< atton revisited > The information page for Atton has been fully revised and updated with the new map!
< updated calendar > The Fortuna calendar has been updated in the "Other" lore section! This includes a document which displays the calendar for you to see, making it much easier to understand.
< moving map > The first functional map has been released in the News section! This map is also interactive, allowing you to drag and drop between points in order to determine distances. This is the first iteration, and there's more and better to come!
< first annual awards > The results for the First Annual Fortuna Year-End Awards have been posted! Go and take a look at who the finalists were, and who took home the big prizes!
< new default skin > Our new skin has passed the beta test, and is now the new Default for the forums! If you have any issues with this skin, send a PM or Discord to Mellie.
< human lore update > Humans have been updated with TWENTY-FIVE subraces/subcultures which add numerous options, and a little extra lore and flavour.
< magic lore update > Magical Lore has been enhanced with the addition of a post on Magical Education. From Beginner to Expert, this is how you learn the spells.
< a change to member groups > Member groups are now based on storyline! You can change your displayed storyline by editing the settings in your profile.
Welcome to the world of Fortuna, a land of fantastic proportions. This is an original fantasy roleplay that takes place in a world developed over nearly a decade of work and collaboration. We aim to encourage all participants to have a hand in the stories of the characters here, and the world around them. Your choices are key - so make them with pride. You decide who wins the wars, you decide who becomes King, the world is ours, and together we will bring it to life!
[attr="class","gilles2"]Gilles nodded sagely, not the type to feel flattered despite the respect she had offered him. Instead, he was a creature of focus. He tensed his hands as if he were holding a ball the size of a coconut within them, the lightning under his Kina flesh somewhat visible as it coursed to the ends of them. The electricity danced between finger and palm, forming into a pea-sized bead of light, before bursting into a magical, electrical fire before their eyes.
He cautiously released his hands, the fire floating down to an inch above the ground, not catching, growing, or shrinking. Just... Existing. Warm, bright, fire. "When ready," He told her, as he looked over to her complexion, rich in the firelight, "Open."
Gilles had done his part. Now it was the work of history to fill in the rest.
The storm raged on outside, but in their small circle of calm the firelight danced. It reflected off the water around them and made her honey brown skin glow, though not quite as much as Gilles' own skin glowed. She still didn't know what he was, but it was as though he was magic made flesh, held in form only by a thin layer of skin. She could see the lightning move underneath it, and the glow of his evocation as though barely contained.
He told her to open the bottle, and again she wondered what was going to happen. She supposed she wouldn't have to wait long to find out. Just before she did, her mind warned her the man could be lying about what the bottle contained. It would be an easy lie - she had no idea what memories in a bottle really looked like. What if it was poison? Or some kind of magic meant to hurt her or Atton itself? Her brow furrowed at the idea and she looked once more at the man in front of her. Has it all been an elaborate trick? She supposed she wouldn't have to wait long to find out.
With a quick nod of ascent she pressed the release and the bottle was opened.
[attr="class","gilles2"]The magic of memories was an immensely strange thing, and not a kind of strangeness that Gilles knew intimately. Divination was far from the styles of his natural evocation, and so it was like a foreign tongue he had heard since childhood. He understood it well enough to know what would happen as the Chief opened the bottle, but could not explain it to her in any kind of helpful words.
It was mostly simple, he supposed. On the surface, anyway. Older memories were fleeting, lighter than air; even the ones that had been copied numerous times, and stored very carefully, lost their density at a swift pace. These memories would float to the top, and be the first to reveal themselves.
Recent memories, and those of high trauma and emotion, weighed more heavily. When extracted, they held themselves fast to the bottom of a container, more liquid than air. When the time came, he would require her to pour out these recent memories. Evard's. And one other -- more interesting -- thinker.
When the Chief pressed on the release, there was a small sss sound as the air forced itself from the sieved opening and into the wet air around them. The air drew itself to the fire, which wanted so desperately to consume it, and then encircled the space between them in a silvery white fog. Faded images sparkled in the fog, trying to gain traction, and finally, they became clear.
The first of the images were of people somewhat similar to Gilles. Not as large or as imposing - but their skin was like his. Some red. Some orange. Some green, or purple. They were on their knees with bowed heads, chained and almost nude except for bandaged, tattered small-clothes. The image was one of immense sadness, but yet whoever was remembering it was almost clinically cold.
It took only moments to determine why the thinker was not moved by such an empathetic sight, as the visual began to move and approach the forms, cutting through them and examining them like chattel.
Hunger was transmitted through the vision, though the feeling did not run through Gilles as he watched. It was just that the vision was tainted by the desire, seeing the world through the eyes of some other historical victor only left Gilles feeling sickness.
Finally the thinker stopped, and reached out a greyed hand towards the downturned chin of a kina with golden skin. The face turned up, revealing a woman with a strong chin and statuesque nose, eyes hardening as they met the thinker's. The thinker was unmoved.
It ran a hand over her face, fingers over teeth - which attempted to snap, but were halted by some kind of magic at the last moment - over cheeks, brushing eyelids, and finally - a palm met the forehead of the golden kina. Its fingers tangled into hair at the top of the scalp, and the thinker could see the eyes of the Kina roll back into her head. Her jaw fell slack. Her chained hands tried to move, but her arms refused the painful angles it would require. She knelt there, staring up with the whites of her eyes, and her skin greyed-- while the skin of the thinker saturated and darkened in tone to a deep green.
Then, the image began to shift.
It was replaced by another distant thinker, this one with complex views of mixed empathy and aspiration. The thinker looked upon what might have been an early rendition of an airship, where far too many kina - with their many coloured skins - huddled in corners with a chill on their backs. They wore rags to cover their tattered small clothes, and looked emaciated. Near death.
The thinker turned, perhaps to a sound, and watched as a beautiful man strode towards the huddled masses. The man had tanned skin, and hair of lilac, which tumbled over his shoulders in perfectly coiffed tresses. His back, the only thing the thinker could see, was adorned with three pairs of illustrious wings, feathers perfectly preened. The man approached the masses, who flinched at his closeness, but he did not seem to take notice. He paused only for a moment, surveying the kina, before stooping in front of one of them -- another man, with pale blue skin and fear glittering in his eyes.
The thinker stepped several paces around, changing the view and allowing for a profile of the two. The winged one - an aasimar - with a roman nose and pronounced cheek bones; the blue one - a kina with a round face, and dark hair curled into tangled nests. The aasimar cupped a hand gently onto the cheek of the kina, his mouth moving in words that were not preserved by the memory, and then the kina's skin began to brighten, the blueness increasing to a beautiful sapphire. The aasimar pulled away, and other kina began to scramble towards him for the same treatment.
The thinker saw this as worshipers for a God, and so that was the way in which these people seemed in the vision. Gilles could not imagine his ancestors committing such heresy against their progenitors of magic. The bias was clear in both of them.
There was one more of these most ancient memories left, Gilles knew. After that, the bottle would need to be jostled to eke out the next piece of the puzzle, before being overturned entirely for the most recent of the memories. He hoped that the chief would begin to understand their fraternity with the next tale -- it was already making Gilles somewhat uncomfortable.
The image shifted away from the ship, ghostly overlays of half-remembered moments confusing the image before finally -- a place.
The memory of this one was also not taken from a kina. Their memories were not worth storing, not at this distant time in history so numerous a millennia ago. The view of this place was once more an idealistic one, the kind of someone who called it home.
They recalled a beautiful grove of pink and green willows, each growing taller and more beautiful than the last, upon a bed of something that was not quite soil, and not quite cloud. They remembered gazing up at a gorgeous spire of a temple, the architecture similar to that which Aurcaele still favoured. A stained glass window at the top of the temple was the focal point, a beautiful golden piece that was clearly a symbol of the Gold Leafs. The same Gold Leaf symbol that Pelagia had burned into Ellis Danton's hand, though Gilles had no idea of such a convenient connection.
The same aasimar man from before stood among the willows, pulling free a flower to smell. The thinker saw him as perfection, absolutely holy with his radiance. The thinker themself this was running towards the man, tinging the vision with urgency. The memory much stronger, more important, than the previous two, there were a few, paraphrased words that had stuck: "My lord, the Fluchhaut are refusing our orders to kneel in prayer before the Holy Branch. Queen Fabelle is nearly arrived to view your work."
"Make them," The aasimar man's voice was pleasantly airy, though his eyes were full of fire, "Ayniea has saved them, Damhan. They must know what awaits them should they refuse their souls to her perfection."
The vision shifted then, the thinker - Damhan - stepping towards a group of kina within a structure of wood and iron. Each was standing with feet spread to shoulders or wider, speaking loudly in what sounded like gibberish. Gilles could not help but wish to know what they were saying -- but the only memory saved of this was Damhan's, and he could not understand their refined tongue, He merely viwerd the kina people gathered before him as ugly, as animals... As lesser creatures needing the enlightenment of his Goddess. As Damhan looked at them now, their refined noses were larger, their faces wide and fat like they had been made of clay and pulled into grotesque shapes. Their chins were sharp. Their brows, thick -- and almost neanderthalic in definition.
"You will pray to the One Goddess," Damhan's voice resonated through the chamber, his memory so clear of this moment -- this defining memory in his life.
The Kina said something back to the man, lips wet with spittle and eyes glowing with some kind of angry light. One more Damhan's coloration of Gilles' people. One thing was undeniable however, Gilles' ancestors refused the man's demand. Damhan repeated himself, likely thinking he was being kind with so many chances, but the kina refused again, and reached two hands out to shove the thinker roughly. Damhan caught his feet, and looked down briefly with a sigh before staring at the kina, raising a hand with a distinct clank-- And coming down with a strike upon the head of the kina with a mace.
Then he did it again.
And again and again and again and again and again until--
The mace lifted, and the kina dropped to the ground. An airy mist was drifting from the wound in place of blood, a pulsation of magic dying down before his very eyes. Damhan held the weapon near his face, observing the lack of blood as he turned the implement over -- his hand clearly visible for the first time, with its lightly tanned skin decorated in freckles. And then Damhan turned to see the swiftly kneeling crowds, trembling with fear. "That's what I thought," He echoed, his memory more sure than Gilles thought it must have been in the moment.
The silvery fog showed a number of other incoherent images then, the ends of these traces cutting together poorly as the oldest of the memories became consumed by the fire. A slight mist had gathered at the top of the bottle in the Chief's hands, which Gilles gestured to as he told her, "There is more."
His eyes lifted to her then, curious if he could understand the feelings she was having, of what she had seen.
What came out of the bottle was not poison. Or at least, not in the traditional sense. It curled around the fire and shimmered faintly before focusing into what Gilles had told her it would be - memories. Xanthe saw the people with the glowing, coloured skin and though they looked much less physically imposing than Gilles himself she could tell they were of the same race, whatever they were. She was first amazed at the colours and how beautiful they were, but her amazement was soured when she realized where they were, bound and chained and scarcely clothed. She didn't know the context of their situation though her first thought was that perhaps they had committed a crime and were being held prisoner. But when the hand of the memory-holder reached out and seemed to... feed off the golden-skinned woman her brows furrowed in confusion. The skin of the memory-holder went from greying to rich green, though not in the same way that the people like Gilles were green. She had never seen a being like that before either, and wondered if instead of prisoners these people were being kept as food somehow.
The memory faded before any more answers could be given and focused after a moment on a new memory. She saw more of the people like Gilles but immediately her gaze was drawn to the winged figure, and for a moment she thought it was Pelagia herself until the viewer moved to the side and showed that it was a man, though most definitely an Aasimar like Pelagia. They were on an airship of some kind, something she was only familiar with since the invaders had come, and the winged man approached a blue-skinned man and knelt down, doing something to him that caused his pale blue glow to grow stronger and deeper, like sapphire shining under his skin. Seeing what he had done the others flocked to him, their saviour. Again there was no context, so this memory seemed like a rescue of sorts, saving the people from the green-skinned man from the previous one maybe. It certainly painted the winged man in a good light.
Of course, that wasn't the end of it. When this memory faded and the next one came into focus Xanthe gasped at the beauty of it. Aurecale. It had to be. Ellis had told her so much of it, and she had seen a willow through the window of Feofil's magic room. It was so different from Atton. Atton was beautiful to her, of course, and in a non-biased way it held much beauty. The storms even could be beautiful, though the beauty was sharp and wild. The beauty of this place was soft and gentle in a way Atton never was. She could understand why Pelagia and Ellis loved it so much.
The memory didn't just show the willows but also a tower and in one window a stained glass image of the symbol Xanthe had seen only once, burned into Ellis's hand. Her admiration of the scene immediately soured at the memory. The man from the previous memory was here, looking serene and regal among the trees, and the memory-holder ran over to him and began to speak. She understood most of it, though the word Fluchhaut was entirely unfamiliar to her. Queen Fabelle was mentioned, that she was coming to view his work. "Make them", the winged man said. Ayniea has saved them, he said. Xanthe had an uncomfortable feeling even before the scene changed to what she had feared.
The winged man had not been a saviour.
The memory-holder returned to a building containing Gilles' people and told them to pray to the 'One Goddess', and Xanthe's mouth twisted into a silent snarl, already angry before the worst of it even happened. When they refused, the man beat one of them with a mace, again and again as the others looked on in horrified shock. Pray to Ayniea or face death. Xanthe was shocked too, and furious. "There is more," Gilles told her, and his words brought her back to the present. The storm around them had grown even darker with her anger and she stood, unable to continue sitting while the anger ran its course. There was more? What more was there? She held the bottle out to Gilles, because if she didn't give it back she worried she might smash it to pieces on the ground. "Show me."
[attr="class","gilles2"]Gilles' pulse had quickened along with the Chief's growing anger, something about it bringing the storms inside of him to life -- and also strengthening his feelings of closeness to her. He wanted to help her, for her to help him, for them to be allies. He had a moment of worrisome thought, watching her face tense with anger and her eyes flashing and the storm more threatening outside of their bubble of safety, that he ought to just abandon Tristan, and Malscure. Maybe even Rielcia. It was so brief, like a strike of lightning, but it was also compelling. And like dancing lights upon his eyes after a bright flash, it lingered within him.
Why? He wondered, and was glad that she handed him the bottle. The physical form of it in his hand gave him something else to focus on. He nodded at her command, and held the bottle vertically before rotating his wrist to shake it somewhat. This movement soon became enough to jostle the next, heavier mists. The silver was brighter now than it had been before, and it formed an image through the fire -- the next memories. The first recorded memories of his people.
"If this does not work, they will hang us from the black trees," The nervous voice of a man came from the viewer, who looked upon a kina woman of orange skin, dressed in a patchwork robe sewn of different fabrics. The woman herself was standing on the bough of a ship, looking out into an ocean of swirling pink clouds, clutching a hand to her chest as wind blew her deep magenta hair.
This memory was a shimmer, a half-remembered dream, almost. These all would be. They were complete, unlike the ancient memories, but that did not make them wholly accurate. They were subject to the one who remembered them, and the echo on the woman's voice as she spoke was evidence of something fantastical. She turned her head somewhat, strangely, and told the thinker: "She has guided my hand, as I have guided our people. She has told me that this day, we return to our homeland."
With a flourish of her robe, the scene shifted to the thinker looking upon a large group of kina. Many with blue skin, and some with gold skin, all facing outward on that same ship, other coloured faces huddled tight in the centre of the ship -- the one in the many coloured robe not visible, but heard clearly: "Our Goddess smiles upon us this day. My people-- Today we return to our land. Tomorrow, we take it. Gold, and Sapphire -- Release!"
On her word, a burst of magic was let off, and the ship began to float with a massive cheer of the rainbow faces on the deck.
The image shifted again, the ship sailing quietly under the clouds and through the skies. The thinker walked across the deck, approaching a golden-skinned kina who's colour was flickering in intensity as he held his hands out in a focused spell. A dark black hand reached out, the hand of the thinker, and lay on the shoulder of the golden kina. "Hold, brother. Only a day more," The thinker comforted, and the deep colour of his skin began to fade, as the brightness and solid state of the golden skin strengthened.
The gold kina's face unscrewed, and he let out a sigh-- "Thank you, brother. Please, relax my mind. Has Miynie told our Supreme of a bountiful return?"
"The Supreme has had many visions, brother... I know that our Mother will guide us to safety through the hand of the Supreme."
"But her visions-- Do they tell of our brethren? Have they found another way to break their bonds--" The ship lurched somewhat, and the black hands gripped the shoulders of his golden partner reassuringly-- "Have faith, brother. Our Mother has heard our pleas, and has taken pity on us. We shall know peace."
Another shift in the vision was made of flashes of sights on the ship. Numerous lurches in their otherwise steady sail. A few drops in altitude as the anxiety overtook those kina whose magic held the ship aloft. Eventually the flashes lead to a wooden hold, covered in bedrolls and hammocks, with body upon body stacked almost like cordwood as the kina travelled by ship. The colourful robe of the orange woman - the 'Supreme' - could be seen among the bodies as the thinker stepped through kina.
"My Supreme," A dark hand touched the shoulder of the woman, who turned with eyes aglow in a bright white, not asleep -- perhaps entranced. A moment later, her eyes faded to normalcy, and she smiled vaguely at the thinker, who whispered: "We grow closer to home, and the fears of our people grow as well. Has Miynie yet told you of the state of our land? I must tell them something of comfort. Anything, please."
"Dear brother. I have seen many things, things you would not believe. There is a land like our's, you know. Full of magic, and ever dangerous. Almost as if the Brother of Balance, our Potos, leads all chaos there, with storms of great power lighting the sky in brilliant flashes of evocation's swiftest strike. But it is not Potos, it is not anyone so simple. I do not know her, yet... But I would like to. Ho-hum..."
Gilles glanced to the Chief at this, having chosen these memories almost solely for this purpose. He wished for her to see their connection of happenstance and parallels. First the treatment of his ancestors by Aurcaele, who were intending to help her now. Now, the knowledge of them, before knowledge was had. And now, as he felt more moved by her, he wanted her to see him as connected to Atton, too.
"Supreme... Please. Their worries may lose us to the ocean. We feel the ship lurch as our minds do and--"
She reached out to his face, the memory almost able to translate the touch. The nostalgia able to run a chill up Gilles' spine as he met eyes with the orange-toned Supreme of millennia past. "Tzvi, it is nothing to grant you worry. Miynie sees you. She wishes for a new tomorrow for her people. She will make any sacrifice for it. But... Hmm. Ho-hum, you must be sure the rafts are ready. Do not depend on our magic to save us when we return home. This is your duty now."
With another shake of the bottle, Gilles was able to summon forth the next memory. It was on board the same ship as it fell through the air, tumbling down to the sea. Looking about frantically, all of the kina had no colour. All were grey. Screams sounded throughout the ship, and the now-grey hands of Tzvi, the thinker, pulled raft after raft free of their homes, setting them down to the ocean and yelling at people to jump for the seas before they became crushed by ship and wave alike.
The sea accepted them gently, as if they were being enveloped in fine silks, as if Moann were watching over them too, and the kina managed their way onto rafts. Tzvi looked around, breathing heavily, as he spotted the many coloured robe, floating empty on the surface-- And grey hands pulled it free of the ocean's tension.
With a final shift, there were flashes of grey face after grey face. Of lands that were barren, and unmoving. Monstrous creatures that were husks of their former selves. Finally, the memory found its way into a stone room decorated with candles of many different coloured wax. A wooden table was set in the room, and Tzvi could see grey-skinned kina, and gaunt, emaciated people of a separate grey tint. These people had slight fangs, pointed ears, and looked to be upon death's door. One was dressed in the appearance of a priest, with a large mitre of black and gold atop his almost skeletal head.
"I have held communion with our Great Mother of Night," His voice was a rasp, and his hands shook as he gestured, "It is clear that our interpretations on her word were misguided in the most innocent of ways, and in the most evil of action - an act of abject heresy. Our punishment of course..." He gestured to himself and let out an airy gasp of laughter before finishing: "You would do well to let us die. Yet... You come here for peace, is it?"
"Yes," Came Tzvi's voice, "Our lineage has been one of too much pain, and loss of life. Our goal is not a vengeful genocide, though our Mother and first Supreme provided us with the tools for just such an act when she sequestered her powers from all mortal hands. But... We are sick of the history we have tread. We want peace. And we want your vow, bound by your Nightmother. Your existence, forever dependent on our ability to thrive. Your protection, for our power, and sustenance. Partners. Against all threats that bare down upon us."
"Protection from Aurcaele, you mean."
"Against all threats that bare down upon us."
"Then let us be forever united. Our countries: free, eleutheros. Protected by night and by magic, illusio. Eleusio."
"Lead by our Great Mothers. Eleusia."
"Eleusia."
Tzvi stood then, offering a hand across the table to the High Priest of Khades, who proferred his own. Before the lamini hand could touch kina however, Tzvi had one more addendum: "And should there come a time when another reveals itself such as us -- hidden by night, or magic, or any other concealment, that desires its freedom such as us -- united and individual... Eleusia shall be for them."
The high priest laughed somewhat, but nodded agreeably, "Eleusia shall be for them."
The two hands met, and first Tzvi saw his own hand returning to rich, opalescent blackness. Then, through simple touch, the high priest's colour returned, a pale green unlike that which had fed in the very first memory, but of similar hue to it. No longer was the lamini siphoning away Tzvi's power. He was aligning with it.
The vision was devoured by licks of flame, leaving them in quiet once more. These were the memories that were so core to Rielcia and Malscure's presence here in Atton. It had been foretold that a place such as this existed, and Supreme Tzvi had ensured that Eleusia would be devoted to it. The devotion had been perverted, of course, as it always was. Selfishness was the true ruler of a mortal heart. Perhaps though... Perhaps the selfishness in this very meeting could indeed turn the tide. More and more as Gilles watched Xanthe, he believed them to be connected by more than a plane of existence. And he wanted her to believe it as well.
There remained now only the most recent, most clear memories. Gilles shook the bottle, the sound of liquid reverberating inside to show that it was nearly empty. "From Atton. Memories."
The memories that came out of the bottle next were physically different than the preceding ones. The fog was thicker and more silvery, as though there was more substance to them than the others. When the scene focused itself on the fire she remained standing to watch it, and was glad to not be greeted by a vision of violence as before. This time it was a gathering of Gilles' people, the glowing ones, on their own ship of some sort. An escape.
These memories were filled with more dialogue than the last, and she knew the words were important but struggled at times to keep up while translating it all, and there were more words now that she didn't recognize. She felt that she was able to get a basic understanding of most of it, but there was much left unknown to her. She heard the name of Mynie and her face grew thoughtful. Mynie's people then, which made sense given their striking appearance. Magically bound, magically sustained, magically created.
And then something interesting - the one with the colourful cloak who everyone referred to as 'Supreme' had a vision, and spoke of a magical land filled with storms and Xanthe caught Gilles' gaze across the fire at the mention. Atton. That was long before Atton was revealed to the outside world, long before the storms stopped long enough to let in the invaders, so it must truly have been a vision given by her god. Mynie told her people of Atton, but why? Gilles was showing this to her for a reason, and she supposed it made sense.
The memories didn't end there of course. There was more - the glowing people gone grey and crashing into the ocean, finding another group of people and meeting with them in alliance, protection. Protection from Aurcaele. United, led by their Great Mothers. Mynie then, and another. Eleusia. She recognized that name because the Peacekeepers and Ellis had told her of the outside world and the countries in it, and the name of groupings of countries. After all the things she had learned she couldn't remember exactly, but the name was familiar to her.
And then Tzvi had said something else. When another was revealed, hidden by night or magic, that desired freedom as they did, Eleusia would welcome them. He was speaking of Atton, as the Supreme had spoken of Atton. Without a name but as an idea, and idea from a vision granted by their Goddess Mynie. So this was why. This was why Gilles had wanted to speak with her, and why he wanted to show her the memories. Memories of his people, his country, and this agreement. The agreement to welcome Atton to them when it revealed itself, as foretold. It was a lot to think about, and this entire time she would have worn a face of deep concentration as she translated all the words, but at the realization her head inclined in thought beyond simply understanding the words but the motivation, the implications. Was this a peace offering, then?
These memories did not stir anger in her as the last ones did. These ones made her think, and perhaps gave her some hope. Peace was again within her grasp.
Then the two greying people shook hands and the one wearing dark robes regained his colour to green and she took a step back in surprise. Green like the man from the first memory, who had fed off the glowing ones. Redemption, then. His people saw the error of their ways and the glowing ones gave their forgiveness, to work together for the good of all despite their troubled past. Again, a flicker of hope.
The memory faded and was gone, leaving just Gilles and her in silence before the fire one more. She didn't quite know what to say yet, but Gilles spoke first. He swirled the bottle to reveal it wasn't empty quite yet. Memories remained to be seen, and this time from Atton itself. She wondered what else he could have to show her, but her curiosity had only increased as the previous memories had been revealed. She wouldn't stop him now. With an incline of her head she gave him permission to continue, and awaited what further information would be revealed.
[attr="class","gilles2"]This was going well, impressively. The Chief did not seem to take offense, or be angry at the presumptuousness of Tzvi. She did not even seem up in arms about the forgiveness his people had given to the lamini, which could bode well for any forgiveness she saw fit to demand he earn. When he had first viewed this memory he had been infuriated. For Gilles, that meant he had stood up and walked away-- but it was an impressive reaction from him. Now he had earned a different perspective. He did consider Tristan Cowell an ally, after all, and Cowell was the pinnacle of high lamini existence.
She gave Gilles her permission to continue, which he took by swirling the bottle several times. He did this until the sloshing sound dissipated, and then angled the bottle so that the final memories could spill out. The movement had helped lighten them, and they moved with a strange weight through the air, thick and silver, dancing towards the flame before settling underneath it in a pool that was part liquid, part gas. It was not a large amount, particularly compared to how much gas there had been before. No, these memories would be brief.
First, the pool shifted to form a face Gilles assumed would be familiar to her: Feofil Peti. The man was seated in a room within the Broken Temple Fort - obviously long enough ago that the place was in far more ruin than today - with Ilithiya sitting to his left, and Erik the Sharp-Eyed at the corner. This vision had impressive clarity, having been pulled out of Gilles himself freshly after the meeting had concluded. It would still contain moments of paraphrase, inconsistency, or misrembering - but with how recent it was, it was as close as they could get the Chief to being present herself. In the vision, Gilles' face was locked upon Feofil, and it would not move. Gilles did not move often.
"I can surely guarantee you both that Submiere and Fiamont would sign onto a treaty if given reason to," Feofil was saying, the memory picked up mid-conversation.
Another voice picked up from the left of Gilles, unseen -- Tristan. "As would we, Peti, and you know that. We aren't here fighting a war against you, or the natives here. We are here fighting for freedom, and ensuring that this land is protected from all outside threats, which -- plainly, and with little personal offense intended -- you have proven yourself a failure in."
"Watch it," Erik warned, snapping his beak somewhat. Gilles on the other hand, smiled somewhat hearing the memory. Tristan Cowell had once been a force. This was Gilles' ally, not the dredge he had forced out of a stupor just days ago.
"Apologies," Tristan placated, "What I intend to mean is that you have large threats looming over this country. In asking us to lay our arms and agree to peace, you ask us to allow those threats free range. Dirys and Liesdro are desperate for the resources here, and with that rebel leader-- Herod or what's-his-name -- gaining power, they need those resources more than ever, otherwise they have weakened themselves for no reason. Yet I see you have yet to secure promises from Dimitar or Delice."
Feofil shook his head somewhat, stroking a hand over his beard and looked to Tristan patiently, "With all due respect, Tristan... Liesdro and Dirys are hardly a threat. As you say, their concerns lie on the homefront."
"Please enlighten me where the concerns of Aurcaele, and Artavia lie, then. For Aurcaele, the natives of this place are a prize to be won. Souls for their everloving deity of life. Artavia-- Khades Feofil, they have airships now. Here. They devour the lightning in the sky and it only powers them more. If you permit Artavia free reign over this place, without Gilles here, and his lightning evokers keeping their power in check you might as well lie out the welcome mat in Niseca for a new world empire. They desperately want Atton's resources.
"You have our word, Feofil, Erik. When Artavia and Aurcaele are dealt with, we can better focus our fight, together. But do remember... That the ocean all of your ships are anchored in? My country is a mere day or two at full sail. We make ourselves targets, and I cannot assist you on this front. I am not just a... A general, or an inquisitor. I am an Imperator, and I must ensure the safety of my citizens, and those of Eleusia."
The image began to shift, and was soon replaced with the outer wilds of Atton, where the thinker was walking the outskirts of a dry brush, along with a handsome looking man in Aurcaeli uniform. "Damn I hope we find one of 'em this time," The man spoke, the vision shimmering a little with lack of clarity. This memory had not been fresh. This memory had not been cared for. It had not been seen as important.
"And what would you do if you found a savage, Pence?" The gruff voice of the thinker came, a superior teasing quality to the words, "They aren't so easy to deal with."
'Pence' chuckled, knocking some brush with his sword haphazardly, "I'd knock 'em one between the eyes with an arrow, 'fore they even knew I was there. Or maybe get 'em down and bleedin', and have 'em pray to the Willowmother for life. See if I could make 'em see smarts."
"Careful there, soldier. We only have clearance to kill the savages if they threaten us. You wanna hunt, you stick to the wildlife."
"Who's gonna know they didn't threaten me? Savages can't talk--"
"Shh!" The thinker pulled the other man into the brush, ducking down and using hand signals to direct the soldier's attention. As he looked back out, it was clearly the Chief herself, with Ellis Danton, the two touching one another's hair in the distance. The purpose would be clear for the Chief, but the soldiers seemed less convinced.
The officer pulled his bow free, and knocked an arrow, "That considered a threat, Corporal?"
"On my count... One, two--" The arrow fired, and as it struck true, the Corporal called out a warning: "Stay down, savage!"
The scene progressed from there in a way almost familiar to the Chief, though from an entirely strange angle, and from a bias that was firmly sided against her humanity. Ellis trying to defend Xanthe, Corporal Evard attempting to command him. Ellis firing a bolt into the tree, which altered the tone of the memory entirely. Evard preparing to tie Ellis' hands. Xanthe trying to protect him, and earning slurs from the officer. Ellis making a deal. The two disappearing through the tree.
"The fuck was that? The fuck do we do?" The officer asked the thinker, face screwed in concern.
The blue-green hand of an orc raised to Evard's face, dragging across it as he sighed, before deciding: "We tell Lord Xista just what Danton told us. My professional opinion, that spineless runt defected. I'd guess she'll agree, and she'll have a plan for his return. A good one. That's what she does. As for you... Just keep your mouth shut."
The silvery substance was quickly dissolving to nothingness, but first it shifted to one final memory. This one... Worried him. His eyes would be locked on the Chief as it played, concerned she may act rashly upon seeing what Tristan's scout had seen.
The last vision was from a brush once more, but this time whoever was watching was neither speaking, nor moving. In the distance was the focus piece, a large copper-skinned man sitting by a fire, with two other figures - one male, one female - standing at his flanks. The figures were of no particular notice to Gilles, other than them being Attonian. The Chief herself... She may better recognize Kav'nok, and two of her people who had chosen him over her.
They would both recognize the fourth figure, as it flew down from above and landed cautiously before the three. Erik, of Vieri. The two guards raised their weapons, and Kav'nok waved a hand, and stood. Something was exchanged between the two in sounds that could not be heard from a distance. Then, the two grasped hand to talon, nodded, and Erik flew off once more, leaving Kav'nok to direct his people off in a westward direction.
Once the group had moved on, and it was safe, a voice whispered from the thinker: "Holy Khades, what was that? I... Phew. I'm..." She cleared her throat and continued, "This is Scout Aurelia, within southern region six, three miles east of the Vieri encampment. I just saw... I watched Attonian natives with Erik the Sharp-Eyed, leader of the Vieri camp. I am going to follow, and attempt to see and hear what they discuss there... If I do not survive, please use this memory to honour what I have done for my people, and for Eleusia. We the united."
With that, the thinker took through the bushes, moving with impressive silence as she stayed only just within view of Kav'nok and the other natives. As they travelled, more joined Kav'nok, all wielding weapons... And when they finally arrived at the encampment of Vieri peacekeepers, Kav'nok began his assault.
As the memory came to the vicious end of Kav'nok slaughtering peacekeepers, Gilles was perfectly still. His eyes were on the Chief, but over her shoulder so as to invent a modicum of privacy for her to process what she had seen. He needed to be ready -- for anything.
When the first memory in this next group formed, she immediately recognized the face of Feofil. She recognized Erik and Illithiya as well. They were in the middle of speaking, and Feofil said something about Submiere and Fiamont signing a treaty if they had reason to. A treaty, like the one she had just signed with them? Feofil hadn’t mentioned them, and she wondered why, or what had changed. If they could get two more countries to sign the treaty they would be one step closer to ending the war.
Another voice was speaking now, one she didn’t recognize, and for the most part she understood what he said. They were fighting for freedom, protecting this land from outside threats. Another Peacekeeper then? But he wasn’t speaking as though he worked with Feofil, and in fact said they had failed in their own duty to protect the country. His words were true, but of course Erik interjected with a ‘watch it’. Likely insulted at the jab, despite the truth of it. So then who was the speaker? It seemed he had similar ideas to the Peacekeepers, to keep Atton free.
She cursed herself as they continued speaking, because while she understood many of the words and even some full thoughts there was so much she didn’t understand. If only she had spent more time learning their language… But she supposed at least it was lucky they had met now as opposed to only a few weeks ago, as this would have been entirely useless if she couldn’t understand even a single word of it.
She heard the names of countries and again heard mention of Aurcaele, and they said when Artavia and Aurcaele were dealt with they could fight together, and her brow furrowed once more. Aurcaele had signed the peace treaty, but she had never seen or spoken to anyone from Artavia. She didn’t think either had been ‘dealt with’ in the way the speaker wanted them to be.
She didn’t quite understand the whole meeting, but before she could piece it all together the scene changed to another. This one was less clear, though she could see a man who looked vaguely familiar to her as he and the memory-holder were walking through the wilds. She wondered why he seemed familiar to her until the scene progressed and suddenly they were ducking in the bushes and looking out on none other than Xanthe herself, and Ellis. It was the day he had been attacked by the bear. Ellis had tried to save her first from the bear and then from the soldiers who had come, that foolish man. It was strange watching it from someone else’s point of view, and in doing so she realized that it wasn’t entirely as she remembered it.
Sure the main parts were the same but the details, the appearances, the feelings, they were all unique to the memory-holder. It was the first time she really considered that the memories they were seeing might not be exact truth but rather subjective views of what had occurred. She thought back to the others they had seen and she wondered what parts of them had been changed by the viewer’s view of things. Almost definitely the appearance of the glowing ones, in the memory from the man with the mace. They had looked almost animal to him, though she knew that to be untrue. It was interesting to note, though it didn’t change much about what she had previously seen. After all, the main points had been clear enough.
The last memory began then and the moment she recognized the figure in it her hands clenched into fists, sparking as she restrained herself from physically attacking the memory. She knew he was dead, of course. Destroyed, as befitted a traitor like him. But that didn’t stop the flare of anger and betrayal that his image evoked inside her. She was about to force herself to calm down when the memory continued and a fourth person joined the group. Another figure she recognized. Erik the Sharp-Eyed. Erik the Peacekeeper. Erik the man who had signed the peace treaty. Erik, the man who shook hands with Kav’nok. The memory-holder was too far away to catch any of the words that the two exchanged, but once Erik left Kav’nok and his people.. no, HER people, her people that he stole from her, got up and began to move out.
Maybe Erik hadn’t known of Kav’nok’s betrayal. Maybe he was just being nice to the natives or something of the sort, equally innocent and without ulterior motives. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.
The memory holder spoke then, though there was no one around to hear it. It was as though she was speaking to whoever was watching the memory. She said she was a scout, with Eleusia, and she followed behind Kav’nok and the others as they made their way through the forest until finally their destination as revealed: a camp of Vieri Peacekeepers. And they slaughtered every last one of them.
Not a misunderstanding then. It couldn’t be. Erik had spoken to Kav’nok and the moment he’d left Kav’nok had known exactly where to go, exactly what to do. And not only had he killed the Peacekeepers but he had also condemned her own village to attack while she had been away. Her people had died for this, and the bastard had even used it to fan the flames of rebellion and turn even more of her people against her when the whole thing had been Kav’nok’s doing all along! No, not just Kav’nok. Erik.
If Erik was here, she would have destroyed him.
Her clenched fists were practically glowing with electricity and she brought them down on the only target left to her - the fire upon which the truth had been revealed. Like a hammer they came down together in a shower of sparks and in the end all that remained was scorched earth. Xanthe fell to her knees then and bowed her head, the immediate anger subsiding into something deeper and even more dangerous. "Why?" Why had Erik done that? Why had Gilles shown her these things? Why had she been so foolish, so trusting... Why couldn't she protect Atton?
[attr="class","gilles2"]Gilles could not muster surprise at the Chief's reaction to the final image. Her lightning flew, and left nothing behind but a horrid scorch, which his eyes moved to study. He realized he did not feel afraid at this anger as he examined the familiar traces of storm-sourced evocation. No, he understood her anger, for reasons not quite similar to her own.
He also understood her confusion, for reasons entirely too similar. It did not make sense why Erik the Sharp-Eyed would do what it appeared had been done. While the evidence was inconclusive - no one had heard what Erik had said - it still seemed like there were few other explanations. He was a peacekeeper. Those were his people. He lead his own people to death for... For what purpose? He supposed Tristan likely had theories, but Gilles was not so much a conspirator.
He was more like the Chief, who asked the obvious: Why? Gilles supposed he was expected to answer. Perhaps she thought he would supply it to her, that he would be her saviour in this muddle of unknown allies and enemies. Alas, he would not. Instead, he told her the truth: "I do not know."
Xanthe was so busy wallowing she hardly even realized she'd spoken aloud, until Gilles' voice disrupted her angry thoughts. Honestly, the answer was so forthright and unexpected that it made her chuckle, and she shook her head and got back to her feet, eyes trailing over the scorch mark. Her anger wasn't gone, but she knew where it needed to be directed, and it wasn't at him. She breathed deeply, smelling the cool rain and wet dirt, and took some time to cool her temper down as well. Gilles seemed like the sort of man who was okay with waiting. His stillness was refreshing.
As she let go of her immediate anger she watched the rain around them slow from torrential downpour to heavy rain, to spring shower, until eventually it stopped and the clouds began to clear, revealing the star-speckled night sky above. "You fight for freedom, Gilles?" she spoke, finally. "To free my people, like your people were freed?"
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
FORTUNA-RPG was created by MELLIE. Images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders. Please DO NOT take anything without the owners' permission.