[IC] Requiem: the Prologue

Welcome to the in character thread for Requiem. This will be where in-character interaction takes place. All OOC interactions and discussions are to be posted in the OOC thread.

The Prologue is where the world is first established. Players will be given a chance to explore the world of Avarein, develop their characters further, and interact with each other to establish relationships. The time frame for the Prologue is set in the month before the peace talks happen, and the ultimate goal of the characters, by the end of the Prologue, should be to reach the Auditorium in time for the peace talks to happen.

Angelus Regis
The Sanctum
Fourth Floor

The atmosphere inside the meeting room was noticeably tense as the last mage arrived, was excused for her tardiness, and settled into her seat on the far right of the circular table located dead centre in the circular room.

For a long moment none of the seven mages present spoke, the unvoiced problem hanging low and heavy enough to suffocate, each unsure of which angle first to start dissecting this delicate, volatile situation at hand. Three days ago the most recent letter had arrived, this time delivered by a small metallic device, a small mockery of an owl that exploded once it crashed into the owlery on the very top of the Sanctum. What damages it had caused had since been fixed, but the implications still lingered. It was less of an attack than a symbolism of lost respect, and though the damage done was negligible the impact was far greater.

The letter itself lay spread out in the middle of the table innocuously. By appearance it was harmless enough, a scroll of yellowed writing parchment that appeared crumpled and creased in several places, with messy black letters scrawled across it, dotted with ink blots and crosses that indicated the carelessness of the sender. It was exactly this carelessness, however, that betrayed the unsubtle threat the letter carried. For this letter had originated from no other place but the hands of the leader of the technologists- to be addressed with penmanship and formality more befitting of a child's workbook was flat out humiliation. It was a show of defiance. The power dynamic had shifted. The ball is no longer in the court of the mages. A mere three months ago a display like this would have been brushed off and dismissed as absurd, but today no one was laughing. The contents, while brief, made its intentions clear, and this day the Mage Council was faced with an ultimatum that has not been rivalled in magnitude with any of the events they've faced, combined, in their largely peaceful lifetimes.

"Council, we have gathered today, united at the behest of the situation at hand." The silence was finally broken by a woman in white, and despite her soft complexion her eyes were steely as she observed the solemn faces of her fellow peers. "The technologists have issued an ultimatum to us today, and they demand a response within seven moons. What lies ahead for Avarein is in our hands," her posture was stern as her eyes settled on the hunched figure directly across from her, as her lips curled slightly in distaste. "And it would do us all well to tread carefully in these deep waters."

"I say- let 'em have it!" As though on cue the hunched figure replied without missing a beat, her voice husky and speech slurred. Tousled hair fell onto her face as she tipped her head back and took a long swig of murky emerald liquid from a vial she'd produced, seemingly out of nowhere, slamming the vial onto the table with enough force to elicit a worried protest at the fate of the table. Her eyes were unfocused as her eyes darted without fixation, her face ruddy with drink. "Take 'em out, blow 'em up with their own tech-"

"These are not your men that you are sending to fight, Yeldvas." Another voice interrupted, as loud and solid the steel-plated armour that encased its owner, which clinked and clacked as he knocked his chair over to one side and got to his feet. An accusing hand clad in chainmail pointed towards the hunched alchemist, who responded with another deep drink, this time from yet another vial of molten dirty gold. "Keep your mouth shut if you have nothing better to contribute."

"And you have something better t' say?"

"A fool untrained in the art of thought can do better," the knight grunted. "All that matters to you is the foolhardy fever dream that you chase. Never do you produce any contribution of substance."

"My idea for stopping the damn war," Yeldvas replied sharply, "is for us to fight back. And I don't give much of a damn how many of your men die, or whatever. They're expendable. Andian ain't."

"You would prioritise his life over the millions of valiant, good-hearted men that will die in vain for your harebrained schemes?!"

"It's not in vain-" Yeldvas was on her feet at this point. "If it means saving Andian. Your pawns are worth less 'n a finger of his alone, a shame that you can't see that-"

The table shook with the force of the knight's fist, and for a brief moment it seemed like his anger might spill over into physical force. Even Yeldvas' eyes flashed with a brief sign of fear, for the knight, while noble in disposition and inclined towards peace, did not take kindly to negative remarks about his army. In that moment his entire body was taut with rage, left fist clenched, his right already upon the hilt of the sword hanging at his belt. Some of the other mages had already sprang out of their chairs, alarmed, ready to flee in the face of the knight's imminent ire.

"Calm yourselves." The new voice was soft, but the effect was immediate. All tension diffused out of the moment as both knight and alchemist hesitated, and without breaking eye contact sat down, Yeldvas first looking away with a swig of her spirits. The speaker was the next to stand, carrying himself upright despite his advanced age, his robes a flowing dark blue affair that complemented the sagely aura that he emanated.

"Rigian. Yeldvas. Now is not the time for petty spite." At this the alchemist grumbled mutinously under her breath and was met with a dirty glare from the knight across the table. "Remember our purpose of gathering today. We are here to rectify the mistakes we have made," at this a sharp look was cast at the rest of the members present in the room. "Not create more."

He addressed all of his audience directly now, and despite his low volume his voice echoed clearly in the dead silence of the circular room. "If anyone here is still unaware of the situation with the technologists- two days ago, the technologists have issued a final demand for their persecution to be stopped and the land they have invaded to be handed over to them without question.

"In the interest of our people, that is obviously an unfair and frankly cruel demand. The technologists have polluted our land, and will continue to do so assuming that we yield to them in this moment of weakness. However, the leaders of the technologists have proved to be unreasonable and unwilling to compromise their people's welfare for ours. Due to our previous oversights and underestimations of the threat our nation faced, our mistakes have allowed this conflict to fester and grow to the state it is in as of now. Outside of this city, the war rages, and if no action is taken the Technologists will soon force us all out of our own sacred land.

"As such we are gathered, today, to make a decision regarding this problem that we have created. The fate of our people lies in whichever path we choose to follow from this meeting. Do not take this to be child's play any longer. It is no longer merely a 'situation', it is no longer merely an 'event'. This is war, and the battles we pick have unseen demons walking them. Every wrong move is the catalyst to more, and our goal is to prevent that from coming to pass."

A beat had passed before anyone remembered to blink, the majority still transfixed upon the man standing before them.

"We cannot afford to fight this war." The woman in white this time. "What land we have as of now is not enough to keep up with the recent influx of our citizens who have been displaced due to the technologists. Resources are not being produced fast enough, and have been steadily dropping in quality to keep up with demands. Should we choose to go to war, we may as well be causing a widespread famine for our people. They will suffer more than they already do."

"So that's it? Y'all just gonna sit around and let the techs trample over our land?" Yeldvas again, but no one paid her any due. With a quiet snort of disgust she slouched in her seat and stared upwards into space. "Forget it, not like you buncha coward pricks'll ever get the balls to fight back."

"Not everyone is a bloodthirsty warmonger like you, Yeldvas." The knight, Rigian. "I wholeheartedly agree with Brilu. We, as the Council, have a duty to resolve conflicts in a manner that causes the least damage to both parties involved. A war should be the last thing on our minds as of now."

"Yeldvas has a point, regardless of her stance." A wiry man with tanned skin, a hawk-like nose and a sharp jaw, almost bird like. "We cannot expect the technologists to comply with whatever peace offerings we make. War is not the best option, but nevertheless it is one. We must not rule that out in favour of blindly hoping for a peaceful resolution."

"Not you, Jinn." Rigian's tone was firm. "There is to be no more doubt. We cannot proceed without first having faith in a resolution."

"Oh, so not believing in the absolutely mindless resolution ain't even allowed now, is it?" This impromptu outburst from the alchemist saw her on her feet a moment later, eyes clouded with anger. "Well forgive us, some of us don't see the world through rosy lenses all the time. War is going to happen and the loser is the one that doesn't prepare for it." A finger was jabbed in the knight's direction. "And it'll all be your fault when we lose-"

"How dare you make such unfounded assumptions of my opinions?"

"Not unfounded if they're all true, you conformist arse-kisser-"

"Yeldvas!" The prophet boomed. "That's enough. Sit down." A resentful glare, but the alchemist eventually complied. "We are not trying to discredit your opinion, it is merely an observation that it is more costly and less practical to go to war, and at the present time the better option is to attempt negotiation with the technologists." A hushed murmur of approval from the rest of the members. Yeldvas remained sullenly silent. "Hence, the proposal I have drawn today from your discussion as well as my own input entails a peace negotiation held the Auditorium of Calystra."

A startled cry. The prophet's expression remained resolute as the six disbelieving faces turned to him with equal parts horror and anger. Calystra? The unspoken questions demanded. You dare taint the Auditorium with these filthy technologists? Have we truly sunk so low? No, no, you cannot be serious. This is an outrage. Blasphemous. Heretic.

"It has to be done, my friends. There is no other choice. We do not know how the technologists will react. It is better to be safe than sorry." There were a billion unspoken words of opposition in their throats, unvoiced, and the prophet was glad that his colleagues bit their tongues. It was shameful, for certain. The Auditorium was a sacred site, and to let the invaders' filthy boots soaked with mage blood trample upon the marble floors of Calystra... it was humiliating, yes, but that was what exactly the technologists want. To preserve the nation, sacrifices would have to be made, and if the pride of the Council was one of them, so be it.

"Brilu, any objections?"

"No."

"Rigian?"

"None."

"Avery?" The young mage, clad in white and gold, who had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, jerked and looked up at the mention of their name. The prophet allowed himself a small smile at their reaction.

"Nothing, sir." This was said rather too quickly, without hesitation. They’ve always been an avid follower of the prophet, so his compliance was expected. A small comfort, but still comfort nonetheless. Shaking his head slightly and smiling, the prophet continued.

"Jinn."

A silent jerk of the head.

"Wanderer?"

Silence. The Wanderer, a mysterious being more shadow than tangibility, merely remained motionless without any sign of acknowledgement. None had ever seen its face beneath the dark cloak, nor remember hearing it speak, for it communicated through telepathy. It usually did not give input unless they had something contrary to the majority's opinion, so the prophet took it as a no. His eyes eventually rested upon the sole remaining member of which opinion he had yet to seek, slumped over the table, shoulder blades jutting, eyes downcast.

"...Yeldvas."

The alchemist's mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Nothing, prophet."

An unanimous victory. Easy come, easy go. It felt hollow, but the verbal confirmation was all that the prophet needed.
"It has been decided, then. The letter will be composed and sent tonight. I thank you all dearly for your attendance today." With a heavy heart he looked at each of the somber faces in turn, and not one person met his eye. "Meeting adjourned. You are dismissed."

The first thing you would learn from spending time in the technologist territory is that the people are born the serve.

The second is that everything was grey. The sky, the people and even the flowers were somewhat of a less saturated tone.

What wasn't grey were the streets. People ran amok, searching for nothing yet so, so busy. A strange place, indeed, but also one with a dark history.

Buildings towered all around Imogen, their transparent walls gleaming in the sun, which burned as bright as ever. It was not very hard to go incognito in these parts, densely populated areas and crowds were ideal for staying out of sight. Everyone here was much more concerned about themselves then a scruffy veteran making her way around. Ideally she'd get around to the coast, and from there would take a boat to who knows were. Planes needed IDs and passports, and Imogen wasn't very keen on going through the excruciatingly tedious process of getting a new set of each.

Besides, it was incredibly easy to sneak onto a boat.

The nearest dock would've been Delven, a secluded area a decent amount to the west of the sniper's current location. In an ideal world she'd be there within a week or so, though it might take a bit longer. From there she'd take a boat to a more neutral area. That was, well, as far as she knew. The rest would have to be pure improvisation, well done improvisation at that because the neutral areas were still under a majority of magesborns. Most of these neutral areas were things like fishing villages or simply a single residence which was incredibly large but accompanied by an awful lot of farm land as far as she knew. Self-sustaining societies which were peaceful.

A perfect place to stay for a few days. Imogen knew some people who would let her spend time in a guest room as long as she contributed to the village. After that, she might take another boat to who knows where. Yes, she did have a stable home in the West that she'd inherited from her parents, who'd moved elsewhere. They didn't tell her where.

About that home, she would never go back to it. Not for a while at least, it was pleasant but Imogen always craved more, nothing but the best was satisfactory for the former sniper. If you don't hit your target, they won't die. Everything had to be as perfect as it possibly be, even though she knew perfection was impossible, a selfish portion of her soul overcame her reasoning. She had nothing to lose at this point. George had died, and Michael had probably gotten

Imogen did the first thing she could think of. She started walking, in the general direction of Delven. Maybe it would actually be ideal to take a train, at this point, but walking was safer. Be plain in a grey place, and you'd fit right in.

Only a few miles to go.

The winds blew a soft and gentle breeze towards the west, only a few clouds occupying the sky. The squeaking calls of birds flew around, creating a lively but peaceful atmosphere.
That is, if it weren't for a boisterous young adult male on a fairly large man o' war.
"Oh please! Davy Jones has nothing on Clover Bay!"

A loud yell called out from the top of the ship, one hand holding the rope and free hand cupped around his mouth to project his voice. Needlessly spinning round the rope to reach the deck of the ship. Jumping off the rope 3/4 away from the ground and landing in a peculiar pose, he stood up. "If anything, I bet Clover Bay could blow up the Davy Jones in a heartbeat!" Shaking his head and wiggling his finger, he redacted his statement. "Half a heartbeat! At most!"
Pompously raising his nose to the air, he tucked the back of his coat behind him. A sailor beside him chuckled.

"We'd win because we're actually real, Captain." He then pointed to a group of girls pulling the masts behind him. "And because we have Angelique with us. She's on fire"

Snapping her fingers together, the fire mage made a small spark, as if showing off. The dark haired male groaned. Lips pulling downwards after hearing his crew member made a pun, he turned away sassily, allowing his fringe to bounce along the way and cover his face dramatically. "I have no need for your ghastly wordplay."

Clasping the rail with abnormally delicate fingers for a male, he walked towards the upper deck and paused. Lowering his head, he let go of the railing and shallowed his breathing. The rest of his crew looked at him strangely, wondering what exactly he was doing.
Loud footsteps emerged from below deck. "Captain! Letter addressed to you! Came in through the Mageshout!"

Grinning, the young male twirled around on his toes. Leaning forward, he grabbed the letter from his crewmember and scanned the front. Neatly written in a brilliant red ink pen was his name as well as the sender.
'Captain Syrus Pinnae'
'From: Claince Pinnae'

The easiest way to describe Saft is telling it like it is. There are no fancy buildings designed by leading architects. There are no Techies nor Mageborns despite the small town being on Avarein’s defining border. There is no war, there is no struggle. You could say it was like the holy land, full of friendly faces and people who would welcome anyone into their homes. The only problem was the fact that Saft was located in the middle of nowhere, cacti covered deserts spread further than the horizon. And that’s excluding the lack of resources and trade partners. Cacti juice, cacti flesh, the occasional wild animal if you were extremely lucky.

So how did people get there? How did the civilisation of Saft begin? These are questions that nobody ever answered, though I have reason to believe that the original citizens were survivors of a plane crash, judging by the the plane body that people use for a central area. From what I’ve hear the pilot managed to land the plane at the sacrifice of a few techies and mages. It seems you’re either one or the other, there is nobody fighting for both sides and as far as I know, Saft is the only group of people not fighting at all.

As the years went by more planes crashed, their black boxes destroyed most of the time. The rest of Saft’s backstory I do know. Apparently the planes stopped flying over Saft and the crash zone was forgotten until a couple of decades ago when some mages came exploring the desert. They saw the struggle of Saft and had enough resources delivered to the town for them to build houses of wood. they brought food which went quickly and water which went quicker still.

One mage noticed how little water the people had ever experienced. He ordered for a huge tank to be delivered to Saft, he cast a powerful spell of the tank so that as long as he remained alive it would never become empty. The mage lived in Saft for many years, helping the people as they began to develop their own society.

This is where I come in. After who knows how long, another plane crashed in Saft. Apparently it was carrying both Mages and Techies, one of those Mages or Techies, somehow the only survivor, gave birth to me. To this day I don’t know whether I’m a Mage or a Techie, my only knowledge of the outside world is from stories that the people told me.

Seventeen years later and I’ve spent my life doing nothing but hunting and working out, yet every day I feel lifetimes of suffering. It feels like I’ve experienced it all though I know I haven’t. This has been happening ever since I was sixteen years of age. Yesterday morning, the mage gave me some devices he salvaged from my plane crash. One that played music for all to hear and two smaller gadgets that attached to the music player and allowed me to listen to music solo. This helped me keep my emotions in check.

The mage died last night. We haven’t heard anything from his colleagues and water is low. So I’m now leaving the village to find civilisation and bring life to Saft.

This is going to take forever.

Percival breathed a soft sigh as he read through the letter that had been sent to him. A mother from Defician asked him if he could heal her children from a disease. He bit his lip softly, as he put the letter down on his flower shop's countertop, then realized that Gaia was there with him, then quickly stopped biting his lip. His façade didn't need to drop now.

Defician was a good week's trip away from Angelis Regis, and Percival was not very happy with closing both of his businesses for this trip, but the Council had requested for it, so Percival was sure he did not have much choice in the matter. But still, his apothecary was open for healing people who needed it.

Without bothering to say much to Gaia -- their friendship was that where one did not have to say much to understand what the other felt -- and began checking the automatic watering contraption he had set up for his plants. He would need to fill it with more water, and he would be damned if he let anyone other than Gaia take care of his plants.

When he was done, he pulled out a map of Avarien from the bookshelf behind the shop counter. Its age was evident by the yellow hue of the paper, and it's corners curled up. A line was pencilled in down off-center of the map to show which part of Avarein had been taken over by the Technologists and which part still belonged to the Mageborn. "Look," he began, speaking to Gaia. "Someone asked me to go all the way to Defician to heal her kids, so I'm gonna pack up and take the train. I'll be away for a few days, but its your choice if you want to come or not."

"Has anyone seen my bag?" Asked a tall male - one of the customers in a small inn. This small town was based near Defician, the population living quite peacefully despite their distance to the border.

The male frantically searched around his table, his buddies aiding him as they looked for their friend's bag.

Unfortunately for them, Eric had already left the inn - the male's bag in his hand. He whistled innocently, a hand in his pocket as he strolled off to the exit of the town. His hood was pulled up, hiding his ebony hair from the sun's hot rays.

"Finders keepers, losers weepers." Eric chimed to himself, a small, cheeky smile on his lips. "If you're gonna bring your belongings out in public, you better keep an eye on it else - poof! Snatched away!"

The young man patted the shoulderbag twice, its content - Avarein currency and a few other personal items - clinking inside the fabric. He chuckled to himself.

"I think I have enough for like, two days or three with this. I already traded a few spell books with Mr. Athram, so I should be set." Eric spoke quietly to himself, calculating - with a bit of struggle - how much money he had made snatching and trading with the head of Defician.

Sniffing in the delicious smell of the nearby bakery's pastries, his smile widened as his head shifted to the direction of the store - his feet already moving towards it.

"I think I'll buy some for Elda and Elro, they do like pastries as much as I do."

"If you keep moving I'm going to stab the needle in your eye."
In the Technologist army base, residing in the infirmary, a disgruntled combat medic barked at a younger man, who shifted impatiently on the seat. There was a nasty cut above the right eye, which the medic had been trying to stitch up. The man groaned in protest, rolling his eyes to high heaven.
"Doc, come on! Can't you finish this up? I almost got him that last spar-"
"You know you would've lost. Stay still and shut up for a minute, Sanders, I'm almost done."
With practiced hands, he wove the stitches with utmost precision - closing the tear in the flesh, tying it off and wiping away the blood. His cobalt-gray eyes scrutinized his work, and, deeming it satisfactory, pulled away from it. Reaching to the kit beside him, he cleaned the smudges of crimson that remained on the metallic surface of his left hand with a rag. His prosthetic reached up to the elbow - made of dark metals and carbon fiber.
"There, done. Was that so bad?"
Sanders jumped up almost instantly, gingerly touching the wound.
"I'll THROTTLE Carl for giving me this. I gotta go find him, he's probably still sparring-"
Doc, or Andy, his real name, turned around and gave him such a scornful glare that he immediately shut up.
"You're not going to throttle ANYONE. I swear you're going to tear each other apart before mages can get to you. Brawls are springing up everywhere in this blasted place."
"Well, we're getting impatient!" Sanders threw his hands up in frustration, for emphasis.
The medic remained unimpressed.
"Oh come on, Doc! Don't give me that look, the ceasefire is giving us all a nasty itch. Can't wait to go back to shooting down those stupid spell-casting ninnies-...no offense."
"None taken." Andy replied, finished cleaning up, leaning against a nearby counter and frowning thoughtfully.
Sanders had brought up an interesting point, surprisingly. The ceasefire between Technologists and Mages was rather strange. What purpose had it been for? No one knew for sure, but there were speculations. Rumors. One side was going to surrender! No, there was a third party intervention. None that he had really believed. But there was one that was most likely. There were whispers about negotiations, that the representatives from both warring sides would meet. It was a wild hope for peace. Too good to be true, Andy thought.
Snapping out of his daze, he realized that Sanders had already left. Off to go get beat up again, most likely. It was the third time he had been here in a week.
Sighing, he ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. He had enough gray ones worrying about the people here. No time for fanciful wishes of peace.

Music emanated through the bustling market as people went about their shopping. A fast, cheery tone permeated the air, bringing involuntary grins and a spring in people's steps to even the surliest. Guitar in hand, Michael sang and played in a small stall sized area, right next to a bend in the market path. A crowd of people had gathered around him, some standing, others sitting, just to listen to him play. A small pile of money was steadily being built up at his feet, where a guitar case would normally be. As the song ended, the crowd around him applauded him, as they had for his other songs.

Giving a small bow and grinning at the crowd, he scoops up his collected money. "I'm afraid that's all for today guys! I need to get going." He says cheerily, grin infectious. Receiving a few 'aww's from the youngest in the audience, he laughs. "Don't worry you guys, I'll still be here tomorrow. You know that." He says as he passes the crowd, guitar slung over his shoulder as he makes his way into and through the markets. He leaves the markets munching on a kebab, as he peers at his surroundings.

Making his way through the village, he heads for the stone bridge that was the small villages main commercial route. He had been here for about a month and a half now, but he knew it would soon be time to move on and find greener pastures. The farmers here may be mages, but they need money more than most, and it would be bad for them if he continued to drain their money any longer. Making his way over the bridge, he steps to the side of the road that lead to the capital, setting his guitar down with a thud as he begins to tune it. He counted himself lucky that mages don't have the same kind of transport as techs, because while music is hard to hear through the padded walls of a car, the same can't be said for the plethora of oxen, enchanted carpets and floating people that come through this way.

He begins to play a different tune to the one that he had played at the markets. While the one at the market had been upbeat and cheery, this one is more down to earth. The song is light, but gives off a melancholic vibe. For a while Michael simply plays this tune, until he spots someone further down the road. Michael begins to sing as the man comes into view. From what Michael could see, the man was dark, and fitted with loose robes. His face was covered by a thin, see through veil, and he was riding a floating carpet. This was all Michael needed to see in order for him to know this was a rich merchant, which confused him as this was simply a no name farming town. As he wondered why this merchant would bother to be here, he failed to notice the merchant's approach until he tapped him on the shoulder, causing Michael to pause the tune for second as he shook his head.

Tune resuming, this time at a quieter volume, Michael turns to look at the now dismounted man. The man stuck his hand out, which Michael took. Grinning, the man began to speak. "Hi there, my name is Alan, and you are just the type of guy I'm looking for." Michael tilts his head slightly at Alan, confused. "What do you mean?" He responds, prompting a grin from Alan.

"What I mean is that I would like to hire you," He says, continuing before Michael could refuse. "Now, keep in mind it's not permanent, I just need your for about a month or so. You see, in a months time, there is going to be a very special conference. This conference will be between the Mages and the Tech's, which hopes to be able to achieve peace. Now I, as one of the top merchant's in both lands, have been invited as one of the members to attend. Before and after the conference, there is to be both food and music, which is where you come in. I have heard you, and I can quite easily say you are the best musician I have ever heard bar none, and if I were to have you be my representative the looks on my competitors faces as you blow their musicians out of the water would be well worth any expense you may cost. Speaking of expense, you will be afforded every luxury that can be given on our journey to the conference grounds. What do you say?"

Michael stands there, still processing, for a small while, before his thoughts catch up with his ears. Grinning at Alan, he sticks his hand out, pausing the tune. "I say you have a deal my friend!" He says, laughing. Grinning himself, Alan takes Michael's hand, and pulls him close. "Needless to say, the existence of the conference remains hush hush, yes?" He whispers in Michael's ear. "Of course." Says Michael, still grinning from ear to ear. "Let's get started."

Even the usual calming scent of dewy leaves, earth and the fragrant aroma of flowers would set Gaia at ease in Percival’s flower shop, but she couldn’t help but worry at the sight of the crinkled map he had unfolded over the countertop. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a glow over Percival who Gaia could not help notice was biting his lip, a habit she caught him doing often when he was worried or deep in thought.

Snapping back to attention when she realized he had asked her a question, Gaia cleared her throat and studied the map with upmost interest as if she wasn't studying him a few seconds ago.

“Defician?” Gaia asked, tugging at the shoulder strap of her bag nervously as she leaned over the old map. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous to go somewhere like that right now?”

The tensions between the Mageborn and Technologists have been escalating over the past month leading up to a rumored peace talk being held by both parties, and Gaia was almost certain traveling to the Borderland controlled by Technologists would be a disaster waiting to happen.

“Not that I don’t think you can’t handle yourself,” She corrected herself quickly, realizing how that sentence may have come off wrong, “But I’ll go with you too. I do have a few vacation days that I haven’t used yet anyways.”

No way would Gaia let Percival go off into Defician by himself. What if something happened to him? Shaking her head as if to get rid of the negative thoughts, Gaia tried her best to put on a smile, leaning casually on the counter.

“I have to go pack first,” Gaia mused, already making a mental checklist of what she had to bring, as well as the vacation leave she had to file. She also had to leave instructions for the other greenhouse worker she was training on how to take care of the orchids correctly... “What time do you want to meet at the train station?”

"Eric! You're back!" Exclaimed a pair of kids whom bore the same look. Short white hairs, the same grey eyes, and the cutest - Eric's exaggeration - faces you'd ever see on a child.

Smiling fondly, the thief kneeled down to eye level, patting them both on the head after he set down the stolen bag besides him. "Sorry I took so long, I had to take a detour to get these."

With those words uttered, he reached over to the bag, opened its contents, and pulled out a bag full of numerous pastries - a sight which made the kids' faces brighten up like a Christmas tree.

"Wow! Bread! I thought we didn't have enough money to afford these yet?" Elro, the cheery one of the two, inquired in curiosity, his eyes never leaving the bag of pastries - which was opened and offered to both of them.

"Well, I had a good find this morning, the guy wasn't really paying attention to his belongings - something I expect both of you to learn when you grow up and have your own things." Eric stated in a brotherly manner, his fond smile never fading.

"But Eric, isn't stealing bad?" Elda, the smarter one, questioned with a tilt of her head, her brows shifting in confusion. "You told us never to steal, but you do it!" Elro paused, a piece of bread in his hand, his head tilting upwards to face their caretaker.

At this, Eric's smile shrank a tad bit, the younger man standing up to his full height as he pulled down his jacket's hood. "I, uh...well, Elda. If I don't steal, we wouldn't have food or pure water or anything that we need to live." He reached down with his left hand, giving the girl a light pat on the head. "Yes, it's bad. That's why I don't want you two to do the same thing I'm doing - it's dangerous, and I want you two to grow up without any dirt on your hands."

Retracting his hand, Eric began walking over to one of the sheets at the corner of the cave, the sun only managing to enter through the small makeshift windows - something Eric had done with his magic.

"So until you two get a stable job and earn enough money to fund all of us, I'm not gonna stop stealing. Now, I'm gonna take a nap - I'm tired." He murmured - loud enough for the kids to hear - as he laid down on the compiled white sheets, his eyes slowly closing in relaxation, the fading 'have a nice nap' spoken by the twins echoing in his mind as he entered a state of unconsciousness.

The music blaring from R'saava's office could be heard by every scientist on her floor. Even the floors above and below probably had to deal with the pounding bass, and shredding guitar solos that she played so loud it made the windows warble in resonance. Incoherent screams and demonic growls echoed from her speakers as she held her arm clasped to a steel bench. She fiddled with the insides of her exo-suit using a multitude of delicate tools, somehow easily remaining steady even as everything else shook itself to pieces if it wasn't nailed down. When she was finished she put the tools down and unclasped her arm to give it a test. She flexed armored fingers and her thick biceps, warming it up before walking over to the wall, and picking up one of the weights. R'saava curled her arm with a satisfied grunt as she hoisted around 100 kilograms with a single, smooth motion. She picked up another weight with her other hand and began alternating between the two. Testing how it felt with the exo-suit making up for what she lacked in strength.

"Hmm. I'll need to take it to the testing lab tonight for a full diagnostic," she stated before putting the two dumbbells back on the wall mount. The woman made her way back to her desk, clacking her clawed fingers together absently as she turned the music down. (Probably to the rest of the staffs relief.) She plopped herself down in her seat and let the armor retract slowly over her body. She rolled her shoulders as her bare arms were exposed to the cool air, and bent over her paperwork to began filling out and tweaking a multitude of complex equations regarding her suit. There was a sketched design of the final product to her left which she referred to on several occasion; glancing at different features and accessories and rewriting them if she had to revise certain hypotheses. This is what she did nearly every day now like clockwork. Tweak, test, revise, repeat.

It wasn't that R'saava didn't have other duties to attend too, it was that her superiors hadn't given her a clear set of goals for the rest of the month. She supposed it had something to do with the ceasefire that had been announced not too long ago. She'd probably have a boatload of work once that blew over. For better or worse. In the meantime she enjoyed working on this product. Was it rash to use herself as a subject? Probably, but the woman cared little for others concerns. The staff were short handed on most projects, and finding people with the right physical condition to test with would be next to impossible. She herself met all the physical requirements, (and didn't have much to do outside of work anyways) so it just made things simpler to work on the exo-suit alone for the time being.

With a soft sigh she put down her pencil and placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her palms. Maybe she should go out tonight instead? She hadn't been out to eat in a while. She could visit her mother as well on the way home. "Ahh... what am I thinking. It wouldn't be any fun to go out alone anyways." With another sigh of resignation R'saava went back to her notes. Tomorrow she would visit her mom before she clocked in. Tonight she'd make sure the designs held up to more a more rigorous performance.

Dan sat front of her desk, staring at a blackboard to the right of her, containing various equations, parameters, and calculations written in chalk. She was wearing a lab coat, unbuttoned so that they fell to either side of her body. She was tall and well built, and wore jeans and a sweat shirt under the lab coat. Her hair was messy, and her lab coat was scattered with various burn marks and chemical stains. On her left hand, she wore a peculiar leather glove: it fully circled her wrist, but it only covered her pinkie, ring fingers and half of her palm. Her desk was a mess: her desktop monitor sat in the center, with an entanglement of lines connecting into the back of the monitor, some leading down under the desk, and some connecting to various appliances on the desk. The desktop showed two main windows open, with the one on the right running a footage of a wind tunnel experiment that had taken place earlier in the day, while the other showed an animated simulation which had the same parameters as the live experiment, but didn't yield the same results. On the bottom left hand corner, there was a half finished game of mine sweeper, the time already clocked up to 999, and on the top left hand corner, a document file with a list of numbers and symbols, probably experimental parameters, sat. The edges of the monitor were covered in post-its. One of those were a half-crossed out to-do list, while another were a series of numbers. There were plenty others, but most of those were scribbled out so they were illegible. In addition to the desktop, a laptop sat to the left of it, connected to the desktop with a USB chord. Its screen was dark, but the fan whirred as it worked to get rid of the heat produced by its central processing unit as it calculated who knows what. The desk space was littered with sheets of paper, notebooks, writing utensils, a coffee mug, and a half-eaten plate of pastries balanced precariously on a stack of notebooks and loose paper. Much of the sheets of paper and notebooks were covered with numbers, symbols, and calculations, but the majority of those were angrily scribbled out, and even the ones that had survived was written in such a haphazard handwriting that it was illegible to most. Circular coffee mug shaped stains adorned one sheet of paper, marking where the coffee mug had been placed initially. A mouse and its mouse pad, a keyboard, and an external hard drive somehow found room to sit amid the mess on the table. The table had a set of drawers built into its right leg, on which a gun of sorts was leaned. Right next to the drawers, a trash bin sat, overflowing with crumpled bits of paper, coffee-stained tissues, and chocolate wrappers. Dan sat a bit away from this mess, her swiveling chair backed away from the desk as she leaned back, one leg crossed over the other. She stared at the blackboard, doing some kind of calculations in her head while her left hand tapped out a complicated pattern on her leg, and her right hand rhythmically spun a piece of chalk. After minutes of thinking in this state of stupor, Dan suddenly burst into action. Sitting upright, she grabbed a notebook, turned to a new sheet, and started scribbling away like crazy. After a while, she jumped up, tearing out the sheets she had just written on and shoving them into her pocket haphazardly. Unplugging the laptop, she took off at a brisk walk, typing in something into her laptop with her right hand while holding it up with her left. Having opened the Axiom employee's communications program on her laptop, she yelled "Ready the wind tunnels again!" into her laptop "We're going for another trial." She said, as she walked down the corridor toward the elevator.

The heat of the sand dunes was nigh unbearable, what with her skin prickling under the buzzing fire of the sun and the sand, as she threaded past the the curved horizons of sandy hilltops, wind brushing past her face and sand billowing away from her veil, hot and burning. She scowled under the black shade of her veil, hands wrapped closely around the duffle bag she carried, Scimitars strapped tightly to her hips. The pit stop was just a few more stretches away, and she would be in a cool inn and with bed and fresh water to bathe in, and grudging dragged her burning feet towards the tiny town.

Merchants were annoying, but they paid well for her skills. (And if they didn't--well. They'll be facing the sharp edge of her blade, close to their throat and cold against the warm thumping of their pulse in their necks.) She knew all she was good for was as a sellsword, passing services to whoever was willing to pay. She killed, but she made sure they were bad men. (A part of her knew the world wasn't so black or white, but she feared that if she believed in anything else, she'll slowly turn mad. Her morals kept her sane, but it would turn to be her downfall if she wasn't careful.)

It was nearly dusk by the time she reached the small town. The sun shot violet and gold and deep blue and bled red and orange into it, stars twinkling dimly as they crept into existence in the sea of black and endless darkness. Florence knew she wasn't very good at anything else but her blade, but sometimes she would look at the sky, both at dawn and dusk and night and day and sigh, wondering if there was something else to her other than the product of a witch and a broken coward of a man.

(The kind whispers of a doctor with warm hands and even warmer eyes, but a traitor's frown and furrow told her no.

But she will never let herself be tricked, not ever again.)

Pressing her fingers to the space of skin and flesh between her eyebrows, she pinched and murmured, "I need a drink." Like a wraith, she moved, a black wisp in the red illumination of the town.

Andy spent the next hour or so cleaning up other people from the various scuffles. He signed up to save lives, not babysit grown men. Groaning in annoyance as he moved from one soldier to the next, he silently cursed the Tech Army's recruiters. The utter lack of discipline amongst the ranks plainly showed how little care was taken in employment. With the enemy possessing highly-skilled, yet small numbers of fierce mages, the higher-ups decided that quantity would overtake quality. Anyone that was of the acceptable age and somewhat fit could join the army. Although technology was always developing exponentially, and weapons became more devastating, it could only do so much in inexperienced hands.
Speaking of inexperienced...
He spotted another fight breaking out in the distance, an uproar surging through the base. Cursing, he ran over to go stop the group from killing each other.

Life was... interesting, when you were part of a rich person's entourage. Michael wasn't used to all the praise and pamper that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, as a guest of honour among Alan's household. The food here was rich enough to make him think he was going to hurl after just a couple of bites, despite being quite possibly the most delicious thing Michael had ever had the privilege of eating.

Michael was no stranger to the road, and even though this convoy was magical it still took quite a few days to travel from town to town, hiring musicians, entertainers, dancers, muscle and all the other little things you need when you're trying to out shine someone else. He was also pretty sure that the little group of people he played for every night seemed to grow, and not all of them looked like the type to be hired.

Michael often spent his time practicing with his guitar, concentration etching his face at all times as he pushed himself to learn new tunes, songs and ways to impress. He was often accompanied by Alan, or at least one of his household, as he ventured throughout the various parked vehicles when they made camp. He would go find the biggest, brightest bonfire, sit down right in front of it where the most people were, and begin to play. He was always met with applause, and soon those travelling with him came to look forward towards the night.

Looking up at the night sky as he made his way back towards his tent, guitar slung over one shoulder as he waved his other hand goodbye to his audience, Michael wondered how much longer there was to go.

-----------------------------

AND THEN THE SAND PEOPLE CAME AND EVERYONE DIED THE END.