[Plot] [Open] Week 018: Five Hundred Years

[swaswj]

---

Five Hundred Years
​

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It was the first day of the month of Umbra, and huge crowds had gathered in the city square outside of the premier sanctum of the Arcanum, located near the center of Terminus in the Dioecesis district. The crowd filled the square and stretched away to the east, west, and south, revelers merrily singing or just chatting among one another, their collective voices deafening. Nocte Nils had always been a lengthy holiday, but normally the true celebration only occurred around this singular date, the date of the Calamity itself.

For this, the five hundredth anniversary, the people had gone all out, from the very beginning. Travelers had come in from across Araevis especially for this celebration, some from as far as Prenditus.

The people in the square came from all walks of life, from lowly beggars to government officials, meek scholars and burly soldiers, stuffy politicians and flirty women. The Specula Sorcere shone high above the crowd, while all waited for its master to come before them. Every year there were grand speeches and prizes given, usually by the mayor of the city, sometimes by the charismatic Mensarius Clinatis of the Commercium, and least often but most memorably, the wild and bombastic Regulus Vulcanis. This year, though, was different. It was said that the Magister himself would be delivering the speeches, and a special announcement just for this one special date.

Guards were spaced at regular intervals, not overwhelming but present in fair numbers. None of the revelers were allowed to bring weapons to the event. Those who tried to sneak them in anyway had them confiscated and were given a numbered tag to reclaim them later.

Not all of those gathered were celebrating, however. Pamphlets appeared on the walls of the surrounding buildings and scattered across the ground. The hooded figures placing the papers were always there and gone, back into the crowd, too quickly to see. "Astra Non Obligant," the pamphlets proclaimed. "Rise up!" As quickly as the papers went up, the guards were yanking them down, only for more to appear shortly after.

It was only a small side-show to the spectacle at the steps of the Arcanum, though. A high stage had been erected, a podium sitting at the front with unique machinery built into it. High above the podium, an immense grandis speculum was held up by two metal frames, the green-tinted screen giving a closer shot of the stage. On the east and west sides of the square, two more matching speculums with identical images were placed. Throughout Terminus, almost every district had at least one square with a grandis speculum, all showing the Arcanum.

A grand feat of enchanting, engineering, and alchemy, the viewing screens were representative of the prosperity of the grand metropolis, and the advancement of its greatest pioneers in the sciences and arcane studies. To others, though, it was an ostentatious and wasteful display of arrogance.

Already on the stage, the three Prophets stood: Prophet Adria, to represent Omnevis; Prophet Deimar, to represent Solaviskar; and between them both, Prophet Vexus, representing Inlustrovis. They were among the greatest minds in the Arcanum, honored for their wisdom and respected as the voices of the Vis. Vexus, in his simple yellow robes, had the most cheerful expression of the three, seeming to delight in the sight and sound of the gathered masses.

Also on the stand, off to the right side of the podium, stood five citizens: a demvir known only as HAL; a half-laicar woman with green feathers in her hair; a tall and wiry, black-feathered enlil; a broad-shouldered laicar in glimmering scalemail; and a petite velen woman, her skin a bright yellow with hot pink accents.

It wouldn't be long before the Magister himself would arrive to commemorate the momentous occasion.

[630/630]

PM Notes: All PCs are considered to be in Terminus at this time, Umbra 1st, year 500 PC.

For those in the Arcanum square, weapons will be confiscated by guards if they are carried visibly or revealed. They are serious about protecting the prophets and the Magister.

Join in, show where in the square your characters are situated. Drink, party, brood, whatever's appropriate. It will not be long before the Magister arrives to move this forward.
​

 

[Shadowwind]

Webbed hands clutched a document the authorities in the square would have wished they never found. A worn rough wool cloak encircled what should have usually stood out as a vibrant display of orange, purple, and red. Phorcys Nerites stood east of the grand spectacle away from what he viewed as the stifling mob pulsing near the stage. His eyes drifted downward at the rippled, crumpled page in his hand as a small quiet smile stretched across his features.

A merchant’s son who sought out the great unknown felt himself drawn to this moment. He marveled at the screens which made sure that he could see the main event even if he did not wish to envelope himself within the throng. Yet, despite all this something seemed off. What flowed through him was not the monotonous drum of predictability nor the ever shifting tune of change.

Standing there in that moment the velen felt uncertainty welling up behind him. He was peering over the edge of something great, yet the winds had not yet decided which way fortune was to blow. In a low voice the man spoke, mostly to himself though he made no attempt to disguise it, “This will be interesting if nothing else.”

[206]

 

[Nargles]

“I need that!” exclaimed Urias, attempting to wrench his droid back from the guard who had confiscated it, “There are no functional weapon systems installed in it! It is just a recording droid!” With a huff, the guard wrenched the droid out of his hands, the scholar’s comparatively poor upper body strength rather evident at that moment.

“It’ll be returned afterwards,” the guard replied in a rather surely tone.

The guard quickly disappeared back into the growing crowd and quickly out of sight. The golden-eyed man sighed out. “Begin rec-“ he started before remembering that his droid had just been taken away. This was already off to an absolutely fantastic start.

Rather dejected, Urias pushed his way into the crowd, towards the eastern side of the square. Three of the greatest minds of the Arcanum standing together and all he had to remember it was his memory. How he hated that prospect. Memory was easily manipulated and even a good smack to the back of the head could scramble it. He began to mentally prepare himself to focus solely on the event in order to retain as much as possible.

 

[freckles]

Still and erect as a statue on the stand of the manifestation, HAL was still surprised after various hours, as his mechanical eyebrows testified. He had not had the time to get back to his work after the highly addictive fights in the Bellator’s Razor hunting ground that a group of Impraevitas had surrounded the Stone Cold workshop in order to escort him there. He had not even had the time to command his drone or to get a spare weapon - although it would have been confiscated anyway, as he had discovered. Therefore, there he stood, in front of an ever-growing crowd, on a stand with three of the most prominent figures of the Arcanum, and possibly of the whole Araevis, or so they said.

Looking dazed around himself, the living automaton tried to catch the attention of one of his other fellow sufferers. In a certain sense, the robot realized, it seemed that every race was represented on top of that podium. Is this intentional? the android threaded to himself. I would preferred to know what I was supposed to do here. With the most conversational tone he could muster, he whispered, “Do you happen to know why we are here?”

 

[The Liar]

"No," Dio repeated his answer tersely. "It's a demvir. Its' name is Speedy."

Frustration mixed with a distaste for standing near too many guards kept Dio's voice and general manner rather stiff. Despite his inherent apprehensions with attending any kind of event his curiosity would take no excuses. Though it had only been a moment, he had spotted a guard tearing a poster whose typeface, artistry and colors were unfamiliar to him while also featuring a phrase that had him questioning his own vision.

Unless the location had been a coincidence, there was some relation between the day's festivities and the phrase. Unfortunately for both Speedy and Dio, it meant a detour from the workshop and ensuing limb-repair that had helped spur their travels. As a direct result he had kept the automaton in a makeshift leather knapsack, hanging on the back of his struggling soldiers.

The ramshackle vessel was a boon to Speedy, as it could finally look around at an angle that wasn't lower than everything, and turning its head to examine its surroundings was far easier. Though it had been distracted its head picked up at the utterance of its name, and it swiveled its head around as Dio rotated to show the damaged demvir to the guard.

"Hello!" Speedy cheerfully chirped.

Were any critical thinking going on beneath the guard's impassive helm, it was shockingly silent. For a moment he took stock of Speedy's carrying case.Other than the mismatched knapsack, Dio had only a matching vest and pair of trunks as well as brown sandals immediately visible on his person. A hand clad in armor rose up and motioned inward, toward the event.

"Okay. You can pass." Dio's mood visibly improved with the guard's approval.

Upon setting foot within the event grounds Dio's eyes were drawn to the mechanisms and their gaudy projections. The sight was enough to bring about his curiosity but he quickly gave up on trying to divine their designs. For a moment his gaze wandered to the five individuals standing next to the podium, but he recognized none of them.

"Everybody here seems like they're waiting for something." Speedy spoke up as they dove deeper into the teeming crowd. "What's going to happen?"

The duo came to a stop at a clearing in the crowd, which provided a convenient angle to the podium and the screens. With no guards immediately in sight Dio managed to relax enough to calmly process Speedy's question. At first he thought to describe the event as it had transpired, even in spite of the fact that for this occasion it had been somewhat altered. His thoughts returned to what had initially drawn him to it, and he adjusted the straps on his shoulders as the words came back to him.

Astra Non Obligant

"I don't know," Dio kept his hands around the leather straps. "But I'm sure it's worth waiting for."

[484/484]
​

 

[Mystydjinn]

A small half-blood girl had been watching the poor scholar's troubles from afar, her tiny translucent blue cheeks burning in indignation while she watched the smaller man being bullied by the significantly larger guard. She turned back towards the older woman she had come with, Aelflead, who happened to be sipping gingerly at a particularly strong mug full of a bitter-sweet, and spicy, warm liquid.

Astra Non Obligant? The mercenary read off a poster slapped haphazardly to a wall with mild interest, I wonder what thats all about... she thought absentmindedly as she took another sip of the brown liquid. The teen was wrapped in her own thoughts until the younger spurii watching the scholar grabbed Aelflaed's arm, startling the mercenary, and making her spill hot coffee all over the ruffled blouse the smaller girl had forced her to wear. Not that the victim was particularly upset about the ruined fabric, as much as the heat of the liquid on her breasts and neck. "Ack! Shit!" she cried out in surprise and pain, leaping to her feet to brush it off of herself. She narrowed her mismatched eyes on the tiny feather and scale toting ten year old for an explanation.

Gwendolyn, wasting no time pointed out the scholar just as he was turning away sadly without his diminutive droid. "They just took his flying ball away, can we go help him get it back please?" she said, her little eyebrows scrunched together with pleading.

Aelflead rolled her eyes at the question and turned her attentions to removing the hot mocha sitting 'a tad bit uncomfortably' on her chest. "Sure, you go on ahead," she said in mock cheerfulness, furiously dabbing at her chest with a napkin, "I'll just sit here and dry this fire off my chest but you go on, I'll be fine."

The ears stuck to Gwendolyn's head however don't recognize sarcasm, so Aelflead's outburst was the okay she needed to go help out the terran. "Okay, you stay here. I'll go talk to him and you can catch up!" with that the half-breed girl ran off into the crowd to 'help' the poor gentleman.

---

"Hi there, what's your name?"

[356/356]

 

[K3]

Standing astride Vexus, the venerated Saint Deimar observed the proceedings soberly. His wizened brown eyes, half-sunken into his head with age and stress, swept across the square every so often. His hands were hidden within their sleeves, and positioned behind his back. Hunched only slightly, the aged sorcerer's dark blue robes bore three vertical stripes down its left side. Why the most dour of the great saints represented the greatest medics of Terminus, was unknown.

Known, however, was the number of said medics who seemed to loiter about the square. Some bore two stripes down the length of their robes, but most had but one. One shoved by a pair of individuals, offering modest apologies as he continued to make his way through the crowd.

Stepping back politely, one felt the billows of her cloak fold and part briefly to reveal the mixture of leather and hide armor underneath. No tell-tale glint of steel gave away, but the electric blue eyes of Annora Caestrum stared uncomprehendingly at the stands.

From where the cloak gave away to reveal her neck, a small sprite poked its head out. With a narrowed gaze, Pico's empty eye-holes surveyed with a brooding silence. Clearly, the mons infan was no great lover of crowds.

With arms folded across her chest, the woman passed the occasional inquisitive glance at the one standing next to her. Though vastly shorter - and perhaps diminutive even out of such context - the laicar held more respect in Annora's eyes than any other.

The trusted company did little to ease the tension in her shoulders, however.

[ 265 / 265 ]

 

[Redfin]

"Woohoo!" Cicely exclaimed. She hopped up and down in cheer of the celebration. In her hand was a large bottle. She could only hold it by the neck. The clear liquid inside sloshed around, but despite the energy of her movements, not one drop spilled. The bottle had been full when she arrived. In only a few minutes, half of it had already disappeared. The liquid inside burned going down the throat, but that was the way Cicely liked it.

What a night! Cicely had never experienced so many people gathered together. Back at her home, there were never that many people together at once. There were all sorts, large, small, scaly, feathered, plated. The celebration for a new year was a sight to behold. Everything was just so elaborate.

Cicely felt an electric energy coursing through her body, and it wasn't from the alcohol. She had never felt so much anticipation from such a large crowd in her life. It was infectious.

It was fantastic!

"Skål!" Cicely raised her drink to the sky.

[174]

 

[swaswj]

"Man, I wanted to be up there," Keydis grumbled. The young woman seemed almost a child in comparison to Annora. "I could have rocked that hunt and the war games!" Her short brown hair was spiked up, with red-dyed bangs. Violet eyes looked up at the five individuals off to the side of the stand, before wandering over to the three prophets. "You know, I would have done pretty well in the cooking contest, too."

Despite the cool weather, Keydis was wearing a sleeveless red shirt and grey shorts, but in a concession to the weather, she also wore calf-high boots and had on a bulky brown jacket. It was just temporary, until she could get her normal jacket patched up. She rubbed at her arms through the sleeves, grimacing briefly.

"Ever been to one of these things up close before?" she asked Annora, as much to take her mind off the feeling in her arms as for genuine curiosity.

__

The sun was falling toward the west and shadows began to deepen in the square. In response, lights flared up from tall lamps all around, and bright lights were aimed at the stage and the podium. Then, a hush fell across the crowd: farther back, the entryway of the Arcanum was pulled open, revealing the magister standing atop the stone stairway.

Magister Eximium wore simple robes of sable, with brightly colored symbols for the five Vis sewn across his breast. As the head of the Arcanum, he was expected to be the representative for all the beliefs within the schools that the Arcanum hosted, though it was known that he was, at heart, a solaviskar. Atop his head was a simple round, red cap, coming down to a point in the back. His wispy grey hair poked out from under the skullcap. An ancient man, Eximium had deep creases etched into his pale skin, and his body was little more than skin and bones. Even in his advanced age, though, what Eximium lacked in vigor he made up for with ebullience.

Without the aid of a cane or a walker, the elderly magister descended the stairs from the Arcanum entrance, waving to the crowds, many of the onlookers cheering for his arrival. There was a kindly smile on his face and a warm twinkle in his sunken eyes. The three prophets each bowed their heads with deference. At last, he reached and ascended the podium.

"Greetings, my fair people of Terminus!" Eximium called out. Around the square, below the grandis speculums, there were round, glass-encased devices. As the magister spoke, ripples formed beneath the glass, and his voice called out clearly to all in attendance, as well as all those who watched from other squares in the city. "Welcome, fine visitors from afar! I thank you for joining us on this most auspicious occasion, to celebrate five hundred years!"

More cheers rose up, with the magister pausing to smile and wave. "I am thankful that Castus has blessed me with this long life, so that I could bear witness to this glorious day. May He shine his mercy upon all of you, as well!" Everyone knew that Eximium was over a century old, though none could agree on exactly how old the magister was. He had been a fixture in the Arcanum and in Terminus for well over half a century. Even with the rarity of his public appearances, he was well-known, respected far and wide. "Soon, you will all bear witness to something truly momentous, but before that, let us reflect upon this year's Nocte Nils celebration.

"'Our past," he went on, quoting from the tales of Nocte Nils, "is a cloth frayed and torn. Yet our future is woven anew! Come one, come all, and celebrate ends and beginnings alike!' Every year is a gift, but this year is especially worthy of celebration! It was five centuries ago today that the Cataclysm sundered our precious Araevis, but with merciful guidance, we were granted sanctuary. Here we stand in that bastion, Terminus, where our fathers' fathers' fathers' distant ancestors survived!

"Thirst clawed at their throats, hunger gnawed at their bellies. From an old battered shield, Cortina of old fashioned a pot. She brought sustenance to desolation, renewing the spirits of the survivors and restoring their vigor!" Confused mumbles ran through the crowd as the magister went on. "And so each year, we celebrate her innovation with Cortina's Cornucopia, where cooking and mixing are put to the test. There were many fabulous chefs and mixers this year, but one who stood out above the rest."

Every year, awards were given to the winners of the different events, but traditionally they were always done in a particular order. Many in the crowd wondered if the elderly magister had forgotten Gavelock's Hunt entirely.

Eximium smiled and gestured over to the five to his side. "Miss Lilliane Mactea, please come forward. Come, come, just over here, child." The woman nervously stepped over to the podium; she appeared to be half-laicar, half-enlil. Addressing the crowd, Eximium continued, "Miss Mactea prepared a fantastic fillet of frost wyrm, marinated in wuespe honey -- oh my, if only I were young enough to sample such a delight! It was your grandmother, I believe, who won this many years ago when I was a judge. Never have I tasted a stew so fantastic!"

Lilliane smiled awkwardly, standing stiffly while the elderly magister rambled on.

[907/1537]

 

[Valero]

"Frostwyrm!" Deni exclaimed in panic as he awakened from his daze. He sighed in relief as he realised that there was no huge beast ready to devour him, but he remembered what he had been doing for the previous three nights. Or four nights. Perhaps it was five? All he knew was that if he didn't have liver problems before, he did now.

The white-blue Velen lifted himself out of the cart of produce - only the Vis knew how he ended up there - and proceeded to land flat on his face as the world spun back and forth, running circles around his head. He groaned and used the wooden cart to pull himself upright, only then realising that there were three empty glass bottles in the cart that he had called his bed.

"Holy Vis-balls," he muttered to himself quietly and managed to sustain a brief smirk. He turned to the celebrating crowds and decided to wade through to see what he had missed.

Deni knew what Nocte Nils was all about, though he had never actually been to the festival before. He was surprised at the level of camaraderie present throughout the week leading up to the first day of Umbra, so much so that he ended up burning his fuse out too early. Fighting that monstrosity in the hunt certainly didn't help, though no matter how much he drank the beast still managed to find its way into his nightmares.

Shuddering as he tried not to think about the hunt, the hungover aquatic began to navigate the crowds. His height gave him a distinct advantage, allowing him a fair view of the stage despite his distance. He had to squint to focus, but it was better than being a short-arse like most of the Enlil and Laicar present. Deni watched as the Magister brought a Spurii woman onto the stage. Picking out random words in the speech led him to believe that it was the result of the cooking competition he had heard about.

She cooked frostwyrm? he thought to himself and couldn't help but wonder if it was the same one. If she's the won the competition then she didn't find any of my bullets.

Deni chuckled to himself and folded his arms as he continued to watch the stage.

[385/385]

 

[MoonlitRain014]

Aeria had wandered into the square as a mere matter of curiosity. There had been such a large and varied crowd moving there that she couldn't resist flowing along with it, but now she felt overwhelmed. The grandeur, the opulence and the sense of solemn ritual occasion that greeted her in the gigantic space was unlike anything the spurii had ever encountered before. The stage in front of her was a truly awe-inspiring spectacle and she felt her slim frame fading into insignificance in front of it. After a few moments of gawking like some kind of bumpkin, her keen eyes began to dart around the area, taking in more detail of the crowd and the other elements in the square.

Despite having lead a less than sheltered life, the young spurii still felt like she was hopelessly unworldly, so this place did little to dispel that notion. It was one of the most diverse crowds of beings she'd been in. Even aside from the magisterial pageantry that was arrayed before her, every race and combination of races in Terminus was a multicoloured tapestry that fascinated her and ensorcelled her eye. In spite of the friction, even the animosity that existed between the peoples of this world, Aeria still felt a certain pride that they were able to coexist on any level.

Once she'd finished being struck by the multifarious aspects that defined the different races, she spotted a very familiar face. It was the young velen named Deni with whom she'd enjoyed quite a bit more wine than was strictly wise. She began to push her way through the crowd, hoping that he'd stay put. She needed to have a conversation with him rather urgently.

Eventually she made it to his side and wondered why it looked like he'd slept in some gutter. On second thought, she was pretty sure that he had been sleeping in a gutter. She sidled up next to him and spoke loudly enough to be heard over the roar of thousands of competing voices.

"Well, well. If it isn't Deni the velen. I can't say that I expected to find you here!"

[358/358]

 

[Inks]

Nonus Novem leaned easily against one of the many buildings lining the city square, arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed.

In a smaller crowd, Novem might have stood out. The enlil stood 5'6'', perfectly average for his race, with light, vibrant green, white-tipped feathers; those on his crest were medium in length and carefully styled, sweeping across his forehead and framing the pale skin of his face. Thick tufts of black-tipped green feathers and short, fluffy white down marked his pinnae.

Beneath the brim of a fashionable black fedora, Novem’s quicksilver eyes seemed perpetually half-lidded and narrowed with amusement. Three crest feathers – each different in size, shape, and color – stuck out of his fedora’s brim. A seemingly innocent accent to give the hat a splash of color.

Novem wore a black, hooded scarf over a three-piece suit ensemble: a charcoal grey vest, lighter grey under-vest, and a cornflower blue dress shirt. Knotted neatly at his neck sat a sky blue tie. At his elbows, the enlil’s shirt sleeves tucked into a pair of pliable, white leather gloves that left his talons free. His slacks, dark blue-grey in color, were similarly tucked into a pair of matching white thigh-high boots. Each article of clothing was neatly-tailored and outlined the enlil’s slim figure.

The guards had barely given him a once-over when he’d entered the square; he clearly wasn’t carrying any weapons.

Or was that ‘wasn’t clearly carrying any weapons’?

Ah, well. It hardly mattered, as far from the center stage (and the many persons of interest up there) as Novem was standing.

He watched the proceedings with a faint smile and a slight cant of his head; occasionally his gaze would drift out over the crowd, tracking guards, noisy civilians, and hooded figures alike, but regardless of what he saw, his expression never changed. And his pale stare always returned to the stage after a bit.

Novem leaned back in the shadow of the city square, soaking in last light of the day and the jovial atmosphere of the crowd.

[341 / 341]
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[FogOverLondon]

Vesper chaffed at the crowd's energy; she had never seen so many people gathered in one place before. When the half-blood entered the area prefacing the Arcanum's main stage, she passed a large fountain but elected to sit west of it to a torso-high stone wall that separated small levels connected by a few steps.

The blacksmith had initially thought it to be a little too easily secured but quickly realized the poor view she had of the proceedings. She listened and watched the fascinating screens erected to project the Magister's moving image. She tried not to be distracted as murmured conversations continued around her.

Are cooking awards and huntsmen the only thing a famous guy like him has to offer? I might just leave before Virgo catches me back in Terminus, Vesper thought cynically.

[135]

 

[Rob]

“It is not often I hear the sound of my people here in Terminus,” Sigrid responded in regards to Cicely, standing just off to the side of where the girl was seated.

“Skål,” she repeated with a nod of the head as she drowned her entire pint in one glug.

Slamming her glass back on the counter, she scoured the place for signs of anyone she actually knew. Talking to some random person she didn’t know was Deni, the waterboy she’d met during Gavelock’s Hunt. She didn’t enjoy the prospect of having to converse with the velen for too long, but it’d at least be better than sitting around doing nothing.

Finding her glass filled a second time, she stepped towards Deni and yelled, “Waterboy!”

[125]

I suck at writing.

 

[Valero]

The pale Velen was surprised to see a face that he recognised amongst the seemingly endless horde of citizens, though he was relieved that it was one of his friendlier acquaintances. His demeanor seemed to brighten when he laid eyes upon his female drinking buddy.

"Aeria, you son-of-a-bird-and-a-terran!" he laughed and immediately pulled her into an embrace. "Y'know I'm just... going with the flow, so to speak. I could say the same about you. I didn't know you were a fan of such long-winded speeches."

Deni released his friend and had to lean towards her to prevent himself from falling over. It had been a heavy week on the drinking front but he had suffered worse. Propping himself up by placing one hand on the Spurii's shoulder, the seemingly popular Velen turned on the spot and sighted the woman he thought he had heard. The last memories he had of her were notably less joyous than those with Aeria. When a night of drunken shenanigans was compared to almost getting killed by a Frostwyrm though, it was no contest.

"Daughter of Nothing," he shouted in return and raised his free arm to wave. It seemed as though every person he had met in Terminus was closing in on him. What a strange turn of events at such a significant event.

[220/603]

 

[freckles]

The rest of the special guests on the dais did not seem particularly loquacious. It was a dense event, both in terms of personal feelings and social recognition. HAL could not blame them if they felt awe, or agitation, or performance anxiety in that situation. In a certain sense, he was not immune to the effects of nervousness. The android had not made many friends in Terminus yet, with a very small set of exceptions, and he was wondering if envy could cut those flimsy connections. The robot was not worried for the relationship he had established with his mentor, Ludo, but others could view his position there as an insult. It was unclear to him how the good people of Terminus took the two atypical races of demvirs and spurii, if only they could reach consensus between terran, velen and enlil.

Balancing his weight rocking back and forth in a childish behaviour, the living automaton considered the impatient crowd as if he was able to identify a known face. It was appalling how many people had gathered in that square in that day. It was even more appalling if one considered that the mass was heterogeneously comprised of representative of all known races. That melting pots of beliefs, habits, traditions and behaviours was either a sign of an extremely positive trend in inter-species relationships, or the precursor of a mass tragedy.

The stern looks on the grizened faces of the three prophets accompanying the five guests changed to a softer tone when an even more ancient patriarch appeared on the podium. It was clearly a renowned individual, to say the least, for the crowd exploded in cheers, screams and howls. To the living automaton’s technologically augmented eyes, that old man did not seem anything different than that. Could he make up in charisma what he lacks in physical prowess? the demvir threaded to himself.

Admittedly, the speech he began, and the story he narrated, had nothing to envy a piece of the most seasoned artist. HAL was not particularly into the whole Nocte Nils historical reenactment, but the android was usually interested in historical chronicles. He doubted that most of what they believed in could be taken for true, but it was not polite to argue with religious convictions. Who was he to argue anyway?

Lost as he was in his own train of threads, the robot missed the conclusion of the novella. The living automaton realized that the topic had moved on only when one of his fellow guests was called to the forefront of the dais. Are they doing the awards now? HAL threaded to himself focusing back. I fail to rationalize where this whole attraction is going. Despite his lack of comprehension, the machina turned his attention to the ancient leader once more, eager to discover what was next.


[ 675 ]

 

[Rob]

Slightly startled at his casual-way of calling her surname - something she really should’ve expected by now - she shook her head and cursed at herself for ever telling him that before joining the boy and his... partner...?

Glancing over at the table where the frostwyrm was being presented, she sighed softly and said, “I would’ve liked to keep it. The head would’ve made an excellent mantlepiece, and the skin of an ormr is said to be as thick as certain metals but with the flexibility of fur and at times leather.

“Oh well, there was never any honour to be found in beating it, though, so I guess this is its just dessert.”


[115/340]

 

[swaswj]

After Eximium trailed off track, Saint Vexus stepped forward and courteously tapped his superior on the shoulder. The magister paused curiously to look at the prophet and then seemed to realize what he was doing. "Ah yes, forgive me for reminiscing," he called out to the crowd. "We have champions to reward! Please give a round of applause to Miss Lilliane Mactea, once again!"

The young spurii bowed and graciously accepted a sealed envelope from the magister before scurrying back to her spot on the side. She looked awkwardly at her fellows and then smiled at the envelope in her hand, obviously impatient to open it but unsure if it was rude to do so.

Eximium, meanwhile, turned back to the crowd, hands on the podium. His smile, while still evident, seemed slightly less beaming than before. "It was Gavelock who lifted his spear on high, calling all to arms, to venture away from safety into the shadowed glens and stifling caves. To protect those who could not protect themselves, to hunt for nourishment to fill their bellies, he risked his life time and again. In remembrance of his bravery, we renew the hunt from so long ago: Gavelock's Hunt, where the valiant prevail!"

The old man chuckled a little as he gestured over to the line-up of winners. "Here, truly, we see that anyone or anything can prevail if they put forth enough effort! Even with the blessing of Castus, one must always push themselves forward and strive for greatness, lest you see that greatness fall upon the less-worthy." Waving to the demvir, Eximium announced him, "The winner of our hunt this year is the machina, HAL, who has shown us that hard work may avail you what you lack in passion or potential!"

As the demvir approached, Eximium immediately held out another sealed envelope. The old man was still smiling, but from up close, it looked more like pity than cheer. Eximium clapped HAL on the shoulder, dismissing the automaton almost as curtly as he had summoned him.

The magister then went on to describe how the survivors had put together a campaign to explore the outside world, to see how much had been destroyed and what could yet be salvaged. Dubbed Trames' Expedition, each year in Terminus it was celebrated with a marathon and obstacle course that went all around the massive metropolis. "Now greet our expeditious champion, Jareth Perarro!" The black-feathered enlil in the middle of the group came forward and bowed to Eximium.

"Ah, so polite, this one! And such peak physical form! I can see quite clearly how you surpassed your fellows; not only are the avians lighter of body, but you yourself are in prime condition!" Eximium smiled and shook his head incredulously, applauding the enlil. "Always have your kind been best suited to these endeavors! Stupendous!" He offered Jareth his sealed envelope.

The magister broke protocol again, however. Normally the war-games would come after the race, but instead Eximium went right on to the sports challenge. Though the people in the crowd looked at one another, the magister didn't so much as hesitate as he talked about all of the people of Terminus, and their newly found brethren, came together in fellowship and celebrated life by playing games and organizing the very first Nocte Nils.

"Give a cheer for Miss Penny Saliet, our victor in the Lucror's Sport kinchaa games!" Eximium called out. The velen on the end, petite by the standards of her race, jogged to the podium and stood there expectantly. Her skin was a bright yellow, with hot pink highlights. "My my, so unusually small for your kind, and yet no less stunning for it! Still a little taller than me, even." Eximium smiled and handed Penny her envelope. "I'm so glad that Nocte Nils gives us such a variety of events, so that anyone can find something to excel at, even if it is just getting a ball through a hoop! Congratulations, dear!"

__

"Penny's kind of a badass," Keydis related to Annora as she clapped enthusiastically. The crowd was cheering around them, forcing her to yell to be heard. "I don't know why she doesn't play professionally! She's won the VIP spot in the amateur games in Lucror's Sport four years running, now!"

Still clapping, Keydis tilted her head as she saw a small batch of hooded individuals gathering near one of the speaker devices. They weren’t cheering or clapping, but Keydis shrugged it off and went back to listening to the forgetful old magister as he backtracked to the final winner.

__

The expedition to explore the world had uncovered other groups of survivors. None of them were as well-protected as the ones in Terminus, and many had been close to starving before Trames encountered them. When they found out about Terminus, many made a pilgrimage there, seeing it as their only hope.

However, corrupted monsters and beings also began flocking to the bastion, chasing the pilgrims. A man named Harper took command of the ragtag forces, successfully organizing the survivors to take a stand and defend themselves, routing the enemy forces. Dubbed Harper's Conquest, it was celebrated via a tournament where opposing teams tried to capture each others' flags.

"Now, here a true hero stands before us!" Harper began walking forward, his scalemail jingling. The laicar's broad smile could be seen from across the square. "Harper Laureate, named after Harper of old and carrying on his legend! This young man has successfully led his team to victory in Harper's Conquest for three years in a row, carrying on the tradition of the Laureate family. Note his keen mind for strategy, his strong arm for battle, and no small amount of merciful luck!"

The magister continued on for several moments, caught up in describing the virtues of Harper and the Laureate family, before Vexus once more stepped forward to tap him on the shoulder. At last, Eximium handed the prize to Harper before turning back to the crowd.

"It has truly been my pleasure to reward the winners of our Nocte Nils celebration this year," he called out. "For five hundred years we have celebrated life, celebrated survival. Every year we give thanks for what we have, and pray for prosperity in the future. The Night of the End... and the light of new beginning.

"This year, we embark on something new, for Terminus, for Araevis. With every one of you as witness, we shall make history, stepping forward to the beginning of the next five hundred years, years of even greater growth and prosperity. Saint Deimar, if you would, please?"

[1105/2642]

 

[freckles]

Time for rewards it is, HAL threaded personally, looking at the envelope given to Lilliane. Something else caught the attention of the living automaton. The ancient patriarch had to be stopped in his ramblings. That was a circumstance that could be interpreted in many different ways, but the robot was reluctant to spit out a sentence that might not be particularly true. The terran was old even beyond the usual laicar lifespan. Such duration was expected to put a burden on anyone, in body and mind.

The android’s attention flew back to the master’s speech when the words ‘Gavelock’ and ‘hunt’ appeared close to one another. Slightly sticking his chest out despite his best effort – the living automaton realized that he was getting the worst habits from his laicar companions – HAL prepared to receive the same treatment the old geezer had offered to the first winner. It was not without disappointment that he processed the word and the underlying meanings the chairman of the Arcanum was instilling into his discourse.

Lack in passion or potential? he threaded with a certain sense of annoyance and displeasure. Less worthy? Is he really saying what I am understanding? The machine did move forward, but his gait was even more rigid than it seemed at times. The envelope was handed out as a necessary evil, not as a form of congratulations. There were no additional words spent for the winner of the Hunt. The living automaton was ushered back in such an offhandedly manner, that even the crowd singing hosannas subdued his joy for a moment.

HAL went back to his standing post amidst the five winners, a sense of brooding getting over him, completely forgetful of the envelope in his metal hand. He tried to recall the unexpected lesson he had recently got from a wandering merchant, but it was easier said than done. Laughing in the face of detractors could be a tool of incredible power, but one needed the will to put that to good use. The demvir remained stiff in front of a crowd that was becoming hostile in his stack. Every other word lost in his own stream of hexadecimal bits, aware of the subsequent prize-giving due to the air movement produced by one winner going to the forefront of the stage or coming back to the guests’ area.

Observing the applauding mass of citizens, the machine wondered if they got the subtle insinuations as he had perceived them. Certainly not, he threaded to himself, fixing his gaze on a rather large group of hooded subjects gathering together in a smaller flock. They even prepared some kind of exhibition. After a moment, another thread rose up from the rest of the pool. Am I victim to discrimination? Lady Luck might be blind, but Murphy’s Law is the sarcastic son of a nubile mother. That last thread appeared in HAL’s stack at the same time Harper was being praised and awarded. If it was not for one of the three Saints interrupting him, the head of the Arcanum would have kept ranting about the Laureate family’s prowess and lineage.

Eventually, the celebrations moved on. What is he talking about, now? the robot threaded, not without a certain malice in his voice. Let us just hope that this Deimar is a more concise speaker.


[ 1228 ]

 

[MoonlitRain014]

It was difficult to pay attention to the rambling velen while also listening to the droning of the various speakers. Aeria got the feeling that there was something important to listen to, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to care about pompous speechifying and all of the overheated language used by holy men and politicians. She forced herself to focus on her friend and let him lean his slightly off-balance weight on her so she could speak to him.

"I'm a fan of knowing what half the city's doing in a place. The speeches I can do without. I see that you've continued in your inebriation, Deni. I'd be curious to know when you aren't drunk actually. I suppose that given the state of the world, I can understand it. My question for you is what you're doing here?"

It was at this point that he seemed to acknowledge some other woman that Aeria couldn't see. He'd rudely cut her off in the waving, so she retorted, "Or do I even need to ask what you're doing here? Maybe the better question is who you're doing. I'm glad that you kept your hands off of me. I don't even want to know what you got up to with the lady you're waving at. Anyhow - you got any idea what all of the stuff on that stage is about? It looks silly to me."

Turning her attention halfway to the stage, the slender spurii tried to get a fix on who was up there now.

[255/613]