#i hope you have a wonderful and pleasnt time

[atinykidult]

To anyone who sees this

[iforiaetxrisi-blog]

maelstrom’s chain. prologue (one)

GATHIN CITADEL, CITAL TOWN, ALSALES

In the Year 23 of Lavay, Before the Great Purge

“This is your fault!”

The once lavish room was a wreckage of carnage in the aftermath of the coupdetat storm. The guts of a book shelf were strewn across the floor, a desk in the corner was a pile of wood chips, the massive paintings had been pulled to the ground and shredded. A shattered mirror glistened across the floor between the scattered teeth of bone necklaces. There was the faint smell of burning, a smell of destructive magic. In the midst of this disaster knelt Solnaer. The body of Prince Veria Bala was in his arms. If it wasn't for the blood blooming through his sky blue robes, Valden would have thought he was sleeping. His tanned skin was pale, and his dark curls fell away from his face. His head bobbed against Solnaer's arm, his throat exposed above the collar of his tattered clothes.

“Solnaer...” Valden started, unsure of what way to continue in the face of his fellow Vadya's rage. Behind him stood another two of their Council: Eleste of Fallen Souls and Jastfaer of the Long Winter, Solnaer's twin brother. The disaster that laid before them was the culmination of six months work put to rest. It was a failure resting upon their shoulders, the Council of Praxon: the chosen eight hailed has living gods. For Living Gods they were, chosen by the highest power in their worlds, the Eternity Spirits. But once they had been Praxonites, the same as those who exalted them. It made them flawed and imperfect, and it brought about the awful scene Valden bore witness. As the Head of the Council, it fell on his shoulders to rectify it all. But he couldn't think of anything to say to soften the blow.

“I don't want to hear it.” Solnaer bared his fangs, looking every bit the monster so many believed him to be. Solnaer, the Vadya of Destruction. His eyes were two blazing flames, attempting to pierce his ally with a single glare. Valden took a step forward-- “Don't you dare. Don't you come near him. He was an innocent. He did nothing to deserve this.”

“Solnaer, please. I understand you're--” magic crackled around them and Valden shielded himself from the sudden assaulting healt.

“You understand nothing,” Solnaer hissed. “I will destroy each and every one of them.”

Solnaer laid the body down, like something precious that would shatter if it fell too hard. It was at odds with the rest of him, so filled with murderous intent. Even through his shield, Valden felt it. The insidious magic still tried to worm its way past his barriers. In the core of his being, where the soul of his former self lived, he was frightened.

“I forbid it, Solnaer.” Valden stood his ground. He quieted the shivering youth inside and shut him out. A sharp turn of Solnaer's head. A growl. The heat grew strong and Valden felt its siren song of war drums, a prickle of searing anger so unexpected it caught his breath. He bolstered his shield but it felt pale in comparison to Solnaer's unrepentant rage.

“You think I care what you forbid?” Solnaer's voice was a low growl, more predatory animal than Ildrat. “We've destroyed lands. We'll do it again. I can make this decision and I'll take ya down as well, Valden. Get in my way and I'll take you--”

A cold descended. Time slowed. Eleste was beside Solnaer and a hand reached out to touch his temple. He stiffened and his dark complexion grayed. He crumbled in a boneless heap as time returned. Eleste stared down at him. She surveyed the two prone bodies and then turned to Valden and Jastfaer.

“That's enough,” she announced.

“Uh... Second?” Jastfaer looked from her to Solnaer, a hesitant hand held upp as if he wanted to go to him.

“He's only sleeping, Jast.” Eleste flashed him a reassuring smile. His shoulders sagged.

“Right. Very well. I'll...bring my brother home?” Jastafer looked between them, troubled and uncertain.

Valden turned to Jastfaer. His jetblack hair was cut much shorter than Solnaer, and it made him look young; almost childish. From what Valden knew of the siblings, Solnaer had always been the protector, the one who made the decisions and led the way. Jastfaer followed along like an obedient pet. Valden had not met that person. In the years since they had been chosen, Jastfaer had always been the most independent of them. Sometimes he had gone so far to take certain matters in his own hands—in the exact opposite fashion of the brutality often shown by Solnaer. Valden didn't know what to think of him most of the time, and now was no different. There was an unreadable expression on Jastfaer's face as he cross the threshhold.

“We still meeting?” Jasfaer knelt down to heave his brother's larger frame onto his back. He paused to glance over at Valden, his electric blue eyes bright with the ice in his veins.

“Yes. I will send for you. Keep watch over Solnaer until then. We need him calm before he can join us.”

Jastfaer nodded, and with a gust of icy wind, vanished. An awful silence descended between Valden and Eleste as they peered down at the late prince. The lingering remnants of Solnaer's magic had left the sweet awful burning smell behind. There were the faintest scorch marks on the carpet.

“Did you know him at all?” Eleste knelt down beside the corpse. She brushed away locks of black hair from his face, and caressed his cheek with a gentle hand, before settling her palm against his neck.

“Only a little.” Valden stood a stone statue, watching her as he had done so many times before. “He was often the host of the Royal Galas...Gathin was never much fond of taking part. His son would take over in his stead...” Valden drifted off as he wandered across the wreckage that remained of Veria's room. He ghosted a hand over the trinkets left standing on the avalanched bureau. Over the years, Veria had collected many little objects across his country of Alsales it seemed. Jewelery of animal bones, small animal figures, precious stones from deep in the volcanoes. Valden wondered if Solnaer had procured those for him.

“And what of the brother?” Eleste began her ritual and the room grew colder by the second.

“Much like their father.” Valden continued to look though he didn't know what he was searching for. Perhaps something to give Solnaer when this was all over as a token of condolence. “Veria was the 'odd' one. He enjoyed fighting as a sport and preferred to take part in blade tournaments, but never became an actual soldier. He didn't care for bloodshed.” Valden paused. “It's...likely what drew Solnaer to him.”

Beads of light swirled around them in the startling cold. Valden had felt this before. It was a cold that was more chilling, more horrifying than anything Jastfaer could conjure. The Vadya of the Long Winter could freeze with a touch. He could bring the most brutal winds of the South and yet Eleste's cold was different; deeper. It felt like it chilled the spirit and drew the color straight from the world.

Valden felt that now. He felt the draw of Death's caress in his very core. He felt it run its fingers down his spine and along every bone. Eleste's eyes glowed with ethereal light and white smoke rose out of the body in sluggish plumes. White scripts appeared all over her dark skin, glowing with a pulse. The beads of light spun around them now, and the smoke flowed through each one as if connecting dots. There was a voice echoing as if from at the end of a long tunnel.

“...ah! Lord Marn, what a pleasnt surprise! When will you be leaving?” The words elongated and paused as if coming from a corrupted file. Veria's voice was all joyful, decadent youth. It continued, following memory after memory with each bead the smoke connected.

“Solnaer Vadya...I did not believe you would return.” Here the arrogance was replaced with a soft, reluctant hope. It was as if he had played his usual dance and failed.

“I almost didn't. But I stayed to watch. You're not so bad with a sword.” Valden could almost picture Solnaer, his chin raised as he stared down at the shorter male. He must have been wearing his most elegant warrior dress, the thick grey jacket with the gold trimming paired with the black shirt and loose black pants. His midnight black hair trailed down his straight back, bangs hanging into those orbs of hottest fire. Valden imagined he would have been very intimidating and yet the next words from Veria's memory surprised him.

“Of course I'm not. Not as good as you, I'm sure, but I even defeated my father in a spar.” There was a chuckle that rang like wind chimes and Valden felt a pang of sorrow. Innocent, indeed. It had been a long time since any of them had uttered such a clear and happy sound. “What do you say to a match, my Vadya...

The beads dimmed sharply, and flickered. The cold sharpened in intensity and Valden shivered. Eleste closed her eyes and took in a deep breath as the last bead connected to the smoke chain.

“My Vadya. You're...late.”

Valden closed his eyes. Last words, which must have pierced through the fierce warrior heart in Solnaer's chest worse than any blade. Once, Valden had listened in silence as Solnaer told him of how his tribe had been decimated by the thrites in The Fanged Forest. He had described a white hot rage that fueled him through pain and blood loss until he found the entire pack of them and wiped them out as well. Jastfaer had been with him then too, but in his eyes there was only a hint of sorrow. Solnaer looked as though revenge had truly eased his sorrow. There had been a smile on his face, a savage look that called on the worst of the world to follow him. If Valden let Solnaer, he would take out all of Alsales for this injustice, and laugh atop the mountain of bodies.

There was a translucent red figure poking out of splintered wood that used to be a bed side table. Valden knelt down to retrieve it. It was a fire hound, molded out of magic stone. In its belly a small flame flickered, and Valden could just make out engraved letters. It had been meant for Solnaer; perhaps some small gift upon the others return that night. Valden sighed, saw his breath fog in the air and turned toward Eleste where she was completing the ritual. The beads of light and trailing smoke took lethargic form; a featureless ghost hovering above the body of the deceased.

“Pass on to the Next World, Veria Bala. May you find a better life there, and a better story to follow. The Eternity Spirits will guide your way.” Eleste signed the parting symbols with her hand and in a burst of smoke and soul particles, Veria vanished. The dark descended and then receded. Valden felt as if he could breathe. He saw the color return to the room. Pocketing the figurine, Valden made his way toward the door, stepping carefully over debris.

“The meeting. You'll be there, won't you,” he said this over his shoulder, a chill in his heart and sorrow in his mind. He couldn't look at her again, not so soon after the ritual. In her guise of Death, Valden only saw all the failures they had ever experienced. If Solnaer was right about anything, it was that Veria's death should not have occurred.

“For you, of course.” The floorboards creaked, and the ethereal glow of her magic shone bright against his retreating back. All Valden had was a powerful feeling that this was the beginning of the end.

In the Dome of the Gods, Solnaer woke. He was in his quarters, alone. He felt Jastfaer's fading presence, but did not reach out to him. Instead, he laid there in his cot and smiled. Despite the grief and anger he felt in his chest, the Eternity Spirits had shown him the light. They had given him his plan. There was only one way the world would survive: cleansing and renewal. He would cleanse it with his fire and the Spirits would return it to its former glory. He only had to wait.

[fleamarketloveletters]

July 9, 1919.

Dear Bess, 

I have written most every body but you today so i feel that i might as well complete the days work. I spent Sun. and Monday with my friend who is in the Marine Corp. Went in the right time as he is to leave for the STates about the 16th. I surely envy him but guess that he deserves to go more than I as he wears twice as many service stripes as I. This leaves me to be the last of the home boys to return. And next to the first to leave as the Captain left a few weeks before I. 

Am going to quite writing about returning for it seems that I never will. I know that it must get old to hear me put it off a month longer in every letter but it isn’t half so old to you as it is to me. Really I know that it will be September before you see me. That is my best hope and very worse are when I am old and gray. 

Received good letters from Ima and mother. Had there been one from Bess it would have been complete. They were telling all about the memorial services at Sleepy Hollow. Now I guess it isn’t so sleepy after all eh! Ima is doing very well. She has a good at one hundred fifty per to go around and tell the old folks how to keep the boys down on the farm after seeing Paris. She is getting herself a roadster -- Fords are very popular with our family so it seems. Guess we will [unreadable] about all over the States when we go down on that -- honey moon won’t we? 

The folks are very anxious for my return and I get blue when I read their letters. I guess it is hard for them to understand why I am so long returning but there are lots about the army that you people fail to understand. Am just out-o-oluck is all I can say. I just work on and let it have its course and the times for me to start up the gangplank seem a long time coming. I fear that I will have trouble getting mustered out in the East but will do my best. Am going to try to arrange for such on this side. 

Well Bess, how are all you anyway? All these letters seem as tho they are to you alone but with each I intend to send my best regards and sweet rememberances to each of your. It was not you alone who used to make things so pleasnt for me every one of you did your part. Often I think of each of you. I wonder just what you are doing, how much you have changed, ec. Something tells me that I am not forgotten and that there is a welcome waiting for me. 

If you continue to win such a reputation with the folks at home you will have to go to Texas to live. 

They think you are the greatest girl I ever had. When they meet you I am sure they will not be disappointed for you are all and more than you pretend to be. Ima surely appreciated the graduation present which you girls sent her. They are also very pleased to receive your interesting and sweet letters. 

Here is lots of love to you and all the folks, 

Sincerely yours,

Jess MCook