The Citadel was alight with sound and song, lined with booths and encampments full to the brim with cultural trinkets, artifacts, and shows telling the storied histories lining the Jaida Coast of Madeira. Between the booths and banter, the smothering scent of local fare smothered the attendees in a blanket of flavor. The suns were still in high formation, bringing warm light and a cool breeze to the beach bursting with people of many shapes. From the four cardinal directions come the multitude of denizens of the Jaida Coast to commemorate the year's most auspicious events and unexpected attendance. Neo Festurus, a newly minted memorial and conference covered Toscano Bay in a layered muffle of bustle.
The previous year was a somber time, the tension in the air could be cut with a butter knife. Zero invited the Atlanteans to the surface as a means to extend the olive branch of Neo Arcturus. Never did he expect to be on the receiving side of an assassination order. His whole experience in the Jaida Coast was founded on misconceptions and hearsay, it happened to be one of the many places he didn't know anyone who knew anyone who knew anything about the region but some old friends who'd already passed on. He typically had more than just a rumor to go off of when investigating a mystic lead, but just looking for somewhere off the beaten path led him to the place where he made a difference in more ways than one in a space he entered on a whim and a dream.
So on the heels of a tragic mistake, one that altered the landscape of Toscano Bay and changed the trajectory of the whole region's future, what better way to make amends than to honor the fallen and celebrate their final rest, as we all are scheduled to take, than a celebration of their lives? The previous year, The Conservatory, with the support of the people of the Southern Shadelands and Jaida Heights, invited the Atlanteans of Mares Vidas to the memorial service. There, everyone attending had the pleasure of experiencing the traditional folklore associated with the Lunar Wing Eclipses. Lunar Wings is the region's single synchronized holiday and a perfect opportunity to foster new, optimistic futures with one another. They regale their people with ceremonial food and drink, dances and song, theater and exhibits they pass on to their kin. The Atlanteans begrudgingly joined, not by invitation of The Conservatory, but to reconnect with their ancestral neighbors.
Here, at the Second Annual Neo Festurus, the relations came much less strained after The Conservatory has grown to successfully host a gracious crossroads for their neighbors. The Conservatory went through extensive work over the previous years living in the Jaidan wilds, learning from the natives how they work with the land to bring the best out of it. A condition of the Skyfall Arrangement and a slanted form of indentured servitude gave the founders of Neo Arcturus an intimate knowledge of the land they shared with their new proximal family. This festival was Zero's grand gesture to the community, a thank you and apology for the melange of factors that brought him into his new position. In year two, the atmosphere felt decidedly more light, the production value shot through the roof compared to the maiden celebration. The whole citadel was decked out in a particular enchantment, adorning its walls and vertices in festive illumination, specially curated to bring each culture's influences to the scene. The Gafren Tribes brought all of their surprisingly well mannered Cassowaries down this time as their honored guests. The Denkou and Titanians hosted crafting seminars of ore and wood, the Garganega regaled people spinning tales of the secrets in the Shadelands. Even the Vumoi entertained their neighbors as tour guides of the festival grounds.
The Atlanteans were few in comparison, but made up a still sizeable portion of attendees. Where music and dance were sparse, groups of people from all the different regions just mingled and enjoyed each others' company. Some hailed from rolling plains, others from off the shore, but today was a day to honor and highlight those differences, as they all shared a moment with one another, the Lunar Wings Eclipse. What the Atlanteans initially took as a veiled co-opting of local values to benefit a clutch of interlopers has grown into a harmonic moment the likes of which hasn't been seen in this part of continental Madeira in a millennium. Whether they liked it or not, the Atlanteans could appreciate the graciousness the gesture came with. After annihilating an assassin's armada in a ghastly flash, erecting some nigh invincible construct and establishing themselves as a fixture in the region. All the Jaida Coast came together in that tragedy's wake for two years to bring solace to their neighbors. It didn't make up for the stark losses the Atlanteans suffered nor for the occupation of the coast, but it allowed them a stronger connection to their local extended family, a trait that could forestall or prevent the next great tragedy.
The Second Annual Neo Festurus - Fin
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
***
Just beyond the borders of the Neovian exuberant celebration approached a modest river of crimson and silver and polished steel. The visitors were thirty three strong, consisting of a humble pride of elven bannermen and warriors adorned in illustrious suits of armor forged from B'halian ore and Dwarven sweat. Each of them rode on the backs of armored Bhvi’dors, ghastly creatures employed by the Jor'o for prolonged voyages on account of their incredibly powerful back and legs muscles. They were usually unapproachable predators, but the Jor'o Clan were an exceptional race of Terra elves capable of manipulating wild life via psionic domination, so controlling the deadly Bhivdors or creature stronger or inbetween was simple to them. It was their Anthem and made them deadly hunters and powerful allies of the Mazoku Empire.
Native to the enchanted isles of B'halia located on the otherside of the Freshwater Sea, the Jor'o were one of the many different tribes loyal to the Mazoku following their first "Grand Expedition". Over their heads a dozen crimson banners whipped back and forth in the coastal winds of the Jaida Shores, emblazoned with the three headed symbol of the Mazoku Empire. At the head of the caravan, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Empire's eliteguard was Del'ion, a Jor'o soldier and the appointed commander of this special assignment. He, along with three dozen of his most trusted men, were deployed to several locations across the globe with the intents of “inviting” other notable communities to join the Mazoku Empire.
This was not Deli'ion's first mission beyond the borders of B'halia; he was far older than his appearance conveyed, and a thousand times more wise. However, this was the first time his orders weren't given with murderous undertones. The Mazoku had a reputation that he personally had a hand in building.. They were notorious bloodthirsty conquerors and their warriors were crazed religious zealots, but today the Mazoku deployed a faction of their elite to foreign lands not as an agents of B’halia’s fury but as an ambassador of their homeland's propensity for peace.
“Diyma’!!”
-Deli’ion shouted into the sea salted air, a command that the Bhvi’dors and his trailing garrison would understand as “yield” before the slow moving river of crimson, silver, and polished metal stalled immediately at the borders of Neovia. He vaulted off the back of his warhorse; a simple act that shook loose rubble from the ground beneath him. Like most terra-elves, the Jor'o were far larger in stature than other bipedal organisms due to enchanted soils of the Isles that spawned them. Their species possessed a unique musculature that made them alien in comparison to human physiology. Blue skin that tougher than stone, pitch black eyes that pierced the night, and wiry silver hair that seemed to absorb sun or moon light. Physically, their younglings averaged at about 6’6”, 280lbs. Deli’ion was about 7” even and he quaked the ground with twice that weight with every step. His cobalt flesh was a sculpted specimen of Mazoku conditioning, which in his case consisted of years or meticulous training and genetic engineering. The Jor’o were among the first of many elven communities indoctrinated into the Empires regime thousands of years ago during B'halia's first great expedition. Since then the two tribes surmounted eons of conflict together, and amassed a rich legacy that filled Deli'ion and his battalion with pride whenever they donned their crimson and silver to march into battle.
“Dismount! We will set up camp here.”
He declared to his garrison and each of them heeded his orders without pause or question. In less than ten minutes, a military bivouac was assembled that littered the entrance of the foreign territory with an encampment of huts and tents as he secured his stead. At his waist, Deli'ion fashioned a host of different weapons and materials, including a duo of swords and knives he detached from his hips and safely sheathed upon the saddle of his Bhvi’dor, and bag of important cargo he slung over his shoulders.
“...”
Deli'ion was known for his brooding nature. He was incredibly quiet when he wasn't issuing commands, not truly known for his lengthy speeches. But he was highly revered for his skills in combat. As his unit constructed their temporary base, he couldn't help but question his place on this mission. He was a warrior.. not a diplomat. And he was less than knowledgeable about the Neovian Territories. Naturally, he and his unit of soldiers were briefed on the land they were visiting, but Deli'ion heard tale of a Zero Venkage long ago, as well as the names of a few others who managed to survive the fall of the Great nation of Kemet and brought their number to the Jaida Coast. But it was him who tore a hole into the Atlantean Sea with a javelin of lightning as tall as the clouds; a malicious feat of power, grand enough for Emperor Akundae to order his soldiers to memorize the name “Venkage”.
“I do not like it here..”
Deli'ion mentioned over his shoulders as he gazed upon the bustling collection of effervescent lights, culture and tradition. The aromas and flavors thickening the air twisted his sensitive nostrils in disgust, but he refused to look away or even cover his nose. Standing at his sides were a duo of white cloaks, a coalition of skillful warriors handpicked from across the globe by Emperor Akundae to embody his will whenever he was absent. There were eight of them in total, two of them were instructed to abide Del's every command until his return. Little was known about the individuals beneath their esoteric attire, other than the fact that they were personally trained by Akundae himself. Most of their bodies were concealed beneath their mask and ebon bodysuits that seemed to be fused to their dermis, and they only spoke when spoken too.
If they spoke at all.
“...”
Now was not one of those times. Deli'ion knew them as the Emperor's personal tools of warfare; soulless harbingers of death that Akundae identified as weapons rather than living beings. He went so far as to rename them according to their preferred method of murder. The two silent sentinels standing next to him were known as “Sever” and “Sunder”, but they hardly responded to anything other than danger or combat. The entire journey here, through the torrential rain and across the Freshwater Sea, they rode silently and vigilantly. Deli'ion heard rumors that, as a part of their training, Akundae removed their tongues as a means to mitigate rebellio or caution maybe them from defiance, but Del rarely entertained such erroneous tales. Meeting them for the first time was certainly intimidating, despite their modest physiques in comparison to his own. But he respected their sacrifice. He even held ambitions as to take up their mantle for his own and assist the Empire at their leaders right hand, just as they do. He took their despondent silence in stride and looked to address his garrison once more.
“Remember brothers, this is a mission of peace. We are here as ambassadors, not soldiers. My time within these boarders should not he long. Feed the Bhvi’dors, but keep your minds centered until my return.”
***
Deli'ion, Sever, and Sunder maneuvered through the Neovian festival a bit unsure as to where they were supposed to go. The celebration, while an excellent opportunity to address a multitude of communities affiliated with Allied Territories, the gross congregation of people made locating the Destati practically impossible. Everywhere Del looked, civilization polluted the night sky with all manner of industrialization. Buildings. Houses. Streets. Tents. There were people everywhere; elv and humans alike
shooting off fireworks, participating in communal customs, and exchanging goods of all kinds. And despite the melting pot of Vescrutian diversity, soldiers adorned in full armor tend to stand out in festive crowds.
“There.”
Deli'ion said, pointing toward one of the only merchants who didn't have an extensive line of customers collected outside their tent. The three of them immediately approached and spoke the common Vescrutian tongue.
“Gafran.”
Del said after taking a small glance at the tiny creature across the counter and stooping his head low enough to address them. He recognized their notable features and knew their relationship with Neovia to be perhaps the eldest aside from perhaps the Denkou Kingdom. Aside from that, the soldier could care less about their name or goods. All he cared for was–
“We are here on account of the Mazoku Empire and have important information to discuss with the leader of Neovia. Tell us where we can find Zero Venkage.”
Just beyond the borders of the Neovian exuberant celebration approached a modest river of crimson and silver and polished steel. The visitors were thirty three strong, consisting of a humble pride of elven bannermen and warriors adorned in illustrious suits of armor forged from B'halian ore and Dwarven sweat. Each of them rode on the backs of armored Bhvi’dors, ghastly creatures employed by the Jor'o for prolonged voyages on account of their incredibly powerful back and legs muscles. They were usually unapproachable predators, but the Jor'o Clan were an exceptional race of Terra elves capable of manipulating wild life via psionic domination, so controlling the deadly Bhivdors or creature stronger or inbetween was simple to them. It was their Anthem and made them deadly hunters and powerful allies of the Mazoku Empire.
Native to the enchanted isles of B'halia located on the otherside of the Freshwater Sea, the Jor'o were one of the many different tribes loyal to the Mazoku following their first "Grand Expedition". Over their heads a dozen crimson banners whipped back and forth in the coastal winds of the Jaida Shores, emblazoned with the three headed symbol of the Mazoku Empire. At the head of the caravan, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Empire's eliteguard was Del'ion, a Jor'o soldier and the appointed commander of this special assignment. He, along with three dozen of his most trusted men, were deployed to several locations across the globe with the intents of “inviting” other notable communities to join the Mazoku Empire.
This was not Deli'ion's first mission beyond the borders of B'halia; he was far older than his appearance conveyed, and a thousand times more wise. However, this was the first time his orders weren't given with murderous undertones. The Mazoku had a reputation that he personally had a hand in building.. They were notorious bloodthirsty conquerors and their warriors were crazed religious zealots, but today the Mazoku deployed a faction of their elite to foreign lands not as an agents of B’halia’s fury but as an ambassador of their homeland's propensity for peace.
“Diyma’!!”
-Deli’ion shouted into the sea salted air, a command that the Bhvi’dors and his trailing garrison would understand as “yield” before the slow moving river of crimson, silver, and polished metal stalled immediately at the borders of Neovia. He vaulted off the back of his warhorse; a simple act that shook loose rubble from the ground beneath him. Like most terra-elves, the Jor'o were far larger in stature than other bipedal organisms due to enchanted soils of the Isles that spawned them. Their species possessed a unique musculature that made them alien in comparison to human physiology. Blue skin that tougher than stone, pitch black eyes that pierced the night, and wiry silver hair that seemed to absorb sun or moon light. Physically, their younglings averaged at about 6’6”, 280lbs. Deli’ion was about 7” even and he quaked the ground with twice that weight with every step. His cobalt flesh was a sculpted specimen of Mazoku conditioning, which in his case consisted of years or meticulous training and genetic engineering. The Jor’o were among the first of many elven communities indoctrinated into the Empires regime thousands of years ago during B'halia's first great expedition. Since then the two tribes surmounted eons of conflict together, and amassed a rich legacy that filled Deli'ion and his battalion with pride whenever they donned their crimson and silver to march into battle.
“Dismount! We will set up camp here.”
He declared to his garrison and each of them heeded his orders without pause or question. In less than ten minutes, a military bivouac was assembled that littered the entrance of the foreign territory with an encampment of huts and tents as he secured his stead. At his waist, Deli'ion fashioned a host of different weapons and materials, including a duo of swords and knives he detached from his hips and safely sheathed upon the saddle of his Bhvi’dor, and bag of important cargo he slung over his shoulders.
“...”
Deli'ion was known for his brooding nature. He was incredibly quiet when he wasn't issuing commands, not truly known for his lengthy speeches. But he was highly revered for his skills in combat. As his unit constructed their temporary base, he couldn't help but question his place on this mission. He was a warrior.. not a diplomat. And he was less than knowledgeable about the Neovian Territories. Naturally, he and his unit of soldiers were briefed on the land they were visiting, but Deli'ion heard tale of a Zero Venkage long ago, as well as the names of a few others who managed to survive the fall of the Great nation of Kemet and brought their number to the Jaida Coast. But it was him who tore a hole into the Atlantean Sea with a javelin of lightning as tall as the clouds; a malicious feat of power, grand enough for Emperor Akundae to order his soldiers to memorize the name “Venkage”.
“I do not like it here..”
Deli'ion mentioned over his shoulders as he gazed upon the bustling collection of effervescent lights, culture and tradition. The aromas and flavors thickening the air twisted his sensitive nostrils in disgust, but he refused to look away or even cover his nose. Standing at his sides were a duo of white cloaks, a coalition of skillful warriors handpicked from across the globe by Emperor Akundae to embody his will whenever he was absent. There were eight of them in total, two of them were instructed to abide Del's every command until his return. Little was known about the individuals beneath their esoteric attire, other than the fact that they were personally trained by Akundae himself. Most of their bodies were concealed beneath their mask and ebon bodysuits that seemed to be fused to their dermis, and they only spoke when spoken too.
If they spoke at all.
“...”
Now was not one of those times. Deli'ion knew them as the Emperor's personal tools of warfare; soulless harbingers of death that Akundae identified as weapons rather than living beings. He went so far as to rename them according to their preferred method of murder. The two silent sentinels standing next to him were known as “Sever” and “Sunder”, but they hardly responded to anything other than danger or combat. The entire journey here, through the torrential rain and across the Freshwater Sea, they rode silently and vigilantly. Deli'ion heard rumors that, as a part of their training, Akundae removed their tongues as a means to mitigate rebellio or caution maybe them from defiance, but Del rarely entertained such erroneous tales. Meeting them for the first time was certainly intimidating, despite their modest physiques in comparison to his own. But he respected their sacrifice. He even held ambitions as to take up their mantle for his own and assist the Empire at their leaders right hand, just as they do. He took their despondent silence in stride and looked to address his garrison once more.
“Remember brothers, this is a mission of peace. We are here as ambassadors, not soldiers. My time within these boarders should not he long. Feed the Bhvi’dors, but keep your minds centered until my return.”
***
Deli'ion, Sever, and Sunder maneuvered through the Neovian festival a bit unsure as to where they were supposed to go. The celebration, while an excellent opportunity to address a multitude of communities affiliated with Allied Territories, the gross congregation of people made locating the Destati practically impossible. Everywhere Del looked, civilization polluted the night sky with all manner of industrialization. Buildings. Houses. Streets. Tents. There were people everywhere; elv and humans alike
shooting off fireworks, participating in communal customs, and exchanging goods of all kinds. And despite the melting pot of Vescrutian diversity, soldiers adorned in full armor tend to stand out in festive crowds.
“There.”
Deli'ion said, pointing toward one of the only merchants who didn't have an extensive line of customers collected outside their tent. The three of them immediately approached and spoke the common Vescrutian tongue.
“Gafran.”
Del said after taking a small glance at the tiny creature across the counter and stooping his head low enough to address them. He recognized their notable features and knew their relationship with Neovia to be perhaps the eldest aside from perhaps the Denkou Kingdom. Aside from that, the soldier could care less about their name or goods. All he cared for was–
“We are here on account of the Mazoku Empire and have important information to discuss with the leader of Neovia. Tell us where we can find Zero Venkage.”
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
A high pitched squawk came from the rear of the booth when the rumbling footsteps approached and muffled the sound of the day’s festivities. The shopkeep’s jovial laughter deflated as his eyes met the trio surrounded by empty space in a packed crowd. The cassowary resting in the booth approached the side of its companion whose conversation was just cut off. The bird’s feathers were ruffled, it was unsure of the situation, craning its neck all around and over the booth owner’s head and shoulders, eyeballing closely the unfamiliar blue giant speaking.
“The Mazoku? What are you to them?”
The man took a long, hard look at the blue behemoths approaching the booth, morphing through the festival’s crowds. Silence befell the crowd, stretching all the way back to their arrival on the beach, the raucous rabble in the background was muffled by the swell of their visual displacement. They were more foreigners, many would assume from a distance some new guests of Neo Arcturus, new or prospective members of The Conservatory. From the perspective of the shopkeep, Simon, he and his cassowary, Pah Pi at 6 feet 2 and 7 feet respectively they were perplexed to be approached by an outsider familiar with Zero and unable to find him in this crowd. The Gafren were gracious hosts to their family, hosting parties well into the night, dancing and singing into the moons around a giant pyre celebrating the celestial formation. For the first time in his life, it didn’t seem to be a portent of goodwill.
“Their kind haven’t been seen in these territories since the Fosfe Incident… And with good reason…”
The silence steadily grew, murmurs in the air washing over an expanding ring of heads, eyes, and ears beckoned to the trio. Some of the younger attendees gasped with wonder at the exotic creatures before them, just as foreign as the color guard they donned. Deep in their memories, the combination held some significance, told of in folklore in all the hills f the Gafren Highlands. There were only a few real military skirmishes of notable record in the history of the Jaida Heights even considering the natural geological protections provided by the landscape of the Jaida Coast itself. The Fosfe Incident came to be a more modern sequel to an attempted invasion by the B’halian Empire from the Northern Crags.
“But if you’re looking for Zero, you’ll have to keep looking.”
Simon didn’t know what to make of this B’halian entourage. His size and military outfit in the uniform of an army that has been routed from the region more than once made him nervous, but the irony was anything but lost on him. Just a few stalls over, he heard someone spinning the tale of the Fosfe Incident for the festival, complete with small plush puppets with simplified suits with the same color guard and pattern on them. They regaled their guests with the same tale the Gafren share with all their kind as easily as they share a dream from the night before. And just as easily, this person clad in the garb of the enemy comes forward at their behest. Simon’s gruff sigh kept his head cool, he already assumed what he thought was the worst, but a conversation is just that, conversation. The timing couldn’t have been more uncanny, just after sending someone who could have been the spitting image of a Mazoku runt off into the Maalukian wilds almost on the other side of the Freshwater Sea, these emissaries from the same area show up just on her heels looking for Zero. Once again, the situation reeked of miscontent, a common theme in the events to befall the Toscano Bay and Jaida Coast in recent history.
“The Mazoku? What are you to them?”
The man took a long, hard look at the blue behemoths approaching the booth, morphing through the festival’s crowds. Silence befell the crowd, stretching all the way back to their arrival on the beach, the raucous rabble in the background was muffled by the swell of their visual displacement. They were more foreigners, many would assume from a distance some new guests of Neo Arcturus, new or prospective members of The Conservatory. From the perspective of the shopkeep, Simon, he and his cassowary, Pah Pi at 6 feet 2 and 7 feet respectively they were perplexed to be approached by an outsider familiar with Zero and unable to find him in this crowd. The Gafren were gracious hosts to their family, hosting parties well into the night, dancing and singing into the moons around a giant pyre celebrating the celestial formation. For the first time in his life, it didn’t seem to be a portent of goodwill.
“Their kind haven’t been seen in these territories since the Fosfe Incident… And with good reason…”
The silence steadily grew, murmurs in the air washing over an expanding ring of heads, eyes, and ears beckoned to the trio. Some of the younger attendees gasped with wonder at the exotic creatures before them, just as foreign as the color guard they donned. Deep in their memories, the combination held some significance, told of in folklore in all the hills f the Gafren Highlands. There were only a few real military skirmishes of notable record in the history of the Jaida Heights even considering the natural geological protections provided by the landscape of the Jaida Coast itself. The Fosfe Incident came to be a more modern sequel to an attempted invasion by the B’halian Empire from the Northern Crags.
“But if you’re looking for Zero, you’ll have to keep looking.”
Simon didn’t know what to make of this B’halian entourage. His size and military outfit in the uniform of an army that has been routed from the region more than once made him nervous, but the irony was anything but lost on him. Just a few stalls over, he heard someone spinning the tale of the Fosfe Incident for the festival, complete with small plush puppets with simplified suits with the same color guard and pattern on them. They regaled their guests with the same tale the Gafren share with all their kind as easily as they share a dream from the night before. And just as easily, this person clad in the garb of the enemy comes forward at their behest. Simon’s gruff sigh kept his head cool, he already assumed what he thought was the worst, but a conversation is just that, conversation. The timing couldn’t have been more uncanny, just after sending someone who could have been the spitting image of a Mazoku runt off into the Maalukian wilds almost on the other side of the Freshwater Sea, these emissaries from the same area show up just on her heels looking for Zero. Once again, the situation reeked of miscontent, a common theme in the events to befall the Toscano Bay and Jaida Coast in recent history.
-
Dalazar Denkou
- Drifter
- Posts: 149
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2019 8:39 pm
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
The festival was in full bloom. It is a marvel to behold in and of itself. For the numerous races that called the Jaida coast their homes to be here in an odd but refreshingly tranquil unity, however fragile, was nothing short of a blessing. Considering the epic fail the first one was, of which the Denkou were absent. With good reason, it seemed, as the battle between those who did attend shook the coast to its core. The hatred that the Atlanteans bore was deep almost like a treasured heirloom. One that is still handed down to this day. The Denkou Queen; Onohall with her divination magic predicted a horrid storm of blood washing over the Jaida coast with the Atlanteans standing in its eye.
For this reason, the Denkou did not attend for had they done so, they would have readily defended themselves causing the centuries of fragile peace between them and the elves beneath the waves to shatter. A peace that was hard fought and through the loss of lives from both Denkou and Atleantea in their early years of settling in the Emerald Ascenion. A bad situation would've turned horrendous should the Sky and Sea collide in such a way again.
It was rare to see Denkou in mass. Even their civilians. Unlike their much more social astral brethren, not many can have claimed to have met a Denkou from the main Kingdom. Save for fellow Neovians, particularly those of the Conservatory. Though reclusive Denkou highly valued the beauty of popular education. To teach and be taught. Theirs was a kingdom that owed much of its longevity to the strong relationships they had forged. Much of their breakthroughs in magic and technology were inspired by the many notes shared within the walls of The Conservatory's research department. Though not too inclined to tell you of their personal lives one would scarcely say a Denkou had not much to share in terms of knowledge or even philosophy.
However for something like this. A grand event for the ages they decided to make an exception. Seekers and purveyors of the arcane they once scoured the world in search of a homeland. They came across many cultures and walks of life across Vescrutia stockpiling the wisdom they gleaned from their travels. This foundation created a network of partnerships that though mainly rooted in Neovia(particularly the Jaida Coast) had begun spreading to certain parts of the Astral although in rather meager amounts. The Denkai, in their seemingly never-ending quest to outshine the Denkou, gatekeep most of the trading avenues in routes surrounding the astral. The Denkou though are more than content with their current domain and since they have no desire to expand could truly care less. Instead, they tax the Denkai's mandatory contributions of resources. Livestock, Grain, and minerals not native to the Emerald Ascension.
"Tch, I still don't see why we had to come here Lady Yuta. This little soiree doesn't compare to the grandeur of the Denkou Kingdom."
A good way behind the mountainous Jor'o elvs would be a young man in rather modest yet regal attire. On his torso, he wore sleeveless skin-tight black combat gear, hands clad in gloves that looked to be fabrics shined like well-polished steel. He donned a white and emerald robe that was encrusted with a litany of jewels bearing a large imprint of the Hose Of Urso on its back. His hair was styled back, loc'd with a cobalt hue that brought out the scouting amber flare that subtly hummed behind his bright hazel eyes. Eyes that were trained to be diligent and on guard, determined to protect his bloodline. He spoke telepathically with his kin.
"Come now Haesel, sure it may lack a certain je ne sais quoi, But I find the rather...rustic authenticity quite... appealing. "
A slightly melodious voice spoke out from behind him. One that carried the soft trace of condescendence in its tone. Its owner was a woman quite gorgeous in her own right. She wore a black jumpsuit that too gleamed in the sun like metal with runic engravings etched in gold. Her hair was raven black with flaming midnight cerulean ombre asymmetrically. Her ears were decorated with silver feathers that reflected light like glass. Her heel matched her hair, black stiletto with midnight cerulean bottoms. On her back, a cropped robe emboldened with the royal symbol of the House Of Gamallow, of which she was the 2nd seat.
The Seat system was how Denkou determined who was next in line to inherit the lead of the four royal households and families. Aside from the Head of household, there were three chairs per domain. Should a head fall the 1st seat would take their place. The same was true if the 1st seat perished before inheriting the lead and so on. One would think that in an event like this one, she would have a whole battalion assigned to her. Considering the blood bath of the previous festival. Haesel though was all the guard she needed. Having an Urso by her side was the equivalent of having a small army.
They weren’t titled grizzly magic sheerly for giggles. They were battle mages of a different pedigree entirely. Physically, they were borderline super human granting them boons of strength and speed innately that most creatures spend lifetimes trying to achieve. This coupled with the blessing of The Asharin to further embolden themselves with magical abilities and arcane knowledge makes them some of the most dangerous humans on the planet. True to their namesake they are fiercely protective over their family and homeland and would think nothing of giving their life to ensure another survives. It is this very trait that makes them perfect for their role in the Kingdom which is to serve as its military force protecting not only the common folk but also being the royal guard for the other house. None more so than the Ri’ore. Of which Haesel was the 3rd seat.
"Appealing? More like irresponsible. I mean, they invited the Atlanteans back? After they tried to kill their leader? We almost attended that massacre last year. Misunderstanding or not, should they ever turn their flippers toward our King..."
Yuta's somber gaze fizzled into a much more piercing one showing her annoyance at his clamouring about. His face was bad for business.
"Come now Haesel, you forget yourself. Do you not recall the song of the day the Sky and Sea collided? It was a recounting of the day the early Denkou headed by the First Emerald King settled on the Jaida coast and the vicious battle between Denkou and Atlanteans. They have felt the quaking terror of our lightning as it streaks across the skies. Their memories are even longer than their lives, I'm sure they remember it well."
She said as her gaze softened back into its somber state.
"That said the first king also witnessed firsthand the horrific depths the abyss of their fury can conjure. We are here as neighbors, not enemies. Rest well knowing neither side is interested in smoke. Now enough of your scowling, get that metal ready, the show and tell is about to begin! I will NOT be embarrassed when the others arrive."
She would point to a heavy box filled with Den-Ki metal, a curious alloy native to the Emerald Ascension and the lynchpin of Denkou society. Haesel would sigh before grabbing it effortlessly. She then pointed to the table in the booths next to them. series of booths decorated with dazzling assortments of ore and purified metals. The Denkou booths were much different than the other ones around them as they were not crafted from normal cloth but rather were creations of stone that gave the impression of fabric. The Industrious House Of Gammalow are the progenitors of such a technique.
Weaving, a form of transmutation magic unique to Denkou. It enables them to alter the constitution of metal and stone making the toughest materials like diamond as fine as silk. This talent combined with the eccentric fashionista mindset they come with has completely redefined the term glass cannon when it comes to Denkou Mages. Though it appears to be light Denkou clothing can withstand incredible pressure and depending on its make and purpose the resistance of different damage types(i.e slashing/piercing/ various elemental nature etc).
The booths were lined with all kinds of garments for all genders and body types. Rolls and rolls of special yarn of different stones. Emeralds, jade’ rubies, sapphire, and diamonds are all tightly coiled together. Weavers are Gamallow with an innate talent for such magic and are the cornerstone of Denkou society. Magic that was soon to be displayed here for all to see. Yuta herself is prodigal in its uses which is why she was entrusted with coming ahead of her teacher to ensure the preparations were complete. Haesel sucked his teeth. Maybe he was overthinking things but in his opinion, she was far too relaxed. Something was bothering him nagging even. Perhaps it was just the fact that the Atlanteans were here. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Haesel get a MOVE on!"
"Right away Lady Yuta!"
This time she scolded him out loud sending a chill down his spine causing his eyes and naten to flash for the briefest of moments. In that instance, a faint blanket of pressure fell upon the area. So faint it wouldn't be noticeable to the majority of the folks here. Subtle streaks of blue light could be seen. By the time the veil came and went the box he was carrying was empty and the table was now stocked full with eye-catching displays. Yuta would squeal before turning away to finish her runes and glyphs for the ritual later.
He thought to himself. If it was rare to see a Denkou here it was a press conference event to see one of their ilk. Mazakou, one of the few empires that reside on Vecrutia, even more to the point one of the few that could potentially pose a threat to Denkou. An elvn realm rumored to be beyond formidable, intelligent, and ever-increasing its borders. Unifying land after land viewing themselves as the pinnacle of all societies. considering how they completely reform and better those "lucky" enough to be "invited" they may be right.
I thought Mazakou were huge gorilla guys. Who are these giant metal blueberries supposed to be
For this reason, the Denkou did not attend for had they done so, they would have readily defended themselves causing the centuries of fragile peace between them and the elves beneath the waves to shatter. A peace that was hard fought and through the loss of lives from both Denkou and Atleantea in their early years of settling in the Emerald Ascenion. A bad situation would've turned horrendous should the Sky and Sea collide in such a way again.
It was rare to see Denkou in mass. Even their civilians. Unlike their much more social astral brethren, not many can have claimed to have met a Denkou from the main Kingdom. Save for fellow Neovians, particularly those of the Conservatory. Though reclusive Denkou highly valued the beauty of popular education. To teach and be taught. Theirs was a kingdom that owed much of its longevity to the strong relationships they had forged. Much of their breakthroughs in magic and technology were inspired by the many notes shared within the walls of The Conservatory's research department. Though not too inclined to tell you of their personal lives one would scarcely say a Denkou had not much to share in terms of knowledge or even philosophy.
However for something like this. A grand event for the ages they decided to make an exception. Seekers and purveyors of the arcane they once scoured the world in search of a homeland. They came across many cultures and walks of life across Vescrutia stockpiling the wisdom they gleaned from their travels. This foundation created a network of partnerships that though mainly rooted in Neovia(particularly the Jaida Coast) had begun spreading to certain parts of the Astral although in rather meager amounts. The Denkai, in their seemingly never-ending quest to outshine the Denkou, gatekeep most of the trading avenues in routes surrounding the astral. The Denkou though are more than content with their current domain and since they have no desire to expand could truly care less. Instead, they tax the Denkai's mandatory contributions of resources. Livestock, Grain, and minerals not native to the Emerald Ascension.
"Tch, I still don't see why we had to come here Lady Yuta. This little soiree doesn't compare to the grandeur of the Denkou Kingdom."
A good way behind the mountainous Jor'o elvs would be a young man in rather modest yet regal attire. On his torso, he wore sleeveless skin-tight black combat gear, hands clad in gloves that looked to be fabrics shined like well-polished steel. He donned a white and emerald robe that was encrusted with a litany of jewels bearing a large imprint of the Hose Of Urso on its back. His hair was styled back, loc'd with a cobalt hue that brought out the scouting amber flare that subtly hummed behind his bright hazel eyes. Eyes that were trained to be diligent and on guard, determined to protect his bloodline. He spoke telepathically with his kin.
"Come now Haesel, sure it may lack a certain je ne sais quoi, But I find the rather...rustic authenticity quite... appealing. "
A slightly melodious voice spoke out from behind him. One that carried the soft trace of condescendence in its tone. Its owner was a woman quite gorgeous in her own right. She wore a black jumpsuit that too gleamed in the sun like metal with runic engravings etched in gold. Her hair was raven black with flaming midnight cerulean ombre asymmetrically. Her ears were decorated with silver feathers that reflected light like glass. Her heel matched her hair, black stiletto with midnight cerulean bottoms. On her back, a cropped robe emboldened with the royal symbol of the House Of Gamallow, of which she was the 2nd seat.
The Seat system was how Denkou determined who was next in line to inherit the lead of the four royal households and families. Aside from the Head of household, there were three chairs per domain. Should a head fall the 1st seat would take their place. The same was true if the 1st seat perished before inheriting the lead and so on. One would think that in an event like this one, she would have a whole battalion assigned to her. Considering the blood bath of the previous festival. Haesel though was all the guard she needed. Having an Urso by her side was the equivalent of having a small army.
They weren’t titled grizzly magic sheerly for giggles. They were battle mages of a different pedigree entirely. Physically, they were borderline super human granting them boons of strength and speed innately that most creatures spend lifetimes trying to achieve. This coupled with the blessing of The Asharin to further embolden themselves with magical abilities and arcane knowledge makes them some of the most dangerous humans on the planet. True to their namesake they are fiercely protective over their family and homeland and would think nothing of giving their life to ensure another survives. It is this very trait that makes them perfect for their role in the Kingdom which is to serve as its military force protecting not only the common folk but also being the royal guard for the other house. None more so than the Ri’ore. Of which Haesel was the 3rd seat.
"Appealing? More like irresponsible. I mean, they invited the Atlanteans back? After they tried to kill their leader? We almost attended that massacre last year. Misunderstanding or not, should they ever turn their flippers toward our King..."
Yuta's somber gaze fizzled into a much more piercing one showing her annoyance at his clamouring about. His face was bad for business.
"Come now Haesel, you forget yourself. Do you not recall the song of the day the Sky and Sea collided? It was a recounting of the day the early Denkou headed by the First Emerald King settled on the Jaida coast and the vicious battle between Denkou and Atlanteans. They have felt the quaking terror of our lightning as it streaks across the skies. Their memories are even longer than their lives, I'm sure they remember it well."
She said as her gaze softened back into its somber state.
"That said the first king also witnessed firsthand the horrific depths the abyss of their fury can conjure. We are here as neighbors, not enemies. Rest well knowing neither side is interested in smoke. Now enough of your scowling, get that metal ready, the show and tell is about to begin! I will NOT be embarrassed when the others arrive."
She would point to a heavy box filled with Den-Ki metal, a curious alloy native to the Emerald Ascension and the lynchpin of Denkou society. Haesel would sigh before grabbing it effortlessly. She then pointed to the table in the booths next to them. series of booths decorated with dazzling assortments of ore and purified metals. The Denkou booths were much different than the other ones around them as they were not crafted from normal cloth but rather were creations of stone that gave the impression of fabric. The Industrious House Of Gammalow are the progenitors of such a technique.
Weaving, a form of transmutation magic unique to Denkou. It enables them to alter the constitution of metal and stone making the toughest materials like diamond as fine as silk. This talent combined with the eccentric fashionista mindset they come with has completely redefined the term glass cannon when it comes to Denkou Mages. Though it appears to be light Denkou clothing can withstand incredible pressure and depending on its make and purpose the resistance of different damage types(i.e slashing/piercing/ various elemental nature etc).
The booths were lined with all kinds of garments for all genders and body types. Rolls and rolls of special yarn of different stones. Emeralds, jade’ rubies, sapphire, and diamonds are all tightly coiled together. Weavers are Gamallow with an innate talent for such magic and are the cornerstone of Denkou society. Magic that was soon to be displayed here for all to see. Yuta herself is prodigal in its uses which is why she was entrusted with coming ahead of her teacher to ensure the preparations were complete. Haesel sucked his teeth. Maybe he was overthinking things but in his opinion, she was far too relaxed. Something was bothering him nagging even. Perhaps it was just the fact that the Atlanteans were here. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Haesel get a MOVE on!"
"Right away Lady Yuta!"
This time she scolded him out loud sending a chill down his spine causing his eyes and naten to flash for the briefest of moments. In that instance, a faint blanket of pressure fell upon the area. So faint it wouldn't be noticeable to the majority of the folks here. Subtle streaks of blue light could be seen. By the time the veil came and went the box he was carrying was empty and the table was now stocked full with eye-catching displays. Yuta would squeal before turning away to finish her runes and glyphs for the ritual later.
Mazakou? Here?“The Mazoku? What are you to them?”
He thought to himself. If it was rare to see a Denkou here it was a press conference event to see one of their ilk. Mazakou, one of the few empires that reside on Vecrutia, even more to the point one of the few that could potentially pose a threat to Denkou. An elvn realm rumored to be beyond formidable, intelligent, and ever-increasing its borders. Unifying land after land viewing themselves as the pinnacle of all societies. considering how they completely reform and better those "lucky" enough to be "invited" they may be right.
I thought Mazakou were huge gorilla guys. Who are these giant metal blueberries supposed to be
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
Frustration groaned from Del's nose as his pitch black eyes sunk into Simon's face. As if they were digging for something beneath his hollow bravado, perhaps a reason not to kill him where he stood for his incompetence. Del couldnt decide if it was the Gafran's tone that struck a chord with him the most, or his condescending response. Did Simon think they were stupid? The audacity to insult the intellect of a superior being. He couldn't have known who Del'ion was.. How could Simon have known he was speaking to a temperamental serial killer, charged with a battalion of three dozen warriors more than capable of razing this entire coast before midnight? Del could feel the apprehensive glares collecting at his back from all angles, but for a split moment he didn't care. He nearly forgot his mission. Obedience is what he anticipated from a creature weaker than he was and by all means, he intended to teach Simon this lesson. Del was born to a culture where power literally translated to power, even among the common folk. Disrespect to royalty was punishable by death in B'halia, but the Commander refrained from drawing his weapon. A second of restraint allowed him to remember his purpose among these squishy creatures. He did his best to play the diplomat."The Mazoku? ... There Kind haven't been seen here since the Fosfe Incident, and for good reason.. But if you're looking for Zero, you're gonna have to keep looking."
“Oh? And why is that?”
Deli'ion's deep voice carried naturally, and managed to reach every pair of eyes and ears committed to his conversation with Simon.
“Is this not his home? Have we come to the wrong place, Gafran?”
He asked plainly as his gaze scoured the hushed crowd behind him. His elven ears twitched at the sound of so many quickened heartbeats and he couldn't fight the subtle smirk creeping into his blackened lips. He caught gaze of the festive play occurring not too far away in front of dozens of men, women and children; a puppet reenactment of a pivotal event along the Jaida Coast long since past. Del'ion didn't have an opportunity to participate in the “Fosfe Incident'', but he knew it well.. And he could tell that the Gafran's interpretation of those events barely passed the eye test, even from where he was standing.
“Or would you prefer we took our time here at your festival, and simply searched for him ourselves? I am unfamiliar with the Neovian Territories, but I imagine I may as well begin learning my way around considering my business here.?"
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
“We have him out running an errand for us, can’t tell ya much about when he’s getting back. And it’s pronounced Gaf ren.”
Simon continued sizing up the visitors, assessing their implied brutishness as a product of their color guard. The Mazoku were known for nothing if not their immense natural strength, their most infamous tool of warfare said to level mountains in the wake of their siege, for the glory of the Empire. And still those legends stopped at the northern edge of the Jaida Coast, just south of the Fosfe Crags. The truth of the matter washed ashore like flotsam from some far off land, a message to whoever finds it that trouble is brewing beyond the horizon. Although the B’halian Empire hadn’t been seen in centuries in this part of mainland Madeira, their color guard precluded one of two impending changes for a region: submit or be cleansed. The awkward half silence that swelled between the festival crowd and the three blue elvs in their midst pointed all their attention to Simon and Pah Pi, staring down the next catastrophe brought to their home on the day they could come together as one Jaidan family. Simon couldn't let his pride and the Gafren history with the Empire invite calamity for all Jaidans, it would spit in the face of his ancestors who protected the sovereignty of the Jaida Coast and its peoples. He felt the weight of the world resting squarely on his shoulders.
“So if you’d like, join the party and have a ball, it’s a time for celebration. We just have to be sure the festivities don’t get out of hand. ”
Simon leaned into Pah Pi’s body now crept closer to his side, now standing almost over him with his feathers rustling. The crowd murmured curiously at the thought of these ill clad outsiders “getting familiar” with their home. Though the festivities started joyously, who knows how the younglings were responding to the B’halian incursion unfolding in front of them like a story of come to life.
“We like to set a good example for the kiddies. You'll find nothing but trouble wandering around outside the citadel like you own the place.”
The reputation of the B’halian Empire spanned all across the Freshwater Sea, wherever their banner flew became an effigy to the glory of B’halia. No matter how polite they seemed, treachery was soon to follow. Before the first Lunar Wings Festival he organized, public opinion said the exact same thing about Zero Venkage and his cronies' Neo Arcturus project. The ragtag group that made up The Conservatory now had their own trouble gaining the trust of the Jaidan people and Simon recollected on their surprisingly positive impact on the region and palpable attempts to enmesh themselves in the natural way of things, the local way, the Jaidan Way. Maybe they missed a lesson on the historical context related to the B'halian Empire while living amongst the Elv peoples further south than Toscano Bay. Whatever the case, Zero wasn't around to field these guests, uninvited as they were.
Simon continued sizing up the visitors, assessing their implied brutishness as a product of their color guard. The Mazoku were known for nothing if not their immense natural strength, their most infamous tool of warfare said to level mountains in the wake of their siege, for the glory of the Empire. And still those legends stopped at the northern edge of the Jaida Coast, just south of the Fosfe Crags. The truth of the matter washed ashore like flotsam from some far off land, a message to whoever finds it that trouble is brewing beyond the horizon. Although the B’halian Empire hadn’t been seen in centuries in this part of mainland Madeira, their color guard precluded one of two impending changes for a region: submit or be cleansed. The awkward half silence that swelled between the festival crowd and the three blue elvs in their midst pointed all their attention to Simon and Pah Pi, staring down the next catastrophe brought to their home on the day they could come together as one Jaidan family. Simon couldn't let his pride and the Gafren history with the Empire invite calamity for all Jaidans, it would spit in the face of his ancestors who protected the sovereignty of the Jaida Coast and its peoples. He felt the weight of the world resting squarely on his shoulders.
“So if you’d like, join the party and have a ball, it’s a time for celebration. We just have to be sure the festivities don’t get out of hand. ”
Simon leaned into Pah Pi’s body now crept closer to his side, now standing almost over him with his feathers rustling. The crowd murmured curiously at the thought of these ill clad outsiders “getting familiar” with their home. Though the festivities started joyously, who knows how the younglings were responding to the B’halian incursion unfolding in front of them like a story of come to life.
“We like to set a good example for the kiddies. You'll find nothing but trouble wandering around outside the citadel like you own the place.”
The reputation of the B’halian Empire spanned all across the Freshwater Sea, wherever their banner flew became an effigy to the glory of B’halia. No matter how polite they seemed, treachery was soon to follow. Before the first Lunar Wings Festival he organized, public opinion said the exact same thing about Zero Venkage and his cronies' Neo Arcturus project. The ragtag group that made up The Conservatory now had their own trouble gaining the trust of the Jaidan people and Simon recollected on their surprisingly positive impact on the region and palpable attempts to enmesh themselves in the natural way of things, the local way, the Jaidan Way. Maybe they missed a lesson on the historical context related to the B'halian Empire while living amongst the Elv peoples further south than Toscano Bay. Whatever the case, Zero wasn't around to field these guests, uninvited as they were.
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Dalazar Denkou
- Drifter
- Posts: 149
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2019 8:39 pm
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
"Be grateful they cannot hear you here in Iribrium. Those are not the Mazokou, not by blood at least."I thought Mazakou were huge gorilla guys. Who are these giant metal blueberries supposed to be
Yuta's voice echoed through his consciousness like the soft ringing of a bell signaling lunchtime drawing his pensive gaze away from the massive creature back to her. Not by blood, she said. Then that could only mean what he had heard of the Mazokou to be true, how they expanded their borders by assimilating other elvs and nations underneath their banner.
"Those are Jo'ro, Terra elvs who have been submissive only under the empire of Mazokou. To everyone else, specifically their enemies they are moving mountains of death and carnage. Might 2wanna watch your gaze, Haesel"
She chuckled as she admired the gorgeous way he readily displayed the stones soon to be showcased. This was a rare moment in Denkou's history and that of Neovia united as a whole. For the first time since settling the Denkou would give a show firsthand on how their legendary magic worked. Now that the catalysts were set and the runic glyphs consecrated they needed only wait for their family to arrive.
"Yet for all their terror and legend the Denkou and Mazokou have never crossed paths. It almost happened once. After the Mazkou tried to usurp the humans of the Jaida coast from their homes."
She began running her hands gingerly along the etched markings on each table. As she did so each display would begin to hum softly with a pale emerald light. The slight light show attracted the bewildered gaze of several children who began to gather around the booth admiring the different beautiful stones dazzling before them.
"The Fosfe incident."
Haesel said out loud
"The Gafren and the Titans didn't welcome us with open arms but in time we were able to forge a union of respect amongst us. Creating the needed understanding to share the resources of the mountain with little to no conflict. However, B'halia saw it as a means to expand their hand once more and tried to take over the mines eventually setting their sites on the homelands of the human tribes themselves."
Haesel had heard the stories. The fearsome battle that soon followed claimed the lives of many of the Gafren and Titans tribes along with the life of the Gafren leader.
"Where were we during this whole thing?"
He asked begrudgingly
"At home of course nestled behind the veil of the perrrinal storm that protects the Denkou. From what I am told the Denkou of the time also saw the potential danger however via the miradum of understanding between the three realms. Denkou would only intervene should the conflict reach a certain point. Since it did not they did not act. Instead merely provided support via arms and other resources. By the time those forces would've gotten through the Denkou would have eviscerated their forces. But such assistance was not needed. Till this day the Gafren have had a sour bone about it."
Classic B'halian mindset. Threats wrapped in suggestions. Giving the illusion of choice. Haesel was trying his best to keep his irritation under wraps. He was doing a poor job at it.“Or would you prefer we took our time here at your festival and simply searched for him ourselves? I am unfamiliar with the Neovian Territories, but I imagine I may as well begin learning my way around considering my business here.?"
"Cheer up Haesel, it was centuries ago. Much has changed in that time and humans have proven to be far more resilient than most elvs give them credit for. Though I cannot lie, having the Atlanteans and emissaries of the Mazokou here. I doubt Zero anticipated this one."
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
“He is away, and leaves no advocate of his will in his absence? No regent? Hm.. it would seem your leader is either callous or careless–””We have him out running an errand for us, can’t tell ya much about when he’s getting back.. So if you’d like, join the party and have a ball, it’s a time for celebration.. We like to set a good example for the kiddies.. You'll find nothing but trouble wandering around outside the citadel like you own the place..
And it's pronounced, Gafren.”
Deli'ion replied withholding a smirk, but he stopped mid-sentence as if he bit his tongue. Something caught his attention. It was a stench, one bolder than any of the colliding aromas wafting from the vendors of cultural cuisines. It was a familiar odor rolling from the back of Simeon's tent. The Joro elf looked perplexed. He almost didn't recognize it, so he knelt down and leaned a bit closer to Simeon's booth to be sure his sense of smell hadn't been fatigued from travel. And it wasn't. Delion's eyes cut into blackened daggers that suddenly felt the need to check over his shoulder before he responded to Simeon.
“No matter– We accept your gracious offer, and shall immerse ourselves in your culture and celebration until the return of Zero Venkage. However, we plan to wait for him at this Citadel to emphasize the importance of our message here. Also, upon his arrival, I implore you all to gather the younglings in audience of my words. It will do your kind a great kindness to not shield your future generations from the shiftings of the world around them.. Today is a momentus one, and they should able to recount from memory where they were to generation that follows. Think of it as a lesson in “higher politics” for their growing minds. .”
Del'ion's departiled from Simeon's booth with a grin, signaling Sunder and Severe to shadow his movements.
“You have been a great help, Gafran. Perhaps more than you know..”
He belted without bothering to turn his shoulder. Partly of course to leave the conversation on his terms, but mostly because he needed to get far enough from wandering eyes and hanging ears to discuss his recent discovery with his silent compatriots.
”It would seem our intel was worth their coin afterall. The scent is faint, and perhaps several days old, but there is no question as to whom it belongs. The odor is Mazoku, and there are only so many of them unaccounted for..”
Delion whispered to his two allies without turning his head. There were hundreds of eyes leering in their direction following his boastful interaction with Simeon, the Gafren Merchant. Del was far more cautious with his volume as the three of them jaunted through the initially festive gathering of cultures.
”Sunder, you will return to camp and send a message back to B’halia. Tell the Emperor we believe we've found what he’s looking for. Sever and I will continue to investigate the area until the return of the Venkage. Upon which, we will convene at the agreed location.”
The two warriors were bound by duty to oblige his commands. Both of them vanished into thin air the second he gave the order while Del'ion continued his casual stroll through the festival. He wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible in his search for a trace of his target; Simeon's had already given them breadcrumbs. But was he involved? Were these people willingly harboring an estranged Mazoku mutant? Del'ion couldn't imagine a more unsuspecting hole for them to crawl under. With the longstanding history of B'halian tensions within the Jaia Coast, it was arguably a wise location. And considering Neovia’s rather dense collection of like minded tribes, Neovia was probably the safest. But none of that mattered now. Del’ion was on to them them, which meant the Empire would be breathing down their necks soon enough.
----
Del'ion was leaning on his sense of smell to search for the Mazoku fugitive. His nose had brought him to several different tents and booths, each of them offering to bewilder him with either a bouquet of unique trinkets, banquets of fragrant cuisines, exhibits of illustrious garments, and other paradigms of their respective realms. He cared for none of them. Del'ion only stopped by their booths to conduct his investigation; he was certain one of these tribes of lesser elves were under the control of the rogue Mazoku, and they were being used to hide their presence. It was the first thought that came to mind, and it seemed to him the most logical.
His search eventually brought him to a booth that was far different than the modest shacks he encountered to this point. As he approached, it seemed like the tent was built of stone. And he would have thought as much until he seem its unique fabric buckle in the coastal breeze. It was an uncommon sight, yet the more he thought of it, the more it piqued his interest. His eyes searched the outer markings of the tent for a distinguishing symbol, and settled on the surname “Denkou”. Which wouldn't mean much to him, considering the Joro held no reverence for humankind. Still, he was impressed enough by the success of their craft to approach the Denkou's booth, which so happened to be the most popular in the immediate area.
He counted dozen upon dozens of people were crowded around highly decorated the tables, displaying a myraid of rare ores and metals. But none of them stopped Delion from making his way to front of the line. His bearish frame made bowling pins of the smaller beings and children alike who refused to acknowledge a superior creature, and he wouldn't stop until he reached the proprietor of this tent.
The first person his eyes acknowledged was Hansel. Not because it was the only person this cobalt giant could see, but Hansel was the only male among them.
“Here, boy.. I have questions of your craft.”
Del'ion said plainly, but his grave baritone never gave thought to the friction his words could cause.
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
“Zero Venkage… What have you brought to our shores this time…”Okoye wrote: ↑Tue Dec 12, 2023 10:59 pmDel'ion's departiled from Simeon's booth with a grin, signaling Sunder and Severe to shadow his movements.
“You have been a great help, Gafran. Perhaps more than you know..”
He belted without bothering to turn his shoulder. Partly of course to leave the conversation on his terms, but mostly because he needed to get far enough from wandering eyes and hanging ears to discuss his recent discovery with his silent compatriots.
More trouble washed ashore looking for Zero Venkage. Somehow in their short time here, The Conservatory’s existence made it to the B’halian Continent and reinvented the empire back to these shores. The trip to this specific space hadn’t been made by since Zero and his cronies five years ago. Before that, foreign feet hadn’t touched the sand in Toscano Bay in centuries. The natural geography contained jagged mountains, gale force winds, ship rending rip currents, stark darkness, and unique predators in the wilds, all protected by the locals with their lives and the natural order at stake. The Jaida Coast was one of the most resource and culturally rich areas on the Madeira continent, its microclimate was one of extremes and uncanny discoveries, unsullied for centuries until very recent history. Simon took a moment to wallow in the irony of the timing of the B’halian visit and their search for Zero Venkage “the leader of this land”.
As the people started to return to their semi-normal festivities, the orb of avoidance morphing around the B’halian vanguard to occupy the booth spaces once again. The nervous murmurs grew into a curious cross talk, everyone trying to make sense of the blue Elvs having invited themselves to the party. As peaceful as they appeared, the condescending tone of their ‘historical announcement’ spelled ill will for everyone in the region.
Simon mulled over so many different ways it could spell doom for his people. Not just the Gafren, but all the Jaidans and The Conservatory.
“You got the same feelin’ I got?”
The Caecilian regaling the masses just a few booths over sauntered through the people, brandishing his ornately carved bass with a light tune to brighten the mood, dancing about the festival in a garb of wildly designed cassowary feathers.
“Everybody’s got that feeling! Like we’re not through with this party yet! Our big bro Garland made sure we could still be gracious hosts!”
An abject exaggeration to soften the blow. As the frog-like bard approached Simon’s booth, Pah Pi’s agitated, ruffled feathers slicking down as he rocked away to the tune filling the air. Simon turned back to the bard, back toward the people whose faces eased into a relaxed smile.
“Subori, you talk like you were there.”
“Who says I wasn’t?”
They both shared a chuckle, and went into some slick banter for the crowds without missing a beat. If there was one thing The Conservatory taught them to do, it was to always be discerning, but hospitable.
They were both friends of Zero now, some of the first Jaidans to welcome him into their midst, and helping the remnants of Arcturus adjust to the needs of the people.They were also some of the first personally invited to join The Conservatory. Though from different sides of the bay, they shared a curiosity about their neighbors and the world, and The Conservatory’s mission gave them an amazing opportunity to achieve that. They were able to see some real good being done, real collaboration between people who were isolated from each other for millennia, and a real view of the world from beyond their shores. Though uncertain, they knew there was more to the world than home.
“I’m on them,” Subori whispered to Simon in the middle of a glorious solo he shredded between jousts and jests of the newly revitalized crowd. Simon and Pah Pi both nodded in agreement and took a more prominent point, regaling the festival as a duo while Subori’s song and dance faded into a whisper, his presence disappearing into the crowd, then into thin air.
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Dalazar Denkou
- Drifter
- Posts: 149
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2019 8:39 pm
Re: The Second Annual Neo Festurus
The moment Del'ion left the company of the Gafren Yuta's attention seldom left him. Even as she gracefully entertained the guests who were readily gathering around the Denkou booths. Eager to see the fabulous array of stones they had collected. Her perception via her sensory ability granted her a survey of her intrigue's naten signature. In this case the Jo'ro. She held no desire to create a commotion though the same could never be said about an armed milita. Namely, one from a realm explicitly known for procuring other nations like fruit from a tree. Interaction with most elvs was the farthest from her mind since many of them often dismissed the doings of humans. Today was much different there were men and elv alike gathered around, eventually, Del'ion set his sights on the Denkou booths. Feeling his naten encroaching, small tremors with each step she would take a deep breath. This was going to require a delicate touch. Especially if he got to Haesel before she had a chance to.His search eventually brought him to a booth that was far different than the modest shacks he encountered to this point. As he approached, it seemed like the tent was built of stone. And he would have thought as much until he seem its unique fabric buckle in the coastal breeze. It was an uncommon sight, yet the more he thought of it, the more it piqued his interest. His eyes searched the outer markings of the tent for a distinguishing symbol, and settled on the surname “Denkou”. Which wouldn't mean much to him, considering the Joro held no reverence for humankind. Still, he was impressed enough by the success of their craft to approach Denkou's booth, which so happened to be the most popular in the immediate area.
"Great, the giant azure pimple had his fill of dealing with the birdbrained Gafren and now made his way to bug the Denkou."He counted dozens upon dozens of people crowded around highly decorated tables, displaying a myriad of rare ores and metals. But none of them stopped Delion from making his way to the front of the line. His bearish frame made bowling pins of the smaller beings and children alike who refused to acknowledge a superior creature, and he wouldn't stop until he reached the proprietor of this tent.
Despite being obviously annoyed having even attracted the Mazoko's attention his facial expression remained docile though strained at best. At least until he saw that the terra elv was about to knock over a group of people just to get through. Fifty scenarios ran through Haesel's head and every last one led to confrontation. No matter how calmy he would attempt to prepare himself for the encounter seeing the Jo'ro so leisurely and callously attempt to stampede the guest enjoying themselves really toicked him off. Just as he was about to take a step forward he heard Yuta's voice.
"Haesel. Allow me to handle our guest. You must not allow your anger to be the staple of who you are. Nobility acts with couth. Even when those around us lack it."
He hesitated, and in that moment in the blink of an eye, several translucent wisps of naten zipped past him with unparalleled speed latching onto the clothing of all the people in immediate danger of being walked through prioritizing the children. With but a twinkle of her nose di those strings yank those folks just enough to avoid the blue behemoth's path.
With the immediate danger of the festival's guest swiftly avoided by his kin's quick thinking the readily rising anger simmered back down to a subtly bubbling fester. This festival was supposed to be a time of congregation a safe space for the Naida coast and its neighbors to parlay and give way to the grief of the past. To foster new memories of a future that is hopefully more open and welcoming of each other. As difficult as it was for Haesel to swallow it was not impossible." Remember Haesel. A mountain must not be so easily moved."
"Yes...Lady Yuta"
Seeing the glint of excitement and wonder in the eyes of excited children elven or otherwise had brought a curious warmth to his heart. One that Del'ion was infringing upon. The Mazokou were here no doubt regarding their kind of community. A nation ruled under a single thumb. His blatant disregard for the festival's purpose itself spoke volumes to Haesael and confirmed all the reservations he had been feeling since he laid eyes on them. However, he would not overstep. Letting Yuta take the lead in addressing Del'ion. His arms remained folded as Yuta stepped forward her right hand on his shoulder.
" I would be more than happy to answer your inquiries, As these crafts you speak of are my creation."
She and Del'ion eyes were the first to meet when he started his way over here. The fact that he observed them all and only chose to speak to Haesel let her know the type she was dealing with. Men, especially elvn often have egos much larger than their bodies. In the case of Terra elvs that was even more of the case. Yet regardless of this fact she was not intimidated in the slightest and did not hesitate to speak to him. Her smile was void of warmth yet still hospitable and inviting as was the wishes of those who put this shindig together. One she intended to see abided. Haesel remained calm, his eyes never shifting for a moment locked intently with Del'ion.