NationStates Jolt Archive

The keening howl of the wind was a disconsolate plaint, mournful and appalling. Hundreds of feet below the summit of the cliff, where the icy Atlantic Ocean meets the tip of southern Xirnium, a ceaseless litany of great sea waves crashed furiously against the sharp grey rocks, like terrible siege engines brought to bear against the lofty walls of some impenetrable stronghold. Freezing torrential rain lashed down upon the earth, as it had all day, and every few minutes a flash of light would herald the crashing din of a thunderstrike.

From time to time, one of these flashes of pale white lightning would illuminate a cluster of dark towers. This was land was allodium; it had never known any masters save the lords of House Numêsalquó. No grant of Parliament had ever gifted this land; no service, in chivalry or socage, had ever been sworn in exchange for its tenure. When the earliest great kingdoms of Xirnium had first granted land “by book” this place had already been for unnumbered generations the exclusive domain of House Numêsalquó, its own by folkright. This land was ancestral, primordial; shelter to nameless terrors in a creaking grey forest that pressed in on the castle from all sides, like a numberless army whose legions of pines marched ever to war. It was raw and tempestuous, with lightning streaking the sky, as though the gods had yet to finish shaping it, to bring order to the chaos.

The vast grey bulk of Castle Vättäna was like a grim showpiece lifted straight from the pages of gothic romance. A layman would have called it a medieval fortress, seemingly perfectly preserved and unaltered. Its appearance was deceptive, for it was in fact a modern building, constructed as late as the eighteenth century, designed to look timeless. Some connoisseurs of architecture might have labelled it kitsch, as it properly belonged to no historical period. It was at best a revival of a style only ever half-imagined, the resurrection of a fairytale movement.

By day it was dazzlingly white, like chalk. Present of course was the usual, dizzying verticality of Xirniumite design, with soaring spires, the pennants at their iron tips flapping furiously in the wind. Perilously placed dormers, gabled and white-tiled, emerged from the high, thin and pointed conical roofs that crowned the castle’s many towers. Its plan was sprawling and confused, designed to look to expert eyes as though it had been added to across the centuries; here a rounded turret, there a rectangular walled courtyard, here a curtain wall, there a group of towers; but always as if the making of such annexes had been deliberately, and masterfully, concealed. As a work of art it represented everything wrong with the neo-Romantic sentiment of the Xirniumite beau monde, and everything right.

‘So anyway, where was I again?’ asked the Countess zy Numêsalquó. Her current dish of tender grouse breast sprinkled with black truffles from southern Amestria lay forgotten in front of her as she told her guests a story.

‘It was around midwinter, my Lady, and you were staying at Vännä,’ a young baron summarised.

A sense of prickly claustrophobia defined the great dinning hall of Castle Vättäna. The room was overdecorated, too full of ornament and excess. Sprays of sickly sweet, garishly colourful powdered flowers erupted from massive blue and white porcelain vases, frenetic painted stuccowork encrusted the ceiling and its cornices, intricate baroque carvings elaborated gilt wood furniture. The dinning room blazed with too much light and warmth, it glittered with the reflected flames of a hundred clusters of candles. Eléanor Sabelinà entertained a table of almost forty, mostly nobles and patricians, but also a number of prominent bureaucrats, captains of industry and members of the gentry, party apparatchiks and a smattering of diplomats from abroad.

‘We were staying at Vännä,’ the countess agreed, taking a small sip of her wine. Her voice had the practiced inflection of a politician and the high-sounding arrogance of a noble. ‘Now remember, this was in ninety-six, I think, so I would have been around twenty-four. Most of you will recall we had a particularly cold winter that year, I remember we had so much snow that weekend, almost a foot. For the benefit of those of you who don’t know Vännä, it’s about a hundred and fifty kilometres south of Teútabêth, very isolated, mostly moorland, but right on the edge of the Angâmar forest. Wolves are not uncommon, but usually they’re rather shy of people.’

‘Do you see much of them in Vännä?’ asked the curious daughter of a magistrate.

‘Not usually,’ said Eléanor, shrugging, ‘although the sound of their howling is fairly common.’ She called a liveried servant over, asking him to take her plate away and bring a glass of milky-yellow aniseed-flavoured liqueur. ‘This year was different, though. The winter was hard on the wolves; they must have been hungry and cold, because they became particularly ferocious. They became bolder, straying near homes, risking forays into stables and farmyards.’

From the end of the table, one of the nobles gasped.

‘Yes indeed, and the howling at night was just terrible,’ the countess continued. ‘A couple of people started to claim that it was the same wolf which had been responsible for the most daring attacks. This one had actually threatened one or two people, which wolves never do, or at least that was the story.’

‘But why would people think it was the same wolf?’ asked the Margravine á Favàrin-Sevrâthil zy Vesänyär in a dreamy, half-absent voice. She had not touched any of her food all evening, save to nibble curiously at a shrimp aspic jelly.

‘Well you see, each report described the very same distinctive wolf,’ Eléanor replied. ‘It was of monstrous size, with bright red eyes and great fangs. And it was an albino, with fur whiter than the snow. I didn’t believe the rumours, at first, but after a couple of confirmed sightings it became impossible to ignore. My sister and I tried hunting the wolf, but it eluded us at first.’

‘Yes from the start we realised it must be very clever, I’ve never known a wolf that acted like it,’ Lúcillia explained. ‘After another close call, this time with two children who had strayed onto the moor, we resolved to tackle the problem in earnest.’

‘Thence we come to the great hunts,’ Eléanor declared, looking excited. ‘Lúcillia and I gathered as many ladies and gentlemen as we could, and we conducted chases day after day. Oh we must have killed half a dozen wolves, I should think, but never the albino terror. We got angrier and angrier, we thundered through the Angâmar with maddened fury. The wolf became ever more audacious.’

‘And that’s when the conflict acquired a much more personal dimension,’ Lúcillia observed.

‘Oh you laugh now, sister, but it wasn’t funny at the time,’ Eléanor replied. ‘You see we awoke one morning, ready to begin a new hunt, and found it had gotten into the stables. That is, the stables at my family’s country retreat. Two foals, both born that spring, had been slaughtered.’

‘Good heavens,’ exclaimed a merchant from Neúvenärta.

‘I know,’ remarked the countess. ‘I believe the beast was mocking us; it had sent us a message that nowhere were we safe.’

‘Oh you should have seen my sister, she was frightening,’ explained Lúcillia. ‘I remember her screaming with fury, vowing that this great insult would be avenged. She gathered her finest bloodhounds and took off after it almost before I had time to mount my mare and follow her. Two others joined us, handsome counts from Nyändä, but the rest were left behind. Still not roused, I should think.’

‘Well it was well after dusk when we finally gave up the chase,’ Eléanor continued. ‘We were quite lost, we had galloped as if mad through the Angâmar, across frozen streams and through snow-covered thickets, down into icy valleys and over rugged hills. We had had nothing to eat, we had barely stopped to quench our thirst. Our steeds were worn out; the bloodhounds were tired and hungry and restless. Then we heard a howl. How can I describe it... for the very first time I had known fear. No, it was more an uncertainty, I was no longer confident of our superiority. The bloodhounds started baying, they were frightened. I knew it was the demon wolf, although I could not see it.’

‘The two counts wanted to go back, but Eléanor forbade them,’ Lúcillia added. ‘I was of half a mind to turn around myself, but fear rooted me in my place.’

‘Yes, well I think I realised then just how dangerous this wolf must be,’ the countess explained. ‘It had succeeded in luring us into the very heart of the forest, to a place we knew not where. Remember, it had managed to strike at the very heart of the people who had been pursuing it; it had strangled those foals that morning. Both my sister and those who hunted it will attest that it showed cunning and guile beyond mere animal intelligence.’

‘I beg that you tell us what happened next, my Lady!’

‘Well, there was another howl and then the wolf burst into the clearing, growling low and ferociously,’ replied Eléanor. ‘It was far larger than I had imagined, white as the full moon, half-crazed in appearance, the hair on its back standing erect. The bloodhounds whimpered and cowered behind my horse, the counts froze in their saddles. My sister shouldered her shotgun and fired at the beast, but missed. It made for me, snarling. I tell you, my friends, it knew I was the leader of the hunt. I was gripped by terror, it was fast as lightning, but I recalled the sheer arrogance of this wolf. It had dared to defy us all, so anger replaced my fear. I reined my mare about and shot it, almost by luck, with a bolt from my crossbow.’

‘Oh it wasn’t dead yet,’ Lúcillia went on, ‘merely wounded, though critically. The counts recovered enough to shoot after it as it fled, limping from its injury, but succeeded only in frightening it, not hitting it at all. I also fired another shell from my remaining barrel in its direction. Unfortunately I had not the time to reload or even to change guns before it was gone. I think I missed it, my horse you see was terrified, it was neighing and refused to sit still.’

‘We followed its trail of blood and footprints on the snow for about an hour, our fear having subsided, but we never did find it,’ Eléanor continued. ‘It seemed to have disappeared into a thicket, perhaps to die there alone, but we couldn’t know for sure, for fresh snow had by then concealed its path. It was late morning before we returned, exhausted and hungry, to the castle. You will be pleased to know that the albino wolf was never heard of again. Indeed, the rest of the winter passed very pleasantly in Vännä, and the wolves seemed to change in character abruptly; they were as amiable as ever.’

The table nodded and began to murmur again, the tale was over. A few gave servile praise at their hostess’ storytelling talents.

‘Pray excuse me, my Lady, but was any of that anecdote true?’ asked the magistrate’s daughter, after the table had fallen silent for a few moments. She smiled politely as a servant refilled her glass with a bottle of lovely fortified white wine.

‘My dear creature, it’s all perfectly true, I swear to you,’ smiled the countess. As the storm intensified and the high mullioned windows rattled more noisily, a number of violinists and cellists began to play a touch more loudly.

OOC: I must apologise for my lateness in posting.

"Certainly the interesting tale, Quivettyie Numêsalquó," replied the Lady Tolion as she toyed with the Truffles daintily, savouring their unusual taste, quite different from Sautéed Jewel Fruit, or Stir Fried Qveul or the myriad of other aromatic Novan Dishes, yet the xirniumite cuisine captivated the sense, simply for it’s orthodoxy, if that were the proper thought for it, she more than anyone else knew that the Novans in many nations defined unorthodox, and that was putting it lightly. The crack of thunder however seemed to contrast with Lady Tolion, who seemed at stark contrast to the weather, as if dressed for far more pleasant climates, indeed, the Novans present at this event seemed as if from another world, and in some aspects they were, the Novacom Home Isles were an enigma to all, as removed from the rest of the worlds concept of normality as they were from most of the worlds events, gradually emerging from isolation in accordance with whatever unfathomable edicts came from their strange government, alien to all others, yet it’s people were flesh and blood humans, if somewhat different in what their ethnicity leaned towards, yet people of this world nonetheless.

The Novans had been relatively quiet thus far at the gathering, quiet and reserved, the Lady Tolion was apparently at ease in such a setting, obviously a veteran of such affairs she had a wistful almost mournful air, as if recalling once more what she had lost, her companion, her soul mate, her husband, since that fateful event her attendance at such an event had been a rarity, content to occupy the cavernous halls of her home in that most ancient of cities, Kravirez, there she had overseen the elevation of many in the military, for she had made such strengthening her task and duty.

They had been announced as visitors of the honoured lady, dry as a bone despite the mournful weather, indeed they looked at complete odds with such dreariness despite two of them having a pale complexion, the other two were of a more tanned aspect, not surprising considering the Novans notably hot summer weather, the only ones whose complexion could not be ascertained were that of the four guards, who hidden beneath those ever contradictory helms and garbed in those iconic tunics that were that of the Novan military, red piping upon black, right arm from shoulder traced with a faint shimmering, as if several transparent layers had been affixed to their shoulders, emblems shimmered slightly melding with words, words that could only be in Novan, that unknowable language,

The Lady Tolion was unmistakable, tall like all Novans, noble was her standing, willowy was her aspect, her features were airy upon her face and her high cheek bones gave her face an almost mythic aura, of a daughter of some magnificent deity, her hair was vertical, drawn up into a thin ring and hen canting back in towards the crown of her head, before rising up again at an angle this time less rigid, and more naturally swirling , giving her hair the appearance of a generous helping of ice cream upon a cone, her garb was subtly different to that of the others, a flared neckpiece of a deep midnight blue crept up the back of her neck, and framed the sides before dropping down to the rest of her tunic, a many layered affair creating an ascetically pleasing blend of the Novan colours, that would at first appear to be inconceivably unpleasant to wear in such warm environs until one realised the many layers, if they had at all, such was the splendour of the attire, with dual sleeves at each hand, one flared forth over the back of the hand, while the other flared back over the arm, the layers became more evident as they appeared to begin to decrease in numbers, artfully the more a viewers gaze descended, approaching her waist the layers increased slightly creating another fantastic blend of colour of overlapping layers covering her slender legs and concealing her feet from view, indeed the movement, the slight movement of any part of the outfit created a shifting tapestry of colour, a manner of dress seen thus far only by the Twin Princes, but of course the Xirniumites were unlikely to have heard of the children of perhaps the last of the Novan’s Royal Line. A smile graced her features and an earring hung from each ear, the Novan National Emblem, in miniature artfully rendered into a piece of jewellery apart from that single adornment, no other attempts did she make to enhance her advanced beauty, which even now was undiminished by age nor was it by sorrow, her gait was confidant and her poise was perfect, her aura, that of a typical Novan, guarded mystery, however there was something else, an immense presence of mind, an evident knowledge, this was one who had scene the extremes of life, love, emotion and fate, appearing for a moment like that legendary prophetess Viginias she smiled, surrounded by her associates.

Moddie, as he had been nicknamed was a tall almost gaunt figure, yet one evidently full of life, a cheeky grin lightened his features, and crimson red hair contrasted with the Lady Tolion’s, Brown-Blonde swirl, his garb, akin to Novan Dress Uniform with a few unique affectations of his own, although primarily red piped, a tinge of yellow entered here and there, a sign to those in the know that he bore affiliation to both the Military, and Novacom Manufacturing, his shoulders were broad, and his gaze was wide, his garb, as was to be expected of Novan Military Dress Uniform was uncluttered, with gold stitching surrounding a fair few aspects, in particular the Novan War Phoenix emblazoned on the upper left arm, and unlike Battle Dress, the front portion of the lower half of the Tunic did not recede to the sides, rather instead hung full down around all of the legs, at the bottom emerged practical yet unassuming looking boots, which themselves were black with red piping and that same yellow tinge, the cuffs on the sleeves rolled back up revealing yet more red enhanced with yellow, not enough to turn the colour orange, but enough to be noticeable, many were the subtleties acossited with the Novans, and although they rarely gave out information, much could be cleaned simply from garments, the only other affectation was a black cane with a well cut ruby atop, and appeared to be purely for decoration or some other purpose, as he clearly had no need to aid in his steps, and certainly did not look old enough to require such a thing, indeed the few elderly Novans seen, had appeared to move unaided just fine, indeed upon being introduced, he had spun his cane round in his hand before slamming it back down into the ground with a flourish. With a charismatic smile he beamed around the room, a face that would perhaps be known to one or two, but perhaps not considering the secrecy of Project Succubus and indeed all mention of what had happened at the Kahanistanian research facility, for it had been he who had delivered in person the Materials for the Psychic Beacon to Yuri, but of course that was another tale of this individual, enigmatic as he was.

The Third with Raven Black hair, cropped and styled was the incorrigible Valcus Torrodell, who wore an expression only a Novan would understand, the Lady Tolion had deliberately goaded the Ambassador along on this outing, without informing him of what it entailed, his extreme distaste for the politicking of many was of absolute legend, the only surprise to most observers was that he had not a thing to do with the souring of Novan-Xirniumite relations, having been elsewhere, indeed a tumultuous shouting match between himself and Srihcaul Kitas had endured for the best part of an entire day as to how Otto had failed to realise the so called Izalien at the conference was a fake, indeed it had only stopped when they had landed back at Novesia, he wore a more humble attire, his usual uniform like garb, however with some adornments, the Governmental blue highlights shimmered and shone like eternal sapphires and his own cuffs were flared, however in a different manner, in four outcroppings of fabric which resembled an arm of the Novan Flag, a placid smile graced his face and a thunderous emotion swirled in the stormy depths of his viridian eyes, which had narrowed slightly when Moddie had performed some of his theatrics, out of the trio, chances were he would be the more recognisable, despite his lower position on the outwardly perceived ladder.

So had they been heralded and so had they been seated, they had savoured the somewhat rich delicacies of Xirnium, and had at times enjoined in the conversations, but they appeared entranced by the atmosphere, if not slightly in an almost subtle distain at the sheer garishness of the décor then again, the seeming sparseness and more epicurean styles prevalent in Novan Architecture had some analogues in Xirniumite architecture, mainly the verticality, however there the similarities ended and varied little from city to city, for the most part, however exceptions such as Kravirez, Xikar, Temzen, Kazik among others had their own distinct styles, as had the many fantastical cities of Valjsguard before the continent had been ravaged by a war decades long, after the Quivettyie had finished her tale, Moddie was the first of the Novans to speak, “An Enchanting tale indeed, it’s never pleasant to become the hunted, I myself certainly know what it’s like when a plan spectacularly upends itself, sometimes however it works out for the best, I speak from experience on this matter, and you can probably guess as to how as well, wounded animals frequently recover, I somehow doubt you have seen the last of the creature, or at the very least it’s progeny, we ourselves have had to pay quite the price for such a lesson.” He ended leadingly as a crack of thunder rattled at the windows, casting his face into contrast of darkness and light.

OOC: Me too. But I’m on holidays now so should be good from here on out. You'll have to excuse the poor post to - in the middle of redoing my room and only just got the computer plugged back in, and have my mum demanding i go and help clean out the gutters so yeah..

IC: The brutal conclusion of the Gallian uprising in the neighbouring nation of Aschenhyrst had heralded an end to the array of conflicts throughout the globe that involved the Empire in some aspect or another. With peace restored, General Caracas had returned to the glorious Imperial City of Arrandin and eagerly volunteered when the Emperor asked who wished to take up the latest invitation to travel to Xirnium.

His happiness at the chance to turn in his armour for something more comfortable however faded more quickly with each hour that past, and now sitting at crowded table in Castle Vättana he had begun to regret his decision. It had nothing do with being in Xirnium though; he quite enjoyed the dreary weather and the serious and dignified manner of the Xirniumite people. It wasn’t even the food, in fact that was quite nice too. Xirniumite cuisine had actually been accepted reasonably well in the Empire and was almost to it what Chinese food was to many other ‘western’ nations. No, under normal circumstances this gathering would likely have been quite an enjoyable experience but now a desire to just be at home for the first time in a very lengthy period had fallen upon him.

Slightly fatigued, Caracas listened distractedly to the Countess’ story, his attention flicking sporadically between her, what he could see of the storm outside through a nearby window, the food on his plate and the other delegates, particularly the Novan representatives who stuck out from the crowd with their highly individualised style and demeanour. He realised though that he and his fellow High Councillor the Imperial State Commander, the Lady Saroir probably raised the same intrigued glances themselves. Both Councillors were adorned in the entirely dark blue cloaks of their office, which covered all of them except for their heads and whatever appeared visible through the gaping part at the front, beneath the golden clasp of the Imperial Insignia, which joined the cloak at the neck. While Caracas had his drawn around him as usual, Saroir had pushed hers back behind her so that the cloak barely remained draped off her shoulders, revealing the stunning sleeveless black dress she was attired in and the coin sized oval sapphire which sat embedded in a pendant which hung from a gold chain around her neck, surrounded by smaller diamonds.

The State commander had almost become the semi-official Yallakian representative to Xirnium and if there was some task or diplomatic event to be done in Xirnium, she was usually the one to do it. So it was no surprise to Caracas that she seemed quite comfortable here, absorbed in the conversation and almost unaware of his presence as he sat quietly hoping to avoid bringing attention to himself.

‘Indeed, quite the story,’ she added to the Novan’s comments. ‘Reminds me of the hunting trip I once went on in the Cloudspire Mountains in the very north of the Empire. Of course our targets weren’t out to get us in return so that made it a bit easier.’

OOC: Apologies from me as well, both for my lateness and the quality of this post. Work has been such a torment recently, it’s hard to get motivated.

Distracted too, like the Yallakian general, was the Margravine á Favàrin-Sevrâthil zy Vesänyär. She kept missing bits of conversation and casting preoccupied glances out of the nearest windows, where nothing could be seen save when lightning bleached the castle’s well-cultivated grounds and threw the looming forest into sharp relief. The margravine was a curious creature, last scion of a noble family infamous for its ancient cruelty. Her lips were bloodless and cheek milky blue, her hair was lank and glossy and black, falling limply to her waist. She looked tired and slightly weak, as though just recovering from a terrible illness that had sapped her of all her energy, and her drained complexion reminded one of a person drowned at sea.

Both the Novans and the Yallkians interested Zsófia, as indeed they interested most of the other guests at the table, but unlike her countrymen the margravine did not disguise her curiosity with politeness and instead stared openly at the foreigners. She half-listened as Eléanor replied to the Lady Tolion, studying the Novan for his reaction.

‘Careful with such gloomy pronouncements, sir, I won’t have you frightening all my guests,’ joked the countess. ‘Half are already convinced that what we encountered was some kind of goblin wolf, a Baúgern, and my niece tells me that those who glimpsed its form are probably cursed and doomed to die the most gruesome deaths. The rest are certain it sired those other strange demon creatures one occasionally hears of in these parts, headless dogs and red-eyed wolves. Nonsense, I say!’

‘But, my lady, surely you don’t believe that there are no mysteries at all out there in the dark, things unexplained and unexplainable?’ asked an amused count from the perpetually frozen city of Findälwindä. As the gentleman finished speaking a particularly alarming lightning strike bathed the room in white and cast deep shadows across people’s faces. Some of the guests laughed at its ironic timing.

‘Oh goodness, next you’ll all start talking about spectral ghosts and table-turning and tarot cards,’ smiled Eléanor. ‘The beast was mortal, of that much I am certain. Everything else follows as a matter of course, but I agree with our honoured friends on at least one matter. Plans often upend themselves.’

‘To misguided counsel and unraveled plans!’ toasted one slightly drunk baroness, and the table drained their wineglasses in reply.

The margravine did not join in, but instead continued to mull over the Novan’s words as she watched their curious foreign mannerisms. She turned to the tall gentleman who had spoken to the countess, moist eyes blinking rapidly as she stared at him with unsettling candour.

‘Speaking of unvanquished foes, sir,’ she began in an absent-minded voice, distractedly twining her hair around a pale finger, ‘how proceeds your campaign against the Kukonian insurgents? Are there many more heads remaining for you to chop off the crafty hydra?’

Elsewhere the conversation had moved on, with the hostess’ attention shifting to the Yallakians.

‘The Cloudspire mountains you say, my lady?’ asked Eléanor. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know them. Good hunting, I take it? What type of game do you find there?’ she inquired, expressing genuine personal interest.

‘I’ve always found the concept of hunting rather cruel and barbaric, myself,’ observed a lady beside General Caracas, a former justice of the assizes. ‘When one considers the horses and firearms and bloodhounds, the wretched prey really have no chance at all, do they?’

The countess smiled tolerantly.

A hint of surprise spread across Saroir’s face at Eléanor’s statement and she muttered a quiet ‘oh’. It was easy to forget that someone mightn’t know that which was common knowledge to everyone within the Empire. The State Commander quickly recovered her bright smile though and explained herself for the benefit of those listening.

‘Yes, the Cloudspire mountains. They run much of the length of the Empire’s northern border – thousands of kilometres east to west and hundreds again from the border down south. And all of it composed of unimaginably titanic mountains, frozen over with ice and snow at all times of the year.’

Excitement poured into her delightful voice as she spoke which may have done more to reveal the nature of the Cloudspire than her words. The range was simply an amazing view, even if one had glimpsed it before. The peaks burst up through the clouds and only a perfectly clear day could hope to reveal them to the millions who lived under their shadows. Probably how the range received it name almost two millennia ago.

‘To be accurate though we weren’t really in the mountains themselves,’ Saroir explained, ‘only the low ranges that lead up to them. There you will commonly find your average tundra beasts – Wolves, Yaks, Stags, Deer, Bears, and Snow and Mountain Leopards. There are probably a few others that I may have forgotten to mention too. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that hunting is not really partaken in as a sport in the Empire,’ she said addressing the Xirniumite lady beside Caracas, ‘It normally only occurs when one wants a lavish main course for some special occasion or holiday or if a predator has come down from the mountains to prey on livestock during particularly harsh conditions and needs to be ‘removed’.’

‘Anyway,’ she continued, returning her attention to Eléanor, ‘beyond the low ranges and foothills you enter the true Spire but few dare to venture into its depth,’ she declared, all the previous elation evaporating from her speech. ‘There are untold terrors living in the permanently dark and icy woods.’

‘If you believe the stories,’ interjected the General, though his demeanour revealed his comment was more of an annotation than an expression of any disbelief for the State Commanders words.

‘It is hard not to,’ Saroir continued, unperturbed by the interruption. ‘Most of the few people we know to have entered the Spire’s depths in recent memory die there or come back with broken minds or horrendous injuries from creatures they cannot identify, more often than not even both.’ Her expression had now become quite serious. ‘And on very rare occasions, livestock in the northern farms is ravaged overnight. And I’m not speaking about your average few animals going missing save for the bloody patches where they were killed, I’m talking large portions of stock shredded to pieces, carnage that not even a whole pack of wolves could hope to achieve given a week to gorge themselves.’

And with that she stopped to catch her breath for a moment, the very though of what she had arrived to see once in the foothills where her uncle owned a farm sending a shiver down Saroirs spine.

OOC: Bit of an iffy post, but I did promise

IC: "Countess, I would most assuredly not alarm, what you may not know however,” Paused the great lady dramatically as the thunder roared in the background, “That far too much of my countries Mythology, is being proven to be a fact, and considering what else is linked with such things, I would much rather believe that Goblin Wolves are real, than the Avatar’s of God’s, The Riders of Fate and the Temple’s Ascendant are real, despite the latter having been proven real not even a week ago. Though I must say, Red Eyed Wolves are hardly unusual, then again, as you are more than likely well aware, much of Novacom is often mysterious and inexplicable, even our history is such to some.,” finished Lady Tolion enigmatically, making plainly clear, yet again the unusual nature of the Novan State, in yet another unexpected way, as she placed knife over fork and rotated her plate, evidently in some unusual Novan dining Gesture.

“Lady Tolion, You refer to the reports from the Battle of Xritoygang-Vartsianyurgeuse, most disturbing, especially since at last report, that Kukonois’ Cyborg General, Lord Iccaproti, and his elite Cydivax Guard escaped upon the craft, and then proceeded to use some sort of arcane defence mechanism to obliterate the pursuit unit, which may I add, was equipped with Tokontu and Ridovanjizak’s” chipped in Valcus, who had by now evidently mellowed considerably, enjoying the entire affair considerably more than when the purpose of the visit had been unveiled, a fact which tugged the corner’s of Auria mouth upwards in a faint smile.

The Final member of the Novan Entourage scowled at the last mentions, “Whatever those craft are equipped with, it is of significance, as you are aware, I more than any other living being can vouch for the tenacity of those designs,” the man positively glowered from underneath his cap, which while similar to an officer’s cap, bore in addition to Novan Insignia, his corporate emblem, that of the former Tokon, and now Tokontu research Team, recently consolidated into a entity referred to as Umbrella, ironic indeed, considering that it itself, existed under the umbrella of Novacom Manufacturing.

“Rest assured my friend Sergyev, there was no intended slight, however we can all agree, that this recent resurgence is of concern when the final push to citadel is being planned” soothed Valcus, who for a split second betrayed an ounce of worry, as evidently the situation was more dire than one would think, he shrugged slightly, and raised his head slightly, to gaze out upon the storm without the chamber, his long raven hair hanging around his face, curling inwards as if to hug his face, his Vzaakqe, the Ceremonial hat borne by Novan Politicians, rested upon the crown of his head his piercing cerulean eyes un-focusing as he smiled, evidently lost in thought.

Auria meanwhile smirked dryly at Valcus, the man was becoming even more random with each passing day, before deciding to needle the veteran diplomat, “You need not worry about any slight from Valcus, Sergyey,” Paused the immense woman, extending a delicately manicured hand forth to imbibe upon the exquisite local wine, smiling gently in delight at the unusual taste’s before continuing, “At times, I have my doubts as to whether he could tell the difference between a Tokontu and a Platypus, after all he was unable to discern my Son’s fiancé from a crass imposter!” her tone had risen audibly at the last, emphasizing what had begun to filter around the world, her Son’s approaching Marriage to Minister Izalien, smiling, Auria raised her glass slightly, as if to examine an engraving in the light, as she waited for Valcus to realize where her attentions now lay.

She wasn’t to be disappointed of course, as Valcus smile widened before it deadened and turned his head to face her a wild expression gleaming in his eyes, “Well, Lady Supraster, we cannot all have the luxury of being able to know where the ministers are, nor can anybody but you summon us all on a mere seconds notice to drop everything come dashing from the capitol and make the monumental trek through the Kikerioualas Canyons, past the Riudgityuokan Forests, across the Deserts of Xikar, beyond the Gorogoszhnen Lakeland’s, and down the Iopreniktzen Steppes to Kravirez, to report to you in person in the Tyatizkqyar Tanzinyenar (Eye of Eternity), and in the Ante Chamber no less, those giant pendulums give me a headache when we have to wait upon your convenience, and I for one do not maintain extensive quarters in Kraviriez, nor am I aware that Izalien does so, so I and Otto, could hardly be expected to be aware of what state the Minister would be in when she arrived, and you know as well as I do that there are many familial lines that were divided, for all we know, that detestable imposter could be some relation to Izalien.” He finished stiffly, his eyes betrayed an intense fury at having been deceived, however severe control was a quality expected from all Novan’s, there would be no grand explosion here, fortunately those gathered were friends, and as such would be accorded the proper dignities.

Auria smiled gently, nodding regally at Valcus, he had indeed said the right thing, for the formidable woman much enjoyed the reaction when visitors first entered her home, the immense vaunted ceilings, free hovering Crystals suspended in an immense lattice, a great corridor lined with exquisite statuary, leading out upon a vast chamber, upon which great pendulums, wrought from the purest of Silvers in the form of Ancient Novan insignia swung the chamber itself was of dizzying proportions, and had 3 passageways leading off of it, in addition to the one leading to it, it was here that she would occasionally deign to meet guests, standing upon a platform at the center of this room, standing regally tall she would hold court over any visitors, before deigning as to whether guests were worthy of entry into the inner chambers, sampling the wine again she nodded to her by now favored Phziaernaie, her assistant, who returned a gentle smile back uttering a single word, Gyotenek-Torezityar-Nokuzevoten.

Meanwhile Moddie had turned to the margravine and inclined his head respectfully, “Most Assuredly, Honored Lady, the campaign fluctuates, before this week it would appear that the Hydra retained only one head, that of Citadel, now however, considerable evaluation must be given to this matter,” his soft words were laced with subtle undertones and his hands moved in gentle gestures that seemed to portray something else, “Allow me to start from the beginning, our history states that in the last days of the Ascension Wars, Voronzal Jindrax was captured, or turned himself in to the guard of the High Priest Ascendant, or DiriNartiyensokreizien, He was then brought into the presence of the Priest, within the Sanctum Fortress, a great temple of an unknown white stone. Now the legends say that within the Priest showed him a great summoning, and explained that most of the priestdom had fallen to greed, and now ran counter to the teachings of their religion, and that this summoning, an effort to bring forth the righteousness of the gods, would unite the people once and for all, and would end this split. Indeed, the murals show a fantastical sight, platforms hovering in mid air, great columns of light, and priests and ascendants dancing ritual steps, which have been verified to be of significance, central to all Murals are the DiriNartiyensokreizien, a figure always bathed in pure light with a ritual stave, consulting with the young son of the Potentiality God, The Great Dragon Jindrax.

The Cycles go on to say however, that the summoning was interdicted, or intercepted, and a split occurred, or perhaps it didn’t occur at all, regardless, an aspect of a god did indeed appear upon the mortal plane, however it was a corrupted aspect and sought to impose upon this world it’s dominion, the Priest seeing this travesty, called upon young Voronzel, and his love of his people to work with him to banish this avatar, no sooner did he agree, then Ritoyar Xalxonois, the direct ancestor of Poval Kukonois, burst into the chamber with a cadre of his finest, and as this happened, the priest uttered a word of power, and so too did a cadre of Voronzel’s finest appear, now Voronzel and Ritoyar had become staunch rivals and enemies, yet in such a place there would be no discord, and upon the words of Voronzel, the compact was sealed, they joined arms against this aspect, and it was indeed terrible, trapped within a half formed font of power, in which the priests and ascendants found themselves unable to stop their rituals. The cycles are unclear as to the grand scale of the battle, what is known however, is that the aspect was banished, yet in doing so the DiriNartiyensokreizien, and his faith were to be banished from the home isles forever, and as the aspect fell back unto the portal he hurled his great weapon at Ritoyar, wounding him, and his descendants, and empowering the places of worship of the Diri E I G Ignen with power, and in less than a week the temples had risen from the very ground itself and taken flight, taking with them the faithful and the devoted, while the DiriNartiyensokreizien, empowered a new High Priest Ascendant in his place, and passed away,” Moddie paused to sample a delightful local spirit, savoring it greatly.

“Now, this may seem like an unrelated tale, however, in a recent battle, the Cyborg general of Zeon has been reported to have unearthed, and reactivated gigantic temple like aircraft and escaped by air upon them, now naturally, such things throw all of our calculations out of balance, for even with our finest equipment we cannot track these temples, they are invisible to satellite tracking, and cannot be detected via conventional methods, our only consolation is Citadel is isolated, but as to whether Kukonois still resides within the fortress, well that is of concern.” Moddie, finished rested his hands upon one another and inclined his head gently.