Welcome to Gaia! ::

The first thing Theo noticed upon waking was the dull ache that had settled in the back of his skull. Distrust had walked in with the messenger and settled somewhere firmly in his chest, even as he accepted the invitation given to him. But Theo was no fool - he knew a veiled order when he'd seen it, and he knew they would have brought him even if he and Ophelia had declined. So rightfully so, his action warranted this heavy-headed feeling, but..

Where was Ophelia?

Panic seized the former priest, and was momentarily heightened when the silver-skinned man at the podium began to speak. He stayed his own bubble of questions and masked his discomfort with the situation once more. He had spent a month imprisoned because of his association with the Plagues, and now once again he was separated from Ophelia. For the comfort of the Emperor? That did not matter much to Theo. He had not known true comfort in a long while. What he wanted was his ring.

A scarlet-hooded woman voiced her annoyance at the proceedings, and he nodded in silent agreement. That was when Theo took note of those who surrounded him. There were many familiar faces in the seats - that mousy woman he had met in both his former occupation and more recently, the street urchin (yet another ghost from his past), who was now struggling to climb over the chairs to get to the stage. He looked to the stage and noticed the Plagues. Lined up and organized by appearance. This was certainly queer. So organized, thorough. He spotted Ophelia among the others, thanks in part to the golden halo around her head, and he felt the ache of her absence from his shoulder.

Yes, this had better be worth the time.

-------

Ophelia's half-mast gaze focused on the item-lined platform in front of her. She blinked a few times and slowly lifted her head up to take in her surroundings. Certainly a lavish-looking theater. Her head swiveled to the left and right, and she saw others like herself.. more Plagues. That rude flower was a short distance from her. As her attention returned to the seats before them, even in her semi-dazed state she was able to pick out her Theo among the other Grimms in the audience. It was then that the reality of the situation sank in. There was no need to dwell on the invitation and the meeting - she and Theo were in much of a similar way of thinking, and did not trust many strangers who came to their door. The Obscuvan threat a while ago had taught them that.

No, what bothered her was the position she was in. She was lined up here among others of her kind, like some trinket on display. These scientists had separated her from her master, her Theo. Her small fingers were stiff, but they curled into loose, shaking fists at her sides as her face remained forever placid - yet another trick she had learned from her Grimm.

How dare they take her from her Theo. How. Dare. They.

Emperor, Council or no, she did not like this. However it was apparent to her that for now, she could do nothing - not with her limbs feeling like iron. Most disquieting of all was how was warm it felt on this pedestal.. familiar and somehow strange. For now, she would have to bide her time and wait for her strength to return, or for her Theo to come claim her.

As Kalyan had followed the mage he’d been transferred to, he discovered that his initials thoughts on attending this meeting all completely sidestepped what should have been his true concern. For one, a leader of one of the Councils was asking for his attendance- of which he was reminded by the completely unnecessary amount of people that greeted him upon arrival at the pristine building. The demonstration was enough to give him a slight jitter and slower step to their destination. But for two, he was also asked for his attendance via teleportation. Which meant magic. Which also meant, especially after being given a death-trap grip by the robed man in front of him, an obscene amount of sheer panic.

Before he could snatch away his hand he was crippled, and after that, he was frozen. Kalyan was unsure about which person he’d like to punch first for getting him into this situation: himself and the mage with the clammy hands were who he considered in his last moments of consciousness.

Magic was something new. It was a culture he never once had the chance to embrace, and nor did he ever want to. He’d never been in contact with it directly or seen any of its displays besides lighting tricks as a child. It didn’t matter that his mother spoke of it and her religion often in his past. It was still foreign, and something he was sorely uneducated in. Thanks to the pounding in his head and the lead in his limbs, Kalyan was going to continue to stand firm in his opinion of never needing to encounter such practices and predicaments within his lifetime. Ever. Again.

'The stars be damned if I have to go back the way I came.' Waking with the groggy feeling that took hold of him was not something he was accustomed to; it was the second time in succession that he’d been out of his element. Had the mage knocked him out when he performed the supposed ‘teleporting spell’? Could they do such a thing? When had the spell even occurred? It was only fair to be given a warning, or some sort of signal at the very least. Perhaps he should have been wary when the ‘Scientist messenger’ had mentioned collaboration with mages. He assumed it might have been normal to associate them with one another, but he knew so little about politics; Kalyan hated to admit that he could have very well been wrong in diving headfirst into this situation.

Kalyan suddenly took notice of all the voices in the room. He tried to sit up, slowly at first. Nausea hit him like a barrel of saltwater. He hadn’t found himself with this kind of sickness since he was a boy first trying to set sail. He gulped it down, quick not to make a big show of his actions as his eyes still adjusted to his surroundings. There was many around him, more than he’d expected and some in a better state than himself. He must have been one of the last to awaken. As he had anticipated though, there was no one he recognized. Unease and relief fought to be the dominating emotion.

Unease had won out when a person he’d overlooked somehow had been brought to his attention.

"A disparingly small outcome, but it will suffice. I apologize for the segregation between Plague and Grimm-- such was intended for the sake of the Emperor, and the anesthesia a side-effect of the Council's teleportation systems."

At the mention of the Emperor his body shivered. Wait. The word plague triggered his awareness. From the long table wafted the stagnant stench he was all too accustomed to in his own small room. His anxiety multiplied when he realized the bag hanging off of him still was now light. 'How-where? Please, not again.' Like the slow-witted fool he refused to admit he was, it was only then with his nerves on fire did Kalyan notice just what was on the table of which they all the Grimms were centered around. There, unbound from the cloth he’d wrapped it in, was his astrolabe glinting dully amongst other items and animals; except the animals weren’t animals, but little figures much like the two that had taken residence in his own home. So it was true?

He was caught off guard by the confirmation that his father’s heirloom was plagued; which meant, with the instrument included, he was now housing three objects of the Black Death. The sleek looking man who had spoke probably had no idea the effect of such a simple statement on the cursed sailor. All the while he kept his face as straight as possible, his posture rigid with his arms steadied directly in front of him. Regardless how nonchalant he tried to appear, Kalyan was sure he wasn’t fooling everyone and that his large size was certainly no aid in drawing away attention.

There was a stumbling, and as if they had heard his subconscious someone else was making their way towards the floor. In quite a display a stranger struggled with the aftermaths of the magic everyone struggled with; but the young lad appeared as still if freshly drugged. Hazel eyes scanned the crowd, curious of their next actions and worried of the boy’s. He seemed to know what he was going for: called a name repeatedly even. But who was to say what he wouldn’t take once he’d reached the table? Plagued or not, his paranoia over the possession of the key to his misfortunes flared.

Sound came first.

First there were two sentences clearly enunciated, and then came a slow rumble of other voices. To Leander they were indistinguishable from a babe's garbled cries, to others they might have been names, or words. He opened his eyes slowly (he always dreamed of the Rosa, and he always woke with a hope that somehow the dream was false. Of course when he woke he remembered the ship's docking, twelve sailors climbing out and a few already diseased.) to a room full of strangers. He remembered the strange silver man's apology, and he closed his eyes again. The teleportation had not been kind to him (the Council mage's phantom grip lingered still on his wrist), and he'd been completely unprepared for the experience. After gathering his wits he opened his eyes again. (Hadn't the messenger mentioned another teleportation upon the conclusion of this meeting? Perhaps he had better inquire as to alternate methods; he was not as young as he had been and he did not think the experience boded well for the remainder of the journey through Shyregoad.)

He was seated somewhere further from the stage. There were a lot more Grimms in Panymium than he'd assumed - of course, he'd never met many in the village where he worked, and he was fairly certain that none of his brother's family was associated with plagues. And the sailors aboard the Rosa, well. If they'd been Grimms they wouldn't all have died. And of course his strange unicorn's bust was no longer in his arms. Hadn't the silver man mentioned that, too? Yes, that was for the sake of the emperor - he'd registered those words clearly enough. If it was for the emperor, of course he would not mind. He searched for the object still, though; it had sentimental value enough and his brother had entrusted it to him. Even if the gift's intent was not quite pure. He would see Lucterius soon, wouldn't he? Well, he would, provided he left the meeting, and he had faith in that. There had been a large amount of Guardsmen escorting him, and it would have caused him alarm were the uniforms so incredibly familiar. The Guard was a group of tradition, and he was pleased to see that the uniform had not changed too much. And yes - there was the small unicorn's bust, not quite gleaming. Although the stench of the various Putescos was strong, and all of them were clearly tainted in some way or another, Leander could not help but think that his own Plague (and yes, he had to acknowledge that it was one now) looked distinctly uncared for. Perhaps it was overdue for some polishing. He wasn't sure that some of the grime was removable, and obviously he had no means of replacing the gems, but his brother's gift deserved respect.

The bust now located, Leander turned his attention to the actual people. He knew no one, he was sure. Ah, no, wait - that was a familiar head of hair there, perhaps two rows in front of him. The...Kalyan? Was he still alive? Leander had no idea; he'd had no way of keeping track of the other sailors (after all, he possessed no talent for magic himself, and he had not thought to ask for some sort of contact information. How could he? It was not as if any form of instantaneous messaging had been created, magical or scientific!) and he had left Mishkan behind him for quite a few months. Was he a Grimm?

Should Leander say something? There was too far a gap between them, he decided. And he was too frightened to know who else was now dead.

Though he wanted nothing else but to crawl over the seats and barrel his way to his Plague, rip him off that stage and back into his arm's length, steal him away back where he could protect him. As he was now, prone and writhing weakly on the stage, unable to lift his head much less defend himself from any potential harm, Clurie was extremely vulnerable. But he couldn't very well move past the arms of the old man who snatched his collar and guided him back down into the seat beside him with ease. Chauhn's body was weak and he capitulated to the man's orders, but not without protesting mutters and desperate glances towards his Plague. Didn't the man understand?

Did he understand? Chauhn took a moment to breathe, his movements still sluggish as he placed his hands against his forehead, wondering wildly what it was that the other man was saying. Stop and think, Wickwright had said, stop and think. He trusted the elder man, he had helped and aided them before and there was no reason not to trust him now. Settling down, slumping into the seat and breathing hard, Chauhn tried to do just that: Stop and think. His inbred paranoia was getting the better of him. This was simply a meeting, not a demonstration, rather an exchange of information. It was not a show destined to become horribly skewed like that of the Troupe of Panymium. Besides, there were others that he could trust there beyond Wickwright. In his desperate survey of the room Chauhn had taken note of Lady Estratus' precense as well as Sloane's, not to mention the power shoulders of Lord Yizhaq, all people that, despite his shortcomings with them upon their last meetings, he could trust. Surely, people of such status would not allow for anything to go wrong.

Despite his reasoning, Chauhn sank into his seat and watched the silver man before him with dread. He hadn't taken kindly to scientists, not after they had ousted him from their protective wing, and his interactions with them were severely limited after he became immersed in the world of the Mages. He knew not what to expect. Certainly, he did not expect Emperor Rine himself to be making an appearance today in this very room. Chauhn knew very little of politics and figureheads, but he had learned the name of Emperor Rine like any other citizen of Panymium. He was not deaf to that name, not in the least, and it made him incredibly nervous and self aware to be thinking that he might be laying eyes upon the famous young emperor. He was but a pauper boy, nothing more than that, certainly no soul to be meeting with someone as powerful and grim as the Emperor himself. Still, he felt his old roots awakening, wiggling to life and taking hold of Chauhn's body, forcing him to lean up from his slouch and straighten his spine, make himself as presentable as possible. He had to honor the family name still, he had to redeem the name of Clemmings.

Wickwright was right, he would be a fool to make a scene now of all places.

Still trying to tame his tongue, Chauhn settled in beside Wickwright, still glancing worriedly towards his Plague. "Why would the Emperor wish for us to be separated?" he asked, still unhappy with the circumstances, "How long must we be apart? I feel like we're chickens getting sorted for the slaughterhouse..."


Up on the stage, Clurie shifted and struggled still, trying his best to pull himself up from the floor. His body felt so heavy, which was strange for a change considering that most of the time he was as light as a flake of ash. He glanced around, his eyes spotting two little female Plagues huddling together for fear, and the Book Plague himself, looking terrifically bothered and worried. There was a golden little Caedos who looked absolutely filled with ire for her new position away from her Grimm and there was another fluffy headed batlike Excito that seemed to feel the same way: irritated. There was also a familiar white petal dress and Clurie scowled at the Plague it belonged to. He had never had a good encounter with her.

Steeling himself, biting his teeth, Clurie managed to bring himself up to hang atop his arms, panting at the ground. Weakly, he glanced down at Hopkin who was straining and trying to speak, trying to move towards one plague in particular, the little ones who were huddled together. He was having as hard a time as he was. Moving slowly, Clurie reached forward and plucked little Hopkin from the ground with his ashen claws, positioning him closer towards the Excito he sought the attention of. If they were together as Plagues, then they might as well be together with those they felt comfortable with. Clurie dropped Hopkin carefully upon the ground next to Lettie and the Chayele.

"There..." he mumbled, "Better?"

Silver-green eyes skimmed over a young woman, before snapping back to her with near-frightening intensity. Yizhaq's hands tightened on the armrests of his seat, until his tanned knuckles turned white with the effort it took not to jump to his feet, and stride down the stairs to the lower seats.

Felicity Wilkes.

That was Jin-ho's folly, no? One of many traitors that had walked the halls of the Fellowship before its Purging. His jaw tightened, then, as he remembered stealing the assistant's feelings, the strongest of his thoughts concerning her and hers.

But she was a Grimm, and that meant one thing...

"Unacceptable!" It was a harsh whisper, barely more than the passing of breath from his lips. The House, welcomed here? The Council played games they did not fully understand, and there might soon be more blood and taint upon the hands of them all.

His serious eyes found Chauhn, then, his beloved page, and one that had left his service. It had been for his own good, one might say, for Yizhaq hoped beyond measure that the boy had already seen the darkest steps of his path. His Lord, however, continued further down a trail of death, and it was not something he wished upon the boy.

And yet.

Perhaps they would be able to speak, soon, though Hayat had seemed certain that he should be left behind. To study and to flourish. The Lord found himself on the edge of action, when the silver quietus spoke again, causing him to settle back, stare steely.

Weapons drawn, a threat made, and something stilled in the man, as he came to a more firm understanding.

This was indeed a stage, a theatre, and they were all little more than an audience and its actors. It seemed that the actors themselves had not been privy to the entire script, from the whispers that shot through the room, and the awkward phrasing of Eramus himself.

Death, then? Time would tell.

-----

This was not to her liking.

Yizhaq was too far away, as were all of their true allies, minus one. One who had yet to speak to her, in a way that was odd. It struck her deeply, and the gryfalcon found herself less concerned with the careful words that tumbled from Eramus in favor of considering the Anhelo she knew as Clurie.

As her forced 'ease' slid away, the Servos turned to regard him, her pale face holding the slightest of frowns. Confusion, perhaps?

It was compounded on several levels. Hayat knew not what she had done to injure him so, and further, she did not know why his obvious lack of attention disturbed her so deeply.

In the crowd of the unknown, were they not still allies? Friends, as he called it?

"Clurie," her voice, always steady, hailed him, like a breeze through the crowded room. "I should prefer that we..." She fell quiet then, as another spoke, a voice of some reason. Hayat, of course, was in no need to calm herself, but still, her dark eyes shifted briefly to the Excito as she spoke, instructed them.

It was, indeed, a cage. That much had been apparent from the start. A bird was familiar with such things.

"Armaud, I am called Hayat. Please tell us, then, how we may best use our combined abilities." It was worth it to listen, no? None of them liked this situation, clearly, and should she lead them astray... Well.

It was not as if she wasn't outnumbered.

To see that he guards may move to kill a frightened boy set something cold in Shati's chest. They were made to sit and separate for the comfort of others whom at least she had never seen. Their names were familiar, certainly, but they had never chosen to make themselves known to each and every Grimm, as far as she could tell. As the Plague spoke she turned her head to the stage, attempting to catch Fillin's eye. All of the Excito seemed... otherwise interested, whether it be in the others of their size or... something else entirely. Their resistance may be met with death, and yet they were given no reason for their captivity beyond the premise of some kind of... talk. Her worry was not placed in the combination of Council and Fellowship, but instead on the reason for this meeting. It couldn't be possible that they would all be culled... could it? Her fingers gripped the arm of her chair and her breathing turned shallow. All of the others still seemed as upset as she. it was somewhat reassuring...

- - -

There were nearly no Plagues that Fillin recognized, and so his suspicion did not dull. Hayat was there, and although he had not spoken to her that he could remember she held some of his respect. She was, after all, the first Plague he'd met even before his fur had sloughed off, and she and her Grimm had been the ones to out him in a way he could not. He gravitated toward her and listened as the small brown Plague spoke. A trickster, an escape artist... danger. They could all be 'killed' as the speaker had so vaguely threatened, but did it work the other way? If a Plague revolted, would their Grimm be killed?

...bah, like they could catch him! He had evaded capture several times now, and had he not been lured by Shati's trust he may even have managed to elude them this time. Were he any more logical and any less spiteful, he may have considered the issue posed to the entire congregation. Instead, he addressed Armaud, whose item of origin he could not quite place. She was a Caedos, like him, and so she earned some modicum of trust by nature.

"How would we escape this place?" he nodded, agreeing with his gyrfalcon compatriot.

In that moment all of Dan's nervous movement came to a stop, his body almost deathly still. Understandable, considering they had just threatened the entire audience and their plagues with death. If the Council of Sciences was trying to build trust between itself and the grimms, they were certainly doing a piss poor job of it as far as he was concerned. Then again, it had been suggested that most of this was because of the emperor, under which case such extreme security measures might be understood.... but that didn't make Dan any happier. The announcement that there were full out cultists in the audience didn't help his happiness either, and yet.... that, along with the statement that they would not arrest a thief in the audience, actually brought a strange sense of comfort. Despite the overt threats to the audience to behave, they were showing true neutrality in not going after what they considered to be threats, and that absolute neutrality intrigued the young mage almost against his will. If it weren't for his separation with Nella and the near ham handed threat of death, Dan might have actually have been looking forward to what he could find out here quite a bit. As things were however, he simply waited, tense and somewhat intrigued, his gaze never far from his lantern on the stage.

In that moment his lantern finally regained control of her body again, and she nearly cried out in relief when she once again floated into an upright position. The fact that she was surrounded by mostly unfamiliar company stopped her before she did however, and while there were some familiar faces in the crowd they were few and far between. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke out, and Armaud's words made her pause. She hated being trapped up her like some sort of circus animal and badly wanted to return to Dan, that much was true, but at the same time she didn't want to do anything that could lead to Dan being hurt - or worse. There was also the fact that the new caedos referred to herself as a trickster, so who was to say that she wasn't trying to trick them? Even so.... in that moment the phasmas didn't see anything better that she could do, and so she quietly floated closer to Armaud, figuring that it wouldn't hurt to listen to what she had to say.

The sound of shuffling feet behind Chauhn's head prompted the boy to spin in his seat and come face to face with dozens of rifles. His green eyes widened and he froze in place, looking into the dead eyes of all the Imperial Guards who stood ready and silent, their grips firm on the bodies of the weapons they carried. There was never a time before when Chauhn had actually come face to face with the guard, he had been much to small and much to insignificant for that, but now, singled out in the crowd, Chauhn found himself despairing his hasty actions. He could not put his own safety on the line when his staying alive was explicitly tied to the existence of his Plague. Feeling his mouth dry with fear, betrayal of what he had first assumed was a courteous meeting, something involving chairs and tables, a welcome place and not a studious and strict seating arrangement as thus far provided by the Council, Chauhn tried his hardest to swallow and nod. The gravity of the situation could not be denied, not when they would go as far to threaten a boy with death for getting out of his seat. Chauhn was beyond relief when the words of General Diedthelm lowered the weapons of the Guard. Chauhn was afraid to slump again, instead turning and sitting straight backed and stiff in his chair, his face haunted and shoulders trembling. He had to remain still, he had to melt back into the masses, anything to keep himself out of trouble, for Clurie's sake.

Hanging his head, strands of hair falling into his face, the boy looked out across the audience, his eyes dark and wanting, almost embarrassed, specifically when his name was mentioned by the silver man. A pang of wariness snapped through his spine. His name? How did the man know that he, specifically, was Chauhn Clemmings? The boy sank further into the seat, edging himself toward Wickwright, used to safety in numbers.

He did not, in any right, feel as safe as the letter had promised he would be.

Swinging his eyes around, looking for those he could rely on since he could not rely on those organizing the event, Chauhn found his gaze lingering on his Lord. For a while, he stared at the man. He hadn't seen him in months and their last meeting had been one of panic, a struggle buried deep in the effects of Spring's horrors. They hadn't even had the chance to give each other a proper goodbye. He had received his dismissal from Hayat, not the Lord himself, and it was that sudden and unexplained cast off that hurt Chauhn still. He tried his best to communicate that hurt, that abrupt abandonment, with the steady stare of his green gaze. There was no hiding the fact that he longed for his Lord's company again.

Breaking free, he looked elsewhere, and found his eyes training on the other bodies in the audience, one in particular, another boy about his age. He seemed quite afraid as well, suddenly aware of the Imperial Guards and their lack of hesitation when it came to threatening those who did not amend to the codes and conduct of the strange meeting. He hoped that nothing would happen to him.

As for other familiar faces, Chauhn glanced and found another one, the face of a man he had not seen in some time, not since he had been gravely wounded in the Spring. Sure enough, the one armed man was coming to, still taking his time to come to his senses, but he couldn't blame him. The effects of the magic aided travel were heavy and difficult to shake.

Over all, Chauhn felt uneasy, all the more so by the coldness of it all. He glanced again towards Wickwright, his wariness plain on his face. He was afraid to speak again lest he cause another distraction.


Clurie's wandering attention, drowsily snapping up and then slumping back down as he wrestled for control over the reigns that controlled his body, was eventually snatched by a familiar steady voice. Moving himself onto his knees, he dragged his blackened eyes reluctantly towards the little black form of Hayat. She had begun to say something, but her words were choked off by the long cold rambling of the white Anhelo standing at the podium. Clurie tried to pay attention to the strange man, but he was quickly lost among his mechanical listing of events around the room. One of which involved ihs blasted Grimm. Clurie shook his head in disgust, trying his hardest not to glance towards his possessive and panicking Grimm. He was an embarrassment, no matter the situation, reasons, or explanations, he always was a mistake. Even if he could reason that the boy's forward defensiveness was endearing, he would rather jump into a lake than admit anything of the sort. He purposefully turned his back to his Grimm, instead focusing on the voice of Hayat. He preferred talking to an Excito who had sentenced him to coldness and struggle, hacking away his support, his life line, and throwing him into forced dependence on Chauhn, his supposed mortal enemy, than even glance at his stupid Grimm.

"Prefer what?" asked Clurie in a whisper. He still hadn't quite gained control of his voice, but he intended to communicate all his bitter feelings towards her. He had adored her once upon a time, revered her, wanted nothing more than to make her proud, and she sentenced him to the worst kind of exile. Hadn't she realized that what she had done was far worse than allowing them to drag behind the Lord's ankles? He depended on her company and if it weren't for the Malt Brothers, Clurie would have surely gone mad and done something terrible to his pining Grimm. "Prefer that you use me now that I've once again gained some kind of purpose towards your plans? What? You only use me when you see fit anyways and cast me away when I'm of no longer use. What is it that you would prefer now?"

Then another Excito spoke and the Plague heaved another sigh of worry and irritation. His cheeks flared embers and he yanked his hat to the side, skewing its bill behind his head as he settled his weight on his hands, still sitting on his knees. He leaned forward to focus on the other brown Exicto, whose name was announced as being Armaud. "Oh, great, now what's going on? A cage? What the...Why would the Emperor not like us? We haven't done anything to him." It sounded as if she had a plan, and, glancing again at Hayat, he opened his hand for her, beckoning her towards him with the curl of his ashen claws. He may have retained all those bitter feelings, but he couldn't help that he still retained his hopeful feelings from before. They should at least stick together, perhaps like they once did, a pair of companions. There was a certain comfort in simply being close.

"Sure, what should we do and why should we trust you, a trickster?" he asked.