." Had he any tears left he might have wept. He held tighter to his sister.

She was at a loss. Even though Chandar was not wrong to act quickly and get the job done, Bashirah wanted to know why. Why did Drona succumb to dark magic? How could he do this to his people? It appeared that, perhaps, he did not expect everything that he wished for; in his sad, decaying state, he did not seem so enthralled. In the end, however, they would never know. The only thing that brought her any real peace of mind was that, in light of Drona’s treason, maybe -- perhaps, maybe -- she and her brother would be pardoned.

There was little time to dwell. With Drona’s downfall, those trapped in the ice beside him came back to life, the ice around them melting rapidly. Nayak swiftly went to the aid of someone unfamiliar, however; but when the two of them touched, magic infiltrated the air. The twins watched in exhausted fascination as they two beings ignited, filling the atmosphere with warm power. And just like that, the world went black, and they were all back in the main hall. All of them. Bashirah glanced around to do a sloppy head count for her own comfort before her body finally gave up.

Bashirah collapsed in Kunal's arms, and he crashed to the ground beneath her. The air left his lungs in a painful fit of coughing. A sense of calm soon overcame him as the Goddess's glittering face appeared above him. She was radiant and serene, though her expression was distraught. Basanti was rather ugly compared to what he had imagined.

"Sleep, child. It is time for you to rest," she commanded gently. Kunal wanted to laugh at how funny her voice sounded, but he never had the chance. Whether it was due to magic or simple fatigue, Kunal closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

[Ariiadne]

For the next three to four days, Bashirah remained bedridden and nearly comatose. Every so often she would emerge, conscious and aware of the world; but eventually she would again succumb to encompassing weariness. Regardless of all the abuse, all of the training, and all of the conditioning she endured as a Gradian, nothing prepared her for the draining effects of what had transpired in the frozen heart of the volcano. More than physical exhaustion plagued her; in fact, it would not be a stretch to assume that her mind and will needed more repair than her muscles. For when she woke, she did so as an almost entirely different entity before her people. How they would respond to the things they had learned was impossible to foretell.

Even when she regained her faculties, Bashirah chose to stay within the confines of her quarters. Though fear had left her in those moments in the caverns, it slowly regrew as she slept. She worried most of all about her brother, whom she had not seen since she blacked out. He was well as he could be, she learned from the attendants that catered to her. Though in her gut she knew he had far more at stake than she. To be considered weak was one thing; to be considered unnatural was another. There would be nights where she would send small will-o-the-wisps from her window to his to dance, simply to let him know that she was near.

In those still, silent, sad moments, she would glance to the threshold and pretend someone had come to see her. Her chest would flutter with every new pair of footsteps. But no one came. Though, did she really want them to? The most it would amount to would be a few awkward minutes of formalities and small talk. She occasionally ran those conversations over in her mind. Why, hello, she’d say to Kora should she march through the doorway, this will have been the second time you’ve seen me broken, but this time in my OWN bed! Or, perhaps, when Cin stumbled in, his mind dizzy with liquor, he’d make a lewd comment about seeing his fiancée in a bed. You say that now, she’d joke, wait a bit and you’ll see my face is just about as sorry as your liver. Here comes Sonya, this time glowing blue. After her it’s Jean-Baptiste, who breaks not one, but four of her glassworks strewn about the room while somehow she ends up with a clump of aloo chokha in her eye.

But perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

Often, the mere concept of being back in her own room, in her own bed, confounded the princess. While the familiarity was welcoming, it was also foreboding. She did not feel safe behind these walls. There would be some instances where panic would grip her chest, wondering if she would remain here. There was much repair to be done to her city, to her people. As far as she knew, the king and queen were in very poor condition, even compared to those whose fingers, noses, and other extremities blackened and died. Would she and her brother stay behind? Were they trapped again? And what would the populace do, now that they were armed with the knowledge of their damning secrets? Would they be denounced? Exiled? Were they no longer legitimate?

She hoped the mere fact that she lay in her chambers with all of Gradius at her beck and call meant the opposite. Though she could not deny the looks given to her by a select few servants: uncertainty, compassion, and trademark Gradian emptiness among them. She most painfully recalled the looks of contempt. On those days, she would not be in the mood for her tea.

All these things and more raced through Bashirah’s thoughts. Day in and day out, she would clutch at the lush blanket spread across her body and stare out the window, watching as things gradually fell back into place. She would sleep and sleep and dream, mostly of that horrid chimera donning the likenesses of her parents, though warped by scales and feathers. It would continue to taunt her in her slumber. It would remind her of just how far the end was. Though Gradius had been saved – and not without its own consequences – there were still more kingdoms yet to visit and liberate… if possible. Laelie had been a failure. And Bashirah had no doubt, especially when whatever evil heard of their latest successful exploits, that things would only get worse. If Izar could infiltrate those who were supposed to be – born to be, molded to be – impenetrable, invincible… her eyes closed.

A light, sudden jingle drifted through the room. Bashirah’s eyelids immediately shot open. She hadn’t heard the door open or the approach of footsteps. Still relatively frail and damaged, the Gradian princess did her best to summon fire to her fist, exercising that new and strange power gifted to her by the tome. Nevertheless, it flickered and gasped, reflecting its creator’s inner state. Bashirah’s visitor recognized this.

Basanti materialized through the light filtering from the window in all of her splendor. She looked upon Bashirah endearingly. “Peace, my child. It is but I. Stay your flames.”

[Rada Han]

a t r i p i n t i m e

↘ Meanwhile In...



Dradecus

“It’s unfortunate that your first visit to Dradecus is being made under such terrible circumstances. If it were for any other reason, I’d take you out on the town and show you how great my city is, but for now it would be best not to let anybody know you’re here. Forgive me, your highness.”

“Please,” the magnificent woman assured. She glimmered in the dim light. Her golden hair fell like silk over her delicate shoulders, and her angelic skin did not dare reveal her true age, as compared with the King of Dradecus’ marked and cracked face. “I do not care to partake in such luxuries at this time. My lands have fallen and my people have been cursed. The few who have managed to escape with me are becoming monsters. We have lost all hope. We
must find an end to this madness.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. My sons are out there. Who knows where the hell they are now? Last I heard, t hey were heading to your lands.” Ashcroft ran his hand over his face as if wiping off some imaginary sweat. He sat with his elbow on the table and tapped on the marble anxiously.

“My gentle daughter as well. She is perhaps the weakest of them all. I have employed a capable guard to protect her, but you do not know of the horrors that have befallen Laelie.”

“Have some faith, lady,” The man said, and the faerie seemed uncomfortable with his use of informalities. “They are all great kids. They’re strong. They saved our city by themselves. Plus, I taught my boys how to treat women with respect. Your daughter is in capable hands.”

Somehow, Ashcroft’s words gave her no such comfort. The queen was not used to speaking to elves and nevertheless kept to her manners.

“I have come here to seek temporary asylum for the remaining faeries, but they must be detained until their curse is lifted.”

“You know that won’t be a problem for us. We have plenty of jars! But... that isn’t the reason you’re really here, is it? You want help with your little rogue problem.”

“The rogues are of no concern to us. They are no threat to--”

“Your highness,” Ashcroft leaned forward and gazed into her eyes, speaking slowly so that she knew exactly what she was saying. “You made a bad decision and now it’s coming to bite you in the a**.”

She did not take his condescending tone well and glared back at him with fire in her eyes.

“What in the world are you speaking of?”
Ashcroft leaned back in his chair to try to dispel some of the anger he felt coming from the faerie Queen.

“Listen. Dradecan intelligence is the best in the entire world. I make it my business to know everything I can about the world around me without ever leaving my chair. Every year, the monarchs fly over our city. For as long as anybody in this city can remember. Last year, they were nowhere to be found. Either they’re all dead, or they’ve moved somewhere far, far away from your lands. You exiled, or tried to exterminate them, and they want their revenge. It is your fault.”

The faerie remained silent, and the king went on.

“Thirty years ago, we placed a new seal on Izar’s tomb. It required the blood of each of us to break the spell. Now, the spell has been broken, and the exalted has escaped and is sending Yardis to its death.

“That--” She couldn’t interject. Ashcroft interrupted her by raising his voice over hers.

“But how... How could anyone ever break the seal? We haven’t seen each other since the ritual. I haven’t seen any other royalty since, until our children found their way back here. How could blood have been collected from each of us without any of us knowing about it? What pesky little mosquito is smart enough to think of such a plan?”

As the elf king spoke, the faerie’s face slowly contorted into something sour and resentful. She practically turned into a different person. “What are you insinuating? Are you saying that a faerie did this? A faerie started this calamity? A faerie started this war?”

Igalios took her tone as a hint and threw his hands up in defense. “Hell, now I never said anything about starting a war. Listen. I trust you, and I’ll let you seek solace in Dradecus until this is all over.”

“Fine,” The Queen muttered sharply through her teeth. “Show me to my quarters so that I can make the necessary arrangements.”

Without saying another word, the King extended his arm to show her to the door, where a guard stood. “Dodge will show you out.”
After their steps faded down the hall, Ashcroft left the room swiftly, and ventured into the tower he shared with his wife. She was the only soul he knew that he could tell anything to.
Penelope was sitting by the window, gazing out into the city and the lands beyond. She had been crying at some point during the day, as noted by the numerous handkerchiefs sitting in a pile on the floor. Her face was serene, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“You simply have to tell me what she said.”

“She flipped,” He answered, taking a seat beside the elf Queen. He rubbed his sore neck. “As much as a highly prim and proper Queen could flip.”

“Did she let anything slip? Do you think that she was hiding anything?”

“Nope,” He replied. “I still think a think that a faerie did it, but I don’t think she’s in on it. Either way, I’m not worried about them. They can stay. I want a fly-swatter in every room, though.” The both of them laughed. “No, but I’m serious, I want a guard at every door. I don’t want even a fly to cross the castle walls. We’ll smoke the grounds daily if we need to.”

“So,” He continued, after taking a deep breath. “Hear anything back from the other Kingdoms?”

Penelope pouted and whipped her head back around to stare at the moon from her window pensively. “Only Zuleidi.” She huffed, as she handed him the note.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” He read it quickly, and cocked an eyebrow. “Hm! Interesting... Penny, I want to send a message to our boys somehow.”

Apparently, that was the signal. Ashcroft promptly had another letter shoved into his hands, complete with wrapping and stamping. Penelope hopped down from the windowsill and prepared another roll of parchment for him to write on.

“I want to send these out as quickly as possible. I’ll send them out with an armed guard-- Alistair, perhaps-- so that he can personally deliver them to Cin and Reriic. He’ll be going to Gradius first. I’m sure they’ve made it there by now. So hurry up and write. Now. Right now. Write, right now!”

“O-ok.” Was all that he could muster. All that he wanted to include in his letter was some important information about the faeries staying in Dradecus, but for the sake of having a long, heartfelt letter, he had to bullshit the rest.

The package of various letters, rabbit drawings, and gifts went out that night with Alistair Meister, en route to Gradius.

[K33LA]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Kunal slept he dreamt of a great weight upon his chest. Breathing was difficult. At times it was painful and sharp. In his dreams he was immobile, and when he woke he understood why. Much of his body had been bound and set in a cast. His ribs were badly fractured in several places, his shoulders dislocated, and his right arm broken. His feet and ankles were wrapped in gauze and iced...

On some nights he would wake inexplicably and stare out across the city from his bed. Other nights he would find comfort in the pyres that danced outside his window. It was one of the few times he didn't feel anxious or sick, and his gaze would stray to Bashirah's balcony across the way. Attendants came and went, though they rarely spoke. One of them was very fat, and she took care of him more than the others. The tips of her ears were darkened and bruised, but she otherwise looked healthy. He didn't know her name, but she was somehow nicer than the rest. Perhaps she sympathized with him more than the others. Gradians were not kind to the overweight.

He kept waiting for something to happen. He did not expect visitors, but perhaps an executioner. Something. Yet no one came for him save the servants. Kunal wondered briefly if anyone had tried visiting, but he could not think of a singular person who would want to see him. Having your life fall apart had a funny way of putting things in perspective, he thought.

"How is she?" he asked his fat friend one day. She went about her work, but she answered him.

"Bashirah - The Princess - is doing well," she corrected herself. Such a miniscule faux pas could be wildly offensive in Gradian society. It didn't seem so important now. "She stays in bed mostly."

"And... my mother and father?"

"The King and Queen have not been to see you, nor The Princess. No one has come." Her answers were very succint and brutal, which was likely a product of her life in Gradius. In a way he appreciated her more because of it. She was not one to coddle him.

"Ah, I see," He replied.

"Oh, though there was that... Elf."

"Elf?"

"The unpleasant one with the gloves."

"... Reriic?"

"Oh, I don't know. Those foreigners all look the same to me."

"Why did he come?" Kunal asked.

"He helped with your healing. He was very rude about it," she said waspishly. Kunal nodded his affirmation.

"That is not surprising."

"He said you would recover quickly, due to his magic," the servant woman continued, "but I wouldn't trust an Elven healer." It wasn't long before she left, having finished her chores. Kunal ate in bed with his good arm. Gradian food was spiced and extremely flavorful, and perhaps that was an attempt to compensate for how bland the people were. The thought made him flinch.

When he had finished his meal, the plate clean save a smattering of curry and some flecks of rice, Kunal was left to stare at his reflection in the surface of the golden plate. He looked for a long time before his lips curled into a sneer. He swept the tray violently away, ignoring the cacophonous clattering that followed.

xxx

[timt454]

Alistair ◈◈ Meister

◈Royal Guard of the Dradeican Royal Family◈

~~~~~~

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

”They want me to take a horse don’t they?” Alistair asked with fear stricken across his face as the young elf was handed the parcel filled with notes and letters for the princes from the King and Queen. His fears were quickly confirmed with the sound of hooves echoing down the corridor to the courtyard, followed quickly by the torrent of laughter from his brothers delight at Alistair's situation.

Donning his hooded cloak, Alistair headed out into the courtyard waiting for him to arrive was his mount, Mustang. The large black thoroughbred was a gift from his parents for making it into the royal guard, in the hopes it would encourage Alistair to ride more. The only problem being that the beast never let him close enough to touch it, let alone ride. But an order is an order, no matter how much Luca would enjoy regaling all possible love interests of Alistair’s with the tale of the elf and his horse problems.

”Listen here horse,” the elf commanded trying to choke back his pride and fear with a large gulp. ”It’s obvious you don’t like me and I’m not particularly fond of you,” he said as a single hand shakingly reached out to grab the reins that hung from it’s neck, only to have the horse rear back and plant it’s hooves into Alistair’s chest. Down but not out, Alistair pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the chorus of laughter from his siblings. After several deep breaths, he grabbed at the reins pulling the horse’s face up to his. ”Listen up, WE have been given a job to do from the King and Queen themselves and as much as I’d rather walk to Gradius, my orders specifically state that I am to ride you to that bloody volcano and deliver this parcel. Do I make myself clear Mustang!?” He growled at the animal who seemed to nod in understanding. ”Good now let me up!” He ordered before tentatively clambering onto the horses back, grinning smugly at his brothers.

The next few days were a nightmare for both rider and mount, filled with arguments, crying, fighting mixed with brief unconscious spells, induced through fear and several minor injuries caused by both parties, in an attempt to follow the trail of the betrothed party across the country. Finally after several agonizing attempts to navigate around Laelie, and the mountains surrounding Gradius, the elf and his horse finally arrived at the kingdom in the volcano. Fortunately, for Alistair, after the events in the volcano, the recipients of the mail he carried were all close together

Everywhere he turned Alistair was met with disrespect and racism. After several attempts Alistair was finally pointed in the right direction after showing showing a group of guards his papers. The pair headed towards the royal compound where the saviors of Gradius were receiving healing treatment for their injuries. ”If the Princes have even a scratch on them the Queen will have heads rolling for sure, what do you think?” Alistair mused to the horse who responded in kind with a snort and a nod.

"For good! Or for evil! There is no shame in holding to your beliefs!"

[Ariiadne]

Bashirah lowered her hand, the fire following suit until it was no more. The princess bowed her head deeply. “My Lady. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she replied, a warm smile painting her lips. “Come, there is no need for such heaviness.” The goddess gestured for Bashirah to lift her face to meet hers before setting down at the foot of the bed, her jewels spilling tiny dabs of light on the floor and walls as if she carried with her tiny bits of heaven with her. It was difficult for Bashirah to mask her bewilderment and surprise. The deity chuckled. “Be at ease.”

Bashirah stammered. ”I-I am sorry,” she tried to explain. “It is just…”

Basanti urged her on jovially. Bashirah swallowed.

“I-It is nothing.” She looked away shamefully. Basanti smiled though she was disappointed. “If I may, your grace,” she then spoke up, much to the goddess’ delight, “why have you come here? I mean no impropriety.”

“Of course. I felt that you were well and thought it would be an appropriate time to deliver my thanks.”

Bashirah’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide and unbelieving. Her words died in her throat. She shook her head, her voice dipping into despair. “… I… I did nothing, my Lady.” The princess tried to manage her humiliation, to no avail. “The one you want to see is Chandar Hari. He is the one who felled Drona. It is he who should be receiving your thanks.”

“Perhaps. But even you know that is not entirely true. You are far too hard on yourself.” Basanti looked to her clasped hands, pensive.

“Forgive me,” Bashirah repeated, repentant. “It is our way.”

“And quite a way it is!” she exclaimed honestly. “It has been long since we have returned to the mortal plane. Yardis has bloomed into a place even more beautiful than ever. This city, it truly is a sight to behold. We are proud of your people’s achievements, as well of those across the land.”

Bashirah immediately placed her hands together and bowed. Overwhelmed, she spoke rapidly. “Thank you, my Lady. All of this and more we have done in your name. To know that it pleases you brings to our people an immeasurable pride.”

Basanti accepted Bashirah’s bow with a light nod. “There is nothing you could do that would not please me.”

An uneasy silence radiated from the princess. Basanti picked up on it. Her expression politely urged Bashirah to talk about it, but she was loath to do so. Was this just another trick? Was this, maybe, her final test? Ever since her schooling began, Bashirah and her brother were taught about the gods of Gradius. They were told that they were perfection incarnate. Beautiful and merciless. They embodied all of the Gradian standards and watched from the heavens with a discerning eye. Everything that Gradius did, it did in their honor, for their approval. Then why were their gods ugly? Why were they kind? And why was Basanti there, thanking her, checking up on her, complimenting her, comforting her? Was it all just a ruse?

By that point, very real and perceivable distress laced Bashirah’s features. The goddess’ brow furrowed in concern, eyes widening. She could see traces of a great battle going on within the young woman, and it pained her to see her in such a state.

“Bashirah,” she implored, worried, “tell me. What is on your mind, child?”

She received a tremulous, meek question in response. “Are you real?”

Basanti visibly brightened. “Why, of course I am, my dear! I am—”

“—No!” burst Bashirah, cutting the goddess off. Basanti paused. “I-I mean…” Bashirah looked to her lap, shaking her head, biting her lip. “If… If you are here to see if there is in me any Gradian left to salvage… then I will save you the trouble.” Though her face was lowered out of sight, Basanti witnessed tears dropping from beneath her dark hair. “Please, show me one last mercy, and be quick.”

A taut stillness choked the air. Basanti sat up straight, confounded and taken aback. Her hands met in her lap, squeezing each other tightly. The goddess found it surprisingly difficult to approach this situation. She knew well what was happening and why. She exhaled.

“I cannot speak for your people.” She reached out and rested her small hand on Bashirah’s leg. “But with me, my child, you have nothing to fear.” The princess’ body locked. “If nothing else, I myself am made entirely of love, with enough for all those who have lived, live, and will live, and with infinitely more to spare.”

Basanti’s words took some time to seep all the way to Bashirah’s bones. But they did, much like a refreshing, peaceful drizzle eventually dampened the earth. Nearly every muscle in Bashirah’s body unwound, though her hands remained together and her back remained bowed. Barely audible prayers fell from her lips, which may have seemed mad considering the recipient sat not but a few feet from her. Basanti collected them happily, closing her eyes to feel them wash over her: waves of pure, ceaseless gratitude and undying relief caressing the adoring, welcoming shore.

[Rada Han]

ImPeRfEcTiOn is в є α υ т у,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxⓂⒶⒹⓃⒺⓈⓈ is gєníus,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxand it is better to be absolutely ɾïḋïсυløυṡ than absolutely ๒◊ЯⅰиG.
.........



Jean-Baptiste slept for 48 hours straight, clutching a pillow that was longer than he was tall. His remark describing Gradius’ liberation was simply, ‘the single most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him, and that he was eager to head to his homeland because nothing could’ve been worse than Gradius.’

During those many hours, he had a note penned and stuck to the door of his quarters explaining that whoever woke him up would end up with a fine Gradian broomstick shoved up their arse. It only made them want to wake him up even more, but he was too far gone to be awoken so easily.

He woke up with muscles so sore that he seriously considered going back to sleep until they stopped aching. He could not do so, however, because he had responsibilities. Responsibilities that were unbeknownst to him at the current time, but he would say - only if he were asked - that he was royalty, and also a hero, and he just had responsibilities. Also, he was incredibly hungry, and very interested in sampling the regional cuisine.

He had rejected offers from the servants to wrap his wounds, as he felt that they were much too minor to care about. He had a series of healing scabs on his forearm where he’d been bitten, and some scuffs, but was relatively unharmed. He made sure of it when he stood in front of the mirror after he woke up. It wouldn’t do for him to be as hideous as Chandar supposedly was.
The Zuleidan’s face was locked in an expression of worry as he examined himself in the mirror. His bed-hair wasn’t as much of a problem as the bumps from his ribs being visible at his sides. To any normal person, he looked perfectly healthy, stronger even, than he did when the journey started. One couldn’t possibly convince him of that, however.

“Gods, I’m wasting away!” He groaned, and rubbed the markings on his pale, sore shoulders. “...And I need some sun. Badly.”

The heat was something that he was going to have to get used to quickly, but at least it was better than the freezing cold. His wet and torn coat was sitting in a crumpled heap at his bedside and it was starting to smell. With that, and the solitary feeling of the room he was in, Jean-Baptiste decided that he needed to get out of there and find somebody-- anybody to talk to and something-- anything to wear.

After a few minutes trying to chase someone down, clad in the blanket he’d woken up in, the Zuleidan was finally able to procure some Gradian clothing of his own: a long, sleeved white shirt made from a very comfortable, light material that was long enough to reach his knees, and some loose gold trousers that were secured by a drawstring. It felt like he was wearing pajamas that was allowed to wear outside without looking like a loon. With his new Gradian clothing, Laelian boots and Zuleidan looks, Jean-Baptiste looked like the picture of multiculturalism. He wished he’d saved something clean from Dradecus as well just to say that he was the most accomplished tourist ever.

Of course, as usual, Adele was nowhere to be found. He’d never felt so free and so unafraid of his surroundings after nearly meeting his end for the hundredth time, despite sticking out like a sore thumb in a city he’d never visited before.

“Greetings! Hello! Hi!” He’d walk the road where so many people were scurrying around, waving and smiling at them. He didn’t get much of a response. There were mostly stares as he walked past. Clearly an oddity in the purest sense, looking nearly the complete opposite of the typical Gradian citizen, they couldn’t help but stare. The Prince wasn’t bothered by it-- he supposed that if a Gradian beauty like Bashirah came to his country, the Zuleidans would stop and stare at her too.

Finally, a warm, spicy scent drew him away from his path and into a woman’s home, which was half house, and half communal eating area. So many people stopped eating to look at him, but his grumbling stomach made sure that he didn’t pay attention to any of them. He drew the attention of the lady of the house, a strong-looking older woman who was stirring a big pot of what looked like soupy beans. There was a sort of flat bread charring on the inside of a clay pot, and skewers with bright red meat were sticking out of the pot as well.

“Pardon me, milady,” The Zuleidan said to her, and she stared at him. Offering her a humble grin, he put his hands together. “I am so, so hungry, but I don’t have any money!” Having some vague idea of who the man was, she was happy to serve him, even though she didn’t show it. Jean-Baptiste nearly hugged her and once he tried her food (and realized that in this country, one was actually allowed to eat with their hands!), vocally expressed his desire to take her back home with him.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx《The Trickster Prince》
.........

[V I V L I O N]

ʀᴇʀɪɪᴄ & ᴄʜᴀɴᴅᴀʀ & ᴀᴅᴇʟᴇ
Part 1

The flames burned themselves out, exhausting Chandar's energy and leaving him with nothing more than the dregs of pure stubbornness keeping him on his feet. His whole body tingled with the leftover power, and his own mind was running in circles. He'd made fire. He'd controlled fire. He'd attacked- and killed- Drona with fire.

Him, the dirty halfbreed.

The sudden teleportation did nothing to help his bewilderment. Someone, an older Gradian woman, had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the mass chaos to be looked at. Ironically, Gradians could do nothing for burns, so his cuts were washed and wrapped. A flask of water and a bottle of firewhiskey were shoved into his hands and he was ushered out. There were more Gradians that needed attention and his burns had earned him plenty of skeptical looks. If not for the current situation, Chandar probably would have been ignored completely.

He dragged himself out of the makeshift infirmary and down towards the hot springs. The exhaustion was setting in and his muscles were starting to show their disapproval over everything. His whole body felt heavy and the smith nearly tripped over his own feet. The hot springs would help, he was sure. Fueled by the volcano, they were constantly at the perfect temperature- not too hot to burn (not that Gradians cared) but hot enough to ease muscles and other bodily pains. It was a frequent hangout for soldiers after training sessions.

Chandar didn't even bother to take a moment to undress as he walked right into the first pool, dunking himself under the water for as long as he could stand before surfacing. His clothes were ruined anyway, ripped to shreds and stained with blood. Even his armguard would need replacing. But he'd deal with that later. He leaned up against the side, dropping the drink bottles on the ground. Boots off first, he decided.

While thankful not to have been trapped in a lava pool, Reriic was no more sociable or forgiving to the Gradians that tried to heal him once he had been deposited on the floor in front of them. Stubborn pride made him refuse their treatment despite the severity of his injuries and generally being a grump prevented him from weeping all over his brother, which left him with little more to do than follow the directions he had been given to the hot springs as a way to at least momentarily avoid confronting anything that had happened in the mines. Still wearing Elya’s makeshift bandages, he shambled down the corridors until he found the place and decided he didn’t care enough to scrutinize it beyond a cursory glance. He didn’t search for any others in the spring, he simply disrobed of everything that wasn’t his bandages or gloves and waded into the waters before following Chandar’s lead and submerging himself until he was forced up for air. The heat offered him a second wind to push his exhaustion and pain aside, if only for a while, but he would take it nevertheless. As his head crested the surface, amber eyes settled on the Gradian smith for the first time and slowly processed the fact that this man had just witnessed more than he had probably ever desired. Or not, it was hard to guess these days.

Brushing stray hair from his face and speaking in a tone that suggested this sort of thing had happened before, Reriic acknowledged Chandar with a simple “Hello.”

Chandar, who had been in the process of taking off his shoes, stared silently at Reriic’s rather... sudden arrival. It spoke volumes about his exhaustion that he didn't up and leave and instead opted for casually tossing one of his boots over his shoulder. "Hey," he grunted in response. But really, a naked elf was the least surprising thing he'd seen all day.

His second boot followed the first and the smith continued his disrobing by peeling off the remains of his soaked gloves. "You're alive." There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but they could have been talking about the weather if his tone was anything to go by.

When the group was suddenly teleported back to the center of the volcano where they had started, Adele blinked disbelievingly. No matter how many times they apparated, she was unlike to grow accustomed to it any time soon. However, dealing with things she couldn’t understand were becoming a part of everyday life and she didn’t waste much time worrying about it. Her mind had been more focused on just getting Jean out of the volcano alive. And luckily, they had once again managed to narrowly escape death’s grip.

She was drenched from head to toe. Her clothing dripping onto the ground thanks to the ice they had managed to chip and melt. Her hands were cut and scraped from their frantic escape, but she wouldn’t complain after the beating she had received in Laelie. However, in the Gradian’s haste to begin attending to their own, their group was split up depending on their needs. Despite her protests, she was shuffled away from Jean but didn't fight too much figuring he would be in good hands. Adele passed over the offer of seeing a Healer for herself and was, instead, directed to where the hot springs could be found so that she could get cleaned up. With a dry pair of clothing in hand, she awkwardly shuffled down the cave halls praying that she was headed in the right direction.

Adele had just taken the last turn when she took note of a tunic abandoned on the ground. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she stepped around the garment as if afraid it would jump up and bite her. Though, as she continued forward more clothing was laid about almost as if in a trail. From farther down, she could make out the sound of male voices. Immediately her shoulders tensed. She hadn’t put much thought into it but she had just assumed that there would have been separate hot springs for the genders. However, her desire to get warm outweighed her anxiety and she continued on. But, as she moved closer to the cavern, the groans that reached her ears made every step that much more hesitant.

By this point, Chandar had managed to peel himself out of his soaked shirt. He didn’t even care about exposing the scales on his back at this point; he could just set things on fire if anyone decided to bring it up. And the elf had obviously seen the burns. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway, he didn’t know what was. The remains of his shirt were tossed aside and the smith groaned in relief as the warm water washed up against his skin. He could already feel his muscles unknotting. “Ugh, that’s the stuff,” he muttered, sliding a bit further down into the water.

Reriic simply watched in silence as Chandar undressed, though his gaze made no secret that he was appreciative of the view. Even with the burns, the smith still had a good side that deserved to be displayed.

As soon as she heard Chandar’s voice, she came to a stand still in the opening of the cavern. Her eyes shifted around uncomfortably until they came to rest on Skip and Grimm. For a moment she just stared at them, wondering if it had truly been the two of them groaning. It didn’t help that the two of them were also awkwardly close together in a hot spring when there was plenty of other space. As for their state of dress, both were shirtless but Adele had no desire to investigate further concerning their bottoms. Somehow managing to keep a composed expression, she turned on her heel and, facing the direction in which she had just came, she called out, “I’ll just come back when you guys are done.”

Chandar hadn’t even noticed Adele’s arrival. He turned, pushing himself a bit out of the water and confirming that all he had left on were pants. Very wet pants. Reriic also stood, negating any hope that Adele may have been harbouring about both of the boys having remained at least partially clothed, and called after her in a surprisingly cheerful tone, "There’s no need. Plenty of room.”

“Yeah.” Chandar clearly was beyond caring about the potential awkwardness of the situation. He scratched at a freshly-scabbed cut on his chest. “And I got firewhiskey,” he added with a smirk. Adele’s last run-in with the beverage had been the highlight of his day.

Adele hesitated when deciding whether to turn around again or stay. However, in the end, she gave in, just wanting to relax in the warm waters rather than being cold and wet and risking the wrath of the Gradians if she ended up getting in the way. Slowly turning around, she immediately regretted her decision as soon as she saw Reriic. The guard immediately lifted up a hand and covered her eyes as she cried out, “Reriic! I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see that much of you again!”

By that point her cheeks had gone a crimson red with thanks to Chandar reminding her of her encounter with the firewhiskey. She let out a sarcastic laugh, “You’re so funny.” The girl sneered. Her throat still felt raw from the one sip she had. She couldn’t even imagine the damage if she were to take another. “Could both of you just sit back down in the water now?”

Chandar frowned, glancing between Reriic and Adele. “‘That much of you’? Do I want to know when that happened?” No, he probably didn’t.

“I thought that only applied to keeping my trousers up, not on,” Reriic answered with a shrug and very pointedly not sinking back down into the water. “I’m flattered that you remember Laelie after all of this, but you really are such a bore sometimes. And how else is one supposed to utilize the springs?”

The smith’s expression hadn’t gotten much better. “...What?”

Adele let out an obviously frustrated sigh, as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It was clear that this was a situation that she had never had to deal with before, or anything similar. Though, hearing Chandar’s confusion with what was going on and Reriic only answering with a vague statement that left more to be question, the guard felt that it was upon her to clear things up. “I was trying to get Grimm to take off his gloves in Laelie and instead he removed his pants. Nothing happened.” Still not moving her hand from her eyes, as she hadn’t heard the sounds of movement from the water, the blonde spoke up in an impatient tone, “Now will you please sit down so that I can see where I’m going and get in?”

“Spoilsport,” Reriic grumped, but submerged himself again in accordance to her wishes. Chandar followed suit, dropping back into the water with a splash. He shot a look at Reriic, muttering something that sounded like “elves” under his breath. A moment of fumbling passed and his yanked his belt off, tossing it off to the side. “C’mon, Adele. It’s warm in here.”

After hearing the sounds of water splashing, she figured it was finally safe. Adele looked between her fingers first before finally dropping her hand when she confirmed that both boys were back down in the water. Dropping her dry clothes far away from the pool so they wouldn’t get wet, she shed any outer clothing she was wearing so that she only wore a single layer. As she approached the pool, she looked at Chandar and shot back, “It better be. We’re in a bloody volcano.” Slowly lowering herself into the water, a sigh instinctively left her lips. They hadn’t been able to rest since Laelie, so the hot springs felt like a luxury after everything they had been through.

For the first time then, she was able to finally look at the two males. She hadn’t seen Chandar since he had gone chasing after the Bashirah and Kunal. And, to say he was a sight for sore eyes was an understatement. “Nice burns by the way. You look like death.” She commented dryly.

Any other time Chandar probably would have thrown something for bringing up the “hey look you’re not a Gradian” thing but he was still running on the mental high from the fight. “Yeah well, I fought a kebir. Two kebirs. Big ones.” He held up his hands to show just how big. “And they spit fire. In your face.” His hands dropped back in the water. “But I killed them.” Well, it had been Eston’s idea but he’d been the bait, so there.

“My hero,” Reriic rolled his eyes, “You should let me look at those burns before they scar, though.” He didn’t wait for permission before pushing away from his seat and gliding through the water to Chandar, hair trailing behind him like a serpent. Showing about as much concern for whether the smith would want him that close as he had when he’d entered the springs, Reriic was practically in Chandar’s lap when he stopped and forcibly turned the other man’s head via his chin. Making small tsking noises as he examined the burns, the rest of the world fell away and his hands wandered around, making sure he didn’t miss something important that needed to be taken care of immediately.

[Sierra The Captor]

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take a ℓeap of fαith. I ĸnow wє'ℓℓ makє it.

Annabel’s first night within the royal compound was interesting to say the least. As the Healers assigned tended to her injuries, she could tell they were trying their best to desist from looking at her in contempt as she was one of the ‘heroes’ that saved their people, at the same time not overlooking the idea of the identities of the ‘heroes’. They were polite and soft-spoken to her, laced with a steely gaze that Gradians are known for. Elves, seafolks, a Halfling. Annabel is also a faerie after all. They were grateful, accommodating to their needs and conflicted for that matter to know they were saved by the very races they have outwardly derided.

Perhaps most were learning to make peace with that, but Annabel was still hesitant on being too placate of the idea when they offered a new set of clothes that was completely foreign to her taste. After battling with her inner struggles and her wet clothes, she put it on, vibrant red top stitched yellow at the side first with matching pants and fabric she told to be a sari draped around her body. Anna was sure they would depart and move to another kingdom.

Unfortunately after the first night, Annabel could not sleep in the royal compound. There were many things that factored into it. A lot was due to the heat, as the surrounding was too unbearable to her liking to provide her a good slumber despite being provided a comfortable room to sleep in. Another was the thought that the group had almost been sacrificed to the volcano after their effort in breaking the icicles before they were suddenly transported to the central floor. The near fatal climax had brought nightmares and sparked her all too traumatic first experience with fire back in Bhegin. It was something she’d rather not have ignited after so long repressing it from her memory. All she had procured was swollen eyes, red face from the intense heat and a grumpy attitude matching that of the grim Dradecan prince.

Seeing as they were not about to depart anytime soon, Annabel resorted to travelling aimlessly around the city, in her faerie form, because she was not ready to freely walk around without the Gradian’s scrutiny for her kind. It was only until she found a discarded, wooden container that she collapsed inside, exhausted, oddly more cooling as compared to the royal compound.

Her mood still remained when the streets were brimmed with footsteps by the townspeople. She woke at the sounds of loud clattering of walking sandals and clanking boots, grunting slightly as she watched their large, hammy feet making their way to their usual business. She supposed she should be content they had successfully saved Gradius from its spiralling doom yet racial views set far too deep between two kingdoms made her slightly resentful and envious of the Gradians returning to their normal life while the Laelian forest was so far the only kingdom that could not be salvaged.

Alerting to a rumble in her stomach derailed whatever thought process Annabel had. Finding food seemed much more important as she dusted herself off and drifted on top of their heads, causing a few puzzled and alarmed looks in the way her pixie dusts were carelessly thrown on them. Gradians hardly have any expressions, so the way they had quickly brushed off their surprise in favour of usual indifference made her giggle. Annabel might have yet to warm up to them but they were surely entertaining enough to pass time until she was able to find something to eat. One area in particular caught her attention, but it was partly due to her spotting the Zuledian prince from far away with his absurdly mismatched garments. She tilted her head, unsure whether to feel amused or slapping her face that they were even remotely considered companions.

She slowly glided through the streets to the eating area, taking in the scent of the food amidst and glad she was away from the intense heat. Fascinated and repulsed by the sharp smell of spice and herbs, Annabel floated idly behind his shoulders, her translucent wings’ flaps casting faint wind to the nape of his neck. Before the prince could mistake her as a pesky mosquito, Annabel quickly flew past him to the source of the smell, commenting excitedly “What is this, what is this!” on the food. Annabel was more focused on the bread than everything else that was served on the table, as it was the one food the faerie could easily identify. After reaching to touch and smell, Annabel curved her mouth into a disappointing ‘o’ when the bread was not the sweet buns she had grown to love.

Her posture had slanted at the thought of Laelie and marking her obvious homesickness, but cursed at her stomach rumbling since she was still hungry. She could gauge that her hunger was loud enough to be heard by Jean-Baptiste, so Annabel turned away, scrunching her nose at how strong the food seemed to her senses “What are you eating?” she asked, clearly disgusted.
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ℓocation |- Eating area somewhereinGradius -| 00C |- -dies- I'm going to sleep now. -|