Fantasy, Powers, Occult, Nobility, Oppression, Magick, Speed, Metaverse

Part 1

The sands were wide and blew hard against the weary travelers. Two souls walking one behind the other in silence against the whips and howls of the sandstorm. Above them, an unforgiving sun amidst a blue, cloudless sky. They had been walking for day upon night upon day for as long as could be remembered by either of them. Memories of villages in passing were drawn out of focus and into oblivion like the sands streaming before their eyes. It may have been a month, a week, or even two hours since any contact with civilization or even a friendly, welcoming face. At this point, memories mattered about as much as how many sand dunes passed under the weary feet of these wanderers. One was a woman, 17 years old, with blue hair wrapped up in a pony-tail with a ceramic clasp behind her head. The other was a man of 27, carrying a load of supplies on his back. The winds, carrying gales of sand, raked across the desert, bringing confusion and mystery with words of death that would fall upon deaf ears, for not but a few could know the voice of the wind. Unbeknownst of their ignorance to the wind’s warning, the desert was soon ending, and a grand city lay miles ahead. This was a wind that would take great fun from tormenting any who would wander through the depths of the shifting sands. Many wayward outcasts had been lured out, far from any hope of return, lured out to nothing, and then swallowed by the ripping and twisting movements of the wind and the sand, much to the laughing merriment of this particular wind. But even this fleeting demon of the air had too much knowledge of what lay ahead for those who approached the city of Ramashajiva.

“Taranis!” the young woman bellowed over the sand beating against her face “Taranis!!”

The man stopped and turned to look at her, a severely annoyed look across his sand-worn face. “What! What is it this time?! ” The young woman cowered back a few steps at his anger, to which he sarcastically and almost playfully advanced in her direction.

“What, Lunis?! Tell me! Come on! You’re hungry right? Thirsty? Sand up in everywhere but your liver? Well guess what?! Me too!! But do you see me complaining ten thousand times a day for month after month after month?!! No! By the Gods, what the Rhyhi is wrong with you?! I didn’t ask for you to follow me for all this time, and if I’d known how much you complain, I never would have saved you from those people!!”

The angry man shifted back to his walking in an irritated demeanor as Lunis continued walking behind him, her eyes lowered shamefully below the bangs of her hair. This was not the first outburst from Taranis, but they were getting increasingly vindictive. Both of them were understandably irritable from so much travel on foot. Camels would have been more appropriate for this setting, but money was in short supply for these two outcasts. Lunis had been saved by Taranis from the people in her village who accused her of heresy, and proceeding to stone her to death in common fashion. Taranis gained his ‘Outcast’ status after taking his leave from a militant monastery of warrior monks, who despite their best efforts, were unable to raise him as one of their own. It wasn’t that he was stupid, or thick headed. Quite the opposite in fact, because he had mastered much of what they had to teach him. Nonetheless, he was not one to bow to authority, or restrict himself in any way, shape, or form. This manner of thinking was not allowed at the monastery, and his clashes with authority figures had landed him in exile soon after he spilled some of their blood. The Heresy of Lunis was one to behold, as it impressed even the discriminating tastes of Taranis. She was seen near her house on one moonless night, with a ball of shining white fire floating between her hands. The oppressive religious regime currently in power in the region did not smile upon such behavior, and regarded it as both Heresy and as a threat to the public. Taranis, in his nobility, had seen fit to catch every stone thrown at Lunis and hurl them back, badly injuring the assailants. Interestingly enough, he was able to perform this feat without even removing the large load of supplies on his back. They walk on, as they have since that time, in search of something better. Their future lies ahead, despite the unnerving wind, carrying sand to push them back. In the city of Ramashajiva, far into the infrastructure, and into a small room, two women are talking amidst a heavy aura of tension.

“Is it clear?”

“…”

“I asked you a question.”

“I still don’t know. It won’t open unless I want it to. And besides that, ..”

“You need some motivation?”

“What I need is more time to think about all of this.”

“Fine. You have until sunset. I’ll distract the Elders and buy us some time.”

“…”

“You do know that we have no other options left to us now, right?”

“I’m just not built for this kind of mess.”

“This is nothing for me. Then again, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“I’m sick to death of rumors. You know nothing about me. If you can’t commit yourself to our cause, you never will. Remember that.”

One woman leaves, with her long hair blowing out slightly behind her, and the other sinks to her knees, clutching her sheathed broadsword and fighting back tears.

Deeper into the city still, as the rushing of water passes into the cups of wealthy citizens, and rivers of people flow like blood through the veins of this busy city, a woman
is grinding tea leaves for the patrons of her teahouse. The pestle spins fervently in the mortar, suddenly flipped out of sight to the flight of the ground tea leaves. Patrons watch in wonder as flowing hands guide the airborne herbs into a poetic symmetry of movements to be lost by the blink of the eye, but savored by the open ones. boiling water is lopped into the air, and guided with similar speed and grace into the mix. Without one burn or sign of pain, the finished tea is guided into proper ceramic teacups upon a wooden tray, and serenely brought to yet another table of applauding customers. The woman smiles, bowing politely before taking her leave back to the kitchen area in the center of her establishment. Her hair is dark purple, grown long down to the crook of her back, and bound up into a hundred fine braids. She wears little clothing, save for oversized lotus blossoms on her shoulders, chest, and around her hips. Thus, most people to whom she is known call her by that name, ‘Lotus’. She carries on in this manner to help the days pass to her own merriment, and at night she dances with dear friends at numerous fire lit parties in celebration of life and freedom. Oddly enough, her eyes are almost always closed when she can help it. She is not blind, but many think otherwise because of this, yet her friends and loved ones are not among them. The vision of her eyes is something special, and she keeps them a well guarded secret behind her painted eyelids. Lotus happily makes another batch of tea amidst the lunchtime conversation. Of all the mixed company at present, one of those eloquent discussions stands out above the rest for those who know how to listen.

“Granted, we must acknowledge their presence, but what of the others?”

“What does it matter in the end?”

“The children are growing…restless”

“We never anticipated any weakness in our ranks, but I suppose things like this do happen. History repeats itself all too often, and few among thousands ever learn from it.”

“I suppose. Tell me, how is your daughter these days?”

“Not meddling in our unfortunate business, I can assure you of that.”

“Not at all, I was simply inferring to her ravenous beauty and her potential for greatness in the future.”

“If she joins your house you mean?”

“I was speaking generically. Any house in the city would benefit greatly from her talents.”

“I’m suddenly becoming quite uncomfortable”

“This matter isn’t over. We’ve barely scratched the surface. And you haven’t finished your tea my dear.”

“I may finish you beforehand”

“In more ways than one. Of that I can only be hopeful.”

Lotus did not even have to open her eyes to feel that the unnerving look she received from the woman as soon as those words escaped from her lips. Moving swiftly, she whipped around and placed her hands delicately around the shoulders of the man that had previously been so confident. Her many long braids swept forward with the draft catching up with her all her darting about, covering the arrogant man’s chest as Lotus pushed and played with his ears using her deceptively large breasts. The woman across from him suddenly was stricken with a new confidence and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and taking her teacup in hand, giving him a defiant smile. This man was not ignorant of his situation. A less informed man would have been enjoying the attention, but he knew at this moment that his life hung by a very thin thread. He felt her hot breath over his sweating forehead and struggled to speak.
Alas, he could not bring a single word to his lips. Lotus swirled her body around on top of him, throwing out her legs in the air as if they were two long swords in flight. Her legs wrapped around his back, and her hair draped a curtain between their two faces. The man was already in a great state of panic, as he was now sweating profusely and shivering underneath her in fear and confusion. His face felt her breath yet again and the eyes of Lotus opened wide, gazing directly into his own. Where normal eyes are white, hers were pitch black, and where normal eyes are black, her eyes were white. The man shook now with convulsions never to be known by anyone else but the two of them in their own private little world of hair, eyes, and fear. Her demeanor never changed. She was serene, unlike this poor manwho quietly begged for his life. Before he knew it, he was blind, or at least in a state near unconciousness. He awoke hours later outside the walls of Ramashajiva, covered from head to toe in blood from some unfortunate animal. He hoped to himself that none of it belonged to him, making his way toward the main road back into the city to wash
up and gather himself for yet another pleasant day.

It was innocent, and without thought. A flash of leaves and silk, whipping among the forest of a vast private garden called “Iraestiol. A child’s laughter dancing about the flowers and shrubs, bounding from tree to tree as if into chaos blindfolded. She is unaware of those watching her in secret, even as she runs to hide from her own shadow in the pure delight of the timeless day. For in this garden, to the mind of a child, death was but a dream long forgotten, and seconds passed as weeks or months in radiant and colorful swirling rhapsody. This young girl is called Oak, and her long hair bounds quickly to the side in curiosity, for before her eyes lay a scroll. It was as long as her whole arm, and laid in the grass in front of her. Her dress crumpled even further as she kneeled to the scroll, and placed her hands upon it. The wax seal broke open with her touch and unraveled a little to reveal beautiful markings; words painted in walnut tarnish, revealing the title and author of Oak’s newest treasure, which she read aloud:

“Spirit Summoning, lesson 1, by Ash”

The symbol next to the author’s name indicated his noble house; that of Creation. Ash was the elder brother of Oak, and was entrusted with her education in the ways of the House of Creation. In this time, there were no public schools, and as such, all knowledge was passed down from one generation to the next within noble houses such as the House of Creation. Oak suddenly heard footsteps coming near. She took up the scroll and tied it under her sash, looking around quickly before scrambling up the nearest tree; hidden from sight. She had good reason to hide, but if she knew the reputation of those below her bare, calloused feet, then she would indeed wish to be very far from here.

“How many do you have?”

“Six. And you?”

“Only two. You’ve done quite well.”

“Use them carefully. These things are hard to make, as if I have to tell you.”

“Mastering their composition, as well as crafting a proper container and fuse? It was child’s play until that last full moon.”

“What happened?”

“My right hand was broken by a demon outside the city. Since then I’ve had trouble making anything noteworthy.”

“Nonsense. I know a good healer. Follow me.”

With that the two men walked away. When they could no longer be heard, Oak popped her head out of the tree, sighing softly. Deciding to remain in her comfy nook among the heavily flowered tree branches, she opened the scroll and began her lesson.

In this city, the largest structure was in the center. A gigantic pyramid. This pyramid was of such massive size, that even Lunis and Taranis could see it from the far desert. It held secrets within its many chambers that were closely guarded by warriors called “Titans”. The pyramid was also the place where the Ramashajiva government resided, as well as the headquarters for the current mainstream religion set upon the land. Those that followed this religion were referred to as “Hittantes”. Being that this was a state religion, the House of Hittante was comprised of government officials and religious leaders. Anyone not found to be a Hittante was forced to convert upon punishment of death or exile. Titans patrolled the streets on a daily basis, searching for heretics. Of course this meant that all other noble houses existed within Ramashajiva in complete secrecy. Even those as young as Oak were taught to respect the importance of the code of silence. Those that broke the code, broke their ties with their noble house, and were exiled from their families and friends. This was the atmosphere and aura in which Ramashajiva was consumed. But there were noble houses whose intent was to break the silence by rebelling against the system of severity that had stifled their lives for so long. Two such houses were House Loporia, and House Creation. These two houses came from two entirely different backrounds, but their arts were frighteningly similar. In the times to some, all may change for the better, or for the worse, but it would be a mistake to even think that anyone wandering into the city should not be consumed in that world, and cursed by painful choices.

The day was growing short, and soon the sun would dip below the horizon. A woman with long dark hair sat looking out of her window at the coming sunset. Her eyes reflected the sky as she bit her finger. She bit down so hard that her blood dripped down her hand and to her elbow. Her gaze was fixed, and she showed no sign of pain, as if lost in thought. She whispered softly to herself.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through”

To be continued…