Malintzin

She was Alrandwe. The right to rule was earned. The sea was a treacherous place. So too was Rahab. The pads of her fingers skimmed along the trident’s shaft, her pale, lilac eyes trained on her opponent. The fullness of her lips was pulled into a tight frown—a moment of focus. She encircled him, nearly bare and enticing, the lithe of stride of her predatory gait firmly holding his attention. Rahab was poised, an intense coil of muscle ready to spring. They had clashed before—the faint scars earned left on her fair skin only glimmered in the light of their chosen arena. “Alrandwean women.” Her opponent purred with delight. His was a sensual movement. Seamlessly relaxed and languid—yet Rahab knew. She knew from the wicked curl of his lips. He delighted in the independence of the Nymerian women. Their ferocity and tenacity—yet none so much as Rahab Alrandwe di Firdana’s. The intensity between the two warriors was palpable and delightful all the same. Their dance was different. The Alrandwe net was fastened around her, a wonderful sensation on otherwise bare skin. “Srax’throgarian Men.” Rahab teased in return. They were night and day, but Nymerian all the same. Of the thirteen clans, Rahab held the Srax’throgar Clan near and dear to her heart, and they rallied for the young Princess—no. She was Queen now. The Srax’throgar were beautiful creatures, with brilliant red hair and golden eyes that struck fear into their enemies. Perfectly bred specimens… …and physically the deadliest. However, their dance was a formality. An invitation. “Study strategy over the years and achieve the spirit of the warrior. Today is victory over yourself of yesterday; tomorrow is your victory over lesser men.” A slender brow arched, “You haven’t studied me.” Was Rahab’s simple reply. It took five moves to best him—though to his credit, it was almost six. She attacked, unrelenting and unforgiving in her assault. Her trident was buried by his head, though he did not escape unscathed, his cheek burning, bleeding. The anticipation had been savored. The climax, exhilarating. Would that she could have bed this one, but she knew the clan’s ways. Rahab recovered and assisted the Nymerian to his feet, “It is decided then. Thuko Srax’throgar di Nymeria will serve—.” “YOUR MAJJEESSSTTTTYYY!” The Srax’throgarian warrior tensed and turned with such fluidity that Rahab was impressed. He posed between herself and the incoming messenger as though to instinctively protect her. Rahab would not deny the unyielding loyalty to serve the Alrandwe pleased her immensely. “Your Majesty!” The runner took a long breath to compose herself before standing. “It’s--it's your brother!” Rahab felt a lurching in her stomach at the word brother. She feared the phrase—for too often did something terrible follow it. She loved her brothers. No matter how deeply she lived in their shadows, she loved them unequivocally. “Lord Acrius has returned, Your Majesty! He makes his way to the citadel at once to seek you!” Rahab came to lean against Thuko, who dropped his spear to steady her. The clattering of the trident startled her own senses, the Nymerian Queen glancing down at her hands in surprise. Her brother lived…the shock subsided and gave way to and unbridled feeling of joy. “Thuko…you serve the Alrandwe. Bring the heads of the thirteen clans at once for council. We must reconvene to celebrate this news.” The warrior—carefully and delicately detached himself from Rahab who had found her bearings again. Coin was given to the runner, who hastily ran off. Thuko collected his spear, just as Rahab stooped to collect the trident. It was strange, he decided. As though he was looking at another person. Another woman. It was a foreign thing. Delicate and dainty. These were not the words he would use for Queen Rahab. He grunted and clicked his tongue before straightening and giving Rahab a militant salute before hastily departing to fulfil his new orders. Perhaps there were more facets to the Fury of the Seas than he first imagined. She watched him go, before she gave the orders to prepared. Kyrosians scattered to adhere to their orders. Something unsettling loomed in her stomach as she turned. Rahab’s trident felt heavy as she scaled the dais, processing this new and stunning turn of events. Acrius' return would change the tides. The clans were loyal to a Diarchy rule. However... Turning, Rahab sat with a deep sigh upon the Kyrosian throne. She was Alrandwe, and the right to rule was hers.

When the Nautilus' off shore excursion came to an end and returned to the docks, the group departed to make their way towards the pitiful thing Jade liked to call a ship. Still, her pride disallowed her from calling the ship by its proper name, the Dodgy Dolphin. She opted for a more respectable name and with a grand sweeping gesture welcomed the rag tag group aboard the Stormcutter. The ship has an plain, narrow hull and a raised quarterdeck carved with runes. It was no dinghy, but it certainly wasn't frigate material, either. She was durable and swift--though its technical position as a freighter didn't make it the fastest. It could fly, it could swim. It was good enough. The ship's chief mate was a ornery old hag who refused to give her name out of sheer paranoia. Everyone else that crossed paths with her called Tsu Niao. Jade suspected that Niao was paranoid because she was obsessive over legends of an obscure, sunken city--but Jade also reasoned the old woman probably lost her mind. Still, she was brilliant on the water and they were crotchety together. "Sleep where you can find room. You're on your own for meals. I wasn't exactly planning for company. NIAO! COMPANY!" Somewhere from below deck was a colorful, muffled string of profanity. Jade lumbered to the torn cage she and the Dragon whelp wrestled over and up-righted it with some effort. She was still ill over losing all the fish and crab that were caught but at least it didn't smell as bad. Wages lost were wages lost and Jade wasn't about that. She pointed to Leon, "You, get familiar with the cockpit. She's nothing fancy but you won't be stealin' her, either." Jade swept a hand over the part of her head that was buzzed and tangled through through the shoulder length of her hair and sighed. What in hell had she gotten herself tangled up in? Still, these folks knew important people--and assisting important people meant money, right? Money meant a better ship than the sad anchovy they were stuck with. Still, she flew nicely, swam steadily and hadn't sank. Yet. "Why are ya'll even doin' this?" She finally asked aloud. The adrenaline and terrible decision-making time was over. She didn't want to seem insensitive or anything; She got slavery and stuff--but she wondered what kind of difference this small, rag tag team was going to make? "I know why I'm in--I'm just the transportation--but what's it to you guys?" @Twitterpated @ODSTDRAGON @Trexasle @-Lilium-

Artamese had no idea what to wear on these types of things. None whatsoever! She had received an Imperial summons from the Empress and quickly left the safety and comfort of her Kyrosian study to answer them. Had she gotten in trouble with the Chapel Alliance again? Had the Sisters scorned her enough for missing her duties to the Alliance? She had studied all things Sorcery yet barely had any magical talent whatsoever. Artamese was the middle child of three gifted women in her family—the eldest was a prodigious herbalist who became a prolific advocate for Gaianism. The youngest had become the youngest Artificer recruited by the Chapel Alliance. It put her to shame. Raveena knew and understood something about her talents that Artamese did not—but she also knew the Chapel Alliance was trouble despite their philanthropic appearance. Artamese had been blind to the Sisterhood before; she had dropped out of the Gaian Academy to study in Genesaris, leaving her Patian home behind to unearth her Affinity in magic. She failed to discover what that Affinity was. Instead, she developed something new and unusual—she had the ability to study magic in real time; to dissect, unravel, unmake it and study its components. It was not the usual that students were tested for. Thus, she had become a Scrivener—one who reported and recorded new happenings in the magical world, including the discovery of new magic. Honestly, she hated it. She had all the makings of a decent Artificer—or so the Empress thought to have taken her into the West as quickly as she had. Arty knew she was a pawn in a game, but even her companion Simon understood that there were far more honorable intentions on this side of the fence than what the Chapel Alliance had in mind. Artamese wanted to study artifacts. She wanted to study the past, not the present or the future—only how it could impact it. She wondered if that’s why she had been recruited for this expedition. A friend of the Empress still made Artamese wary. It’s not that she didn’t trust Raveena’s judgement—she just didn’t particularly care for people. After all, her only companion was a Hell Hound. There Peregrine swayed serenely before them and Artamese peered down at Simon. He sat on his haunches, leaning against Arty’s hip staring apprehensively at the ship. Simon was unnaturally tall—and though he passed for some Great Dane, wolf hound mix—he was certainly not of this world. Her companion was far too lazy to show it unless pushed to such extremes. He heaved the deep sigh of a spoiled brat who was bored and Artamese cuffed him by the ear before they made their way to the loading dock. It was only mildly frustrating—albeit hilarious—the way the crew skirted around Simon. Simon was equally miserable—he did not care for the swaying of the ship, nor the open ocean. Only when Artamese bumped into him for the fourth time did she halt, hands on her hips, “For bloody sake, Simon—stop acting like you’ve never been on a ship before and stop acting like a mewling whelp! You’re embarrassing me!” She adjusted her glasses up her nose and straightened out her uniform. It was a standard Enforcer uniform, though her insignias were custom. The first was a golden lotus on a black field, a sign that she hailed from the Hyperian Court. The second patch was a silver outline of an open book on a light blue field with five stars arched over it denoted her as a Chapel Alliance student professor, Scrivener and Artificer. She did a double take when she noticed Xartia pacing. She had seen his fashionable presence at the court well enough to know it was him, and yet! Gone was the pale, effeminate pretty boy Pendragon as Simon sometimes referred to him. Here was something else entirely. “Well that’s curious. Come on.” They made their way to meet the man their Empress had tasked her to work with.

Raveena smiled warmly and paused, a hand gently resting on Zenahriel’s arm, “Thank you,” She spoke earnestly, peering up at the man with a somber expression. “I wish my father would wash his hands of the drama in Orisia and tend to the one who truly cares for him most.” It was a rare to have someone so devoted, so sincerely and utterly loyal and loving. Rafael was a troubled, dark man—there was no denying that. But it took the right person to make a heart tender. Her thoughts drifted to Rowan and she sighed as they continued into the market and its splendor, “I am to become Empress of the Rising West.” Raveena’s own expression had in turn become serious. It was not a wish, nor a desire—only a fact of the matter. “We’ve already begun, but these things take time. The enemy is everywhere—and so am I. You’re a smart man to advise my father as you have--what are your thoughts on war?” Shiny, pretty things. The old Raveena—perhaps the Countess Raveena—would have not splurged on such things. There was a certain way to go about things. She would have seen that her people were housed, fed, healthy and able-bodied. These days were past now. Now the Hyperian Empire was flourishing in the Rising West, driving back the last remnants of the Genesar government. Now she had earned a right to treat herself and those around her. Those who waited on her and Zenahriel wrote down each order as instructed. The Rising West was a pretty, shiny thing. Raveena picked up a brooch. It was a delicate looking thing of twisted gold and pretty, iridescent stones she had never seen before. She could feel her Empathetic power vibrating through its many matrices. Raveena picked up another brooch and turned to inspect how it’d look on Zenahriel. After some moment of thought, her nose wrinkled in dissatisfaction and put it back, “Takes away from your wings.” She added, absentmindedly.

“Are you sure about this, Raveena? Should they really relocate here?” Rahab sat by a window seat and looked out at the city. She never thought she could be so high in the air. She knew the sea—it was a familiar place. Dark, cold, and merciless. But she wasn’t like the Trench Barons and their treachery. These men were different. They were not, she admitted, up to her standards—and she had told Raveena as much. Rahab came on the opposite side of Raveena. The Queen was a different woman when company was not around. It was not as though she put on a façade. Only that her defenses lessened in a way. “When will you have Guppies?” She asked nervously to change the subject. “You will have many, yes? Surely there are suitors who are prepared for the honor of bedding you.” And it was then that Raveena laughed. It was a strange and delightful sound—a broken sound twisted with ebbing hope, beautiful and sad like a fractured, abandoned shell. Rahab wanted to reach out and touch this fragile person in front of her. Her mate was gone from her in more ways than one, and that sense of betrayal—Rahab could not imagine. Did Pawan feel this way when he realized she would not return for him? She had offered to bed Raveena on numerous occasions, only to be turned down. It was mildly insulting, but in a strange way she understood. “My brother is in need of a wife. You could become our queen—my sister, even!” Rahab was the only woman of the Alrandwe royal family. It was a blessing and a curse; she would never be queen but would be expected to produce more Nymerian soldiers for her brothers’ cause. Raveena, who was perhaps braver than she, shook her head. “We’ve talked about this. I am not going to be a prize wife—nor an experiment for your brothers. Nymeria knows they are welcome to join the folds of Hyperian under my reign, but I will not relinquish my title. Not to Kings who hole themselves away or disappear for the thrills of war elsewhere. Not when the Nymerian people need cohesion. If anything, now is your chance to take the throne and give your people direction.” Raveena gave Rahab a pointed look, and the Nymerian dared not hold it. “I will never be queen of Nymeria.” Rahab accepted solemnly. There was something firm and decisive that signaled an end to that discussion. Her vibrant, lilac eyes finally chanced a glance at Raveena, “Do you miss your mate?” "Every day.” Raveena exhaled in a weary whisper—as if just to admit such a thing sucked the life out of her. “Every day,” Raveena continued, with some measure of effort, “Is a new beginning. One we should all be grateful for. That’s why I want Tiandi Wushu to thrive and grow here. They deserve a new beginning as well.” Rahab stood and extended a hand to Raveena. “Come, I will draw a bath for you and the guppy. We must make you presentable later—it will do you no good to look weary, old, and pregnant.” Blunt, as ever. Raveena stared at the hand tiredly before clicking her tongue and looking away, “I have attendants, and we must both be presentable for the evening’s meal.” Rahab’s slender, firm fingers gripped the Queen’s chin and tilted her gaze up. “I am your attendant this evening.” And she smiled.

Whhewww. Finally some free time, Busy, busy, busy. Got some new Kirena art on the front page. Checkit.

Plenty more money to throw at you in the future, babe. Thanks for this!

Raveena laughed--and it was a genuine sound. It was not that she laughed at Zenahriel, but she was delighted by him--he was so much more than what her father and books told her of. It was a warm feeling, "Not at all, An'she Zenahriel. My mother was gifted with gardens. My blood people have the utmost respect for nature and its wonders and horrors. So I myself am very fond of gardens. I have very vague memories of my mother and father; I was very little when I lost them. The gardens are one of the purest memories of happiness I can recall and I visit as often as I can." She would not refuse his request, and so they would walk. Only when they advanced together did her entourage rise from their bowed state and follow--more alert than before. Their wary gazes swept through the gardens--Sabine's more keen than ever. While she enjoyed the conversations with Raveena, she knew when courtesy ended and business began. Her comrades spoke in hushed words, mouthing their interest to one another silently. Paramour? The Emperor had a male mate? Was that an acceptable thing in Genesaris? How did the Empress of Carmine feel about it? Was this a common thing for Vampyres? Weren't the wedded couple cousins as well? Would Raveena marry a cousin if one came along? The silent conversation dwelled from the strange customs of Carmine and shifted to the potential whom their Empress would take as a consort. She was with child with the Knight nobility--but would the council stand for it? Lord Varren's name came up, a Duke from the Bhokuli region. He had been a favorite noble, who himself had his eye on their fair Raveena. The history of the Bhokuli and the Zeva'srian Matreyans was a complicated one--one that had seen centuries of one being held hostage by the other, for lack of better words. Raveena would be detained at his estates during the lengthy process of arranging their marriage, something that did not stand under the Sovereign City's laws. The Knight family would be dismissed and the child a bastard, no doubt. Sabine frowned, knowing that Lord Varren would put political pressure to bring back old customs and demand they be upheld, despite the reformed laws. He certainly had the political and militant clout. He would attack the laws themselves and dismantle them from within. If he gained enough support, his true motive to usurp Raveena as Emperor would be a certain outcome. She also knew Raveena would fight it, the way her mother had. "Would that you could meet my family, but I am here on business and my son is managing affairs in the Ursa Madeum." A hand drifted reverently to her swollen belly, "And I must admit, I'm peckish and my son has decided that the Umbral Markets sound like a wonderful idea. I'm fortunate to be familiar with Umbra. Not so long ago, I was sterilized against my will. That I can be with child again is the magic of Umbra. It will always be home to me. My Lady Kirena Yor lived in my estate here until her marriage to Imperator Athyon. She served in my court as the head of intelligence for the Empire. It's a funny thing; had Kirena not met Athyon, it's perhaps he I would be married to. The world, I think, works in interesting ways." That Zenahriel did not readily recognize her--she admitted--made her feel small. But she had to remember that in the scheme of the Empire, she was small. Though she had managed affairs in her father's absence before, it was on a temporary basis, out of necessity, and because he trusted her to. It also made her worry more for her father and his affairs in Orisia. She still had not seen the Black Queen since their dangerous night of the assassination. There were plenty of opportunities, yet fate always intervened. She knew there was a child involved--though there were rumors of more than one now. She pitied her father in that regard. The complicated relationship between the Devil of Patia, the Black Queen of Orisia, and the Lord Father of Umbra were no secret to the realm. She simply wished that the vicious cycle would end and that he'd find some measure of happiness--some measure of peace. Was Zenahriel not enough? He swore he and the Queen would not marry and yet--. Raveena sighed. She was irrationally upset over the whole scandal. Was it her job to understand the intricacies of a prophecy? Queen and Child lived when she took a fatal shot. That was the extent of her part in the scheme of things. What a woman did with her two lovers was not her business. "The Lord Father was kind to adopted me into his family. We were close and when I faced an identity crises, he took me in and sculpted me into who I am now. That is why Umbra will always be home."

I literally told you this!

Yes, that's what I was trying to make sure I was on the same page about. As it stands, he and I are the only two active Nymerians, and I told him I'd support him if trying to boost any Nymerian activity. I just wanted to make sure that that was what he was getting at so I could do what I can from my end to assist. Though I think he also wants to explore any sort of endeavor where Nymerians can participate in. Because their Princess it the Regent in Kyros, they already have support there. It sounds like he wants to overall boost Nymeria back to relevance and I'm 100% behind that.

No, no. You just confused me when you said "near" Genesaris and not actually on the land, since Port Kyros is in Genesaris. But yes, the Terran-Nymerian consulate is being hosted by Port Kyros it does not involve the Genesar Government whatsoever, it merely sits on Gensar land being ruled by the Hyperian Empire.

The Genesar Government, per my conversation with with King last night ,no longer exists. Which is the only reason I wanted to establish the consulate in the city itself. It killed two birds with one stone in that it would allow Terrans, Gensar and Nymerians to sit by the metaphorical fire singing songs together and learn to get along. Not that it'll happen overnight, but. Gotta start somewhere I guess. So if that's an IC thing you wanna explore, coo'. Otherwise, I'm going to have to more this lore off Genesaris and just establish some facility in the middle of the ocean near Nymeria. Just made more sense to place it on a coastal property because it granted access to both species. One from land, the other from water (99% of Nymerians can't come on land without their suits anyway and it's safe to assume aout 20% would be interested enough to learn more). It made even more sense that coastal property belonging to someone who called Terrenus home and only left because the world has gone mad with bodysnatching jellyfish, eldritch horror genies, civil war and plagues. But if you'd really rather me rearrange things and just build something out in the ocean, I will do the thing! Just say the word. The overarching point is to bring the relationships between continents to a more favorable social temperature. But if that's not an interest I understand~