Interlude Progression: Back To Where It All Began

These were a party of individuals who retrieved an item called the Key of Arsaera for the Justice Arken. This is the resulting series of events.

She had promised that "when she had need of them, the summons would come swiftly." Many who had collaborated with the Justice Arken before were sure that they would wake up one night yanked from their beds in resplendent armor, some crested hill gleaming in the distance with enemies she would command them to slay; or perhaps a titanic enemy of their Estellon faith for whom they would serve as willing distractions. However, it was not to be. Of the ten travelers - Sahith, Aedalyn, Emile, Ellamae, Trent, Narvann, Harlow, Drulailmon, Tull'ryn, and Gyrivenn - each received a letter carefully decorated with blazing blue and silver ink, inviting them to take passage westward to distant Talant Ilha Faial to honor their oath. Perhaps the Justice Arken did not strike as the type of person to own a boat, but as he stepped up the wooden slats that led to the swan-like, marbly white skiff, Sahith could not help but grumble about how of course, of course it looked like that. They seemed like unusual company stood next to one another, but together, were perfectly Regalian -- misfits assembled under a common interest, on the mysterious promises of a fire-eyed demigod. It was not long before she appeared abovedeck, the Allorn present bowing and offering the standard "Artarel Avaal" in greeting, and outlined the details of their journey. Not to worry -- they would not be stranded atop the drifting and swirling seas for the month passage west usually took, as this was no ordinary boat, and Arken did not travel without style.

The moment the small ship's keel began to part the open sea a short distance from the Regalian port, a thick fog swirled in. The Arken, grinning with a rampant mischief few might expect from her, raised her hands and chanted, patterns of blue electricity flashing and crackling through the air. As her palms turned and twisted, the fog moved in turn, obeying her motions: the water seemed almost solid, marble cracks appearing in its now otherworldly blue surface. All traveling alongside her would have then felt profoundly uncomfortable, bones tensing under the profound weight of Exist Magic, minds compressing with the voices which seemed to appear from nowhere and whisper their ills and maladies into their ears: begging for retribution, for the chance to set the matter right and even the scales. A tense feeling which only subsided when the fog cleared again with another turn of her hands, revealing the coast of Ilha Faial beyond them: jagged rocks lined with ports and coves, Fin'ullen patrol ships flying the blue and teal of the Princedom cutting a smooth line through the water. None amongst them precisely hailed from that land, not even the Teledden in the group: Ilha Faial was well and truly Fin'ullen country, a sailors' Princedom from which the Allorn navy had always been based, with wide quays and open roads that were a far cry from the spire-choked skies many of them had been born under.

Disembarking was an altogether unusual affair. Those who had been to Ilha Faial before might have noted a vast increase in the amount of guards and soldiers milling around compared to their previous visit. Regalia was not the only state in the world that had reacted to growing tensions and the military stalemate in Daen: here there were fifteen different layers of checkpoints and survey stations to help weed out potential spies and enemy agents looking to export the battlefield to Ilha Faial. Despite this, there were few customs officers who were brave enough to tell the Justice Arken to wait in a line, and so after around five minutes of haggling the ten of them walked into the city proper, Ellamae enveloping Emile and the two of them hidden under a cloak to look like a Mutation-stricken Slime Mage, the rest of them walking around in the open. The party's path began under the well-lined main roads but seemed to become increasingly seedier as they progressed, the Arken taking her time not to tell anyone where they were going, but rather to exposit about the history and districts of Ilha Faial, appearing to have a certain fondness for the place. There was quite a bit to be fond about: the smell of grills and roasts lined many roads as parties of soldiers stacked their spears in a circle and settled around rich tables of crab, lobster, fried and breaded squid and white fish, and a variety of olive-speckled bread and what looked like vinegary peppers. Aeda'lyn needed to give Tull'ryn a few dignified pokes to keep him from wandering off to join them, Trent's eyes glimmering a little with an unspoken interest to go with him. However, the lot of them stuck with the Arken, until their arrival at their intended location.

It was a great ruined palace, half sunken into the earth, half melded into the side of a small mountain. Some miles from the edge of the Old City where the roads finally faded into dirt and disappeared under the encroachment of ravines and the edge of the Wildering jungle at the place where underbrush was too thick to be cleared, the ground swallowed up its stately gate like a great maw closing wide around the marblework. Chisel and hammer marks were apparent where enterprising looters had stripped the edge of the gold detailing that must have once lined it, and the faded figures of frescoes were visible, courtly Allorn figures dancing with one another along mirror-threaded silver ballroom floors that still reflected light even in their dilapidated state. Their arrival just about coincided with nightfall, which betrayed the presence of what the Justice Arken had bid them steal the Key to break, and the reason why whoever had done work on the outside had not been able to progress further in. Not visible under the sun, the moonlight began to illuminate a large sheet of glowing blue Magic that barred the interior like a curtain, runes of Allorn court Magic forming a sentence across its width, etched in a lighter shade. The only one there old enough to possibly remember was Drulailmon, who gave a pensive hum and reached up to tap their jaw, curious eyes narrowing. Not their Cahal self, they had chosen to appear instead as a male Teledden bedecked in golden finery, likely another soul Justice had dragged along for their purposes from a different group who had played another role in the situation.

Even they could not entirely put together what the ward was saying - something about the legacy of mercy, a prayer to the mercy of Mana, to keep judgment away. For after a curt step forward, shadowed like vultures by Harlow and Gyrivenn who had a particular investment in what she was about to do, the Arken raised the strange hexagonal seal that had been delivered to her, and aimed it, clutched in her extended hand, towards the ward. None of them were prepared for what would follow. Her words fell like hammer blows, a beam of pure Exist Magic bent through the tuning fork of the Key colliding with the Shield and setting it ablaze. Each syllable was spoken with murderous intent, in both her female voice and the echo of a male counterpart: the sheer force of her willpower bent the sky, the eyes of all the Exist Silven there discharging liquid-heavy silver Essence into the freezing air, clouding their vision. Even the dispossessed Gyrivenn could feel the voices pounding in the back of his head, like the Arken's list of sinners was pounding through his consciousness at three times its usual speed, unable to be controlled or stopped. When the dust cleared, there was a single rectangular door further into the ruin, propped open by silver wards where Justice's Magic was holding the way. Confidently, without looking for approval or consensus, she swept her white cloak to the side and began to walk in. The rest quickly followed as soon as they could bring their aching minds back to the present, unwilling to be left behind.

The interior was no less grand than the exterior. Moreover, marveled Narvann as he could not help but raise a hand to his mouth to conceal his childlike ecstasy, it had truly not been touched since it was sealed in the Allorn days. The Wildering had done it the disservice of being tilted down at an angle and flowing underground, causing some papers to be strewn about and a few heavier chests to have slid, but otherwise all was more or less preserved. Spindly marble roofing beams reflected one another in perfect symmetry as they pushed into the fused stone overhead, both genuine gold and gold paint alike dancing down and around as they formed sunburst patterns and depictions of the ancient Elven Nobility on the walls. Perhaps most striking was the great painting hung in the cavernous antechamber, around ten people wide and ten people tall, which depicted four strikingly large Altalar standing next to one another. They seemed fond of each other's company, a family, even. On the left stood the recognizable Empress Talea, prompting a few of them to restrain their urge to kneel - on her right, a smiling Prince Sanraan, recognized first by Sahith, who permitted himself the guilty pleasure of a knowing smile in return. However, there were two more who none present (except Drulailmon, but they were not going to tell) recognized immediately, until Aedalyn stepped forward and daintily cleared her throat. "Princess Alaïaam," she pronounced the first one - a very unhappy-looking, muscular woman with a greatbow slung over her shoulder - "and Prince Fenhellëy," she declared the second, gesturing at a scholarly-looking man with an elaborate peacock quill who seemed very pleased to be there, mid-sentence at the time of his depiction. Butting in, Trent pushed himself forward, asking the question that had been on everyone's mind in the apologetic but curt tone that had come to be expected of him. "Justice -- if I could, please -- what exactly /is/ this place?"

It was in that moment that she realized that she had brought company in the first place. Turning around, she revealed that her eyes were flaming several tones brighter, a hard wind blowing as she shoved her cloak aside with the motion. Ignoring his question entirely, she issued a series of commandments, staring each of the small fellowship down as she did so, in no particular order. "You will touch nothing. Nothing. I will let each of you take one thing - I know best, so I will point out what, and you will retrieve it then. Take nothing else. I will know. You will not like what happens." Gyrivenn and Harlow both stood straighter, sweat building on their foreheads as they full well understood what this kind of tone meant: not a hair out of place. Snapping back, the Arken led the way through further chambers, each of them no less grand than the one that had come before, although without conspicuous familial paintings to match. The decor changed colors from gold to silver to an Arcane polished, glimmering teal that nowadays resided in only the oldest and most prestigious of Ivaëllan buildings that had survived. Even Emile and Ellamae, who as renegades and runaways from even the comparatively merciful Regalian authority must have hated every despotic and tyrannical thing the Allorn Empire stood for, might have felt the melancholy of the great doom of the Elves tug at their heartstrings in this great and quiet place, imagining what it must have once been, and what it might never be again.

Passing deeper into the interior, each guest began to accrue their promised mementos. Some received them with reverence, others with a passing nod - some had purpose, some were entirely without. For Narvann, it was a hexagonal prism not unlike the Key which he fell to a knee and bowed to receive, not daring to ask its purpose - which was elaborated to him nevertheless. "Get you that Llewyn of yours, and submit them. Pray to me on that Key, and I will show myself and turn them to my will." For Harlow, a strange sword which resembled the two that ambiently bobbed near him, but was mottled with bloodstains that did not seem to wash out, scoring marks down its length. "You have Aravai and Aravond. This is Arashal, Traitorname, third of the works forged by Mennan, the one not inherited by my predecessor, for he thought it too dirty to use. You do dirty work. It will suit you fine - keep it. But it will not bond to your Magic like the rest." For Drulailmon's Teledden form and Aedalyn, two identical pairs of prayer beads forged of mottled glass and scored with lotus patterns - Drulailmon's blue with silver etching, and Aedalyn's silver with blue etching. From whichever angle a bead was turned, it would seem that an eye stared back at them from the interior, with the lotus settled in its pupil. "May you two find harmony and pray together. These are metred prayer beads of the ascetic priests of old Hyä-Ereya, in the times before it became a jungle, when Suel's men lived there together with the Fourteenth Army and the Fin'ullen encampments on the plain. Complete a verse and look into each eye. You will find that if you do not break the stare, no matter how long the prayer is, it will always end exactly as you are done with the last bead." For Trent, the Arken retrieved a silvered shield, with a shimmering depiction of a cavalryman with resplendent cloak and plume raising his spear to the sky and shouting adorning the front. "This was equipment of the Third Company of Palace Lancers of the last Empress, Mellanëvaeia. Their lineage was completely destroyed in Cataclysm and has not been recreated since, so you do not have to worry about being mistaken for an Allorn agent. Please do not break it."

For Emile and Ellamae, a pair of small rings with vine iconography winding around their edges, that glimmered gold when cast in sunlight and silver when leant into the darkness. "You are not Est-Allorn - you are not even tangentially related to the Est-Allorn. I do not think you would much care for any of the historical pieces in here, and you fight too much to keep them safe. But, to my understanding, you /do/ care for each other - so remember yourselves by these." Next was Tull'ryn, who received a stationery kit lined with bottles of blue ink that seemed a bit luminescent. The quill and its companion quills were in excellent condition, adorned with the resplendent feathers of birds which more than likely no longer decorated the sky, having disappeared well before the end of the Allorn days. "I do not know you, or know of you - but I know that your wife is a priestess, and that a good husband will make writings of his wife's scripture to preserve them, because a prayer well thought is a prayer well remembered." That left Sahith and Gyrivenn as they proceeded closer and closer to the interior, the light of the blue stones affixed to containers on the walls dimming. For Sahith, the Arken pulled from the wall a large and dignified-looking tome bound with Nightsilver, and pushed it into his arms. She silenced his confused expression with an explanation. "An original Book of Demons, with illustration, cast in the Allorn style. You Suvial think highly of yourselves, and your skill at binding I admit, but there are some names in here that even you would not remember. Consider acquiring a new servant. Preferably one who does not laugh so much."

Then, with all of them sated except for her empty-handed son, the party proceeded into what appeared the final chamber of this wing - guarded by a thick metal-reinforced door, which the Arken bypassed the lock of simply by pushing it, causing its complicated locking mechanisms to solve instantaneously and lean open. A bound and locked chest lay in the center, and atop it, another tome. Seeming to find some amusement in the idea, she offered it out to Gyrivenn, who knelt to receive it like Narvann had done at the beginning. "A Compendium of Infinite Verse. One of the comprehensive collections of Allorn poetry hailing from the early, middle, and late periods alike. For while your skill with the sword is laudable, and your skill with the spell is yet to be re-won, I have yet to see you study your poetry nearly as much as you should." Her chiding complete, she turned back with an exhale and snapped the lock from the chest, prying it open. Inside lay a collection of ledgers and books, which she pulled one by one and gently slid into a waiting portal that had opened hovering to her left, and at the bottom a long object - about a person tall - wrapped in wax paper. Carefully unwinding the golden thread that kept it bound, the Arken revealed a greatbow strung with steel. This was Aulaya: the weapon of Talea's younger sister, the ballista which took the strength of ten men to string, which had been wielded for legendary feats, and killed hundreds of men from farther away than a horse could ride in a day. And indeed, ten pairs of eyes widened - suddenly understanding all at once why she might have come here, beyond merely the graciousness of being reconciled with a place kept from her predecessor, and what she might have wanted beyond mere ledgers.

The ancient relic safely sealed away, she turned and spoke. "We are done here."

Not one posed an argument. The hole in the ward sealed behind them as they returned under the embrace of the starry sky, and the Arken pocketed the key away into her gray and blue robes, having been out of armor for the first time any of them had ever known. "You have my gratitude for what you have helped me accomplish today. Do not fret - nothing you have done today has significantly altered the course of history. Merely brought me one step closer to comprehending something that must be known, so that I may perform what must be done. I leave you to return home with a chartered captain - there is work to undertake."

A flash, and she was gone - leaving them with their thoughts and their guesses, alone in the chilly night.