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Posted: **Sun May 17, 2020 11:37 pm**

City: Amoren
Location: Market near the outskirts
Time: Dusk

43rd of Glade, 120 AS

There was a slight breeze that whispered through the crowd gathered before the fountain in the market. It was a warm breeze that passed between legs and over shoulders, and as it tugged on clothing and hair there was a sound like the soft shushing of a mother calming her child. At this moment one could almost forget where they were as the last dying lights of the day cast their glow on every autumn leaf of Amoren, setting the world ablaze in reds and golds. A smokeless fire that smelled of poverty and desperation.

The flames of retribution. Reima thought to herself as she looked over the crowd from her elevated position. The breeze became a sudden gust that whipped the veil from her face and snatched at her ashen skirts, pulling and tugging with such force that the little Fae had to squint her golden eyes against the assault. When at last the wind had past Reima passed a hand over her braided hair, lingering on a white flower that bloomed over one ear before she pulled the grey veil back over her features once more.

"This world is broken." The statement was left to hang now in the still air, the crowd waiting in silence through more than a few fidgeted restlessly. It was those that Reima focused her gaze on, staring at them for a long moment until they ceased their motions. Perhaps it was the intensity of her stare, or maybe the atmosphere of the scene. More likely it was the Eye of Ulen emblazoned on her veil, an indicator of who she was and what she represented.

"This world is broken." The words were repeated, this time softer and with more meaning. "It is twisted, corrupt. It is infested like a diseased body, being eaten from within by a plague known as mortal hubris."

There was another pause in which a few more stirred and cleared their throats. This was expected of course, and it couldn't be helped. These were people who needed to hear the words of Ulendreaism. They did not yet understand, but given time they would.

Without a word, Reima raised a small leatherbound book in one hand, undoing the clasp with the other and letting the cover fall open of its own accord. She turned several pages, her motions slow and meticulous, almost reverent as if she treasured each and every stroke of the pen and the words they formed. Finally, she seemed to find the page she was looking for, and there paused and put a finger on the page before looking up.

"It was written that from the fractured Providence of the Clockwork Empire would rise a new Empire, one which would come to be known as the New Clockwork Empire forged in blood and sacrifice. The words were spoken and then written in The Oaths, and thereafter the Pontefix set House Blancéford to be the ruler of what would be the Daravinic Empire. This act ignited the fires of change, and the separated became whole once more, and so the Empire of Rust came to be." Silence filled the space once more, the minds of those who knew the basics of history recognizing the tale of the founding of Daravin. Reima waited until several in the crowd showed recognition, and she nodded to these and continued, "This prophecy was made, along with four others. This first prophecy was written and now has come to pass as was foretold. Four more remains, and at their end, there will be a change in the world the likes of which shall put the Sundering to shame."

One hand jutted forward, four fingers held upward for all to see, "Four Prophecies are still to come." all but one finger was folded, "The region of Turoth shall be made one beneath the new forged Clockwork Empire." A second finger was raised, "Having seen these works, Ulen will grace the great Pontefix with his voice and his blessing to guide the change to come."

A third finger followed came up, and with it Reima leaned forward slightly, adding an edge to her voice as if righteous anger boiled inside, "The heretics of the world will be put down with impunity, and the streets will run with their blood and bile. The nations of old will fall and pave the way for the final prophecy."

The last finger was raised, and with a loud clap, the book in her other hand was snapped shut, "When all these things have come to be, only then will Ulen return to us and bring with him a cleansing cataclysm that will sear the world and reduce it to ash. From that ash, there shall arise a new world, one freed from the impurities of old."

"The time is quickly approaching. I know you have felt it, seen it. This is why you are all here now, listening to these words. Those who prepare themselves for what is to come shall be saved and taken into Ulen's protective embrace. Those that do not will face the flames of destruction, alone and bare." Reima clasped her hands behind her back, looking around at the crowd who were now lit by the fire of touches and lamplights around the market. The twisting shadows cast by these lights cast odd shapes upon their features. The silence stretched further, and at last Reima raised one hand to touch over her left breast where a heart would be, "On this night, I leave you with a question. Where will you stand when Ulen returns? Have you prepared for yourself?" Again she paused and reclasped her hands at her waist, "For your sake, I pray that your eyes are opened and you begin your preparations immediately."

With that Reima turned and stepped off her boxes, signaling the end of the evening's sermon. A sigh was quickly stifled as a wave of weariness washed over her. This had been the fourth sermon of the day, the shortest one for certain, but after spending all day in the sun talking to and answering questions she was exhausted.

I deserve a drink. Reima thought with a smile, pushing her veil back over her hair. Looking over her shoulder she could see the crowd beginning to disperse. Watching them idly Reima wondered if Urs was still awake. Maybe he could buy her something. None of the local bars would sell to her, no matter how much she tried to argue that she was, indeed, old enough to drink and that she was not some lost child looking for her mother. She could have punched the last man who tried to pat her head. Lucky for him she had not saved up a Jynx, or she would have used it without hesitation.

Hopping up on the edge of the fountain Reima let her feet tangle as she began packing away her things into the small back she carried for this occasion. She definitely needed a drink tonight.

Posted: **Wed May 20, 2020 11:31 am**

“How do these people believe in such madness?” Talon’s voice was low but there was a note of shock. He spoke in Synskrit, wary of any who might be listening and wanting to avoid being overheard criticizing the dark faith that Daravin followed with a disturbing fanaticism. Beside him, Aoren was standing in his full armor. The dark winged Avialae was on alert and his eyes were studying the commoners who walked by them carefully. Few of the stares that were tossed their way were what Talon would have called friendly. There was a mix of antagonism and curiosity but it was clear none of the people there exactly welcomed their presence.

“They are born and raised to believe this world is cursed and they are the cure, Talon.” Aoren’s voice was also low as he conversed with Talon in Synskrit. The language, much different from both Common and Gentaverse, would have drawn sharper attention had they been speaking louder. The whole concept of Ulendreasim did not sit well with Talon. It was a religion that spoke of fire and brimstone, a cleansing of the world through death and destruction. On the one hand, he could understand why Daravin propagated the belief in the harsh teachings. It declared Imperial supremacy and painted their empire in the light of saviours ushering in an age of rebirth in a world that was very divided. The sheer amount of absurd propaganda woven into what Talon had learned of the religion was glaringly obvious to him. How the people around him couldn’t see the truth of it was beyond him.

“Who would wish for such a thing? I do not understand it. This Church of Ulen spreads such hateful things. It teaches people to despise themselves and to believe they are an embodiment of vile things. Why would anyone want to cling to such a thing?” It was beyond Talon. The Rensou Annai and the Temple of the Pale Lady in Kalzasi taught lessons of self-improvement and a quest for enlightenment through the elevation of compassion, understanding, and exploration.

“How can they not? The rulers of this empire possess powers far beyond what most common men can understand. They are taught that to have such powers is a blessing from the gods. It is those same powers that makes the highest reaches of Daravin untouchable to the masses. This ruthlessness is reinforced by the teachings of their Church.” Aoren stepped closer to Talon as a group of rather dirty looking men let their gaze linger just a bit longer than either of them were comfortable with. The message was clear and the men averted their gaze. For the moment.

“We should leave. We’re drawing unwelcome attention. I don’t need to remind you, most commoners in Daravin have only one experience with Avialae.” Talon hadn’t forgotten but it had not truly been a concern up until that point. He could see what his companion was referring to though. The only experience most people in Daravin had with his people were of the negative sort from what he gathered. Stories of skirmishes with Lorien and how the winged men were servants of a heretical state that defied the will of their wrathful deity.

“You are right.” Talon turned and with his companion beside him, he began making his way away from the gathering at the fountain and back toward the Lady Brilan Ald’s palace. They had only been in the city for a few days and perhaps it was best they let word of their presence spread a bit more as the Treveyn’s guests before venturing out more often. They hadn’t gotten far when a group of men had stepped forth to impede their path. Talon had a bad feeling.

“We have no quarrel with you, gentlemen. Let us pass.” His words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Two of them spat something in Gentaverese that Talon could not translate but he got the meaning of it just fine. Whatever they had said, it had not been friendly. There was no missing the obvious malice that was in the men’s stare. There had to be at least six of them impeding his and his bodyguard’s path. Carefully, Talon rest his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Talon.” Aoren’s voice spoke a warning but he was not looking ahead of them. He was staring behind them. At least five other men had come up behind them that Talon could see at a glance. He felt his friend position himself at his back. The young Novalys looked upwards and silently cursed. There were awnings and clothing lines blocking their path skyward. They would just as easily get tangled up in one of the lines or crash into an awning if either of them attempted to take to the skies. The two of them were trapped.

“Sky demons. Lorien filth. Your kind killed my uncle.” One of the men from behind was advancing more aggressively. He was armed with a sword of his own. Talon spoke clearly.

“We are not from Lorien.” That didn’t seem to matter to the group. By the way they’d been addressed, Talon was fairly certain that there would be no getting through to these people.

“You are a blight. Winged demons who defy the will of Ulen.” Talon heard other weapons being drawn. Some were plain wooden clubs. Some had daggers or makeshift weapons. Others had only their fists. He sighed inwardly and spoke in Synskrit to his companion as he drew his sword.

“Do not kill them. We do not need to cause an even greater headache for Lady Brilan.” Aoren chuckled as he drew his blade.

“I think we are well past that, my friend.” Someone threw a rock and with that first stone, the tension in the air snapped as both he and Aoren were rushed.

---

Talon bashed his fist into the face of one of his attackers. The man cried out in pain as he received a broken, bloodied nose for his efforts. While he was distracted, two of his attackers jumped onto him and grabbed his wings. Talon shook himself, stretching one wing forcefully and sending the would-be grappler flying. The other clung more persistently and managed to smash the club he was carrying against the arm of Talon’s wing. The young warrior cried out in pain. Before he could raise his sword, Talon found himself being tackled. The combination of brawling, the bruising to his wing and the tackle saw Talon losing his balance. He pushed himself backwards and landed squarely on top of the man grappling his wing. He heard air rush from the man’s lungs as Talon let his full weight fall upon the man. The maneuver saw his sword clattering to the ground.

The man who had tackled him, Talon brought his fist into the man’s stomach, winding him. He threw the man off of him but before he could get to his feet, two more men piled onto him. Talon was thrown back onto the ground, his head smacking into the cobblestones of the alleyway. The young warrior saw white as his head swam. He tried to reach for his kinetics, the magic of force that would allow him to send all of his grapplers flying. But his head was swimming from the impact on the ground.

“Talon!” He heard Aoren exclaim. One of the men had picked up Talon’s sword and was about to try and skewer him with the blade. The young Novalys felt a chill go through him. The world seemed to slow.

Posted: **Wed May 20, 2020 4:14 pm**

"It's two of those things."

The harsh whisper made Reima look up from her work, tilting her head slightly as if to better hear what was being said. The crowds were beginning to thin, heading back to their homes or off to whatever work called them after the sermons ending. Through the moving bodies, however, Reima could see that there was a noticeable gap in the flow, like a river parting around a massive boulder. Curious Reima set her things aside and stood on the edge of the fountain, coming to tiptoes in order to see over the crowds. This was how she noticed two heads standing higher than the rest at the center of this gap, and upon their backs, both bore a pair of wings that would make even the most majestic bird envious.

"Avialae..." the fae whispered, rocking back on her heels. She was surprised. Their kind was quite a rare sight indeed this far into Daravin, and they were not necessarily well-liked by the populous at large. It was strange to see them here then, apparently attending a sermon by an Ulendreaism Tribune. Odd to be sure, but to the Fae, it wasn't worth much more note than that. Once more she sat and continued packing her things. As she did so she mentally checked her 'area' as she had come to coin the term. It was how she described setting any given environment so that it would best suit her needs, a remnant from her time as a bodyguard to nobility. Though it had been years ago now since she had given up that calling, Reima found that some habits simply never died.

The rune on her chest thrummed as she expanded her awareness to the extent it would go, and at certain points, she felt a resonance as she briefly touched the nodes she had set in place earlier that day. It was something she did in any place she knew she would be staying for some time, especially when she was alone and possibly surrounded by people. She could feel each node as it hummed with invisible energy, just a breath away from connecting to her and letting her travel the aether stream. At different points around the space, there were also small figurines of the Eye of Ulen. Each was small enough to go unnoticed, though for those that did note them Reima suspected they believed them to be used to anoint the area for some religious purpose. She was more than happy to allow them to go on thinking this, as it meant both that her anchors would likely go undisturbed and that she could easily move and retrieve them without fear of them being stolen. Her face twisted in a grimace as she remembered that once someone HAD stolen one of her anchors. She wondered what he thought when a ward of silence suddenly cut off all sound around him. That particular anchor had been a bit of an experiment, after all, designed to activate when a certain amount of noise within a few feet of it was made. Ah well, maybe he would learn from that and change his criminal ways.

As the final item was packed Reima sinched the straps of the bag, tossing it over her shoulder just in time to look up and see a small crowd of people gathering just a short way away. At the center were the two Avialae men. From their postures, she could see there was a tension there, but she could not quite make out the words that were being spoken. Glancing away she picked up her book, and in an instant, the fighting began. Reima watched for a few moments, fingering the leather of her tome.

"It's none of my business." she said softly to herself, her body turning to go another way though her eyes still watched the men. One of the winged warriors sent a man flying with a bloody nose, while the other moved with a grace that said he was a real expert with this weapon. "They don't need me. I would just get in the way."

Her words sounded hollow to her own ears, and with an effort, she managed to tear her eyes away and take the first few steps. She glanced back as the first avialae threw off a man with one powerful wing. They were strong, and it would be their own fault if they got hurt. This area of Amoren was dangerous, and they would have been fools to come here and not be prepared for something like this. Again she tried to turn and walk away, but with a sudden groan, she realized... One of her anchors was nearly in the middle of all of that. There wasn't a way for her to collect it and flee without being noticed.

One winged man was tackled to the ground, his sword falling from his grasp. Reima hesitated in her next step, time seeming to slow as she saw his struggling suddenly stop as he hit the ground a 2nd time. Had his head hit the stones? Her mind was racing, a mixture of thoughts blended together as she struggled with a need to remain away from trouble, and an old nearly forgotten part of herself she had thought she had left behind forever. In her mind, she could see it even now, a man in black and a flower of red bursting from her master's chest. The scent of copper and burned cloth. A feeling of utter shame and disgrace at her own powerlessness. All of those passed through her mind in the few seconds it took for the 3rd man to pick up the fallen sword.

She wasn't sure when she made the decision. As if in a dream Reima felt her hand release the bag on her shoulder as she turned to face the crowd. A cold fire filled her from the rune on her back, the aether pouring down her arm and twisting to form a half-finished anchor around the book she now held clasped to her chest. Her mind reached out, touching the humming node that was nearest, and her magic singing in her veins as a connection snapped into place. She stepped, and with a feeling like the tug of a cord, she found herself suddenly next to the fallen man. The veil had fallen in place over her features on more, and as she planted her foot her free hand raised and pointed palm up toward the man who had angled the sword down at the fallen avialae. The fae could feel her anchor close by, and from it, she snatched a thread of aether and connected it to the half-finished one in her hand. She could feel them both now as if they were one and the same, and like a scribe moving paper from one desk to another she copied the parameters and severed the connection.

The point of the sword came down, suddenly slamming into a cracking blue shield 3 by 3 feet wide. It reacted, tasked to simply block anything physical from passing it, and sparks of energy lanced across its surface as the sword rebounded, knocking the man off balance even as thin spiderweb-like cracks formed in the barrier. The image Reima had used for this shield had been a stone, the most solid object she could think of at the time, but it was an imperfect tasking she now realized. It worked, but it drained so much energy that the shield cracked and suddenly fell like shattered glass, the pieces disappearing before they reached the ground. The anchor used to create it unraveled as well, but it had served its purpose.

Her sudden appearance and the magic used seemed to make those around her hesitate and using this brief pause Reima stepped sideways and laid a hand on the neck of the man closest to her. From her core, she pulled a thin, trickle of aether that felt like boiling acid filling her veins as it coursed down her arms. The affliction wormed its way through her body, slipping into the aether of the man an once in place Reima poured a burning jinx into his very soul. It was a sensation of searing flesh, scalding pain that came from lighting the flesh ablaze. Reima had suffered this affliction a day prior, and the hand that pressed against the attacker's skin still showed signs of recovering from the experience. The scream that tore from this person's throat was that of pure, wild agony, the sort that no other element could quite compete with. He lept backward, releasing his hold on the winged man and slapped at his skin, finally falling and rolling on the ground as if to extinguish invisible flames.

Reima angled her head at the other man, who quickly raised his hands and inched back away from Talon. Then she turned her gaze toward the man with the sword, who stood with the blade held loosely in his grip as if forgetting it was there. It was then that Reima realized that she recognized this man.

"Jacar," Her voice was softas she turned to face the man fully. He flinched as his name was used. He was a simple laborer, no wife or kids, did not drink or cause trouble of any kind. He was, however, a notorious zealot who attended all of her sermons. "What is the meaning of this?"

Jacar stared at Reima before anger twisted his feature and he stepped a finger at Talon on the ground, "They are filth, sky demons that are to be exterminated." He practically snarled these words, spit flying from the corners of his mouth, "They deserve this. They are heretics!"

Pausing, Reima began wrapping the book with a new anchor, looking around at the other men who were slowly starting to realize that something was happening. She found another of her figurines, this one tasked to reflect light from its surface, and connected it to her forming anchor. Once more she copied the parameters before speaking, "This is a crime, to commit acts like this in the streets of Amoren is a slight against the Omens. Jacar, leave these two and return home."

Her words seemed to confuse the man, but then wild fury filled his gaze and he raised the sword in an unpracticed grip, "This is the will of Ulen! The filthy, the unclean will be purged to make way for his coming! Stand aside Tribune, what I am doing is justified."

The fae did not move but rather raised the book with the cover facing the man before her. In a strong voice that she hoped would carry, she said in a calm voice, "As a Tribune of Ulen, and follower of Nydden, I grant these two Respite."

She waited, staring at Jacar whose mouth open and closed several times before he stuttered, "You can't--"

"I can't?" Reima's voice was ice, a hint of disdain trickling in unbidden. The man seemed to realize what he said, and the tip of the sword fell slightly. He made to speak, but a raised hand stopped him, "I, a Tribune of the Achra of Respite, have not the authority to grant these two men Respite? Do you, Jacar, believe you are somehow above the Omens Tribunes?"

The color drained from his face as Jacar seemed to understand the implication. The sword point fell further until it touched the ground, and the fire in the man's eyes seemed to sputter out, "N-no I--" A sharp wave of Reima's hand cut the man off.

"I've heard enough." She stepped forward, grasping the man by the wrist and threading her burning aether into him. This time she used a particular jinx she saved for just certain occasions. It flashed down her arm and into his body, and he cried out as a sensation of having one's hand cut off blinded his senses and he dropped the sword. Reima kicked it away as Jacar fell backward, cradling his arm against his chest. Reima leaned forward slightly, lightly placing a finger on his forehead as she whispered softly, "Leave now, and I will forget your words and let that punishment be enough to satisfy for your blasphemy."

That last word seemed to hit him harder than any pain or action before, and he nodded quickly before scrambling to his feet and heading off. The others of his group, those who noticed or were able, would make to follow or disperse in another direction. There would be a price to pay for this, Reima was certain, but for now...

A sign made the veil over her features flutter, so she pushed it back and looked over her shoulder at Talon and spoke in Common, "Are you alright? Can you stand?"

Posted: **Tue Jun 09, 2020 3:15 am**

Reima

Lores
Negation: Building Anchors under pressure
Negation: Stronger image stronger shield
Persuasion: Moving a crowd (?)
Intimidation: Cold Stare

The Omen: The 5 Prophecys
Affliction: Burning Flesh

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points 8 - Can be used for Negation

Comments: Reima, this thread was phenomenal. It didn't finish (a shame), but the two posts you've written were both great. The first one was an excellent example of a sermon on the Prophecies, and I really love the wording you used for each point of dialogue, as the grim tone really fits well with the Omen's beliefs. The intensity of the situation only further underlines the excellent writing. This is making me want to play Areas since he's a Tribune, haha.

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