[PKMN FULL] Crimson Dawn: A Tale of Conquest (IC)

[Ray Maverick]

Ambrose & Petrina
Important OOC Post
​

"Once Ingvar was vanquished, the Gold Tribe raised their own Emperor to rule Exathor, Theradras. And he and Vigil built the White Citadel at the edge of the island, a fortress competing the Obsidian Citadel of Alamagna in size. Theradras used white rock to instill the pure essence of the Exathian sovereign ruler who lived inside these walls, and gilded the battlements and spikes to remind the people of the presence of the peacekeepers, who had also made their home here.

The clean, unstained shine of this fortress appealed to the smallfolk who had fought against the Illinkar. They all admired the tall walls of the mighty fortress and were inspired by its purity, even before its completion. And, as their heroes of liberty lived in the white and golden fortress, the free people of Exathor thought to live near them. First, they made settlements in front of the fortress; secondly, atop a hill near the fortress, the smallfolk built a golden statue of the Gold Tribe leaders, Vigil the Bisharp, Pyrodax the Charizard and Vellas the Aerodactyl.

When people decided to live close to those who freed them from the chains of ice, a city was founded. A city in which the governing body of the island lived together with the people. Thus, it was called the City of Union."

Ambrose remembered what was written in the Modern History of Exathor, a book that was taught in the ECUL. The stumpy Shiftry marched with the rest, stepping past the hill where the statue was. The people who forged it from gold even paid attention to detail, like the two crystals on the Bisharp's belt. Vigil was raising one hand, to wave as if, Pyrodax lay upon a rock, sleepy-like, and Vellas had his wings spread wide open and his jaws dropped; one could almost hear the shrill cry that his kind usually let out.

The parade was nearing its end now. The White Citadel dominated the skyline of Exathor in front of them, with mountains with icy tops visible behind it. About time, Ambrose thought, smirking and chewing grumpily on his cheroot. He glanced on the lass beside him. "You okay there, lass?"

It was difficult for the White Citadel not to impress Petrina. For a 'mon who had barely ever left her home in the mountains, the fantastic structures that existed around here were things she dreamt about, not the reality she was used to. She barely even realised the Shiftry was talking to her, much less did she listen to what he was talking about, instead musing to herself. "Maybe if I survive, I should come and live here..."


***


Two hours later, Gold Tribe and Otori troops were stationed inside the White Citadel. Prince Cyrus had especially told Ambrose not to settle down in any part of the Citadel but the Vaults of Reflection, for protection. That's where the Beartic and his father were teleported; the Gold Tribe and the imperial family were going to stay inside the cells for now, the Emperor had decided. Ambrose agreed readily to that safety measure; he wanted Garland and his group to scour the palace clean before Cyrus claimed the Sky Throne and the Gilded Chambers. Ambrose didn't pry, but Dareon was too sick to complain; the dragon's color had lifted from his face and he was hurried inside one of the vast cells of the lower levels, before anyone saw him. The Shiftry took pity on the Ampharos, who could hardly keep on his feet.

The SIA was there too, along with all of their invisible Drifloons; the Glameow and the Purrloin that Ambrose disliked distinctly. They said they were trying to locate a Prophet of the Crusade in the city, who had prophecized of what would happen if Dareon had not stepped down. They informed Emperor Cyrus that the leaders of the People's Militia wanted to be present in the meeting of the Generals that would happen the day after. Meanwhile, as Cyrus had been transported to the palace, he summoned a few of the Gold Tribe, including Ambrose and Petrina, to start preparing the defenses of the fortress. He seemed stressed, stating that they mustn't forget that Thrace was coming, just because of what was happening in the castle.

So, they got to the Defense Center, and started preparing. The shielding system of the fortress, that was much like the one the airships used, was re-calibrated and tested. That system was drawing its energy from the sky, where the barrier of Exathor was; it was able to create a much stronger protective wall than the engines of a simple airship, so Ambrose had hopes that it would prove useful against Thrace... if only for a bit. More Hyper Beam cannons were installed on the walls all around the city and on the fortress; they were also loaded with batteries, tested. Ambrose smiled at the big gun, the ultimate laser cannon that was built by Dareon's father inside a tower of the fortress. That could compete with Arceus himself; that's what all those who regulated the Defenses of the White Citadel banked on.

Meanwhile, in the top floor of the Glass Tower, an airship had docked: the Trade Prince's airship, the one that was built on Amoon. The Sky Guard of the fortress was all over it; and with good reason, for it transported the invaluable crystal that the Gold Tribe had procured from the Obelisk of Stars. A crystal which held Keeper in it! The news had spread quickly, of course, having started even during the first days of their march back home.

Ambrose went down to the main hall of the Vaults of Reflection with the rest of his team, where the Gold Tribe stayed for the time being; he knew he would see Jacob and Zack, as those two reportedly went with the Trade Prince and were holding the crystal right now.

Jacob had muttered something about finding his sister and darted off to the cells. Skysaber fell on a chair in front of the desk where the Trade Prince had seated himself, one leg upon the other. Zack sighed, sinking into the chair, his eyes turning to the back of his head.

"I'm so tired," he moaned.

"Hey, peep-squeak," Ambrose shouted at the Electabuzz, "no lollygagging. Show me the goodies!"

"Oh, that," Zack said and grabbed the crystal from his belt.

"Not to worry," Achilles said softly; he was wearing glasses that gave him the look of the young, studious man with authority. Ambrose thought he looked like the nerds in ECUL; the severe image of the Trade Prince struck a vein in him. He didn't like this man, who always seemed so calm and icy. "Everything is tame, Tempest," he said, "except for the fact that Keeper is trapped inside the crystal. It is a tragedy!"

"It is," Ambrose agreed curtly. "Hopefully, you'll prove useful in some way in solving this problem," he said condescendingly. The Medicham seemed unfazed.

"I shall," he said dreamily. The Shiftry nodded and looked away, to the Electabuzz.

"Give me that," he ordered Zack and went over where Zack was sitting to fiddle with the transparent crystal.

 

[Turnip]

Book Wurmples
Featuring Pendro 'Reaching Mind' Malis, Cassandra 'Peacekeeper' and Tavhir 'Restless' Eldren.
​

As tended to be the case whenever he was left to his own devices, Pendro Malis gravitated towards the nearest library almost as soon as he was given the chance. The library section of the Vaults just so happened to be his target at the moment; in this case it had not only embedded its reputation in his mind, but was hardly easy to miss what with it being in the foundations of the very much visible White Citadel.

It wasn't, however, as much of an exercise in window-shopping and dismissal of the masses of text he'd already read as were his usual trips to the library. The Metang was here for something rather specific: after an uneasily casual affirmative from Ambrose, he was granted access to some arguably sensitive documents written in the 'older than the old' language. It wasn't so much the documents as the language itself; that was the truly interesting thing for Pendro, and with the history behind it, a simple language barrier could potentially be the key behind many of the world's problems - notably, of course, Thrace and the Crimson Crusade.

Placing the cloth-wrapped tomes gingerly down onto one of the many desks available in the Vaults' library section, Pendro could barely contain his absorption. Softly, carefully, he prepared himself to unlock the secrets of a time long past...

As Pendro prepared himself, Cassandra, meanwhile, had wandered in herself, looking up in awe at the vast collection of books the Vaults had to offer.

"I could get lost in here," she said to herself, slowly walking down the aisles, her feet clicking softly against the glass floor. She traced her hand over each row of books, visually scanning over the spines and reading the titles. In her days at the ECUL, she had only come to the Vaults for study, and while studying could be fun on it's own, she had longed for a day where she could explore the entirety of the collection on her own volition. They had little time for leisure, but she figured she could at least sneak in one good book before things progressed on the war front.

As she wandered, she saw the familiar white sheen of Pendro, the Metang situated at a desk with books already in hand and ready. "Pendro in a library. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised," she said with a friendly grin.

"GAAAH- goodness, Xerneas preserve me, not sure I'll ever get used to, erm... general and perfectly calm social greetings- anyway, hello!" Pendro tapped very lightly on the books on his desk. "Don't, uh- be, erm, those books are old, so, uh, careful and caution and all of those generally relatable things. Sorry, er- hi!"

Cassandra gave a small laugh; Pendro's nervousness never ceased to amuse her. "Isn't this place amazing?" she asked, turning to look at the plethora of shelves, each lined with hundreds of books of all kinds. "When this is all over, I'm going to take a vacation right here, just me and these books!" She smiled, before turning back to Pendro, taking notice of the books he had on the desk. "Old books? What are they about?"

Pendro laughed anxiously. "Probably, erm... something old. Can't say for certain. Haven't opened them yet, probably won't understand them for a while even when I do- it's, erm... possibly important. Might not be, but, uh, might be yet; worth a try, I suppose... regardless, they can probably wait for a little bit. Probably more relevant things for now. Maybe- uh, something."

"I see," Cassandra said, not quite sure what Pendro meant. She was interested in the books he had, considering she herself couldn't read the cover in whatever language it was in. "More relevant things? Like what?"

"Mmmmmrrrrrmm..." Pendro murmured in obvious discomfort. "It's... egh, I should probably be, erm-" The Metang glanced around for nearby 'mon, and finding none, turned his attention back to the Lilligant. "Right, I... okay, please, please don't take this the wrong way, but I- am... am I your friend, Cassandra?"

"I... what?" Cassandra looked at him, puzzled. "Of course you are, what kind of question is that?" The Lilligant frowned slightly, not understanding where he was going with this. "We're both Gold Tribe. You're my brother, and I'm your sister in this. That makes you my friend."

The Metang shook his head. "Nope, no, no, no, no, no no no no- forget the Gold Tribe, please, I- just imagine it isn't a thing, and answer the question again... I'm really sorry, I am, but please just do this..."

Cassandra grew worried, placing a hand on Pendro's arm. "I am your friend, Pendro. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, heavens above..." Pendro sighed deeply with relief. "I- thank you, really- I'm just... I'm really sorry I had to ask that, I just... I had to. I couldn't, I, erm... I'm not even sure what I couldn't," He closed his eyes briefly before shaking his head. "That, erm... when you said before, back in Amoon- that if... if Dareon fell, there'd be nothing left to fight for, I just-" He sighed again. "I'm sorry, I should have just... something else."

"Pendro, I'm confused," Cassandra replied, pulling up a chair and sitting at the desk with the Metang. "What's the matter? Speak your mind; don't be afraid of offending me."

Reaching Mind exhaled, descending to rest on a chair with his arms flopping over the sides. "I'm just... I just really don't know what I'm even doing with myself any more..." He looked to the floor. "I don't know about the Tribe, it's... it's good, but it's... I don't even know... it's obvious I can't leave now; here's the best place for me at the moment, but it's... I just get the feeling my morals don't quite... line up. I joined because... if I'm honest, I'm not sure I put much thought into it. It was as if it was already decided I'd join. And I thought it'd be an exercise in protecting the innocent- and it is, but it's... it's different. The thought of bending to the whims of a 'mon who essentially killed his way to a position of power, and is so willing to throw away others for his own causes, it's... it's sickening. And it's only my devotion to, well... everyone who deserves my devotion, and not to die at the hand of Yveltal that's, well... that's keeping me going... I don't mean that- I mean, I have hope for Cyrus. I really do, but I just feel... constricted. I'm not the same 'mon who took that oath... well, I am, of course - I'm not pulling a Shadowrend on anyone, but I just... hmm. At some point in the future, I'm going to have to take a long, long while to just... think."

Cassandra sat for a moment in silence. She wasn't used to seeing Pendro open himself up like this, but she was glad he was, for once. The Lilligant couldn't help but give an awkward chuckle. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, but... you sound just like Tavhir. He's told me almost the same thing before."

She paused for a moment, rubbing her hands nervously. She didn't know how to respond to Tavhir, and she certainly didn't know how to respond now. "Listen, I understand how it feels. These past few weeks have made me - and most of us, I feel - begin to really question what we're doing, whom we're serving, and if we've made the right decisions. I joined the Gold Tribe to protect Exathor, protect the Union, and keep peace between the nations." The Lilligant paused, letting out a sigh as she pieced together her thoughts. "I know Dareon wasn't exactly the greatest Emperor Exathor's ever had. Goodness knows Tavhir wasn't particularly thrilled with his rule either... but then again Tavhir isn't particularly thrilled with anything."

She gave a meek chuckle at her own joke, until she realized she was getting off topic. "But regardless, I think Cyrus has more sense and compassion than his father did. Perhaps we should wait and see how Exathor fares under his leadership in this time of crisis. I... I know that probably doesn't help, but you're a good person, I know it, and I know you being here in the Gold Tribe isn't a mistake."

Pendro was silent for a long time as Cassandra spoke, his contemplative frown growing slowly into a weak smile. Eventually, he took a deep breath and let it out before speaking. "I should probably say something, but I'm not sure my words are working."

Cassandra gave a nod, smiling faintly. "Maybe you should talk to Garland, and let him know of your troubles. You could also talk to Tavhir, see if the two of you can help each other out... though don't be offended if he declines the offer." She gave another small laugh. "He can be a bit of a lone wolf like that." Peacekeeper was about to stand, before turning back to Pendro again. "Well... I was going to go see if I could find a good book here, but if you want me to, I can keep you company while you're here."

"Well, I, erm..." The Metang began, pausing to lift himself slightly from his seat with his arms so as to be at a more reasonable height. "I, uh... I don't mean to be a bother, but it... it would be nice. Although," He paused to laugh lightly before shrugging. "I don't see any reason why you can't do both; with all the time I've spent around books, if I can't help you find a good one, I'm not sure who can."

"Actually," Cassandra noted, reaching for her satchel. "I should probably get to work on that letter for Vennson." She pulled out a pen and paper, placing them neatly on the desk away from Pendro's books before beginning to write. "So, what kind of books were you looking at again?"

The Metang glanced around again, still finding no other 'mon around. Apparently, libraries weren't everyone's cup of tea with the Crimson Crusade going on and a newly crowned Emperor being welcomed.

"Hm, go figure," Pendro murmured, before turning his attention back to Cassandra and his books on the table. "Right, um, these are... well, heh, it, uh, feels a little bit naughty that I've actually managed to get a hold of these - Tempest didn't seem to care much - complications about a previous Wise Master and rarity and preservation and such. Managed to get them from the, erm... 'Forbidden Archive', would you believe it..."

Gingerly, Reaching Mind unwrapped the cloth that still covered most of the books, revealing several tomes that looked just a little bit worse for wear. On the front of them was written a language that neither of the pair could understand, for now. Pendro looked back up at Cassandra with what could only be described as an excited smile.

"Nothing like an interesting new book to get me back in a good mood..." He laughed.

"That's the spirit," Cassandra said with a grin. "So you're on official business then?"

"Official? Erm... you could say that, but it's hardly as though I wouldn't jump at the opportunity anyway," Distrustful of his metal claws, Pendro carefully opened the book with a psychic grasp. He glanced over the page before nodding. "Hmm... yep. That is, uh, definitely not readable."

Cassandra glanced over the book, squinting slightly, as though it would make a difference. Needless to say, neither Pendro and Cassandra could read the language written. "I'll say," she replied, studying the characters briefly. "What are you meant to do with this?"

The Metang scanned the text, eyes brimming with curiosity. "Translate it, read it, learn the language... use it for, erm, things. Not sure if this'll help against Thrace, but, eh... well, if there's a chance, it's worth a try, right?" He put a claw on his chin. "I could probably do with a few comparison texts from Common Tongue and the Old Language. Shame there aren't any books here. Be right back."

Reaching Mind rose from his seat at the table. He floated to the nearest shelf, picking a random book and flicking through it before placing it over on his desk. After murmuring for a little while about languages and glossaries, he floated to another shelf, flipped through another book and flung it psychically on top of the previous one. He turned back to leave, but stopped to fling another two books across the shelves to a pair of different shelves with a tut and a roll of his eyes.

"Hmm," Pendro noted as he returned to the desk. "Interesting. If I were as good on the battlefield as I am at library management, I might actually be able to do... things. How's, erm- how's the letter, Cass? Cassandra? I don't- is there a preference for that? Sorry."

"Either one works," Cassandra replied, "I know we're Gold Tribe and we have our titles, but using those sounds too... official. Amongst friends, I don't mind if you use my name, or a shortened version of it," she added with a small laugh. She turned her attention back to the letter, her smile fading slightly. "The letter is... well, it's definitely a letter." She frowned at the paper, sighing once as she looked at what she had written so far. "I'm not sure what Cyrus intends with this scheme of his. I mean, three generals? It has never been done before. I remember in my history lessons, rare times where there have been two generals, but three?" She grimaced, resting her chin on her hand. "I just hope Cyrus knows what he's doing."

"Hmmm," Pendro murmured in agreement. "At least, I suppose, it's better than just having two potential enemies in the only available positions. Seems in the recent weeks, bitter compromises have been becoming something of a staple..." The Metang flipped all three books laid in front of him open, though before he began scanning them, he turned to the Lilligant, scratching the side of his head with a claw. "Erm, you know, seeing as I'm here - probably a missed opportunity if I don't bother asking - uh, do you think there's, um... anyone you, er, might know or, uh, know of who could, erm - just per- uh, perchance - perhaps help me with my, uh..." He coughed. "Uh... battle problem, erm... thing? I mean, it's perfectly fine if you don't, I don't mean to bother, I'd just really rather not be a, uh... liability?"

"Battle problem?" Cassandra asked, a tad confused. "Oh! Right. I see what you mean." She pondered over the question, tapping her hand on the desk. "Well, I guess it depends on whom you want to talk to. Lenora seems like she'd be able to help with that kind of thing. Garland too, since he's our leader. Other than that... I believe Tavhir had a sort of combat and general tutor in Skyhaven, but I can't remember their name..." She gave an apologetic shrug, returning back to her writing. "Aside from the last one, the other two might be able to help you better than I."

Pendro smiled, chuckling sheepishly. "I recall my last and, erm, first meeting with the Seer didn't turn out particularly well. Thanks for getting me out of that, by the way; I was only digging myself an exponentially bigger hole with every question and answer. Heh, regardless, I think talking with Lenora may well require me to drown my embarrassment with a good helping of tea..."

Cassandra giggled a bit. "Yeah, Seer can be a bit off-putting with her demeanor, I've noticed, but that's just how she is. Seeing her in Amoon, I think she can be really understanding when you get past her exterior." She wrote a few more lines on her paper, tapping on her chin in thought. "Well, maybe Garland could help if you didn't want to talk to Seer, or you could see if my brother could show you what his tutor taught him."

"Right, I'll... well, I'll definitely think about it," The Metang said. "With, erm... with any luck I'll find the courage to actually do something about it some time soon. Thanks for the advice, and thanks for... for understanding. It's a bit..." Pendro cast his eyes downwards. "It's actually getting quite silly with the amount of things I have to be thankful for, when I'm not sure I've really done anything to deserve it or repay it, so - well, if you ever need anything, you know where I'll be. Erm, anywhere with books, books are usually where I am..."

The Lilligant smiled, gently patting the Metang's arm. "Anytime. Gold Tribe or not, we're still friends." She gave Pendro a reassuring smile, before turning back to her paper. "Now then... to finish this letter..."

Before she could finish writing, she heard the sound of metal tapping against the glass floors. She looked up, seeing the familiar form of a Pawniard, arms crossed as he stared at the Lilligant.

"Cassandra," Tavhir said, looking at his sister intently. "I've been looking all over for you. We need to talk."

"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm finishing up the letter to father. What is it?"

Tavhir looked at Pendro, who gave a meek wave and a barely audible 'Hi'. The Pawniard ignored him, looking back at his sister and shaking his head, "No offense, Pendro, but it's a private matter."

"I see," Cassandra replied, beginning to pack up her things before turning back to Pendro. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Oh, erm, okay," Pendro said. "Have fun! Er, hmm, fun really isn't the right word- sorry..."

"I'll be back later," Cassandra said to Pendro, before turning back to Tavhir.

"Good. Come with me," Tavhir said, almost impatiently, to his sister, the two of them walking off away from any others in the Vaults. Pendro sighed lightly, before returning to his trio of books.

 

[GastlyGibus]

I'm on a plain, I can't complain
|The Imperatorium|​

"Did you hear the news?"

"About that fool Dareon stepping down as was demanded?" The Braixen turned her head slightly to her back, seeing the familiar face of Rax walking over to where she stood. They remained still, standing on a hill on the rolling plains a small distance away from Union City. Atris turned back to see the brilliant white walls of the city, eyeing them with distaste. Here they camped, waiting for news to return of whom would succeed Vektor as Hesperian General. Both Rax and Atris knew Halford was most likely, but with Cyrus in charge... it was difficult to be certain.

"Yeah, s'bout time that scrob took that stinkin' crown off his head," Rax replied indifferently. "Though I'm not sure his son will be any better for us."

"Cyrus will come to see reason," Atris said, the Braixen crossing her arms. "Whether by fate or by force makes no difference, and I'm sure Halford feels the same way."

"But those Gold Tribe blokes done beat back Vektor," Rax replied, letting out a huff in displeasure from the mention of the tribe. "And with Cyrus leadin' them, I have a feelin' they'll be winning more to their side. This doesn't bode well for us."

Atris closed her eyes, exhaling smoke from her nostrils. "You miss the point, my dear Rax," she said. "Whether we win or lose is irrelevant. Halford can have all the fun he wants trying with brute force and political favors. Our battle will not be won with war, but with words."

"I'm not sure I follow, dove," Rax said with a raised eyebrow. "Ain't the whole point of this to wipe those Stygian, sorry excuses for Pokemon off the map?"

"In an ideal world, that would be the objective," the Braixen answered. "And as long as this war continues we will fight for that, but I suspect that will not be the outcome." She finally turned away from Union City, looking Rax in the eyes with a calculating glare. "Regardless of who wins or loses, the damage has been done. The Stygians have put their barbarism on display for the whole of Exathor to see. They've done it before, they do it again now, and if history is any indication, they will continue to do so long into the future. How long until the Hesperians' tolerance runs out?"

She closed her eyes, looking towards Halford and his army. "Halford has the right idea, and after all is said and done, I believe a good majority of Hesperia will come to agree and see the Stygians for what they really are." She gave a small smile, before her expression turned serious once more. "And when they do, then this union will be broken, and then... we'll have our victory."

Rax couldn't help but chuckle at the prospect. He hoped she was right, but she was a smart 'mon, and part of him knew she was right. "You've given this some thought, haven't ya?"

"You could say that," Atris said with a smirk. "But for now, we must wait. Soon enough, and all the pieces shall fall into their proper place."

***​

Tavhir led Cassandra away from Pendro, to a remote section of the Vaults, away from any would-be eavesdroppers. Once they were a good distance away, Tavhir finally spoke. "I meant to bring this up sooner, but you were wounded in Amoon, and I had to help with the defense. Now that we have a moment..." the Pawniard looked up at his sister inquisitively. "That Braixen at Stoneyard. Did you know her?"

Cassandra frowned, bowing her head slightly at the mention of that woman. "Yes, I did. A long time ago, she was my friend. Was. Our relationship had been strained before you came to our family, and I haven't seen her since... well, until a few weeks ago, that is."

"You haven't seen her since?" Tavhir asked, confused. "She seemed to know everything about me, our family, and... my origins."

The Lilligant grimaced. That damn Atris had probably been keeping tabs on her since Cassandra abandoned them. Why was Atris so obsessed with her? "She's always been a crafty one... I wouldn't be surprised if she's been spying on me ever since.

"But why?" Tavhir questioned, scratching his head. "Why would she want to spy on you? What purpose would it serve? On the off chance that she ever met you again? I... I don't understand."

"I stopped questioning the sanity of that woman a long time ago," Cassandra answered, shaking her head. "She's always been a zealot, obsessed with her goals and intent on ruining anybody who crosses her." She bent down to Tavhir's level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, I know better her better than anyone else. You have to ignore what she says. That's how she beats you, by tripping you up with her mind games until you're too distraught to fight effectively."

Tavhir wanted to ask more, but he could tell it was a topic his sister did not like to revisit. He held his tongue, satisfied enough with her answer, closing his eyes and nodding. "I understand. Hopefully we won't have to see her again, for both our sakes."

Cassandra stood straight, adjusting the strap on her satchel. "I said that to myself when I was little, but somehow we ended up here. If she was after the Dark Star, I have a feeling our paths will cross again sometime in the future."

"Then we'll be ready for her next time," Tavhir replied. "Sorry to disrupt you and Pendro, I just needed to know."

"Of course, it's fine," Cassandra said, a small smile appearing on her face. "We'll worry about her when that time comes. For now, we'd best get back to work."

Tavhir nodded an affirmative, Cassandra returning to Pendro with her brother resuming his patrol duties.

 

[KajiVenator]

All Shook Up
Garland Fordring, Isak Mategu​

Garland had set teams of his comrades scouring the White Citadel for any possible threat; he himself had gone to the gardens, with a few others, who were treading lightly through the trees. He himself stepped onto the rock of a high hill, feeling the wind blow through his orange fur. He smirked slightly, perturbed, and sniffed; the gardens were strange, not because of the snow, but because of the wind. It wasn't the northern wind that should have been blowing during this season; the wind was coming from the east, and fiercely so. Which was puzzling.

The Floatzel glanced at the wilderness, all around the hill in the middle of the royal gardens. From the mountains of the north, tortured by the thunderstorm, to the snow covered fields where the snowfall continued steadily, to the forests of the south...

It all moved with the wind. Trees, snowfall, they all bent to it. The wind that was blowing from the east, pushing against the eastern edge of the island.

Exathor is moving, Garland thought, breathlessly. It was an amazing, yet dreadful feeling. The people of the sky island always speculated that Exathor was moving, albeit very slowly. Others said it was moving very fast, and that there truly was no other land on the surface of the world below them, so the endless sea seemed always the same. But that wasn't true. When Garland looked past the edge of Exathor from this very hill, every single year of his life, he could see the waves on the sea, the foam they brought up, the whirlpools and the giant waves that the storms often erected.

Exathor was moving then, but slowly. Now it was moving fast. Gazing past the edge, below the island, there were grey, snow-filled clouds, but even beyond those, he saw the waves of the sea; the white foam, swirling. He felt it in his gut as the land beneath his feet soared the sky towards the east, and he did not know if it was for better or for worse.

He picked up a withered, yellow leaf, and crushed it in his paw, feeling the cold wind through his fur, again, with the thought of the island's movement inspiring another thought: was it Thrace's doing? He would have to ask Keeper... perhaps he would know what to make of it. Yveltal had destructive powers. She could tear the island to pieces - as she had done during the Great Sundering - but could she move it? That was silly to think of.

Next to the frozen lake, he saw one of his brothers, Isak Mategu. He had a reputation for being wild-like, and Garland suspected the Buneary's instincts might agree with his, so he called him up to the hill. "I can feel it," he told him, a bit wearily, "our island is moving... is it not?"

The Buneary did not immediately respond to the familiar voice. He could definitely sense something strange was afoot. He was struggling with his instincts to run, deep into the Royal Garden and find a place to hide until this blew over... whatever it was. It felt like the entire island was off-kilter. The rushing wind and clouds were just symptoms of a much larger problem... one which he could not discern. Pushing away the temptation, he ran up the hill, and meekly responded to Garland. "That... is probably what is happening, Garland, yes." His instincts certainly were not agreeing with him moving into a more open area, either.

"But where would it be going?" he asked, looking up at the solemn Floatzel.

Garland gazed at his yonder, at the grey skyline far to the east. All he could see was the endless extent of the sea. It was unthinkable to picture land emerging from the waters; and it was also unthinkable to picture other land, floating in the sky like theirs did. "Perhaps nowhere," he responded, "perhaps it does not have a destination. I do not imagine the island can think for itself, anyway... and if, in the world below us is only water, then the movement of our island may be futile. But I do not want to get ahead of myself - perhaps I am imagining things, and the island isn't moving. The wild Pokemon would know."

Garland was correct. If anyone knew for certain, it would be those that were not distracted by a war. "I believe they would know more than either of us, sir. They certainly are more attuned to the world than ones that live in cities... I will go ask them." Before the Floatzel had registered the footsteps, Isak had scurried off, away from the hill and into the forested garden.

Isak did not pay much attention to where he was going. All he could tell for certain is that he had to go the direction he was heading in... out of fear? Wait, get a hold of yourself! Whatever was going on, Isak was having a hard time focusing on the task at hand. Where was he now? Somewhere to the west of the hill? What was he doing again? Trying to find a Wild Pokemon to ask questions to.

It would probably be a good idea to actually track one instead of running in that direction, blindly. He sighed, before closing his eyes to focus on his hearing. His headache from the march had mostly subsided since arriving in the Citadel, so he easily noticed the subtle sounds of the quiet forest around him. The wind rushing through the leaves, the sounds of the wingbeats of birds, the buzzing of insects... no movement in the direct vicinity, though. Well, that wouldn't be very strange. If their instincts were stronger than his own, they would probably be halfway to Pyrgos by now, citadel walls notwithstanding.

He opened his eyes and glanced in the direction he felt tugged in. In the distance, he could easily spy the towering walls of the White Citadel that wrapped around this small forest. If there were any Wild Pokemon here, they were probably somewhere in that direction... Maybe he shouldn't have stopped after all? Ah, no matter. He might as well get back to running.

And run he did, quickly spanning the distance between him and the westernmost walls of the Citadel. His hunch was correct; as he drew closer to the wall, more Wild Pokemon crossed his view: A Kricketune darting through the flora, a newly-hatched Fletchling clinging on the branch of a tree, a proud Stantler staring at the walls... at the wall itself was a sizable congregation of Pokemon. They were all eyeing the wall, yearning to get past it and through the mountains. There were small groups of Drilbur clawing at the tristanite wall to no avail as flocks of bird Pokemon flew over it and out of sight. Isak felt the need to join them, but put aside the thought; he was there to ask questions, not flee for his life, as much as he wanted to.

Instead, he wandered closer to them. The panic in their eyes... Isak felt it too. The need to flee, the feeling of impending doom deep within himself. He surveyed the area, looking for any promising leads. His eyes locked with proud red eyes of an Absol, who was relaxing the shade of the trees nearby. This Absol must have been long-resigned to its fate of captivity, because it was only mildly interested in the scuffles at the wall, gazing over the Pokemon pitifully. Absol had long been considered an omen of destruction because of their tendency to warn others before disaster struck, but Isak understood better than that. Rather, they were attentive and empathetic Pokemon, Pokemon largely unperturbed by the world of civilization, who could interpret the movements of the wind, waters and earth itself far better than other Pokemon.

It saddened Isak to see such a Pokemon here, but he had a job to do. He cautiously walked up to the Absol, before quietly speaking to it in a way it would easily understand. The Absol responded in kind, its somber, melodic voice leaving an impression on Isak as he replied, the other Wild Pokemon still helplessly looking for escape from the howling winds.

* * *​

A breathless Isak soon rejoined Garland on the hill. When Isak found him, he was still staring off the edge of Exathor in deep thought.

"How did it go?" the Floatzel asked him, without looking at him.

"It was as you thought, sir. Exathor is moving, and strangely at that. The wild Pokemon are anxiously trying to claw their way through the walls of the Citadel, eager to flee... as I was."

"Eager to flee," Garland repeated thoughtfully, "flee from the edge of Exathor, where there is danger of falling from... correct?"

"Given the strength of the wind, even an Avalugg would want to move away, sir. Most of them seek refuge from this wind."

"I see..." the Floatzel murmured, "and do you think there is any danger for us?"

"Most likely. But it is not the wind that is most concerning. The Absol I spoke with spoke of tremors in the land. Distant ones, but concerning all the same." Fear returned to Isak's eyes as he spoke. "What is happening to our land, sir?"

The leader of the Gold Tribe sighed greatly. The wind blew his golden scarf behind his back; he took some time to answer. "Whatever it is, it can't be good. Have those in the defense of the Citadel look into the tremors. We'll have to identify the problem, first, before we attempt to fix it."

Isak quickly stood to attention, saluting the Floatzel with one paw to his bandaged head. "S-sir! Sir, yes sir!" He was eager to get away from this wind, even momentarily, and gladly sprinted back through the White Citadel to relay the message to the Defense Center.

 

[Greiger]

Love Me Tender​

From a restless march, to negotiations with a snobbish Crustle, to a parade... Today had been a hectic day for Beryl. She was thankful her for new assignment: search the castle for any threats to the Emperor's life. Isak was on this detail too... hopefully, we was doing alright. He had departed with Garland so she wasn't worried about his safety ,so much as that headache he had been complaining about since the start of the march. Beryl didn't feel too great, herself. A few more hours and she would probably be off-duty for a bit...

For now, however, she was searching. For what, she was not sure. Assassins, most likely, but a well-placed trap somewhere inconspicuous would also be a major threat. The Gold Tribe's task was to root any threat in the White Citadel, and, by Pyreas, she would do it. Up one hall, down another... she slowly did this for quite a while, finding nothing despite her attentiveness to detail. She had wandered these corridors for many years, and remembered many minute details that remained unchanged. Not even so much as a painting of former members of the Royal bloodline was out of place...

Maybe she just wasn't looking in the right areas? An assassin might be lurking about in hallway, but they might also be preparing to launch an attack... Perhaps, she would have more luck in the Roost of the Skythrone? That would be a prime location for an assassin... Oooh, why couldn't she have thought of that earlier! There could be an assassin there now!

What was the quickest way there? The corridors of the castle were out of the question. They were long and winding, without a direct route to the throne room... ah! If she turned down this hallway and went through the door on the left...

Running as quickly as she could, she travelled down the hall, not willing to risk a Rock Polish or Rollout technique in the middle of the castle. Still, she arrived at the doorway fairly quickly, and had to stop to grab its handle with her trunk. She was quick about pulling it open and stepped out in the blinding sunlight post-haste.

The Whitegold Court, that was where she was now. The primary entrance to the White Citadel, the Heavenly Door, stood at one end while the bridge spanning the trench surrounding the castle stood at the other. She just had to get through the large triansinite door and... was that Blaziken... drawing? And that Poliwhirl? Oh, no...

Hurrying over, she felt the need to berate the duo.

"What the hell do you think you are doing!? The Emperor could be on the brink of assassination, and you are... drawing!?"

There was no assassin out there, but the Court would be considered a great place to reap in some muse. And that was what Alphus was using it for. The Blaziken was currently working on the piece he had drawn of the parade before. He was shading what needed to be shaded, adding a bit of color here and there, and Dean was there to quickly turn about and hold his hands up to stop Beryl. "WHOA WHOA WHOA!" The Poliwhirl cried out, "Look, this is a private invitation party. Not an 'anyone come in' party, a private party. You get out or else the emperor might get mad!"

Alphus glanced back at Dean's shouting and signed a bit. Dean huffed at him, "Well it SHOULD concern the emperor, this is HIS parade drawing after all! If he wants it to turn out like sh*t, he would have stuck us in the dining hall or something." He crossed his arms and shook his head, "No way, no how, and no butts am I letting your concentration be warped. Now get back to shading while I escort this er... tusk guy off the premises." He turned to Beryl and waved his hands at him, "Shoo shoo, back into the citadel now. And honestly, i doubt the Emperor would get assassinated here. You know, Gold Tribe protecting him? How about you head back in and do that if you're so concerned and telling others off and all."

"Why I never... how could any member of the Gold Tribe so callously brush off a hypothetical attempt on the Emperor's life? For a picture? I don't care if the Emperor would be frustrated if it was not completed. It's rather hard for anyone to enjoy art if they are dead! You blubbering imbecile! If the Emperor is killed as a direct result of your carelessness, I will make your head is the first one on the pike!" She was truly appalled at this proud display of ineptitude. Just what kind of Pokemon were allowed to pass through the Exathian College of Union and Liberty these days?

"Well, personally I would rather get a head on a pike then have the emperor RIP MY BODY IN TWO!" Dean snapped back. "Trust me on this four legs, when the Emperor gives you a task and you DON'T do it, your ass tends to be made an example of. I'm not even getting close to having a icicle shoved through my eye because we couldn't do one little thing, okay?"

Alphus just remained quiet as he sketched on the floor, every so often glancing at the two bickering mon as he slowly shook his head.

Beryl was close to dropping her jaw out of shock. "Then why not do it later, after the Emperor has been secured and the only imminent threats are somewhere over the mountains, not around the corner. Again, it is difficult for the Emperor to shove an icicle up your ass if he's dead. You are more concerned with his living frustration, than a premature burial!?"

"I'm concerned about getting our task done. We were told to do this, so we're doing it." Dean held up a hand, "End of conversation. Talk to the hand please."

"Talk to the... But you are not even doing anything. I don't see a pencil in your grubby mitts. The Blaziken is doing all the work, while you are...what? Hovering around him, shirking your more important duties? The ones you swore to do after graduating into the Gold Tribe? Is that how you rationalize things? The Emperor gave your friend an order, so you get to ignore your essential duties as a member of the Gold Tribe?"

"Oh okay, that's it." Dean pushed up his imaginary sleeves as he punched one hand into his other palm. "I think it's-OH COME ON!" Dean pouted as Alphus walked over and picked him up. "I need to wallop that girl!" Dean argued as he squirmed in Alphus' grip, "Come on now!"

Instead of bringing him over to his picture, Alphus approached Beryl and set the Poliwhirl on her back. "Hey, come on Alphus! This isn't fair!" He whined. "I'm so not going with her!"

Beryl did not appreciate being ridden against her will, or Dean's incessant b*tching, but the gesture was well understood. Alphus was tired of their bickering, but apparently agreed with both of them. "Well, if Alphus was directly ordered by the Emperor to draw a masterpiece, then he should do so." A devilish grin, unseen by the Poliwhirl riding her, formed on her mouth. "You, however, are coming with me. Poliwhirl. Let's leave the Blaziken to his work, shall we?"

Dean could only pale, "H-Hey now... no ideas now!" He called down to Beryl.

Alphus just grunted and went back to his work, now smiling as he was left in peace.

Beryl was sorely tempted to break out into a run, and let the freeloading Poliwhirl hit the ground hard as payback, but she resisted the temptation... barely. Instead, she began to slowly walk, not taking care to ensure that his ride was a comfy one. "I'll need you in top shape if we find any threats to the Emperor in this Citadel. Now tell me, Poliwhirl, did you carelessly brush off any other Pokemon while your friend was doing as the Emperor requested?"

Dean flinched with every step she took as he groaned out loud, "Oh... this is going to be a FANTASTIC ride, isn't it?"

"Well, that all depends on you now, doesn't it?"

"Oh... f*ck you." He muttered under his breath.

 

[Ray Maverick]

Ambrose & Lenora
​

"Seer!" Ambrose bellowed, "Seer! Get down here, I need you."

They were at the main hall of the Vaults of Reflection, with the other Gold Tribe who rested there after their march. Lenora pushed her way past the small crowd, walking calmly to the shouting 'mon. "I'm here, Tempest. What do you need?"

"Ah, here's the fine Xatu, and how're you holdin' up?" the small Shiftry rasped as he walked towards the corridor which lead further into the Vaults; he motioned sharply at her to follow.

Lenora followed briskly, keeping her wings neatly folded at her sides as they traversed the halls. "About as well as one would expect in times of war. Yourself?"

"Eh," Ambrose let out as a response. "Been busy with the center of defense. Cyrus wants it us to be readying it from now, and I don't blame him, what with a giant bird in the sky. But I'm done with that for today."

He leaned his head over to her as he walked, without looking at her. He was smirking, of course. "There's been some strange talk in the center of defense; one of the men Garland commanded recently brought it up. Leader's suggesting that Exathor... is moving." He now looked at her intensely with widened eyes and said, "did you feel it? The wind is fierce, you flying-types oughta know that feeling best, when you fly somewhere, the wind is against you, right? When you were outside today, did you notice sumthin' strange?"

Lenora nodded as they walked. "I felt the wind. Stronger than usual. It would not surprise me to learn that Exathor itself was travelling." She thought for a moment, wondering just what it could mean if Exathor was indeed moving. "The question, then, would be where, and more importantly, how? I suppose we are not meant to know... at least for now."

Ambrose went quiet for a moment, which was much unlike him. He usually was all over the place, but this incident had made him think. "And the wild Pokemon are trying to flee..." he whispered. "You remember that vision you had? That the island would drop to the sea?" He paused, as if unsure. He never took her visions for granted, but he was having doubts now. "You think that'll really happen?"

"It is difficult to say," Lenora replied. "I feel that it depends on our actions here and now. Perhaps there is something we can do to stop it, and Exathor will continue to fly, as it has for centuries. The vision serves as a warning; whether it holds true or not... that I do not know."

Ambrose said nothing in response. He would have to think this over. He chewed on his cheroot, smirking greatly, looking as angry as ever with his eyebrows arched like that. They took the elevator down to one of the deepest floors of the Vaults, and while it was going down, he said, "you got word of what happened in the Obelisk? Garland and company got us another crystal, right, with Keeper absorbed in it. Bats**t crazy, I thought, when I first heard of it..."

"Keeper?" Lenora asked, almost shocked. "You mean our Keeper? Inside a crystal?" She remembered her meetings with the Keeper, before she had joined the Gold Tribe. How had he gotten himself trapped in one of the crystals? "Are you sure of it?"

Ambrose glanced at her with a condescending grimace. "Yeaahh, I couldn't believe it either," he sighed, his hands on his hips. "From what I hear, he was established there as a safety measure and the crystal jus' up and swallowed his body, or something..." he rolled his eyes, "I ain't sure. Have to see for myself. Apparently, he spoke to the Obelisk group, said they needed to retreat, that it was planned all along, that there was a Nexus in Alamagna... sort of makes sense, when you think about it. Our enemies are after the Nexuses, or the prizes of destroying a Nexus, rather, those purty crystals. Heh, well, too bad for them, 'cause we got four of 'em, two that are kept here in the Vaults, one we got from the Obelisk and one that girl, Vanguard, managed to get after Rethlor became a corpse. Hah-hah!"

He stopped his laughter abruptly and glanced at the Xatu again, as if reminded of something. "Say, Seer, you and Keeper were close."

"We were," Lenora replied, picking up the speed of her steps. "Back before I took my oaths to the tribe, I was a priestess in Pyrgos, where Keeper was stationed. I imagine, due to his position, he found himself short of company." She remembered her days in Pyrgos well, and her association with Keeper. Sometimes exchanging advice, or simply a game of chess to pass the time. "We were friends for a good while. Both of us psychics, we each knew the other bore no ill intent." She turned to Ambrose as they walked, and for a moment, there flashed a look of concern in her eyes. "You said he spoke to the team sent to the Obelisk? Garland and the others?"

"He did," Ambrose concurred, "but it was like talking through a broken psychic network, only one way, the way I hear it. They couldn't talk to him. He did all the talking."

The Xatu closed her eyes, a breath of relief escaping her. Still conscious, she thought to herself. That's good.

"Perhaps we can find a way to reciprocate," Seer said. "Is that where we're headed then? Please, we must hurry. I would like to see him, quickly."

The elevator doors opened and Ambrose burst out impatiently, walking with a quick, firm step. They were at the floor where the two crystals of the Gold Tribe were held long ago, before the former Wise Master tried to grab them. All ECUL students toured through this chamber, which opened wide in front of the Shiftry and the Xatu. There was a silver fountain in front of them, and the crystals were usually placed on the top.

In front of the fountain was Zack and Jacob; they had placed the transparent crystal they'd retrieved from the Obelisk on the glass floor. The Electabuzz was crouching next to it, poking it with his big hand, and the Meowstic had his arms crossed, staring at the wonderful object with a skeptical expression.

"Jake!" Ambrose let out, "ya haven't caused any trouble with the Keeper, have ya?"

"Jacob's definition of 'trouble' is a bit different than yours," Zack warned with a laid back smile. He extended his arm towards the Shiftry, who grabbed it and shook it, glancing momentarily at the engineer. "Apparently, scaring people with firecrackers doesn't count as trouble..."

"Trouble kills ya," Jacob commented.

Ambrose stopped before them. The sight of the younger members of the Gold Tribe might've filled his heart with hope, but he wouldn't admit it. "I brought Seer with me," he said, "she wants to see that finery you got there. Go, give it to her, chop chop."

The crystal flew from the ground thanks to Jacob's psychic powers; it floated within the Xatu's psychic grasp. Upon its transparent surface, the Shiftry's face was faintly reflected; his constant smirk was hopeful. "Let's see if we can get Keeper out of there."

"You, Prankster," Lenora said sternly, her eyes fixated on the crystal in front of her. "Tempest tells me you spoke to Keeper when you found him. Is this correct?"

"Wasn't a normal conversation, if you ask me," Jacob said, shrugging, "he's trapped inside the crystal. When he talks to us, we can't talk to him, but he knows what's happening around the crystal..."

"To an extent," Zack added, "we tried entering the trance to talk to him, then get back to... uh, reality, to talk to the crystal, but when he invited us back in, he said our words were intangible... not sure why that happens. No crystal experts are here, as far as I'm concerned."

"I see," Lenora replied, staring into the crystal, as if hoping to see Keeper himself reflected in it's surface. "Can you enter the trance at will?"

"Nope," Zack said, "no can do. Keeper has to pull us in the right moment, I guess."

"Then how can I speak to him?" Lenora asked, almost impatiently, breaking her normal, collected self. She turned to Ambrose with a inquisitive glance. "Is there no info on these crystals here in the vaults?"

Ambrose rubbed the back of his head, smirking. "There is, darling," he said, "but I've seen it, and I don't think any of it is gonna be of use. There's no mention of these..." he pointed at the crystal, "... absorbing and trapping a living Pokemon, then preserving them."

Zack looked a bit desperate. "That behavior comes as a shock," he said, sadly. "I mean, we know these possess an unseen kind of energy, right? Which can be manipulated so the properties of the gem are altered. Happened with Darkrai, allegedly, Pokemon of Valkaria made a prison out of one of these. Maybe that's what happened with Keeper... only it makes no sense, how could've he been trapped in the crystal by himself? If you ask me and Jake here, somebody trapped him there."

"We're gettin' off topic," Ambrose said impatiently, weary of conspiracy theories. "We don't have a damn clue how these work because none of us had the sense or the guts to try their power after so many people here in the tribe warned us 'bout what they can do and blah blah."

"Then why is it you have brought me here?" Lenora asked, almost rhetorically. "If we cannot talk to Keeper and we cannot free him from his prison..."

"I believe I can answer that question," a voice said behind them. It was coming from the elevator. Ambrose glanced behind him and let out a rude, gruff sound.

The Trade Prince Achilles was walking toward them with the grace of a dancer; his feet were light as feathers upon the glass floor. He was wearing those Wise Glasses again, rather unfitting for a Medicham.

"I might have the solution to our problem."

"And what might that be?" Lenora replied to the Medicham, her eyes glancing up and down his body as he approached, inspecting the shrewd 'mon.

"I noticed it has a specific influence on us psychic-types," the Medicham said calmly, "the effect is subtle, but I do believe my powers were amplified. Do you feel the same? Surely, a mighty psychic such as yourself would have no trouble understanding it," he said, his tone neutral, but with the always-present hint of mockery in it. Despite his words, Achilles extended his hand to the Xatu, his expression a bit uptight, but he said nicely, "may I?"

Lenora squinted her eyes on Achilles, before calmly handing the crystal over to his grasp. "Please, if you know of how it works, then share it with us."

"I will share everything I know, and what I suspect, of course," Achilles murmured absent minded, holding the crystal in levitation between his three fingers, in the level of his icy-blue eyes. His hand closed around it suddenly, and he looked past it to the Gold Tribe. "These crystals are not mere gems."

"Yeah, no kiddin'," Ambrose interrupted, and Achilles turned his stare upon him. He remained silent.

"Go on," Zack prompted.

"As I was saying," the Trade Prince resumed, with a more uptight tone, "one does put these on just to look good. They are vessels, from what I have observed, that contain this power, unknown to us. It is a flexible power, though - you have seen the black color of the so-called Dark Stars - vessels as they are, the kind of energy to be found in them is not the only thing that they can... carry, so to speak." He raised his eyebrows, apparently enjoying his storytelling. "Take the Dark Star. It is to be wielded only by dark-type Pokemon. Why? And what is the black color for? Well, it does seem pretty obvious to me."

He pointed at the transparent crystal that flew up in the air from his hands, still in his psychic grasp. "That is empty. Or at least, it would be, were the Keeper not inside it." He caught it in his fist again with dexterity and smiled at the crowd. "The Dark Star is filled. With what? The element of the dark. And this? Well, now that it has Keeper in it - a psychic type - then I suppose his powers are merged with those offered by the crystal. Therefore... whilst I hold this, my own psychic powers are enhanced."

Achilles flung the crystal back at the Xatu. "That is my speculation. As for the problem at hand, talking to Keeper... then I suppose we three psychics must devise a way to, let us say, manage this power that the crystal offers us, in order to re-create ourselves in whatever "plane of existence", as he puts it, Keeper lives. And talk to him."

The Gold Tribe were awkward, so he added with an easy smile and a nod, waving his lithe arms, "I know. Illegal. The Constitution makes it clear the crystals are not to be tampered with. But..." he paused, glancing at each of them, "this is Keeper we are talking about. And, if your mouths are skillful enough, they may remain shut, so that no one gets to know about this."

Lenora held the crystal in his wing, feathers wrapped tenderly around it's surface. She glanced at it, then to each of the Gold Tribe in turn; Jacob, Zack, and Ambrose. "If the Keeper is indeed in this crystal, then we should do whatever is in our power to free him." She turned back to Achilles with her usual, calculating glare. "If such an act were to be performed, could you ensure it would cause no harm to us, or Exathor?"

Achilles raised his spread arms, his expression loosening into a more easy one, "take the lead in the procedure, Miss Lenora, and everything should be fine."

 

[GastlyGibus]

Closed Eye Visuals
|Lenora and Jacob|​

The three psychics gathered in a circle.

"Stay back, peeps," Jacob said, "in case something goes wrong."

"Alright, you got it," Ambrose said, keeping his distance, putting his hands on his hips, "I'll get the dustpan ready, just in case, hah-hah," he joked, laughing.

The crystal floated in the middle, levitating gently just slightly higher than their heads. Zack was chewing on his nails, his eyes wide open with anticipation.

A circle of blue light connected Meowstic, Medicham and Xatu, as they all synchronized their powers. And the circle was connected to the crystal through a wondrous beam. The moment the psychic energy touched the crystal, it pulsed like a heart. Zack's antennae were blown back from the wave the gem pulsed outwards.

"Look at this," Achilles said in wonderment.

The air was changed. The atmosphere brimmed with raw energy. "Do you feel it? The power," the Medicham continued, "we tapped into the potential of the gem."

"It feels kinda... weird," Jacob commented uneasily, "this isn't just psychic energy. It's much more flexible... compatible with the world, no?"

"Compatible with the..." Achilles repeated, laughing in a husky manner, "you could say that."

Lenora folded her wings to her sides, closing her eyes and taking in a breath. "Shhh..." she said quietly. "Do not speak... let me concentrate..."

The Xatu was a gifted psychic, but her skills were more suited towards premonition and future sight. She exhaled slowly, feeling the energy from the gem as it connected to her and her comrades. She focused her mind on the crystal, feeling for something to grasp upon... until she found it. A mental touch on another plane of existence. Lenora seized her mind upon it, searching it, familiarizing herself with it's form. And inside it, she felt the presence of another...

"I have found it," she said in a whisper, taking in another breath. "Awaken..." She pushed out with all of her mental powers, the aura radiating around the room such that even Zack and Ambrose could feel it. With her mind focused on the crystal's plane, Lenora opened her eyes, her pupils shining a luminous, bright blue. Her mind traveled from this realm to the crystal, and she felt as if her soul had left her body, travelling through the connection like a water current, flowing to it's source...

Her vision went dark for only a second, only to return just as quickly as it had left. When Lenora awoke, she found herself in the place she had felt in the crystal, and in the middle hovered a Beheeyem, his arms hanging to his sides as his green eyes drifted across the three of them.

"Keeper..." Lenora said calmly.

"Lenora!" Keeper exclaimed, "Achilles! And you... Jake, was it?"

"Jacob," the Meowstic corrected. "Are you alright?"

Achilles glanced at the emptiness around them, before his eyes fell to the Beheeyem. "It seems we've managed to successfully get ourselves inside... wherever this is. Keeper! My old friend. I would embrace you, but, we cannot move, can we?"

"H-how did the battle fare?" The Beheeyem said awkwardly, "I heard Dareon won... or something like that, is it true? What happened?!" he shouted impatiently.

Lenora's gaze met Keeper's own, a reassuring look in her eyes. She tried to raise her hand to calm him, before realizing that, here in the crystal's plane, such movement required significant expenditure. "Patience, friend," she said calmly, "Vektor has been defeated by former-emperor Dareon, and the invaders have been driven back. Amoon is safe... for the time being."

"Cyrus was crowned?" the Keeper asked breathless.

The Trade Prince responded, smiling broadly. "He was," he said contently.

"We brought that boy up together, Achilles, Exathor is in good hands," the Keeper said, likewise confident, but his tone shifted quickly to a hasty one, "listen, you three, the crystal is eating away your strength, so it would be prudent to talk concisely."

"As much as I would like to catch up with you, Keeper, you are correct," Lenora replied. "Garland has voiced his suspicions that Exathor is travelling. It's destination and the method of it's transport are unknown... would you know anything about this?"

"Oh! Ooh!" Keeper let out dramatically, "it's moving?! It's moving! You two, can you confirm that?"

"Sorta," Jacob shrugged.

Achilles had a perplexed look. "In the morning, I took a step outside to my balcony in the Citadel... the wind was different, indeed, and I did not see the birds I usually see early in the morning. They all flew to the west, to hide behind the mountains..." from his puzzled expression emerged a smile of amusement and disbelief. "Why, I do believe our land is flying."

The Keeper raised his eyebrows, "and why do you think that is, Achilles?"

"I cannot be sure," Achilles answered in an honest manner, "perhaps Thrace is the one to be blamed, as others before me have suggested."

"Nah," the Keeper shook his head, "nah... not Thrace. She may be strong, but not that strong. It's not her, it's the Nexuses. What's changed? The Nexuses on Exathor were destroyed or deactivated. One possible explanation is that the barrier those erected is failing, and that Exathor knows... somehow. So it draws closer to the only remaining Nexus, to make its job easier, perhaps. Do you realize what that means?" he asked in a half-excited, half-ominous voice, "it means... Exathor will stumble upon new ground soon."

"The Nexus in Stoneyard is no longer in function," Lenora added. "Perhaps you are right... but you say this as if Exathor itself is sentient. My comrade, Tempest, mentioned that in your first contact with Garland, you spoke of a Nexus in Alamanga, did you not?"

"I did, I did, but what does this have to do..." the Keeper whined like an old man.

"Our enemies seek the Nexus points," Lenora continued. "Alamanga was attacked once, and I fear our attackers will not give up their prize so easily. If the movement of Exathor is tied to the Nexus, then I believe the two may be related."

"What are you suggesting?" Jacob inquired.

"I'm suggesting," Lenora said, "that, if Keeper is correct - that Exathor seeks new land because of the Nexus - then it is deliberate, and it may be the motive that drives our enemies to seek the crystals as they do."

Achilles said, "I concur. That does seem to be the case."

"How Exathor knows where to go is beyond me," the Keeper said, "but... I might have something in the Seraph King Tsulong's memories. They knew more about the island then than we do."

"The crusaders want the crystal of the last Nexus," Jacob murmured. "Curious to know how many of those there are."

Lenora nodded slightly, finding it difficult to think clearly and keep her conscious projected in the crystal as it was. "Keeper, if you have any information - on the Nexus, the crystal, or Exathor - then it would be most appreciated. If our suspicions are correct, then a civil war between the nations will be the least of Exathor's worries."

"The conflict appears to be in a larger scale than we thought," Keeper admitted, then coughed. "Perhaps we should try listing all the crystals that we know of; they seem to play an important role in whatever scheme is being unfolded, so the more crystals we possess, we should be on the safe side. What crystals are there so far?"

"So far, we have the dark star from Stoneyard's Nexus, two more crystals here in the Vaults, and... yours."

"What about the one Kagemusha had in Stoneyard?" Jacob said, "I heard Garland speak of it. It looked black, like a Dark Star. Maybe that was the one from Alamagna. So... that makes five crystals, and, if there's another Nexus somewhere out there, it's got to be powered by one more crystal."

"Six crystals," Achilles said, "it's a fair number." He clutched his chest, where the necklace of the rock was. "My strength is failing," he managed to say.

Lenora looked towards Achilles; she felt her own psychic energies beginning to wane. "Keeper, is there any advice you can lend us? What should we do with these crystals?"

"Eh - keep them safe," Keeper said hurriedly, "protect them. Don't stay close to them for too long... lest you suffer the same fate as I did." He smiled at the Xatu. "Good seeing you again..."

"Likewise," Lenora said, managing a small grin of her own. "Divines permitting, we will free you from here in the near future."

With that, she turned to the other two psychics, nodding slowly. She felt her strength start to fail her, before her vision again went dark. All of her senses went numb, before she awoke again, back in the vaults, with Zack and Ambrose standing as they were before.

 

[Kikpanther]

Aria Windseer​

"Young Carnations"​

That night...​

"I heard Lord Ares is to be betrayed," the Dusknoir said.

The Prophet had his back turned to her, looking off to the lake of the gardens. He had crossed his arms, sulking.

"By two of the lords of the council, that is. They're planning to kill him. Lady Rhea; she loves Cyrus, she can't accept the fact that Ares played him like a toy. She may say that she supports Ares, but the things I heard when I was creeping in the walls made me think otherwise. Same things I heard for Lord Pontus; I imagine he does not at all like the idea of Lord Vennson favored as a candidate for General. Those two wouldn't have Ares as the Stygian General, and I heard them whispering. They seek to hire one of the Guilds of the city; get an assassin, let them in the White Citadel, and make short work of our fellow Crustle. How fun that would be!"

The Dusknoir scratched the side of his face, still staring off to his yonder. It was a grey day, to be sure.

"You have to strike first," he advised. "Get rid of these disturbances, quickly and quietly."

"And how easy it will be to do that when Lady Rhea and Lord Pontus let me into the Citadel? If they want an assassin I'll be happy to oblige," Aria answered the prophet, a devious smile on her face.

"I like the way you think," the Prophet said, his smile audible in his tone. "I shall make sure the Guild never receives the message... and you shall present yourself as one of them to those lords. Understood?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way. When would they be expecting me?"

"As soon as possible. Deals the nobles make pay well, so the Guild should be eager to accept any contracts set by them."

"Then I'll arrive as quickly as you can intercept that letter. It shouldn't take more than a couple days. Until then, I'll get myself prepared."

~~~~~

2 Hours Before the Parade...​

Days later Aria had appeared back in the garden, no longer dressed as an innocent 'mon who worked far out from the city, but an assassin of the ever-reliable guild, The Black Claw. Aria was sure to make up for her last disguise by being stunning in sight. However, her look didn't rely on so much on her natural beauty as it did so much on her appearance of a far more than capable killer. She wore the traditional garments of The Black Claw, a fitted, dark black bodysuit. The top reached high into her neck while the bottoms covered even her tail. The parts of her outfit that stood out in her outfit were her dark, claw-shaped earrings. They along with their necklace counterpart were the trademark of the The Black Claw. Along with that was her red, open collar that transformed into the long, just-as-red hood that rested on her back.The back of the hood and collar was as black as the rest of the outfit and it could be presumed when worn that the uniform would famously take advantage of the shadows around it. Per The Black Claw's habit, Aria came with nothing other than the leather outfit. It looked as though she were unarmed and yet The Black Claw wasn't known for their failures.

Luckily for Aria the morning was cool and the mist over them silenced any possibility of a sudden heat suffocating her in these clothes. They weren't easy to get and to have to suffer after the effort would have been much of a displeasure to Aria and whoever she would come across after her job was done. The Espeon she robbed it from had been annoying. Even in its dreadful, red state, Aria's jewel had a beauty that her foe's could never match. It was a pitiful moment when Aria--a princess compared to that rabble!--had to dull her jewel to match that Espeon's faded color. If she had left its luster unchecked all of the masses would know it couldn't have been that late excuse for a Psychic. She blinked only once in her thoughts of the lost, no-name 'mon she had met earlier. Aria let her anger rise inwardly. To even allow that toe into ruining her facade! On the surface Aria had the same look greedy attention the Espeon only paid her after being offered money. She'd let her frustrations ease with the death of the nobles before her.

The three of them were in the gardens, in the corridor with the arcs that connected the "backyard" of the fortress with the Courtyard in front of it. Lady Rhea the elderly Quagsire and Lord Pontus the Masquerain had hired the Black Claw, or at least they thought they did, and now they were talking in the dark secretly, hidden behind the columns between the arcs. It wasn't even dawn yet, and the birds hadn't started their song.

"You are who they sent?" Lord Pontus whispered; the Masquerain leaned close against the column, observing the hooded Espeon from a distance. "I'm impressed."

A few of the Citadel's guards were passing by a neighboring corridor, so the three Pokemon stuck to the wall, as not to get seen.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, dear," Lady Rhea scolded him, when the guards were gone, "if assassins have taught us anything, it's that looks don't matter. Right, darling...?" the Quagsire said, eying Aria with a smile.

"Absolutely," Aria replied with a slight bow of her head to her lesser. "Plenty of 'mon have fallen because of their judgement," she smiled at the end of her sentence. It was the same one smile that girl had given her, one that implied a skill that in truth did not exist. Aria's would be real. "But also because of a lack of haste." The girl had even talked in stupid riddles. Aria turned her head to where the guards had left to indicate her meaning.

"Let us not belong to any of those cases," Lord Pontus said in a hushed tone, glancing to the corridor quickly to see if the guards were coming. The patrols would soon be gone from this part of the Citadel... why didn't they schedule this meeting a bit later?

"We need you to do something for us, darling," Lady Rhea whispered, "and we will pay you well. The face we seek to remove is worth a lot in your business."

"More than just a pesky activist then?" Aria said with a slight giggle as though she had years of experience in killing small targets such as those. "Whoever it is, they'll be out of your hair before the hour's end."

"... it is Lord Ares, of the Small Council of the Citadel," Lord Pontus said the words, raising his upper lip in disgust. "He is about to become General of Stygia..."

Lady Rhea let out a quick laugh, "and you don't want that, right? If that Crustle supports Vennson for becoming the Hesperian General, you have no chance in that fight..."

Lord Pontus grumbled something unintelligible, looking off to the side with a dark face.

Aria feigned a look of surprise. She stood up straighter as if the revelation was unexpected and demanded such a reaction. "When the job is done," Aria began in a very "up for the challenge" tone, "what would you like for me to do with the body?" She looked back and forth between the two of them. "Past clients have requested to see the bodies of the people they want to get rid of. As proof, you know." She shrugged afterwards. "Others like us to be a bit more theatrical and display them, like in Weatherall," she mentioned, the body there being so infamously nailed above the balcony of their home.

Lady Rhea pursed her lips, looking sideways at the Espeon, as if disapproving of what she was suggesting. "There is no need for a show, that would be uncouth," she said.

"Give Ares a clean death, if you would," Lord Pontus requested, "and make it look like an accident. These two are the two requirements of your contract; anything more or anything less, and it's off. Understood?"

... the guards returned again in the corridor nearby, for the last time that morning; after they took this route, the patrol would move forward to the Courtyard. That much Aria knew, after having studied the patterns of the guard's activity.

Aria waited for the guards to disappear before she spoke. "Absolutely," she began, rising to a stand, "nothing more than an accident." As she spoke, Aria's eye glowed a light blue. The bodysuit she wore reacted to her Psychic energy and several long ridges began to inflate on her tail. Just when she reached her full height, Aria flicked her tail, sending from the newly formed cases a stream of deadly needles towards Lord Pontus. "Oops." Several needles were stuck on the Masquerain and on the wall behind him; the needle between his eyes made blood quickly trickle down his mouth in a stream. He let out a small gasp of fear that was left unfinished. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Lady Rhea let out a harsh cry of disdain and disbelief. She flung herself from the column, having understood something was awry with the Espeon, and flew quickly to the gardens. Past the grassy plains with the groomed trees, the lake unfolded itself before them. The Quagsire fell on her two feet, running in fear away from the assassin. "Guards! Guards!"

After days of observation, Aria was confident there would be no guards around to hear Lady Rhea's calls. Still, there was no penalty for being careful. Before she made chase after the fleeing Quagsire, Aria hid Lord Pontus's limp body amongst the immaculate shrubbery of the garden. Her eyes glowed once more as she ran down the same path Lady Rhea had taken. Instead of just arming her suit, the loose hood and collar came forward to cover her neck, her ears, her face, all but her eyes and nose to turn her into an Espeon as dark as the night. The hidden needles in the suit covered a great portion of her body, though they were not all the secrets the suit held. Much of its resources had been depleted after Aria's short battle with the assassin. After this, the suit would have little use other than a well-made cloak for the shadows. True, she could conserve what usefulness it had left in it, Lady Rhea wouldn't require all of her energy, but it would still be more advantageous in the end to take the weapons from the suit rather than waste them.

Just as she suspected, Lady Rhea was slow in her species as well as in her age. She was easy to catch up to, especially with her mindless screaming. It was so simple that Aria couldn't help but play. Before reaching the noble, Aria veered off into the garden. She didn't go far, only enough to pass Lady Rhea and cut her off from the front. Once Aria was a good distance ahead she turned around and jumped from the exotic foliage that had provided her cover to land before the noble.

Even though it couldn't be seen, it was clear that Aria grinned behind her mask as she spoke. "I don't quite agree that hanging you up would be uncouth." Even in the slowly disappearing mist of the morning, Aria's dulled jewel looked like a deadly beauty against her armed garments.

The aged Quagsire cried in dismay, stopping abruptly in front of the Espeon; there was no outspeeding the assassin, so she tried a desperate attack to slow her down: Mud Shot. By swinging round her tail, Lady Rhea sent a small wave of mud toward the Espeon, in hopes that it would give her a chance to escape.

Aria laughed as she jumped from the way of Lady Rhea's attack. "Years ago there was an Earl in Easthaven that was found without hands or feet. Would that be a more fitting exit for you, Lady Rhea?"

The Quagsire swiveled around and stumbled in her hurry to get away; this time, she was headed back to the fortress. "Who sent you?!" she screamed, panicked.

"Who sent me?!" Aria ran after Lady Rhea, a sick pleasure in her voice as she spoke. "Don't you remember? It was you!"

Lady Rhea was about to reach the arcs of the fortress, but the wind blew strongly, and she staggered. A huge shadow emerged from the pool of darkness that was writhing in the ground. The Quagsire bravely tried to slip past him, but his large hand grasped her head and he raised her up in the air abruptly.

A ghostly, purple-colored energy spilled from his palm. From point blank range, the Shadow Ball blazed the Quagsire's head with red electricity, almost blowing it off its hinges. The lady died with no chance to scream or call out for help. The Dusknoir tossed the body to the side; it was blackened by the blast he had created, broken by the force of his attack.

"Teneth told me you liked to play with your food," the Prophet said in a facetious, slightly sarcastic tone.

Aria slid to a halt before the Prophet. "He also said you like to ruin all of the fun," she answered playfully, eyeing the deceased noblewoman's body, her eyes still bright with the excitement of the chase. "You know she would have never made it." Aria let the hood of her suit fall now, her beautiful lilac fur returned to the light.

"I don't like taking chances," the Dusknoir answered gruffly. "And I certainly don't like mixing fun with work." He turned towards the forest, his only red eye scanning it throughout. The gentle colors of the dawn were brought in the sky by the sun rising from the east, far off the edge of Exathor.

"Now, let's bury these bodies," he said, more to himself than to the Espeon. "Bring our friend Lord Pontus over here."

He picked up the Quagsire with one hand and floated over to the edge of the forest in a hasty manner. There wasn't enough time; he disliked the sun, and wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. He lowered himself to the ground, close to the base of a tree's root, and put his big hands to work: he started digging a hole with his shovel-like hands. The hole would soon big enough for two bodies.

After collecting the body, Aria brought dropped Lord Pontus disrespectfully by the growing holes. "You don't very much like being creative either." She flicked her tail in the direction of the flowers farther down the garden. "The carnations are down there. It would have been cute."

The Prophet scooped up dirt and threw it over the hole, burying the nobles who had tried to hire an assassin. "You can have the honors." He gestured to the flowers.

Aria smirked and strutted down the garden. She picked mouthful of carnations, root and all, and brought them back to the newly dug graves. She planted the flowers as though they had grown there all along, propping them up with enough care to keep the stem reaching strongly toward the sun like they had before. "They'll be taller than ever with our special brand of fertilizer, eh?"

The Dusknoir snorted and brought himself closer to the ground, kneeling with his phantom feet in front of the grave. He placed one hand upon the dirt, in front of the flowers, in a silent prayer. His single red eye was dilated in such a way that his black iris covered most of it. "The dead here needed to die for a better cause," he murmured to himself, as part of his prayer, "absolve this sin of ours, Arceus, lord above all else."

Aria hmphed at the Prophet's lack of reply and subsequently rolled her eyes at his ensuing prayer. "I have been a 'friend' to plenty of boring 'mon and you are definitely among the experts in bland conversation and absent humor." Aria walked away from the grave, scanning the wildlife around them for something remotely more interesting. Her smile was gone and her small moment of enthusiasm had been dragged through the mud. She was told not to expect much from the Prophet, but he could at least try to be less of a bore. Only the dead could be so resistant to the pleasure that comes from swatting flies. "But," she boredly watched a wild bug Pokemon in the garden fly through the sky and for a moment considered practicing her aim, "I didn't expect you to be as gullible as them." Aria rolled her eyes again and muttered under her breath. "Talking to sky 'mon that don't even exist."

"You can believe whatever you want," the Prophet said dryly, "you haven't seen the things I have. But, I suppose, there's no going the right way as a non-believer..."

Aria frowned at the Prophet's comment, but she let the look disappear before she turned to face him. She was offended and yet at the same time was convinced that words from the insane couldn't phase her. "And what have you seen, then?" Aria's voice held hostility. "A sign from the great god Arceus telling you to follow Thrace instead?"

The Prophet, from his kneeling spot, turned to look at the lithe form of Aria. It had dawned well now, the first rays of the sun permeating through the leaves of the trees around them. The Dusknoir gave the faintest of grins, amused by her words, which were more true than she could imagine. "You're not far off."

 

[Ray Maverick]

Emperor
​

"I should begin by apologizing for not visiting earlier," Emperor Cyrus said as he knelt over the bed. He and his father were in a wide, spacious Vault, which had been emptied from the gold it had before a bed worthy of the former Emperor was brought in.

The sickly Ampharos was being tended by handmaids at all times, even now, a Chansey and several of her Happiny helpers were changing the bandages on his shoulder. Through needles and wires, a concoction was poured into his veins, while black blood poured out into a container. The maids had pierced his arms in six spots, three times on each. They had to regulate his blood flow and constant feed of the potion which would keep him alive... Cyrus hoped.

The poison had driven Dareon's shine from his face, his cotton hair was tangled, his eyes had lost their sharp, commanding look that bent his vassals and broke his enemies. The potion was supposed to be dulling the pain and his senses, but Cyrus saw that didn't quite work on him. His father was in pain, but the way he understood everything that was going on around him was pristine.

"I did not visit my father when he was sick either. Exathor matters more than mortal men," the Ampharos said, his voice a bit croaked and dry. "You have other responsibilities now, and I have all these..." he glanced at the Happinies, as if searching for a word he couldn't find. He gave up quickly, continuing, "tending to me. No privacy was awarded to me for my victory."

Cyrus's face was straight, gentle yet serious. He looked at the Happinies and the Chansey and gestured them away from the elder man in the bed. They left quickly, in a hurry.

"They are trying to help," the Beartic said neutrally.

"They are," his father replied wearily, his tone suddenly less formal, "I can't stand it," he said, lowering his head. "I am an Ampharos. I shouldn't need to have people catering me like that."

"You want to die on your feet?" Cyrus asked, a bit sharply, letting his irritation show. "Then have them tend to you, and tend to you well, so you're kept alive. Thrace will not be late. Union City is our last stand; if you are alive by then, you can fight. Nobody will be able to say poison killed you, then. I brought you something," he added, reaching for a pouch in his belt.

He placed a Mega Stone in his father palm. "Your advanced form is fading, right?"

Dareon's fist closed around the stone and he lifted it just a bit, as if weighing it. He was looking at his son in a mask of grave seriousness, the same mask Cyrus had been taught to use to approach important matters. The Ampharos nodded.

"Don't make Ares General," he suddenly said. "That is no man fit for authority. He will only betray you."

"I have considered that," Cyrus said in the same tone, "I have plans for diminishing him so much, father, that betraying me would only hurt him... he is a smart man, he knows not to go there if it harms him."

"Listen to me," Dareon said, "if he becomes your General, he will always be dangerous to you, a liability. Always. And this is no time to act the mellow leader; if you want to protect your country, you will have to sacrifice your morals, your conscience, and your place in the heavens... if such exists."

Cyrus said nothing in response. He already knew all of this, from a very early age. Achilles had groomed him well with the philosophy a leader who wants to protect himself should maintain.

"... make sure he dies in battle."

"I will," Cyrus responded, nodding solemnly. "If he wants to serve our people as a General so badly, I will put him in the vanguard."

"And if he does not comply, make use of that Primeape... Thrasher."

"He will comply. Stygians should be honored to be in the vanguard, he will lose the respect of his men if he denies it."

"Only to be certain, keep a second option open to you."

"I have contacted Thrasher, he is ready."

"And what of the other Generals?" Dareon asked, his expression stiffening. "Halford is a traitor, dangerous as Ares, same as Rhoy. All of these men have opposed us in the past."

"I will deal with them," Cyrus said steely, "as I have told you."

"Keep Vennson as your General," Dareon advised him, "he has nothing to gain by your downfall and will stand by you in the battle that is coming."

"As you say, father."

"And you need children," the Ampharos continued relentlessly, "even if we two fall, and Exathor falls to their rebel hands, our kin will one day avenge us. We shall always have loyalists, and once the moronic masses understand what a mistake it is to side with Thrace, they will want a new leader to place their hope in."

Cyrus wasn't so optimistic about a second chance against Thrace after Union City, but it did not hurt to try. It was the wise thing to do. "Alucianna of the Vanir was captured in Alamagna," he said, "a woman may not succeed the leadership of their tribe, but the man who marries that woman may."

"That is preposterous," Dareon dismissed it right away, smirking as if his mouth had gone sour. "I will not have you marry the daughter of a traitor."

"Father, if I was to marry her before the siege, that would weaken the resolve of the Vanir opposing us."

"Don't be a fool," the Ampharos warned, "Chantalai's kin is not to be trusted. She'll kill you in your sleep if you step into this trap."

Cyrus had thought of that, of course, and he had thought of the solution to it as well: he would only sleep with her on their first night, under surveillance, and then he would keep her well away and guarded constantly. It was a sound plan, but there was no time, not to marry Alucianna, nor anyone else for that matter.

"I will not marry," he conceded, "not until the day Thrace is put down."

"Have children now. Exathians will not care about legitimacy once they suffer the rule of the vile b****."

Cyrus looked away. Sitting on the side of the bed as he was, he patted his feet unconsciously. That thought had never crossed his mind, to have children outside of marriage to secure the continuation of his bloodline. Exathians valued strength more than blood, and if his son was strong, the Aurelius loyalists would not care about his mother. But what if it was a daughter? "I can't do it," Cyrus decided.

"You can and you will," Dareon insisted, "choose a strong girl and take her to bed. Shall I have any servants instruct you as to how to make your choice? How about that Glaceon from the Tribe?"

Cyrus was taken aback, but his expression didn't change; he wasn't shocked much at his father's pragmatism. "No, father. That is not fair to her, or to me."

"You serve the country, not yourselves," Dareon said in a disapproving, almost aggravated manner.

The Beartic stood from the bed and adjusted the Thunder Crown on top of his head. "I will take my leave, now, if there is nothing else to discuss." He looked at his bed-ridden father, with the wires piercing his arms, keeping him to place.

Dareon looked up at him with an impersonal expression, one that indicated he wouldn't argue any further. "Go, then. But you must think for the best interest of all, not just for yours."

"I already am," Cyrus replied, heading out.

***
​

He sank quite nicely in the large, blue cushion that was placed in the Imperial Vault. His new "room" was next to his father's, but he wished it wasn't. The doors to the Imperial Vaults were always kept open at this time; he was bothered by the sounds of the servants coming and going out of his father's room. It didn't let him think in peace.

The leader of the Shield appeared in front of the blue cushion. "Your Highness, Lady Rhea and Lord Pontus of the Small Council have been missing from the Noble's Tower, where they should have been."

"Missing?" Cyrus repeated, rather uninterested. He was too preoccupied with the strange dreams he was having earlier. "Dispatch the Gold Tribe, inform Garland."

"I shall," the Aegislash said, and immediately, one of the Doublades that stood guard in the doorstep left.

The leader of the Shield continued his report. "Also, all Vaults in the upper floors have been secured in lockdown after your command. As a matter of fact, they had been for quite a while, thanks to the Sky Guard of the fortress. The last Vault that was opened was the Trade Prince's Vault, on the ninth day of the tenth month."

"Achilles opened his Vault?" Cyrus asked absent minded, fiddling with a ring. "What for?"

"I do not know," Thresh replied, "but he emptied it entirely."

"That is strange," the Beartic mused, spinning the ring in his claw. "That was a lot of gold, does he really think there is another place safer than the Vaults?"

The Aegislash remained silent, having nothing to say.

Cyrus slipped the ring through his finger. He brought his hand over his forehead and sighed wearily; he hadn't slept for twenty hours, if the short and painful nap with the dreams just a few minutes ago does not count, and fatigue was catching up to him.

"Something troubling you, your excellence?"

"I keep seeing Vendra in my sleep. That meloetta," he confided, "that girl in Stoneyard."

The Aegislash looked mildly troubled. "That girl?" he asked, "but why? Have you seen her before?"

Cyrus ground his teeth, looking to the side, trying hard to remember. He took out his ring again and started twisting and turning it in his palm, without realizing. "I feel like I know her from somewhere," he said, after a prolonged silence. "She sings to me when I sleep. I don't know what she's saying, or what language she speaks."

Thresh blinked. "Shall I get you some sleep seeds? Those should guarantee you a peaceful sleep."

"Later," Cyrus said and suddenly jumped off his cushion. "I have to talk to somebody. Take me to the Vaults with the prisoners."

***
​

A soft harmonica echoed in the dungeon-like vaults; it was a strange sound, not instrument produced. Cyrus wondered where it came from. It was a sad tune of mourning, overly dramatic.

One of the Doublade guards moaned, "ugh, he's singing again. How does he even make that sound?! We took his flute away!"

"Who?" Cyrus questioned.

"That Greninja. Asaito, I believe. We locked him up here, after we found him trying to sneak into Alucianna's Vault."

"He sneaked into the Citadel? I'm impressed! Bring him with me, I want him to meet his lord."

Later, Cyrus entered Lord Brynjolf's cell. The Aggron was in a pitiful state, battered from the battle and the crash, now in chains once again. He looked up at Cyrus with reddened eyes and he didn't even have the strength to speak.

"Feed him," Cyrus commanded the Shield, "and bring wine."

"I don't want your wine," Brynjolf said in a ragged voice, "fight me, you worthless sack of sh*t, or kill me and be done with it." The Aggron rattled the chains and showed his fangs.

"I'd rather feed you first and then fight you," Cyrus said in a more lighthearted, easy manner. The Doublade showed up with meat and drink floating in front of him.

"Take his chains off."

After that was done, Brynjolf fell on the food in front of him like a beast. He didn't look up once, but as he munched on the meat, he said, "I fought Ingvar. He looked much like you."

Cyrus wasn't very fond of that notion. He'd thought of it many times, that he looked like the Conqueror; some Exathians still hated Beartics for what Ingvar brought on the island. "That is only natural, we are both Beartics," Cyrus observed keenly, but his hope was waning. Individuals of the same species could be differentiated through distinct personal characteristics that are easily observable. And he had seen portraits of Ingvar... their features were almost identical.

"Leave us," Cyrus said to the Doublades, glancing behind him. They obeyed quickly.

"You know what Rethie was blabbing about before I blew him up? He said he was the last of the Illinkar, but," Brynjolf quickly tipped his head to the side, as if to say he was reluctant to accept it, "I dunno. Looks to me like you're the last one left."

Cyrus remained staring at the Aggron, who kept eating his food with loud, crunching noises that filled the cell. "That may be so," Cyrus said plainly. "I am curious, though, as to what led to the Dark Star... creating this manifestation, which you took for Ingvar."

"It was Ingvar," Brynjolf argued with his mouth full of meat, "Twas as real as you standing before me, and he was truly invincible. Heard men say I beat Ingvar himself in close combat. Somethin' nobody ever actually did. I've become a hero! Soon, they'll be singing songs about me! Brynjolf, the new Conqueror! Har-har-har!"

Cyrus couldn't help but smile with the humor of the Aggron, who said those words in a slightly bitter manner.

"Yes, but what caused..."

"I guess he just thought he really was protecting the last of his kind," Brynjolf said, shrugging his massive shoulders, "how should I know? I just went to twist our mighty Wise Master's head off, and, what do you know, a five hundred years old ghost pops outta nowhere and attacks me."

Cyrus smirked slightly, trying to maintain his patience. "I thought the Wise Master was on friendly terms with you. He would have offered you perks for siding with him; how is it you suddenly decided to kill him?"

"Oh, I'll tell ya how it is," Brynjolf said, "I'm an opportunist, Emperor."

Good, Cyrus thought.

"Rethie tried to use that crystal on Dareon's soldiers, whatever that means. It backfired, I think. It don't matter, it killed all the guards around him... and I mega evolved, outta nowhere."

"No Mega Stone?"

"No Mega Stone. So, I thought, I was sick of Rethie tellin' me what to do, and decided he'd be better off feedin' crows than pretending to be important, har-har-har!"

"He told you what, exactly?"

"Serve him as an inside man. He wanted me to return to the Family and find out who's pulling strings."

"The Caretaker?"

"Aye, that... guy. An' to tell ya the truth, I ain't even sure he's a real Caretaker. He said it was Achilles, but, that's a shot too far for me. Aren't Trade Princes just merchants? All he can 'take care of' is his money! He doesn't care for power, or nothin' like that, he just likes to bathe gold, and that's alrighty with me."

"Why Achilles?" Cyrus wondered, disbelieving. "He's served us well for years. He's been kind to me. I've read about former Trade Princes, and I know they're against everything the Tribe stands for, but he, he's the best Trade Prince Exathor has had in a long time. He's not capable of... this is ridiculous," Cyrus decided, his disturbance obvious in his expression, "I knew him since I was a kid. What reasons did Rethlor give for his assumption?"

"Well," Brynjolf uttered, scratching his head, "he said he was 'too clean' or somethin' like that. And that the rebellion was part of a bigger plan that only Achilles could think of. I dunno... the guy is good with business, but..."

A Doublade called from outside the cell. "Your Highness, we brought Asaito."

Cyrus thought for a moment. He had nothing else to discuss with Brynjolf. "What took you so long?"

"He... he was stuck on the ceiling, your Highness. We had to spatula-te him off of it."

The Doublade pushed the Greninja inside the cell, his cuffs rattling as he walked. Cyrus recognized the able warrior from his lean physique and the way of his step, proud and arrogant, yet nimble. Asaito had the nerve to barge in the cell with a broad grin. Despite his wild and arrogant demeanor, Cyrus knew well that he was very loyal to Lord Brynjolf. The two were close friends in such a degree that it had nearly become a scandal in Exathor, for noble blood to associate themselves so closely with someone from the warrior class.

"What did I miss?" Asaito asked cheerfully, his eyes darting from Emperor to lord. "Brynjolf!" he exclaimed.

"Hey, bud," Brynjolf greeted him. "Why're you here?!"

"I was looking for a fine lady."

Cyrus gestured for Asaito to sit beside the Lord of the Tocan. "You two will want to know why I wish to speak with you," he told them.

"I thought you were done," Brynjolf said.

"Part of me wants to listen," Asaito confessed, "but part of me wants to sleep. Your friends tired me out!"

Cyrus ignored the long-tongue. "Do you two still want to serve Thrace?" he asked them bluntly.

"I'm not serving Thrace," Asaito protested immediately, "Brynjolf wanted to be General, so I helped him out."

"I didn't know a deathbird was going to rise," Brynjolf joked honestly, "they never involved me in their plans. Vendra, Kagemusha, Teneth, I wasn't even part of their little Family!"

Cyrus scratched his icy beard, thinking. This had to be done correctly... "Brynjolf, those running the rebellion have already replaced you with someone else for the leadership of the Tocan. If you want to reclaim your clan, then your best hope would be me."

 

[GastlyGibus]

An Old Friend
|Tavhir "Restless" Eldren.|​

Tavhir wandered the streets of Union City, alone, keeping a lookout for where he was and where he was headed. He hadn't been in the city since he graduated, which, while not terribly long ago, left him unfamiliar with the layout. All he knew was that he was supposed to be headed for some Great Fountain place. He'd been there before, during his time in the ECUL, but now he couldn't quite remember where it was.

The Pawniard reached inside his scarf, pulling out a small slip of paper. He had received it from a pidgey delivery 'mon not too long after arriving in Union city. He unfolded the paper, reading it over once again.

Tavhir,

Once I heard the Gold Tribe was arriving in Union City, words could not express how happy I was! Words of the Gold Tribe's exploits travel far, and the city is ecstatic for the arrival of their champions. If you have a spare moment, I would like to meet with you, at the Great Fountain. We have some catching up to do.

Sincerely,
an old friend.

Tavhir read the letter with a confused expression. Who was his friend in Union City? He didn't recall having very many friends at all outside of the Gold Tribe, and certainly none that would have remembered him by name. He was a bit frustrated that they chose not to identify themselves. Part of him suspected it was a trick, the Pawniard keeping himself alert in the event of danger.

After some asking around, and taking one too many wrong turns, Tavhir eventually found what was referred to as the Great Fountain. The structure was constructed of dark-grey marble, a stone statue in the center depicting a Torkoal with an amiable smile on his face, one Frederick Rygar, recognized for his outstanding contributions to the welfare of the city. Water spouted out from the sides gently, as citizens would come and fling coins into the pool and make wishes for well-being. At the edge of the fountain was a plaque, detailing Frederick's story and his memory.

Restless peered around, seeing several 'mon walking to and fro, others siting on benches, and others still reclining at the edge of the fountain. He didn't recognize any of these people, slowly walking towards the fountain and taking a seat by himself on a nearby bench. Here he waited for this old friend of his, still wracking his brain to think of whom it was.

For several minutes Tavhir watched the passersby, beginning to grow a bit frustrated. He grumbled to himself, hoping that he wasn't wasting his time. Of course, whomever the writer was, they knew him by name, so it must have been someone he knew.

His eyes fell to a young woman skipping merrily to the fountain, a Cacnea, a wide grin on her face as she flung a coin into the fountain. Tavhir narrowed his eyes, staring at the girl curiously. She looked so familiar...

The Cacnea turned from the fountain, looking directly at Tavhir. "Hello again, Tavvy."

Tavhir's eyes widened in surprise, jolting upright in his seat. "I-Irene? Is that you?"

The Cacnea giggled, crossing her arms playfully. "What're you sitting way over there for? Aren't you going to come say hello?"

Tavhir wasted no time, jumping from the bench with a start and nearly running towards the Cacnea, the latter reaching out to grab him in a warm embrace. Tavhir held a genuine smile, comething the Pawniard hardly ever did, before drawing away from the Cacnea and looking her in the eyes. "I can't believe it! It's... it's you!"

"Who else would it be?" Irene asked jovially. "As soon as I heard you were coming I wrote you immediately. Glad to see my letter made it to you."

"You know, you could have at least told me who you were in the letter," Tavhir teased, prodding her shoulder lightly in jest.

"Oh come on, that's no fun," Irene replied, bearing a mischievous smirk. "It was fun watching you get all grumpy and irritated waiting for your mystery friend to show up." She giggled at the Pawniard. Tavhir remembered how she liked to tease him like that. It was both annoying and endearing at the same time. Irene loved to play her innocent tricks on people.

Tavhir had so many questions to ask her, the two walking over to sit at the edge of the fountain beside each other. "What are you doing in Union City?" Restless asked. "How come you're not in Skyhaven?"

"My family moved here after... recent events in Skyhaven," Irene answered, her grin beginning to fade somewhat. "After Vektor declared himself emperor, we decided it would be safer here in Union City, away from the political squabbles back home."

"I see..." Tavhir said, placing his hand over hers. "Not sure how much more protected Union City is compared to Skyhaven. Thrace is sure to attack this place next..."

"I've been hearing so many rumors, Tavhir," Irene said, concern in her tone. "So many conflicting reports. Some are saying the Gold Tribe awakened Thrace, some the Stygians. Other blame the Hesperians, or Dareon, or... whoever. Do you know what's going on? You're Gold Tribe now, so surely you know more than I do."

Tavhir nodded solemnly. "It's a big mess no matter which side you look from," he said grimly. "I'm not sure myself what to make of things. All I can tell you is that the rebels awakened that death goddess, Thrace, supposedly under orders from some person they call the 'Caretaker.' Now it's pretty much what you described. A lot of name calling and finger pointing, people taking sides, and us few in the Gold Tribe trying to put out the fire and make sense of things..."

Irene put her arm around Tavhir, bringing him closer. "I'm just glad you're okay. If anyone is going to fix this mess, it's the Gold Tribe."

Tavhir sighed. "I hope you're right. It seems like the whole world is against us. Sometimes... sometimes I wish I never joined the Tribe."

Irene pulled him close, hugging him tightly for a second before letting go. "Hey now, no need to be so glum, Tavhir. I know it seems kind of hopeless right now, but look at what you guys have done so far. You helped save Amoon, repelled the invaders at Alamanga, and with Cyrus in command, I'm sure he'll come up with a solution. The people really admire Cyrus, moreso than his father." She looked up the Tavhir, offering a reassuring smile.

Tavhir smiled back. Hearing that coming from others didn't mean as much, but from Irene, his old friend... it meant just a bit more. "Thanks, Irene."

The Cacnea grinned, happy to see she could still cheer up the Pawniard. "You know, I've been thinking since you left... why did you join the Gold Tribe, anyways?"

Tavhir thought for a moment, bringing his hand up to hold Irene's over his shoulder. "I guess I did it to... find purpose. Something to fight for. I'm not entirely sure if I've found that yet."

"You're doing good, Tavhir," Irene said. "Not everybody could have made it into the Tribe. It takes a certain strength of character to make it in. You may not see it yourself, but you have it, and what you're doing in for Exathor inspires others. You're setting a good example for both the ordinary citizens and the soldiers. If you must have something to fight for... let it be the good people who look up to you."

Tavhir pondered for a moment. She had a point, and even though he wasn't entirely convinced it was true, it was something to think about. He gave a small smile of appreciation to Irene, the Cacnea returning the expression, before Irene hopped up off the fountain's edge. "Well, you've got some free time, don't you?"

Tavhir smirked, sliding off after her and standing beside Irene. "I believe that I do."

"Well, let's do something fun then! Come on!" She said with child-like enthusiasm, pulling Tavhir by the arm into the city.

 

[Plumbum]

Sweet Dreams Aren't Made of This​

The swirling shadow, the disembodied voices that continued to judge her, the cold, grey stone floor that continued out into forever. They were all familiar to Petrina. She'd faced them before and maybe that first time, they scared her. This time was different. She knew where she was - and thanks to her dialogue with the Emperor, exactly what she had to do now these dreams caught her again. She'd have to search for that hooded figure, apparently the only spirit in this crystal that would dare support her and she had to find out more about the 'mon - who he may be and what made him so different. But like so much about the crystal, she had no idea how to search for him within it. Although she kept walking through the shadows and darkness, it just seemed to continue out into eternity... It seemed that he would only be speaking to Petrina if he chose to reveal himself again.

... and he did. The nightmare seemed very long for her until he did. Eventually, the dark mass took form, the form of a feline Pokemon, and the darkness was draped in cloak and hood and mask. Green eyes peeked out of it. "You changed your mind," he said, more as a fact rather than him holding a grudge.

"I did." Petrina matched his matter-of-fact tone. "I realised my mistake. I am no diplomat, not one who can calm the tides..." Petrina looked up and down the other feline, as if doing so could allow her to measure him up. "You seem to know that I'm looking for you..." She probed, not taking the question any further, hoping he might reveal how much he knew and give a small clue.

The Pokemon in the mood was pacing slowly around her, examining her. "Can I call you Petrina?" he asked gently, politely. "I'll call you Petrina," he decided right after. "It isn't very hard to understand your thinking. So," he said, opening and closing his claws into fists as he circled around her. "You wish to master the crystal."

"Yes." There really wasn't any other answer Petrina could give. "But I don't think that's going to happen easily. Is that why you're here?"

"I'm here because I want to," he replied with ease.

"How helpfully vague..." Petrina muttered, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

The man in the hood let out a charming, strong laugh. "Pardon me, I'm a Pokemon too, so I seek interaction."

"Fantastic. And what would you like to talk about? How about yourself?" Petrina grinned back. "You know who I am, but I don't have a clue who you are..."

"You aren't such a waste of time," he commented, "so I suppose I should clue you in... for as far as I see fit. I am an assassin. The one who killed Ingvar, to be precise; the Tribe hired me to remove him, and I did. That is why the voices of the Wielders are so turbulent - Ingvar's voice hates me, so he turns the others against me, but the rest love me for how I treated the Dark Star when I was alive."

He put his hands behind his back, pacing very slowly forward in a manner that made him look aged, even beneath the cloak. "History knows me as the Phantom Dancer. You may have heard of the title... or not. I cared for glory before I draped my cloak, but as an assassin, being widely known will only make your job harder. I'd rather people didn't know me." He chuckled with ease. "But my life's work was popular. I made it my goal to eradicate the tyrants that were torturing Exathor in my time... and I succeeded."

Petrina listened to his story, matching it up with the history she learnt at ECUL. "So, an assassin, of the Brotherhood... your reputation does precede you, even." Idly, she wondered if she could trust him, but she didn't have a particular choice. She'd just have to watch her back.

Even five hundred years after their disbandment, the Brotherhood of Shadows was well known as a legendary group of assassins. They operated long before the Prophet of the Dark Cult of Stygia was born; and they were at the peak of their power right before the Third Threat conquered the two Empires. They were vanquished in the aftermath, but before Ingvar came along, it wasn't the Kings or Queens of Hesperia and Stygia that ruled Exathor; it was the Brotherhood. Unseen, but not unknown, their legendary skill made them the terror of the political field of the island, and their reputation alone was enough for all the political leaders to fear them.

Their loyalty would be bought for exorbitant amounts of gold; people who refused to hire them were threatened, and they complied out of fear. A target they had set their sights on could pay a monthly fee for them to refrain from taking their life - extortion. In other words, the Brotherhood of Shadows was the most influential group in the politics of Exathor during the times before the Third Threat... and that man before her, the one who called himself the Phantom Dancer, was the Master of the Brotherhood.

"So, these 'voices' as you call them... it might not even be my actions that dictate who will support me. Do they - sorry, you... decide if I am fit to wield this?"

The Phantom Dancer regarded her with his sparkling green eyes. Careful, calculating eyes. "You tried to persuade them, and you failed. I can persuade them... still, it isn't only the voices. The other factor to account for is the crystal itself. Let's say it's not compatible with everyone. I've seen it destroy weak-willed people; they wither away, the longer they hold on to it. Give it to a greedy person, and it will destroy them, from the inside and from the outside. What is needed to wield this power is inner balance, resolve, conviction, decisiveness, fairness of mentality, and a bit of arrogance, I believe, and perhaps the ability to control yourself when the power attempts to devour you, to stand like a boulder as it washes over you like a river. But, most of all, I would think, what is needed for the complete control of this power is a desire to change the world... master the crystal first with those qualities, like I did, and all the voices become secondary."

Petrina seemed conflicted about how to feel. The crystal would, if this 'mon's word was good, not bury her as she suspected it might, but at the same time she would maybe not be able to control it fully - she knew her fight was not for a change in the world, quite the opposite in fact. She was fighting on the defensive, maintaining the world in the way it was. "I am not afflicted with a weak heart, nor a lust for more. So, there will be no need to concern for me, the Dark Star may not come under my control but it will not stand in my way. Even if it will not submit, I can keep it from those who might misuse it."

The Phantom Dancer gave her one of his careful looks; his large eyes shone like green beacons in the dark. "We'll see," he uttered darkly. "Try using it for a simple, impersonal task... I have a quest in which you'll have to do just that. Are you up for it?"

"Test me how you may." Petrina gave the Dancer a determined nod. Any challenge he would pass down, she was certain she could handle it.

"You know when you held the crystal close to Cyrus?" he said, with surprising clarity. "I've seen your Emperor, I've felt his good will, like the crystal has. I am aware of the situation around you, and perhaps I can be of help. Your Emperor seeks to make Lord Halford General... well, I can give you proof that he is a traitor, which you can present in front of everyone through the crystal. It is a simple memory projection, much like what the psychics do... it isn't simple, of course, it's only simple in comparison to other functions of the tool you possess."

He opened and closed his claw-fists, turning to her after he finished his pacing up and down. "So, Petrina, will you do this?"

"Will you not show me it first? If you will not, you are asking a lot of trust from me." Petrina still wasn't sure about the 'mon. It would be far too easy for the vision to be a false one, it could set-up Halford if the Lord was innocent or it could set-up Petrina herself as a traitor, even though she would be no such thing.

He looked at her as if he understood her thoughts of mistrust. His eyes were smiling, though. "If you insist," he said cheerfully.


***


"Your Highness... Vanguard is without and wants to see you," Thresh said to the Emperor whilst he was in his regal blue cushion.

"Let her in, don't keep her waiting," Cyrus said, gesturing towards the door. The Doublades of the Shield parted so the Glaceon could pass.

"Petrina," the Emperor greeted her, a bit reserved.

Petrina gave a respectful bow of her head. "Emperor Cyrus. I rushed here... I have urgent matters to bring to your attention... I would do so privately, however."

Cyrus's eyes darted to Thresh, who disappeared instantly, and the Doublades of the Shield shut the door of the Vault.

"I'm listening," the Beartic said.

 

[KajiVenator]

Beginner's Luck
Beryl Ibha, Dean​

"So tell me, Poliwhirl... did you harass anyone else while loitering around the courtyard?" Beryl was still frustrated at the Poliwhirl who had been placed on her back, even as they neared the Heavenly Door.

"Blah blah blah is all I hear coming out of your mouth." Dean muttered, "Seriously do you just constantly nag everyone around you? Is that your title? The Nagger? One who nags her enemies to death? Honestly I could see it fitting very well."

"No, my irate tadpole, my title is 'Steamroller'. Perhaps you've heard of it? Perhaps not. I would not expect you to have paid much attention... Tell you what. I will stop treating you like a child if you stop bullsh*tting around and get to work. How does that sound?"

The water type rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Hey, just cause that one... thingthatwillneverbementionedeveragain happened, it doesn't mean I have to respect you." He looked down at the Donphan, "How about you mind your own business, grandma? And I mind mine."

"Whether you like it or not, your friend already told you get moving. You are coming with me, whether you want to or not, and that is an order. If you would like to make absolutely unbearable for yourself, go right ahead. However, some cooperation may keep these sordid actions out of my report when we're through with this..."

Dean was silent for a moment, and then he let out a loud sigh. "Fiiiine. What's the first thing on the agenda? Cleaning out the gutters? Shining the floor with only a toothbrush? I'm just dying to know."

"Oh, nothing as monotonous as that. Did you forget what I asked you already?"

He shrugged, "What can I say? If I don't care about it or someone boring tells me I really can't remember. SHOTS FIRED!" The water type cried out enthusiastically as he pumped a hand into the air.

"Please," Beryl muttered, rolling her eyes at the commotion on her back. "I believe I asked you if you had harassed anyone else in the courtyard before I came along."

"No I didn't." Dean replied in a matter of fact tone. "I didn't. Because I'm a stand up guy. Unlike some naggers." He gave a meek shrug, "That's all I have to say on that."

"Keep up that attitude, and you'll get my tusk in your behind after I buck you off... Okay, you did not harass anyone. Did you see anyone else? Anyone out of place? Anything suspicious at all?"

Dean thought for a moment, "Uh... let's see... I saw some 'mon, sure. Just other Gold Tribe really." He said with a shrug.

"I see. Well, that rules out any assassins coming from the courtyard." Beryl stopped walking and stared up at the massive tristanite doorway directly in front of them. It was painted to represent the sky above. "Then it is most likely that no threats forced their way inside the throne room. That is good news. One less place to examine..."

"... Assassins..." Dean said slowly. "We're going... assassin hunting? Welp nice knowing you, but I think Cyrus did in fact ask me to clean every single hallway with just a toothbrush!" He said frantically as he jumped off of the Donphan's back.

"I was going to ask you to get off anyway. You'd best swallow that fear. Even if we do find one or two, I will be the one taking point. Even if you are a facile comrade, you are still my Gold Tribe brother and I'd rather protect you than watch you bleed out." She eyed that now-skittish Poliwhirl, holding back a laugh at his sudden change in disposition. "Come now. Brainstorm with me. If you were tasked with killing someone of importance, who would you kill? The Emperor, of course, but you cannot get to him. He is too well-guarded. Do you set up a trap, on the off-chance you can attack before being killed yourself, or... do you attack someone else?"

"Er... wait a minute... I read this in a book once." The Poliwhirl frowned, "Isn't it like... you kill the sister and then you ransom off the other sister and the king elects a knight or something to go save them?" He asked with a meek shrug. "That's all my ideas right there. Take them or leave them."

Beryl had to pause at the remark. The Emperor had no siblings... Dareon was firmly secured in the vaults, and Cyrus was in no immediate danger unless he left them. Familial kidnappings were out of the question, but... the Emperor was not the only high-ranking member of society in the White Citadel. No, no, there were the Lords and Ladies in... "...The Tower of Nobles..." Her thoughts had leaked out of her mouth in a murmur.

"Oh those old farts?" Dean asked with a snort, "Oh come on! Look I'm sure their families have already paid a pretty penny to get them rescued or the assassin killed or what not. Why do we have to worry about them?" He asked. "Besides, they never decided to share their fabulous loot with us! Their protectors!"

"You have to ask why we should worry about the nobility? It is our duty to protect all who live in the White Citadel... the perceived selfishness and ineptitude of some of them is beside the point." She finally turned and glared at Dean. "Orders are orders. Will you follow me to the Tower of Nobles, or not?"

He sighed and lowered his head, "Yeah yeah, I will. So where do we start then? I mean, the citadel is a big place. The assassin could have gone... anywhere really."

"We'll cross the courtyard to the side entrance on the east, and then make our way to the tower. Shall we go?" She did not wait for his response as she began to walk past him.

Dean just sighed and walked with her as he casually put his hands behind his head, "Right right... and this will take all day." He grumbled angrily. "Just lead the way. I do want to be back in time for dinner you know."

* * *​

"Are we there yet?" Dean asked yet again as he walked next to the Donphan. "How about now? Are we there yet.... now? Are we?" He asked as he looked at the Donphan, "Come on, give me an estimate or something. I have nothing to go off of here. Alphus usually keeps me entertained, but you're all... boring and old and stuff. Uh, no offense of course, but you are like REALLY old. Like, so old you could be my grandma. Again, no offense."

Beryl had to resist the urge to knock Dean down and stomp on him. "Yes, we are almost there, Dean. I've explained our route to you three times now. Try to pay attention this time. We left the Whitegold Court, have traveled down several hallways, and are nearly there. Can you not find a way to entertain yourself that does not involve insulting someone who is this close to goring you with a broken tusk?" She motioned with her trunk to amplify the effect.

Dean fell silent for a moment, then he tilted his head, "Hm... well... it is fun... you know what? If you can tell me an awesome radical story, then sure. I'll stop bothering you." He said with a firm nod, "It had better be a good one... or I might start singing one hundred bottles of oran on the wall. Trust me, I'm NOT the best singer by far."

"I'm not telling you a story, Dean. I need to pay attention to where we go to make sure there aren't any signs of danger. Can't you sing quietly? To yourself?"

"Hm... oooohhhh... one hundred bottles of oran on the wall! One hundred bottles of oran! I'm singing this part of the song because... uh... I forgot all the rest!" He concluded. "Yeah... I wasn't the best with memorization or anything. And honestly, shouldn't we look like we're making noise?" He dropped his voice down a tone, "After all, we do want to look natural, right? If we're just looking everywhere with suspicion we won't get to the assassin then, and we'll scare him off too."

"Honestly, you'll probably scare off any assassins with your horrible pitch..." As they rounded a corner, Beryl spotted a number of Doublade from the Emperor's Shield huddling around the entrance to the Tower of Nobles. "I believe we have arrived." She quickened her pace, leaving Dean as she hurried through the semi-solid Pokemon.

Dean likewise hurried along, but more along tried his best to go around the emperor's various shields and swords as he mumbled out a few apologies here and there. "There's so many." He said, 'Is this like a super serious thing? It's just some nobles."

"They are not just 'some nobles', Poliwhirl."The Doublade at the center of the commotion had easily noticed both Pokemon. "Both Lady Rhea and Lord Pontus, nobility from both Stygia and Hesperia, have not returned to the tower after many hours. Their fates are unknown."

Beryl did not enjoy being correct. "Is there any clue where they might have gone, any areas which have not been yet checked?"

"We have searched the interior of the Citadel to no avail, Steamroller. If the nobles live still, they are not within its walls." The surrounding Doublade began to fade away as it continued to speak. "We are departing to search the city next. Please continue to search, Steamroller. Praise Arceus if they are merely out for an afternoon stroll..." Its voice trailing off, the last Doublade also began to fade away.

"Honestly, I don't see the big fuss." Dean said with a shrug, "But whatevs I guess. So, grandma, where are we going first? Because trust me, I have NO idea where those nobles go when they have off time. I always get sent to mop up some mess or do something stupid. You know the drill."

"The nobility may not be most appealing of Pokemon, but they are not stupid. They would not leave the citadel when it is not safe. No, they are somewhere within these white walls, somewhere that even the Emperor's Shield would not find them..." A sudden realization made her visibly cringe. "Urk, I believe I may know where to find them."

"You do?" Dean asked as he tilted his head, "Well let's get going then! I so do not want to miss Alphus presenting his drawing! Onward steady steed!" He called out as jumped up and tried to get onto Beryl's back, only to misjudge his jump and smack into her side and fall over as he clutched his face in pain. "... That... hurt..."

She eyed the Poliwhirl one time before turning back to the hallway. "This is not the time for games, Dean. We must hurry to the Royal Gardens!" With that, she started to run down the hall, to where there were stairs that would gradually bring them closer to the wooded area.

Dean blinked his eyes as he rubbed at his forehead. "Oooh... you're thick..." He groaned out. He quickly shook his head and ran after the Donphan as fast as he could. "Hold up! I'm not good for long distance! I so hope I don't get any stitches in my side!"

* * *​

Breathlessly, Beryl began to began to scan the floor of the Royal Gardens. "Split up! Look for any disturbed ground, Dean. Focus near the trees."

Dean let out a sigh and made his way to the trees and he looked about, "Alright alright. So we're trying to find footprints? Or dropped items? What exactly? He asked as he pushed his way in through the branches. "I mean, what exactly could be left? Oh, a dropped handbag? What a scan-OOF!" Dean tripped over a dirt pile and fell face down with a smack and let out a groan, "Okay, this sucks." He muttered.

"Graves, Dean. Graves," she quickly yelled back.

As he stood back up his foot sunk into the ground a bit and he looked down in confusion. "Stupid ground." He gave a tug at his foot and managed to pull it out, though at the expense of revealing that of a cold blue hand. Dean was silent for a moment. "... What is that?" He croaked out. He shakily reached a hand into the dirt and pulled more out to reveal a very dead Quagsire's face. Dean let out a high pitched scream of terror before staggering back and falling down with a loud thud.

Hearing his scream, Beryl rushed through the trees to find the Poliwhirl laying on his back. "What happened, Dean!?" It was not long before she turned from where he fell and saw the face of the very Lady Rhea whom she had seen mere hours prior. "Arceus above..."

Dean only groaned and looked up, blinking his eyes confusingly. As soon as he saw the Quagsire again he turned away and was VERY thankful he had no mouth. His stomach quaked, but he forced himself to get up and run right for that citadel. If he knew anything, this just meant things were only going to become worse.

Still staring at pale blue face of the perished Quagsire, Beryl began to speak. "We need to report this immediately. Dean, relay a message to the..." she began, looking back down at where the Poliwhirl had been only to find the space vacant. "Dean!?" She scanned the forest, and saw the backside of the Poliwhirl as he dashed back towards the citadel. "Damnit, Dean! We still haven't found Lord Pontus," she shouted after him. She ended up muttering to herself, realizing the pointlessness of coaxing Dean back. "Looks like I'll have to find him and report this incident to the Emperor..."

With a sigh, she turned to the other nearby mound of dirt and ripped the carnations from on top of it with her trunk. "I will find whoever did this and sure they meet the same fate."

 

[Ray Maverick]

Emperor
​

It was snowing relentlessly the next morning. The grey mist was wrapped like a pale curtain around the high towers of the White Citadel. A chilling, bitter cold grasped the Whitegold Court, making the Pokemon who were there shiver. Emperor Cyrus, very much in his habitat, opened his palm and caught a snowflake before it fell to the stone. He would have enjoyed the snowfall, if it weren't for the east wind's high speeds, which didn't allow snow to settle and pile up. He glanced behind him, to other Pokemon who weren't ice-types and who suffered in the cold, much unlike a Beartic; why couldn't they just open the Heavenly Door already? His men were freezing out there. The Emperor ground his teeth, staring at the door that led to the Roost of the Sky Throne, where Lord Ares and the rest of the Small Council were taking their seats for the official ceremony of welcoming the Emperor and the Gold Tribe. They were still making preparations, and they were taking their sweet time doing it too...

The nobles had taken him lightly, it seemed. A Beartic, young as the snows and untried, sheltered for most of his life by his father, they assumed they could walk over him. Not after this day, he swore. The country is mine, the Emperor thought. That's what Dareon had told him.

"Cyrus, think of what you are going to do here," Garland said, his voice distant in howling of the wind.

"I have," the young Beartic said, "for two day's time. Lord Ares thinks me weaker than my father, but I shall play his game, and I shall win, or else I don't deserve the throne I am about to claim."

He felt confident in the thick, crystalline armor he was wearing; the dull ice reflected the pale glimmer of the Thunder Crown on his head, snow had nestled between the stalactites of his shoulderpads. With his icy armor and beard that was overgrown thanks to the chill, he looked much like those Stygian heroes that appeared in their mythology, people who ruled with ice and lightning during the Days of the Storm, before the Kings of Hesperia and Stygia. Thresh wasn't much different. He, too, looked noble and regal, with his frost-covered hilt and shield.

Thresh was one of the people who felt the cold, but weren't bothered by it. Cyrus regarded him with his frosty eyebrows raised slightly. "Is Lord Kymotonian as ready as we are?"

They'd placed the Trevenant inside, as he complained strongly of the weather, and he wasn't in the wrong.

"Yes, he shall come after your signal is given... Your Highness, if I may speak my mind. This cold is not ordinary," Thresh observed, "this year's autumn's clues let us predict a warm winter... certainly not this. It seems to be getting worse every hour, along with the high wind."

Before the Beartic could answer, the Heavenly Door slowly began to open with a long, muffled sound that was barely heard in the wind. Two Doublades stood to each side of the door. Beyond them, the torch-lit, long chamber with the tall ceiling called the Roost unfolded. The red carpet with the golden lining in the midst of the dark grey stone led to the Sky Throne, and to each side of the carpet, the Shield were in formation - lines that led the Emperor straight to his throne.

"Please, proceed," the Doublades said, and they parted so they could pass.

Garland leaned to the Beartic, touching him reassuringly on his back. "I am with you," he said. Cyrus couldn't help but feel the stage fright wash over him, but the cold gave him strength. He looked at his mentor, the kind but serious Floatzel, and he patted him on the spot on his back and nodded.

He went ahead with a sure step, and the Gold Tribe followed close behind him in formation.

The lords of the Small Council were gathered to the steps on the side of the Sky Throne. Lord Ares of the Eshir, the Crustle, was the nearer one to the throne. All his puppets were next to him: Lord Themis the Maractus, Lord Eos the Sawsbuck, Lord Memnon the Pansear, Lady Festia the Cherrim; Cyrus did not spare them a look, nor did he spare a look to all the nobles that had left their Tower to attend the ceremony.

He kept walking with his eyes fixed forward, on the Sky Throne. Pale, grey light leaked from the high windows of the Roost, falling on the carpet, showing clearly the dust in the room. Each gilded column the Emperor passed brought him closer to the glass-like crystal throne where the ruler of Exathor sat. Lord Ares was saying something that echoed in the halls of the Roost. As he passed the Small Council to his right, he glimpsed a darker, isolated figure on the left side, where the lesser nobles were; for a second, he feared an assassin, but when his eyes fell on him, he realized it was a Scrafty matching the description of the leader of the People's Militia. He was Gryan Darkmantle, and he watched the Emperor with a neutral face that was as if frozen on him by the cold.

"With great hospitality we accept the First Man of Union and Alliance, Ruler of All Nations and Defender of the Constitution..." spoke Ares, expecting Cyrus to look at him.

But Cyrus walked past the Small Council without a second glance, straight to the Sky Throne. He climbed the steps easily, Thresh and Garland following him to the right and left.

Lord Ares paused at this display. They all watched Emperor Cyrus slowly take his seat on the Sky Throne. He sat down on the crystal and unfolded himself so he was grabbing the arms of the throne comfortably. He inhaled deeply, his eyes wandering to the back of the chamber. The Gold Tribe were filling the chamber, and within seconds, the Heavenly Door was shut tightly with the same, muffled sound it had made before.

The room fell into a deafening, tense silence. Cyrus's simple expression did not help with things. Lord Ares cleared his throat, intent on pushing onwards.

"... to the Sky Throne. We mourn the passing of Lord Rhea and Lord Pontus..."

"I do, too," Cyrus spoke, turning to look at the Crustle. It wasn't a coincidence that these two were the ones to go. His father had spoken to him of how Lord Rhea supported him and how Lord Pontus was a friend of his father's - they didn't want someone like Lord Ares in power, and they had been killed for it.

"Step up, Lord Ares, and make it quick. I have little patience after I returned to my city to find out I was still being held out, and your little scheme has perilously delayed the crucial preparations for our defense I intend to make by an extra three days."

There was quiet fuss within the nobles, murmurs and swift glances were exchanged. The Small Council's members were dumbfounded, all but Ares who was unmoved by his words, still absolutely serious. The Gold Tribe all mutually, silently agreed with Cyrus's words. He stepped in front of the Sky Throne without a further word.

"Lord Ares of the Eshir," Cyrus spoke with a loud, yet intentionally monotonous voice, "you are to be made a Stygian General. Will you serve Exathor in its defense against all threats to my name, and to the name of peace?"

"I will," Lord Ares said quickly.

"Will you serve faithfully as a man under my command, my eyes, my voice and my word in Stygia, and a staunch ally of the Gold Tribe?"

"I will."

"Will you accept the responsibility, as a General, of upholding the Council, its Constitution and all that it stands for?"

"I will."

Cyrus nodded, his simple expression, a mask so far, slipping from his face. His mouth was squared, tightened in a show of solid antipathy, his eyes narrowed in a displeasure which you could almost touch. A despicable, worthless monster was before him. "Go back to your seat," the Emperor said, almost lazily, but with icy disdain. A deathly silence fell on the nobles. Some cheered for the new General afterwards, but without much joy; the rest observed what was going on in the Sky Throne, not having missed how Emperor Cyrus had handled the situation. Garland and Thresh were staring at Lord Ares taking his spot in the Small Council, pretending to be oblivious.

Cyrus leaned on his elbow on the Sky Throne, pretending to be nonchalant. Cold and numbness had spread from his chest to his limbs, pushing his rage back into the depths of his soul, but not nullifying it. Lord Ares had played him well. Now it was his turn to play him.

Garland stepped forward and motioned towards the end of the chamber. The Doublades over there opened the Heavenly Door once more, and the howling winds rushed through everyone in the chamber. More than two hundred people shivered.

"Keep the Door open," Emperor Cyrus commanded in a voice loud enough to be heard. The winter's cold was reaching him on the Sky Throne from outside.

From the mist and the whirling snow outside, a thin figure walked in the Roost, with his escort close behind him. It was a Trevenant with a woolen tunic and a black cape with the crest of the Otori on it. The golden jewels were adorning every branch of his. Lord Kymotonian walked briskly and slouchy, informally; frost had nestled on his head, arms and shoulder. "Your Highness, Your Highness," he said loudly, with sass, "don't you look good on that throne! Aren't you just the finest Emperor? Eh, no offense to Emperor Dareon, of course."

He came upon the Sky Throne and bent. "I am grateful to have served Your Brilliance... and I am very pleased to see I have not chosen the wrong side."

Emperor Cyrus has still and pale like the snowlands. "Lord Kymotonian of the Otori. You are to be made a Stygian General. Will you serve Exathor in its defense against all threats to my name and to the name of peace?"

Muttering erupted quickly, and the Small Council was aghast. None had the chance to protest, when Lord Kymotonian said, "I will."

"Will you serve faithfully as a man under my command, my eyes, my voice and my word in Stygia, and a staunch ally of the Gold Tribe?"

"I will."

As they were saying those words, the nobles had understood what was going on. Through the fuss, Emperor Cyrus continued unyielding.

"Will you accept the responsibility, as a General, of upholding the Council, its Constitution and all that it stands for?"

"I will." Meanwhile, Garland had gestured again toward the Heavenly Door.

"Then take your seat to my left, next to Thresh."

Lord Ares protested, but the fuss made his voice insignificant, and Emperor Cyrus's gaze was far from him.

Through the Heavenly Door, in the Roost came a huge, bulky figure from the mist, with one follower behind him. This one drew outright exclamations from the crowd; the Gold Tribe was stoic and silent, although some of them surprised. They hadn't been told about this.

"Lord Brynjolf of the Tocan, you are to be made a Stygian General. Will you serve Exathor in its defense against all threats to my name, and to the name of peace?"

The Aggron's step was heavy, quaking the ground, but formal. "You bet," he roared as he approached.

"Will you serve faithfully as a man under my command, my eyes, my voice and my word in Stygia, and a staunch ally of the Gold Tribe?"

The Aggron pounded his tightened fist on his chest, where his heart was. His roar covered the storm of protests: "I will!"

"Will you accept the responsibility, as a General, of upholding the Council, its Constitution and all that it stands for?"

Brynjolf kneeled in front of the Sky Throne. "I will, I swear by all that's sacred to me."

The room was in uproar. "Silence!" the Emperor bellowed, and the lesser nobles went quiet, regarding Emperor Cyrus with frailty. All they could do was shout now that he had made up his mind. "I have pardoned General Brynjolf for his crimes against the Crown and he shall now serve the realm as a new man. He fought with honor, and I forgive him. Come now, and stand beside me like an honorable man who has had his eyes opened and asked for a chance to redeem himself."

Now, Stygia had three Generals. One with a large army, Kymotonian with his Otori, another one with an army that wasn't yet under his command, Brynjolf and his Tocan, and one with a lesser army, Ares and what little Eshir he could muster inside the city. If he was allowed to control all the bannermen of Stygia as a singular General, Lord Ares would have gained massive influence; by allowing the Otori and the Tocan, the biggest surviving armies, to retain their control under the command of their very own General, Emperor Cyrus thwarted any threat Lord Ares could have hoped to pose to him if things were otherwise.

Cyrus turned to Lord Ares and the Small Council, his icy gaze solid, uncaring and merciless. He saw the Crustle's eyes; they hated him now. Soon, they would fear him.

 

[Ray Maverick]

The Circle of Sages
​

"Deathbringer," Sage Hissatsu said with great respect to the Yveltal, "Yvangarde has fallen to my tribe."

Thrace said nothing in response. She only played with the claws of her wings, producing a rattling sound; her turquoise eyes were wide open, brimming with fire. "Bring me Teneth!" she roared and the Sages all cowered.

Kagemusha had grabbed his wrist, looking down awkwardly. "I beg of you, have mercy on him," he said, glancing quickly to her.

"What he did was unacceptable," Thrace murmured, "unacceptable! He let them go unscathed! He is a traitor. A cowardly traitor!" She jerked her head to the Pangoro, her black mane swirling about her, and she eyed him with her fangs half-bared and her eyes sparkling. "I hunger to kill, and traitors are the best dish."

Teneth arrived with his escort. He was upset, but it wasn't readily obvious. "Deathbringer," he said quickly, bowing, but before he could say anything else, Thrace had leaped from the ground, her snout shoved close to the Umbreon's face. He shut his eyes and bit his tongue forcefully; his rings started changing from green to red.

"You... worthless, miserable rodent," the Yveltal snarled, "you let them go, did you not? You are on their side!"

Kagemusha didn't want to lose an ally such as Teneth - if not for his strategic mind, for the twenty thousand Shukahen in his command - so he stepped forward. "Deathbringer, Teneth is a commander with faith proven to us already, we can't afford to--"

"Quiet," she screamed. "You let Vektor fight your battle and then you left," she spat to Teneth, "you betrayed two sides, and Dareon was victorious!"

"Forgive me, Deathbringer," Lord Teneth said, his eyes wide open but looking down. His lip trembled, perhaps out of fear.

Thrace turned away suddenly and walked back to her nest. "And now there are thousands more to kill," she said to herself, "that is what gladdens me the most."

"It had to be done," Teneth said, "if I was in Amoon with Otori and Hesperians against me, the Shukahen would have all perished, and we wouldn't be able to serve you for another day."

Thrace's turquoise eyes burned in the dark crevice in the ground; it seemed impossible to reason with her.

"Vendra!" she snapped, "what do you think?"

"I think he's a coward, and a traitor," the Meloetta said with a sharp smile, mockingly. "But he is so weak. Isn't his existence meaningless, anyway? Wouldn't it even be a bother to wipe him off the face of the island? Besides... if Dareon was killed, then poor Cyrus would have never taken the crown, would he?" her tone was sadistic.

Thrace shook her head, as if she was itching to move around as much as she could. "Death rules you all," she said, "and I am death. Do not forget that, rodent. In the end, I always win. Whatever game you are playing, you shall be dead sooner or later, and I will live through any and every betrayal you can possibly throw at me during your short, insignificant lifetime. You live, for now, but that was the last time you made a decision out of my range of fire."

Kagemusha leaned close to Teneth and whispered, "go, port out, there's nothing more to say." Teneth kept his head down, and his escort took him away.

Before he was even out of hearing, Thrace shouted, "the loyalists, Vendra, I shall have them now. First, the last cleansing of Telmor, then, the cleansing of the City of Union..."

Kagemusha kept a stoic face, grabbing his wrist with his posture straightened. The killing was imminent. The church in the palace of the Grimsnauk family had become a slaughterhouse where they brought Aurelius loyalists that they unearthed among the clan of the Tocan. They fed them by the dozens to Thrace with no second thought.

 

[GastlyGibus]

Not so scary after all.
|Pendro "Reaching Mind" Malis, Lenora "Seer" Tarikoss.|​

After the events with Cyrus at the Roost, at the top of the vaults, on a balcony, Lenora stood, eyes fixated on the sun as it began it's descent into the horizon. She stood motionless, unblinking, wings folded to her sides, concentrating as she did years ago at the monastery in Pyrgos.

She felt the cold breeze blow through her feathers, taking in a single breath through her nostrils and holding it, before exhaling slowly. From her perch on the balcony, no noises could be heard, save the blowing of the wind. Lenora cleared her mind, focusing herself on her meditation...

Behind the Xatu, the balcony door quietly creaked open. Through the door floated Pendro, who floated there for a while, blinking and tapping his claws on the sides of his flask. The Metang took a quick sip of the persim tea inside before cautiously approaching the Seer. He wasn't entirely sure what was the right move to make in this situation - how does one approach a 'mon in meditation? Silently cursing himself, he realised he should have brought a second flask of tea, and maybe a crumpet or something to go with it. Any interruption is justified, so long as tea and crumpets are involved.

"The air bites shrewdly," Lenora said suddenly, her stare remaining fixated on the setting sun. "It is very cold. You can feel it, can you not?"

"Oh, my apologies, ma'am, if I disturbed-" The Metang stopped, realising that his voice had taken on 'posh mode' as he'd dubbed it. He blinked, swallowed, then carried on in his more regular voice. "I, erm... I can. Quite the meteorological anomaly, I must say."

"What could be the cause of this?" The Xatu mused to herself, seemingly ignoring Pendro's input. "Most curious..."

"Many a number of things," Pendro mused along with the Seer. "The most popular consensus seems to be that the island is moving, which isn't out of the question what with Thrace's activity and the disturbance of the Nexuses, although alternatively the weather isn't something that has ever been entirely predictable. Even then, I think-" Reaching Mind paused, realising he'd been rattling off words to Lenora for a while. He stared for a moment before blinking, then looking away and moving his flask closer to his mouth for another drink. "S- erm, s-sorry, you're quite scary..."

"Moving... moving..." Lenora said to herself. It appeared as if she was only paying half attention to the Metang, getting lost in her own ponderings. "Moving to where? To find something, or..." She fell quiet, her voice trailing off, before letting out a shrill cry and spreading her wings wide. Pendro ducked for cover, raising his arms over his head, letting out a cry of his own and dropping to the floor. He almost dropped his flask of tea, but kept it steady with a psychic grasp before any of the liquid could spill.

Lenora brought her wings back down, closing her eyes and bowing her head, before turning to Pendro with her usual calm, stoic expression. "I apologize. I sometimes get lost in my own musings. Did you need something, Reaching Mind?"

The Metang looked up at the Seer from his position on the floor, "Uhhh... y-yes...?"

Lenora turned back to the skyline, keeping still. "Ask," she said simply.

"R-er, right, uh, of course... um-" Pendro stopped to levitate off of the ground again, before taking several sips of his persim tea. "Ah, tally-ho then; you seem to be quite the wise and respectful being, my good lady, and so it came to my attention you might be suitable to provide assistance of an advisory nature." He took another sip of tea. "You see, ma'am, the fields of battle seem to put a bit of a dampener on my concentration, which is quite the shame with all the knowledge on theory I have readily available, don't you know. As such, I found myself wondering if perhaps you'd encountered anything similar or had any means of dealing with such an ailment - or, by all means, if you happened to know another who has - because the outcome of such would surely have a positive affect on both myself and any serving with me."

The Metang paused for a moment again, taking a deep breath before sipping his tea once more and speaking, "Also, the affects of drinking tea on my behaviour is another jolly good mystery, I must say. Quite the conundrum."

A small chuckle escaped the Xatu's beak; the Metang was certainly a curious one. She didn't turn to face him, instead keeping her focus on the horizon. "Tell me, Reaching Mind," she began, "what is it about battle that causes you distress?"

Pendro took another sip of tea, "Hmm, I suppose it's just quite the stressful pickle, battle is. I can certainly say I'm not the fondest of hurting people, and I'm certainly not the biggest fan of being hurt, either. It's quite the two-way street of discomfort, if I do say so myself, but there you go."

"I see," Lenora replied, pondering a moment on his answer. "Certainly, I would think most civilized people would have qualms with unnecessary violence. I do not fault you for that. Tell me, what concerns do you have with hurting others who have declared their intention to harm you?"

"Erm..." Pendro pondered the question for a moment. "I'm, er... not really sure. It's not that I can't, uh..." The Metang took another sip of tea before continuing, "Well, it isn't that I can't give some of those unsavoury ruffians a right biffing, but rather that I don't seem to be able to focus on the biffing all too efficiently. Not sure the dear old brain works quite up to snuff. Fear, I suppose, is the main problem; fear of being hurt, fear of failing, fear of a whole lot of things."

"Fear," Lenora repeated. "Fear is a natural response, I feel. It is a difficult emotion to overcome. Helps us sense when danger is near, tells us to flee, assists in our survival." It was hard to tell if the Xatu was addressing Pendro, or talking to herself. She closed her eyes and nodded once. "And yet fear can also hinder us. Stressing us to retreat when there is no danger, or hindering us from doing what must be done. Tell me, why did you join the Gold Tribe?"

"I, uh..." Pendro began, laughing nervously, "I'm not, er, entirely sure, it's just, uh... I just went for it and it sort of happened... all the stories, and books, and my parents, and the- well, I... I guess it's just that I never really thought that I could go any other way. A bit committed, now..."

Lenora smiled softly. She found the Metang's honesty admirable. "I don't know about you, but as for me, I do not believe in coincidence or chance. Whatever its reasons, fate has brought you to the Gold Tribe, brought you here, for a reason. Hypothetically speaking, let us say you are not in the Gold Tribe. You are simply an ordinary 'mon trying to survive in this time of war and rebellion. You said it yourself, you are opposed to violence, yes? So what would you think of these crusaders who seek to disrupt the peace and tear the union asunder?"

Pendro was slightly taken aback, but replied nonetheless, "T-the-they, are, um... they're, uh- they- uh, for a lack of a, uh, a better word, they're- uh, they're... meanies."

"'Meanies,' indeed," Lenora said, humoring him. "Despite all of our efforts to negotiate, they are not interested in talks or concessions. They are out for blood. However, you have been trained for this. You are not an ordinary citizen. You are Gold Tribe, and you have the training and ability to meet these attackers head-on."

She finally turned from her gazing, facing Pendro and giving him a stoic glare. "Because of this, you are stronger than those citizens the crusaders seek to harm. You possess the ability to defend them, to fight back, to show that Exathor will not tolerate evil on its people. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Reaching Mind sighed, "I... yes. I do, I really do, but I..." He hit the side of his head in frustration. "Ow- I just can't... focus, when I want to, when I really need to, my mind, it just freezes, I..." The Metang stopped to take another few sips of tea, but after he was done, he stayed silent.

"What I'm saying is," she continued, "perhaps it might help to think of what you are fighting for, whom you are fighting for. Do not think of what you are up against, rather, think about what you stand to accomplish."

After a moment of thought, Pendro shook his head, confused, "But if I don't think about what I'm up against, how am I supposed to measure type effectiveness properly? I'll be caught out trying to attack with moves for the best neutral coverage versus the general innocent populous, family and friends! That doesn't work at all! I don't even think my moveset is cut out for that, and there are far too many variables- I'd need census data--"

Lenora raised a wing to interrupt, shaking her head. "You misunderstand," she said. "What I meant is, do not fret over the odds, nor the strength of your enemy. Instead, focus on the goal. If you see an insurmountable cliff, and say to yourself 'this cliff is too high, I cannot climb it,' then you have already lost. You see?"

"B-but, you- the cliff, you said it was insurmountable- the, if- you- surely, if you lose earlier, that's more efficient than wasting time trying to climb an insurmountable cliff, and potentially endangering yourself in the process by failing to climb it later higher up, at which point falling could cause serious injury and even death, at which point you--"

"Reaching Mind," she stated, placing a wing gently on his shoulder. "Do you see what I'm saying? You are worrying too much about the odds, the risks involved, and the potential danger. The idea here is potential danger. You do not know whether the cliff is insurmountable. You have only made it such in your mind." She paused for a moment, folding her wings back to her sides. "It is obviously not an easy task to overcome fear," she said. "But as I said before, I believe you are here with us for a reason. Fate has brought you here, and I do not think it would have done so if you were not capable. You have the strength to overcome, it is in you; what remains is to find it."

Lenora closed her eyes, nodding again. "This is a conflict you, yourself, will have to resolve. To break down the mental barricades you have constructed for yourself. You built them up, and you can break them down. The strength is there, you simply have to find it."

Pendro looked down at his claws, tapping them together, "It's all well and good you saying that, and thank you, but I- I'm, uh... I don't think I have the faintest clue how to start looking. Not sure I've ever been too adept at introspection- erm, also, sorry, you, uh... aren't that scary, that was probably a bit rude in retrospect, sorry."

"It's quite alright," Lenora said, a faint grin on her face. "Perhaps I could stand to work more on my general demeanor." She laughed a bit, before turning back to Pendro. "Introspection is an acquired skill. I could assist you with that, to an extent. I cannot make any sort of definitive promise that it will work - that will depend on you - but I can provide my counsel, if you wish."

Reaching Mind looked up at the Xatu and nodded. "I'll, er... definitely think about it. Thanks for your help, Seer, it's, erm..." He laughed lightly, "Probably a bit more helpful than I might have made it seem." The Metang cleared his throat before speaking again, "But, erm, yes- uh, what kind of, uh, things, would this, erm, cou- uh, counsel, involve?"

Lenora stood for a moment, her gaze turning upwards. "When I was a young woman in Pyrgos, I lived in a monastery, surrounded by devoted priests, priestesses, and disciples, dedicated to bettering themselves and their community. My meditations now focus more on the future, and the visions my kind are given, though I can teach you the techniques we learned in the monastery."

Pendro's eyes widened in interest, "What kind of techniques?"

"Do you have a spare moment?" Lenora asked in return. "I can show you now, if you have the time."

"Erm... sure, I guess," The Metang held up his flask. "Will tea be useful, or...?"

"Perhaps you should leave the tea alone, for now," Lenora said, turning towards the outside. She motioned for Pendro to stay alongside her, to which the Metang reluctantly put down his tea and joined the Seer. "Now, we will practice a simple technique, one we learned as young children. Close your eyes... take a deep breath..."

 

[Plumbum]

Some 'mon among the nobles welcomed Lord Brynjolf's ascension to General; mostly those belonging to the Tocan tribe. Those cheered for him. The others were either confused, calculating if General Brynjolf would favor them, and some were outright opposed to it, like those who supported General Ares. But their voices were distant in the ears of Cyrus, who sat on the Sky Throne loosely, audaciously relaxed and uncaring, as if the crystal seat was his huge blue cushion.

The Emperor clapped his hands, grinning sharply but joylessly, glancing to the men on his side: Brynjolf, Kymotonian and Garland. The Gold Tribe picked up his clapping and the nobles were forced to submit. After the clapping died down, Cyrus said, "now, to resolve the matter of Hesperian leadership." He leaned towards Garland, who nodded and raised his hand towards Ambrose, who was standing with the rest of the tribe in the back.

Men with blue banners teleported outside, on the mists of the court, after the signal was given. As they entered the Roost, the flags filled the chamber with the colors of Hesperia and their representative species, the Swellow. Two Rhydons walked in the front with the appropriate armor, and behind them followed an Escavalier who had dyed his jousting lances and horsehair crest on top of his head blue to match with his country's colors. The Rhydons shouted among a turbulence that occurred in the people who were already in the Roost: "Presenting Lord Rhoy of Skyhaven, Your Excellence!"

Lord Rhoy went in front of the steps, lowered his head and his lances to the ground, as if to kneel. The group of twenty men he'd brought with him did the same. He shouted, "I bow to the lawful Emperor of Exathor, protector of this country and its people. All hail Emperor Cyrus."

"Hail Emperor Cyrus," the crowd repeated, placing their hands on their hearts.

Emperor Cyrus seemed to approve, but the face above his icy beard didn't show much. He raised his hand and tapped his two fingers in a summoning gesture towards the back. Another group of Hesperians had appeared and entered the Roost. This one was accompanied by his own men, but presented by two Doublades of the Shield who had been elected.

"Presenting Lord Vennson of Skyhaven, Your Highness," the Doublades shouted tensely.

Behind them marched another small troop of men, themselves carrying the colors and banners of Hesperia. In front of the troop were two soldiers, a Golem and Roserade, wearing blue sashes decorated with various badges and emblems. Behind them marched a Tropius, Vennson, his head held high and proud as he entered the Roost. As they stood in front of Cyrus, the soldiers bowed. Vennson craned his long neck downwards, bending one knee and kneeling slightly.

"Your Highness," he said humbly. "It is an honor."

"It is," echoed Emperor Cyrus, his gaze measuring and calculating upon the Tropius. He quickly averted his eyes to the new group which was entering the Roost. The banners of Fargal Keep and Hesperia flew into the chamber, carried by Lord Halford's men; the Zebstrika walked proudly with a graceful, official step, but once he was in range of the other two Hesperian lords, his nose wrinkled suspiciously. Among his men, a Kirlia teleporter in a blue dress walked in the back of the group.

"Lord Halford of Fargal Keep," the Doublades shouted, announcing him. After the three lords were brought in front of the Emperor, the members of the Shield that were around them faded and reappeared in a crescent circle in front of the Emperor, forming a protective barrier between him and the lords. The Gold Tribe closed the crescent circle around the three nobles tightly. Garland ordered some of his brothers to take the nobles and the Small Council further away; Ambrose took care of that, and then went to Cyrus's side right next to Garland.

Cyrus caught Ambrose's glance to Thrasher who was among the Gold Tribe crowd; the Shiftry's glance turned to Cyrus, and he nodded subtly.

"Your Highness, I have come to pledge fealty in the eyes of Arceus," the Zebstrika said as his guards parted so he could step forward. He glanced quickly to Lord Rhoy and Vennson, and Emperor Cyrus gave him one of his sharp smiles that judged you from miles afar.

The Beartic stood up from the crystal throne, and his icy breath rose like a mist in the heat inside the walls of the Roost. The torches besides him gave his pale cheeks an orange hue, and fire was reflected on his grey eyes. He looked distant in his armor, imposing like the Conqueror, and everyone in the room seemed to realize it. "And, you have come to don the General's badge," Cyrus said conclusively.

The nobles and the people of the Small Council exchanged quick whispers, perhaps guessing what was about to happen: Cyrus granted Stygia three Generals, so he was about to do the same for Hesperia. Cyrus would bet his tea Lord Ares did not much favor Lord Halford for General, as that Zebtrika was the one with the biggest army out of the three Hesperian lords, and that would mean more competition to deal with. The Beartic felt the Crustle's gaze, equally calculating to his, fall to the Zebstrika; if Ares wasn't such an ambitious man, he would make for a fine ally.

"General Ares," Emperor Cyrus called out, "what do you think? Shall I grant this man's wish?"

Lord Halford objected, "this has already been decided. I am here to don the honor of the Hesperian General." He wasn't in the chamber just minutes ago, so he couldn't have known of Cyrus's trickery, but the nobles in the room were well aware now. They sounded upset, but distant, as they had been taken to the corner of the Roost by the Tribe, somewhat far from the throne.

Cyrus put his hand above his icy beard and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "That is open to negotiation," he said coldly.

"It is not, in fact," Lord Halford said equally coldly, "what is this? Is this some joke to waste my time? I was told--"

Someone let out a harsh cry of pain to Cyrus's side. The Shield mobilized at once, closing around the Emperor, and Thresh raised his shield to protect him, all within a second. But it was only Ambrose, who clutched his chest, kneeling on the floor. All eyes were on him and suddenly people were unsettled, trying to get a better look at what had happened, some murmuring, some shouting. The Shiftry looked up at his Emperor, panting heavily, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, son. Old age and whatnot."

"Do you require a healer?" Garland asked loudly.

"No, no, carry on, carry on, don't mind ol' Tempest, it happens from time to time." His eyes fell on the Zebstrika, and they had a mocking flame in them, accompanied with a very subtle curve of the mouth. "Please. Continue. We're all very interested in what you have to say..."

Lord Halford snorted haughtily, taking his eyes off the abrasive Shiftry. Before he could say anything, Lord Rhoy spoke.

"Your Highness, we three presented ourselves in order to be honored as Generals of Hesperia, or so I was told..."

Lord Halford reacted immediately. He stared down upon Lord Rhoy as if he was his sworn enemy and said, "that is not what I was told. And I will not be trifled with." He turned to Cyrus. "I demand an explanation for this farce."

Cyrus brought his hands together in front of him and regarded him coolly for long moments. "Then, explain I shall." His eyes wandered to the crowd of the Gold Tribe, until he found her. "Vanguard," he called out, "come forth."

Petrina gave the Emperor a respectful nod. As she walked to her call she did as she could to conceal the limp she was carrying, in fact she even had a hint of smugness about her face. She had picked up a length of string now, the Dark Star hanging around her neck with her pendant - she had even taken the care that it would hang behind the pendant, but now she raised a forepaw to it, playing with it as if to call attention to it as she addressed Cyrus. "Emperor, with your permission, I would like to ask some questions to our esteemed Lord Halford..."

"Go right ahead," the Emperor said, waving his hand towards the Zebstrika, whose gaze lingered on the crystal the Glaceon had. He showed no worry.

"Thank you." Petrina turned to Lord Halford, bowing her head in a false show of respect. "Lord Halford... I am no politician. I am a soldier, so I would request a soldier's honesty in your answers with me." She continued to idly fiddle with the crystal around her neck. "Do you know what this crystal is?"

Lord Halford only deigned to turn his head slightly towards her. He was tall, so he had to look down, and it seemed as if he was looking down on smallfolk. "I have heard of rumors of its existence," he spoke, "it is like the crystals the Gold Tribe possesses, only black."

"That is... widely accurate." She noted his careful use of wording and his elitist look. She wasn't sure if either were intentional, but she knew the Emperor was in her corner. He knew what she did. "Then, may I ask, have you ever seen this crystal before today? There is no need to be modest if you have held it, or ashamed if it escaped your grasp. I only seek to know more about it."

Lord Halford seemed offended. "What is this about?" he asked Cyrus wildly, "of course I haven't seen it before, let alone hold it. My patience is running dry!" he snorted.

"I'm very sorry to hear that." Petrina bowed her head with real disappointment - maybe she had expected too much that the nature of her questions might give away she knew about him. "I have heard much that you have seen this exact crystal before. Emperor... I believe I shared my source with you. May I share it with all who stand present today?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead," Cyrus spoke over her last few words loudly, waving his hand again; he did this to give no chance to Halford to react. The Emperor's gaze urged Petrina to be quick about it, before the lord decided he was trapped.

Petrina caught the Emperor's gaze, nodding a little more dutifully. She started talking, although exactly who to would be a mystery anyone who didn't already know, especially as she was almost muttering. "So... I'd like to speak to you... could you share with us, the story you told me about Rax?"

Lord Halford smirked at her as if she was insane and was about to call her out, but the crystal heard Petrina's plea and it pulsed like a heart. The wind was pushed away as an unseen wave of energy coming from it filled the air. Everyone in the Roost felt it; a core-shaking power ran through them, spreading to the walls, making the torches shudder. The black crystal shook. The observers didn't fully comprehend what was going on, but Petrina did - the shadow of the Wielders of the past, dominating their small portion of the crystal, resisted her will, but she felt the Phantom Dancer next to her. Under his robes, liquid darkness shook where his body should have been, keeping him into place. His cloak and cape flew around him with the constant force of what the crystal cast around them.

Despite the wind, he stood on his feet, calmly. His green eyes were determined. He nodded at her, and the vision of all the Pokemon in range of the crystal shifted into something else.

Spoiler:

Rax and Atris were being brought to Lord Halford's tent now; you could tell it was his, because it was the biggest one in the center of the camp. Light-blue colored, and with flags bearing the crest of his family, the Zebstrika's head, stationed with spikes at each sides of the entrance. As they neared the tent, Atris leaned close to Rax, whispering to him.

"You're really going to sell it? Just like that?"

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Rax asked curiously.

"Yes, but..." Atris thought for a moment. "Death Gods? Rebellions? All over a silly crystal?"

"They want it so bad. None o' my business why they want it. "

Atris frowned slightly. "I think this crystal is more important than you realize. I don't think you should sell it."

"What would you have me do with it, then?" Rax asked.

The Braixen had no chance to respond; the moment they entered the tent with the Heatmor and his escort, a familiar face greeted them; it was that tall and sleazy Mienshao with the mustachios that pooled on the floor around him. He was holding the black book of the Constitution; he had a strange smile on his face, one that revealed only his front teeth and didn't reach his hazel eyes. The Mienshao never looked more like a rodent who had found its meal than he did in this moment. That was the Wise Master of Laws, no doubt, and next to him was Lord Halford, a Zebstrika laid over an earthly brown cushion. A silver cross was hanging from his neck, and above him, there was a banner of Arceus.

"Ah, there they are," Lord Halford said hastily, his eyes fixed on the crystal around Rax's neck, "let us see it, boy, come on, be quick about it. Leave it on the table."

The Wise Master, more subtle and observant, knew of Rax's instincts, so he snapped his fingers at the Heatmor, who must have known what to do. He brought in the tent a large chest; it was so great in size that four of his men had to carry it in front of Lord Halford's desk. "Please," Rethlor the Mienshao said, giving them his slimy smile, "show us the crystal, and your reward shall be shown to you in turn."

Rax eyed the Mienshao cautiously. Atris' concerns began to weigh in his mind. These people desperately wanted this crystal. "It's right here," the Toxicroak said, gesturing to the crystal that hung from his neck. "Got a reward to match?"

"On the table, heathen," Lord Halford commanded.

The Wise Master approached the Toxicroak with quiet steps, leaning in to whisper, "put it on the table, you have got nothing to worry about."

Rax looked at Atris, the Braixen giving a small nod. He reached behind his neck, undoing the chain and placing the Star on the table. "All in one piece, right as rain."

Lord Halford leaned in from his cushion to examine the jet-black crystal. The strange power it projected flew across the room in waves. There wasn't any doubt that it was the real thing.

"What a strange creation," the Zebstrika commented, without touching the gem. The Wise Master grabbed the chain and lifted it slightly, bringing it to the level of his eyes, which glowed with the flame of greed.

"Splendid," he shouted, putting the chain around his head, then nodding at the guards. They opened the treasure chest. Stacks upon stacks of golden bars lit up the room in their clear, luminous glow that danced upon Rax and Atris's faces.

"What is this?" Rax asked, insulted. This was not the amount they were promised. "I work my rump off to get that bloody rock and-"

Atris jabbed Rax in the arm, casting an angry glare at the Toxicroak. Rax wisely stopped talking. "What my partner means to say, " Atris said, "is that we were promised a larger amount, considering what we went through to acquire this."

The Mienshao took a step back and folded his arms across his chest, beneath the dark crystal that rested softly against his dirty fur. He let Lord Halford handle this. The Zebstrika grinned, but it looked more like something stinky was right under his nose; he was looking at them haughtily with an air of superiority, as if they were trash under his hooves. "You were promised an amount for your support, yes, but you are not quite done supporting us yet, heathens."

"You shall get the full reward if you follow us to Union City," the Wise Master said slyly, "and I'll have you understand that Lord Halford is not going there with the... best of intentions." Rax would know what he was talking about - Rethlor was implying that if they sieged Union City, they would also sack it when they would get past the walls. "So, in addition to what was promised, your mercenaries may keep any valuables they... happen to find in the city, once it falls--

The vision lasted only a few seconds, much like a dream, although every bit of it was slow enough for everyone to comprehend what was going on. The noble family Aurelius had been betrayed.

 

[Greiger]

Cyrus : Setting da rulez, cause he's the cool kid!​

Thrasher silently watched the proceedings, and all the while he had began to shift just a bit in the crowd. Inch by inch he worked his way up as he waited silently for the signal to be given. He managed to find his place just behind the Kirlia when he could hear the gasps around him. Although several tall mon were in front of him, thus blocking his sight of Ambrose and Cyrus, the slight panic around him was more than enough to alert him as to what had happened.

Due to the chilly weather outside Thrasher had found himself forced to wear a cloak. Sure, fur covered a majority of his body, but his arms and legs couldn't help but shiver just a tad whenever he walked though the windy environment. It was also perfect for the current situation at hand. With everyone's attention turned to the front the Primeape reached out for the Kirlia and pulled her quickly under his cloak, his other hand gripping her head as he twisted it as harshly as he could. A soft snap would have normally sounded out alerts, no doubt, but with everyone talking about Ambrose the sound went unnoticed. The struggle didn't last long as he just stood there, a grim frown on his face as he did his best to also look concerned for Ambrose. He slowly stepped on back from the crowd, letting the Kirlia's body continue to stand there, albeit with a bowed head, as he slowly made his way back among his brothers and sisters.

Still, the ceremony went on. There were, of course, questions raised and tempers were starting to rise. If Thrasher was among the nobles, he would probably also be angered. From one perspective, it was a surprise at the last moment and sort of unfair to them. Although, from the other perspective... well, Cyrus was who he was. They were in war, so surprises were surely around every corner.

That wasn't the icing on the cake, oh no. When Petrina strode up to deliver her piece of news, Thrasher could only quietly chuckle throughout the entire memory. Oh, things were heating up nicely, but while everyone was distracted he decided to go ahead and position himself accordingly. He carefully made his way toward the edge of the crowd and settled himself there while his free hand reached down to grip at the knife he had strapped to his thigh. He had a feeling that his cue was going to be coming soon enough.

The memory was interrupted abruptly, rather than ended softly as it should have. Many things happened at once: Lord Halford stepped back and few of his men cried out; Cyrus stood from the crystal throne and pointed at the Zebstrika.

"You're sentenced to die," he said simply, glancing to Thresh, who let the Emperor grab his hilt. The Shield appeared all around Lord Halford's escort.

"Teleporter," the Zebstrika shouted, touching the Kirlia.

She fell backwards to the floor, dead. The Gold Tribe around her backed off, some letting out upset cries, others maintaining a stoic demeanor. To teleport now would not be honorable.

Lord Halford's men were ready to give a fight, surrounded by the Shield, but once they saw their teleporter was down, they immediately surrendered. Lord Halford cried in dismay. Cyrus, with surprising dexterity for his size, ran quickly down the steps as he wielded Thresh. The Doublades forced Halford's men to make way, all within a couple of seconds. The Zebstrika reared and lightning was shot off his body at the same time that ice spikes punched through the red carpet; the lightning was deflected and struck one of Halford's own men, and the sharp ice found the treacherous lord on his hind leg.

He rolled over quickly, and Cyrus was relentless. The procedure was very brief. The ground was iced beneath the fallen Zebstrika as the Beartic brought down the blade in a vicious, two-handed blow that nearly cut the mon's chest in half. Blood poured out and the fallen lord spasmed, in one last attempt for escape; Thresh's blade was still deep in, cold steel biting into white flesh. His men, horrified, watched stunned at what had just happened and how fast.

Cyrus dislodged the blade and looked around; the nobles were fearful. "This is how your new Emperor delivers justice," he bellowed, his voice covering theirs. His eyes travelled all around the Roost, from left to right side, until they fell on the Small Council, on General Ares. He glanced back to the Zebstrika, dying on the floor. "I shall love my friends and empower my allies," he declared, "and I shall show no quarter to traitors."

Ambrose had crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the floor with an ear-to-ear wide grin, watching the Zebstrika give out a last spasm. "Say hi to Arceus for me, will ya?" he was heard muttering. "Piece of shit..."

Emperor Cyrus ignored him. He climbed the steps back to his throne, letting go of the ghostly blade the Emperors used for their executions. "Lord Vennson and Lord Rhoy," the Beartic called out, "I will hear you say your vows, now." Two more Generals would be made that day.

Garland, unfazed by what had just transpired, leaned to the crystal throne with his hands behind his back. "Your Highness, should we clean up first?" he gestured to the dead mon, making a pool of blood, dyeing the carpet a darker, crimson red.

"No," Cyrus said to him in a low voice, "let them take in the sight."

 

[GastlyGibus]

Sight to the blind, visions to the uncertain.
|Lenora "Seer" Tarikoss, Garland "Exalted" Fordring.|​

The following day, the carpet of the Roost had been cleaned up, Lord Halford buried in the city's cemetery. In the spot where he'd been killed, there was the end of a longtable now, which extended from the crystal throne to the Heavenly Door. The Gold Tribe were having a feast, modest by Exathian standards, to celebrate the crowning of the new Emperor and his new Generals. Cyrus had his blue cushion instead of a chair, placed in front of the steps to his throne; Thresh and a Doublade were floating beside him, Thresh guarding him and the Doublade tasting all of what he ate. His father's seat next to him was vacant - Dareon had yet to show his face - until it was occupied by the leader of the Gold Tribe, Garland.

And while Cyrus was busy chatting and laughing with Ambrose to his other side, Garland, who hadn't touched his food, talked to Lenora. "Seer," he said, "you had a vision, in Amoon, to hear Ambrose tell it."

"I've had many visions in that time, Exalted," Lenora stated simply, her gaze travelling across the room, falling on all who were seated, in turn. "It is my nature."

"Your nature," the Floatzel repeated, unconvinced. He brought his arms to his chest, leaning back on his chair. "Ambrose told you what was discovered, correct? That our island is moving. Do you reckon that vision you had, about it plunging into the sea, might come true?"

Lenora hummed lightly, a small grin forming on her beak. She suspected that was what Garland was asking about. "It is difficult to say," she answered, idly pushing at the berries on her plate, spinning them in a psychic grasp. "I have learned not to take my visions literally, for sometimes they are not literal, but figurative. Perhaps it shall fall... perhaps not. It is not my place to know."

Garland's mouth became a tight line as he looked at her; he seemed concerned. "I am in need of actual facts about our future, have I come to the wrong place?"

"Perhaps you have," Lenora said, her tone remaining calm. "I do not claim to have absolute knowledge of the future. Such an ability would likely take decades of training, and even then, it would not be accurate." She plucked a berry into her mouth, closing her eyes momentarily. "I am not a fortune-teller. My visions are not by choice, and their truth is not up to me to decide."

"But you do know Future Sight," Garland observed, "a psychic like you could channel your energy for an immediate result..." he was unsure of himself, though, so he slightly raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Lenora chuckled. "That's not quite how it works..." she mused. "I do not expect you to understand. It would be like explaining sight to the blind. Future Sight can, under certain circumstances, provide a glimpse into the future... but it's reach rarely goes beyond a few seconds." She paused for a moment, looking down at Garland, expressionless. "The vision of Exathor falling... it may be true. It may not. However, I do believe it ties into the moving of our land, and if so, it serves as a warning. A warning, not of what will be, but what could be."

***​

That evening, after the feast had concluded in the Roost, Lenora had retired to the upper-floors of the White Citadel. She stood in her usual meditation trance, on top of the Commander's Balcony, staring at the sun, as she had done many times before.

Her eyes began to glow faintly, standing still and keeping her breathing slow and deliberate. "Focus... she whispered, nearly inaudible.

It was snowing gently at times, at other times the winds howled like crazy. Snow had landed on her shoulders and around her feet; Garland saw her from inside the Commander's Room and thought she might be freezing, so he stood up from his study of their defenses and opened the window to the wide balcony. "You'll freeze to death," he stated, loud enough for his voice to be heard over the high winds that struck the Citadel.

Lenora seemed unable to hear him, keeping her eyes locked to the horizon. The weather didn't bother her when she was meditating. The snow collected at her feet, but she paid no mind. "Focus..." she whispered again.

"Seer?" Garland asked patiently, screwing up his eyebrows.

The Xatu kept still for a moment longer, before the glow from her eyes began to fade. She exhaled slowly, her breath a visible steam in the cold. She shook her feathers, removing the snow that had collected across her body. "This cold is unnatural," she said to herself, as if only now realizing the temperature.

"I know," Garland said, "it's growing colder than it ever has in the tenth month. It means our island is traveling to the north."

Lenora kept still. The questions she had were innumerable, and she had no answers. It was rare for such a thing to bother her, but with what had been happening recently, Lenora found herself growing more confused and agitated by the day. She turned to Garland, walking away from the cold and inside the Citadel, closing the window behind them and once again shaking the excess snow from herself. "It is difficult to concentrate like this. I find it... bothersome."

Garland turned his hooded eyes away from her and returned to his desk. "It is harsh on all of us," he said, "but what is on your mind, that you cannot concentrate on?"

"Many things," Lenora replied. "My own meditation seems to be failing me. In times in peace, my premonitions were varied, and I could focus more easily on their purpose, but now..." she bowed her head slightly. "Now, I see nothing but dark omens. War and death seems to be all that I can see, and I have no answers for such things."

Garland looked on the ceiling absently with his eyes half-shut in idleness. "I'm no psychic, yet that is all I can see as well."

"I saw a battle," Lenora stated plainly. "A large valley, a frozen river in the middle, and a battle amidst the heavy snowfall." She walked to one side of the room, seemingly lost in her own thoughts as she spoke. "The divines seem keen to ignore me, or perhaps I simply cannot hear them."

The Floatzel was visibly upset. He rummaged through the papers in front of him hastily, at last drawing a map of Exathor. "A valley? With a river?" his finger traced on the landscape of the island. "There is no such thing on Exathor..." He looked up at her, perplexed. "Do you reckon that battle took place elsewhere? In your vision, are you aware of yourself and your location?"

"I am not," the Seer replied. "I am simply an observer. It is like a dream, only more vivid and lasting." The Xatu's tone grew more sullen as she continued. "I cannot tell you where it was, only what I have said."

Garland looked off to the side, his eyes wide open, now contemplating. "The others need to know about this, but first... do you have any way of verifying if what you saw was true?" Then, as if he remembered, he nodded negatively to himself and said, "no, you said you couldn't. What do you suggest we do, in this case?"

Lenora turned to Garland, shaking her head grimly. "I'm afraid I have no answers for you. I could not discern the combatants, and as I said before... it is becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on these things."

Garland's expression slipped into a stern greyness. He nodded quietly, his eyes drawn down to his papers, and once he resumed his thinking, he didn't speak again.

"Perhaps ready our forces, as a precaution," Lenora said bleakly. "Arceus be with us..."

 

[MurkMire]

The Silver Claw​

Some miles away from the White Citadel, a cloaked figure lumbered through the harsh winds and bitter snow. A black, tattered cloak was wrapped around the wanderer, dancing in the wind. He slowed himself, and lifted his head. His yellow, gleaming eyes laid upon his destination. A low bellow escaped his throat, as he lifted off his hood, revealing a Feraligatr. His gaze was transfixed upon what was once his own home. With a low, grim voice, the Feraligatr muttered to himself. "I've... returned. Ready to once again... serve, in the Gold Tribe." The Feraligatr lowered his hood, and continued his quest. Neither the strangely increasing wind speed, nor the snow slowed him from the White Citadel. Eyes, transfixed, claws tightened, he drudged on through. As he approached the Citadel, his thoughts were only to reach the Gold Tribe. To return to his cause he so longingly seeks.

Doublades guarding the gate were wary of the lumbering, towering figure heading towards them. The figure stopped before them, silent and motionless. Before the Doublade could question the stranger, he lifted his hood, standing tall to reveal the gold star on the front of his cloak. "I am Luthor Cromm, The Silver Claw of the Gold Tribe. Now, let me inside." The Doublade were shocked, but immediately let Luthor inside. "Welcome back," they greeted, as the gate closed behind Luthor. He stood within the walls of the White Citadel, taking in the moment. That was when Luthor finally noticed the winds. The winds, stronger than he had ever felt. "What... is this? It can't be... Exathor... is moving."

Luthor immediately shook off the concerning revelation, more focused on his task at hand. He scanned the Whitegold Court, until he saw the stairs that led to the Commander's Room. He made haste, though being careful of his footing. Higher and higher he climbed, his concern of safety leaving him. His footsteps became heavier as his drive pressed him forward.

The ones in the Commander's Room, Garland and Ambrose, were discussing the amount of supplies the city had mustered so far for the winter and for the upcoming siege, when they heard heavy footsteps from the stairs outside the door. The Doublade guards parted to let a Feraligatr in; the Shiftry and the Floatzel got up from their seats, startled to see their brother, Silver Claw, alive.

"Weeell, if it ain't our favorite Feraligatr," Ambrose cackled, "rose from the dead, did ya? How was the afterlife?"

Garland's nostrils flared and his crystal clear blue eyes widened at the sight of Luthor. "You had been declared dead after the Mark, brother."

Ambrose gestured towards a cushion for him to sit; the Feraligatr's dark cloak was drenched and covered in snow, and he himself looked weathered. He had been travelling, obviously, and he had done a lot of it.

Luthor merely stood in place, unconcerned with Garland's gesture. He ignored Ambrose, and his sharp, yellow eyes met Garland. "I am alive, brother. With only my vengeance, I clawed myself to safety, and secluded myself until now." Luthor's eyes were dim, his fatigue still weighed on him, but nonetheless continued.

"I've been training, brother. Training to slay the worm who betrayed us." He raised his right claw, glowing with a dark blue aura. "Romulus had betrayed our fellow tribe and I, you see. And so, I will exact revenge." The Feraligatr almost fell to his knees, but held himself up by the corner of the table.

Ambrose snorted, showing his teeth in the mention of Romulus. "You were in the group that was blasted dead by that Haxorus, formerly known as Earthquake in our ranks. Interesting."

Garland had turned his back to the two of them; he was looking outside the window, where the snow swirled with the screaming wind, veiling the city below in gray. He seemed to be contemplating. "The Mark was a month ago... what took you so long to reach Union City?" his tone was icy cold, Ambrose noticed, although he wouldn't blame Garland for being suspicious.

Luthor simply kept his gaze. "Brother. I have suffered much during my time with the Gold Tribe. To not only aid our country, but to achieve my own mission as well..." He grabbed onto the end of his cloak, and pulled it off. Under his cloak were many scars, most of which were on his torso and arms. There was a gash on his tail, and one over his left eye. "That mission, brother, is to slay Thrace, enemy to all existence." His voice definitely filled the room with what rage was pent-up inside him.

He stood himself upright, and continued explaining. "After Romulus' betrayal, Lord Teneth and his troops headed south to the Montajo Range. Thus, blocking my path. However... I was able to tend to my wounds in an underground river, right under the Mark. Once my health was at a fair enough state, I managed to slip past Teneth's troops using that very water way." Luthor still stood, his gaze unchanging, unbreakable. "Through all of this, I have trained myself to overcome Romulus, with the power of Dragon Claw," he finished, now taking the seat Ambrose offered moments ago.

Garland glanced behind him, at the Feraligatr, then his gaze darted to Ambrose quickly, before he returned to his looking outside the window. The Shiftry understood this as acceptance, so he said, "Dragon Claw, eh? What of his Earthquake, though?" He paused, losing his sass and wit. He continued with uncertainty. "It really was his Earthquake that did it for our brothers... right?"

Luthor's eyes simply looked over at Ambrose, not a trace of warmth within them. He replied sternly with, "Yes. Romulus had killed a large number of our former comrades. I was there not only to witness it, but to nearly die from that Earthquake." He looked back at Garland, still facing the window. "It is true, brothers," he said grimly.

Ambrose nodded gravely, looking down awkwardly. He shifted his head, as if something bothered him. "Couldn't ever stomach what Romulus did," he confessed, "didn't know the man personally, but I never thought he'd go so far. Chantalai must've screwed some bolts off his head. Tsk, tsk," he shook his head, brooding.

"Brothers, in light of Romulus' crimes, I request an official warrant for his execution." Luthor demanded. "Betrayal of the Gold Tribe Oath, the murder of eleven fellow tribe members... and aiding the cause of the rebellion," Luthor glared sharply in Garland's direction, after stating Romulus' last crime. "Aiding Lord Chantai's cause, of course." Luthor's glare continued on as he spoke, "The very mon YOU placed to watch Lord Chantalai, who was his previous bodyguard. And now, you have seen the consequences of that decision."

Luthor's voice held great indignation, as he stated, "The punishment for these crimes must be death. Wouldn't you agree, brother?" The Feraligatr asked Garland. Though his glare had lessened, he still was angry at Garland for having one of Lord Chantalai's previous bodyguards watch over him. Luthor held Garland partially responsible for the betrayal at the Second Mark.

Garland glanced behind him once again, to no one in particular. He didn't seem too hasty to agree with Luthor, he only seemed to be deep in thought. The fact that Luthor had questioned openly his decision to place Romulus as Lord Chantalai's household guard, years ago, did not seem to disturb him. Ambrose stepped in and said, "maybe it's time we granted that warrant, Garland. We didn't have time before, with the war and all, but now..."

The Floatzel ran his hand through the hair on top of his head, his gaze still fixed outside the window, in the cold of the Commander's balcony. "Silver Claw, you are aware of who you shall be dealing with, of course," he spoke, "you are, by all means, respected by our brothers and sisters, and your strength is a paradigm for all of us - and your survival of the Mark under the strenuous circumstances only further proof of it. However, we are talking about an individual of likewise great strength, if not greater, one who has forsaken our honorable ways and has trodden down the path of ruthlessness. He has nothing to lose, so he shall put up a vigorous fight... he shall not fight fair. So I must ask you this: if you are to be granted the warrant for Romulus' "Earthquake" Errias, you shall need to be careful, and also maintain the Gold Tribe's code of honorable combat. You are not an assassin, to strike on the back from the shadows and vanish. We shall not stoop to the level of our enemies. Should you find him, you are to engage him openly, and should you prevail... then we can say that justice has been delivered. So I must ask you this: if you are to be granted the warrant for Romulus' "Earthquake" Errias execution." There was something very grim about the way Garland said the last words; his normally ice-cold, fixed face seemed to have slipped into a mix of anxiety and pity. Although they couldn't see it, as he had his back turned to them, they could hear it very well in his voice. Luthor may have had Garland's tone misinterpreted for doubtfulness for his chances of carrying out this mission.

Luthor was silent, wondering if Garland truly felt as doubtful as he sounded. He had his right claw to his chest, and stated loudly, "As a member of the Gold Tribe, I can assure you and the others of a successful execution." The Feraligatr grabbed his cloak, holding the star of the cloak in front of him. "As a member of the Gold Tribe, I will uphold the oath and code of honorable combat. As a member of the Gold Tribe... I will deliver justice, and slay Romulus Earthquake Errias." Luthor slipped his black cloak back over himself as he finished.

Garland turned his head for a couple of seconds, as if to measure him. His blue eyes did not reveal much. He nodded and they darted to Ambrose, who cleared his throat. The Shiftry placed the leaves of his hand onto Luthor's shoulder and extended his other hand for a handshake. "Go, and strength and luck be with ya, pal."

Luthor only silently nodded. Receiving Garland's consent, Luthor had nothing left to say. He simply left Ambrose and Garland as he lumbered to his quarters, finally letting himself get rest.

 

[Ray Maverick]

Earthquake​

The wind howled, blasting through the snow-covered park and striking through the windmill's wings. The wooden wings let out a lasting moan under the weight of the snow, before they snapped broken and fell into the wind. Romulus covered his eyes as he trod on the ice that the sand path had become. He was wrapped in a heavy, sable cloak with Skuntank fur that repelled the cold like a charm; first thing once he and Gerrick arrived in Union City they broke into a rich merchant's home, and while he dispatched the family and their guards, Gerrick lifted what he could from them. The whole operation "Break-In for the Greater Good - Ours" had gotten the two brothers clothes to warm themselves and food to help combat their hunger after almost a week's breakneck-pace travel in Exathor's tallest peaks. But it had also left Romulus with dark thoughts about the people that got in his way. He had harmed them... perhaps some had died.

No mind, he thought, we're all going to hell anyway, but his conscience, sturdy and prepared for the killing at the start of this war, was faltering. Even the time he had spent with his brother, travelling all the way to the city... Gerrick's lifestyle was hideous, but his ideas were alluring, and his company was better than he had expected. In the back of his mind, running away with his brother, stopping his trying to make sense of things, was a notion that he refused stubbornly to consider. It was too late, anyway; it was already happening, whatever the cunning Family was planning.

On the last day of their trip, they got a chance to peek from the mountain onwards, to the open horizon, when the sky was a bit clearer, and he could see the waves of the sea, he could feel the intense wind against his scales as if he was in battle, leaping at his target - Exathor was moving, moving to a much, much colder place up north, and its barrier was failing, letting the heavy clouds it normally repelled pierce it. Gerrick insisted they could run away - while he himself was looking to escape Romulus - but, where would they go? The snow would soon be deep enough to bury all life on the island. It was like Ingvar had been reborn and the ghosts of the vanquished Illinkar laid siege once again on the lands they were promised.

The park was the perfect place for what Romulus was planning. He would find out who the Caretaker was through Gerrick; the only person he knew for sure could contact him. The meeting needed to be in a secluded place, otherwise the Caretaker would not come. Gerrick claimed he was in the city... the other members of the Family, who did not know him face-to-face, seemed to think so too, so Romulus was hopeful this was going to work certainly. As he plunged his feet into the snow, crossing the velvet field to the broken windmill, he briefly considered actually letting Lord Teneth who the Caretaker was, if he found out...

Gerrick was a few paces behind him. The Krookodile knew he wasn't in the shape Romulus was in, so he couldn't outrun him in the snow even if he wanted. Romulus had made sure this condition had been kept up since their escape from Amoon village and their journey through Montajo Range - he was determined that Gerrick wasn't going to get away as long as Romulus had a use for him.

Next to the windmill was a little house with a garden once filled with flowers, all of which were now withered away, crushed by the snow. The house belonged to the park's guard, who was standing in the doorstep, a huge Seismitoad eating an apple, his characteristics barely visible with the faint light coming from the open door behind him. "Who're you?" he called out.

"My brother needs help," Romulus called out, fighting through wind and snow.

The Seismitoad put his hands on his hips, still holding the apple. "Oh, yeah? Plenty o' people need help 'round here these days," he said scornfully .

"Come on. We have gold," the Haxorus insisted, lifting his claw up; a pouch was left dangling from a tether.

The guard shook his head, gobbled on his apple and stepped in the knee-deep snow. He bulldozed over his garden to them, reaching for the hulking, dark figure of Gerrick fighting his way through the snow. The moment he had his back turned to Romulus, the dragon's hands flared, he jerked around, his black cloak swirling, and he landed his chop on the back of the guard's neck, twice. The Seismitoad fell heavily face-first on the withered flowers of his garden without a sound. Dragonfire faded from his fists.

Romulus headed inside the the home without looking back.