Foundations of Comradship: Clerics of Old (Open)

[Taylor Millard]

Omar Prime

Of all the festivals on the planet Omar Prime, the Summer Festival is by far the most lavish. The cobblestone streets of Titaneous, normally clear for horse and cart during the rest of the year, filled themselves up like a sea with people from various locations on the lush planet. Gold and Blue banners covered the pillars from top to bottom, only occasionally showing the white stone which held the fabric up.

The air buzzed with an intensity only felt when the Festival began, as ones senses were filled with the smells of cheese and meat, the sound of trumpets proclaiming the day's joy begun, the sight of men and women running through the streets wearing the barest minimum of clothing, and the taste of the wine and food as servers handed out cups to various adults and teenagers alike.

Just beyond the food gallery, an open stage area rests- filled to the brim with even more people than the streets. All are here for one thing...the Playwright's Challenge.

Created during the time when Omar Prime's daily went to worship their deities in song and dance, the Challenge pits four playwrights against the other in three categories: Comedy, Tragedy, and Poetry. The most popular were the tragedies and they tended to be judged more harshly than most other plays.

The current playwright, a man named Xadow, watched as his performers did a piece about a fictional ruler named 'Ahkard' who ruled his land with an iron fist. He believed he was the right person for the job, but was betrayed by his advisors who left him for dead after a beating. In the end, his son (a young boy called 'Dimas') rises up against the advisors and slew them, taking his father's place on the throne.

Although most people enjoyed the play, many looked forward to the man who's tragedy debuted next. Eiremoc, a prisoner during the Balmorran Civil War, was popular due to his heritage on Omar Prime. Having been one of the first to speak out against the dead Emperor Kiterix, Eiremoc was imprisoned and set for execution. It wasn't until the rescue by Shadow Squadron of one of their own did the playwright escape and promise he would write about his tale.

And his time was coming up soon.

It is here where our tale begins...As Eiremoc's players begin changing sets and the audience awaits the start of the play. Outside...more is happening. And events will begin to take place. Events only fortold in the 'Balmorran Book of Records'.

Which only few have paid attention to.

And one of them...is at this gathering tonight...

[Aevenon Cloak]

Among the crowds the enjoyed the festival walked a man, an angel no less. While the splendor of the celebration itself and all that surrounded it fascinated the people, he was captured equally by the people themselves. As people bounded past him on the street paths they cheered at him, applauding him and cheering. What they saw in him was not an ambrellian but a man with the most amazing winged costume they had ever seen. It made Aevenon feel welcomed and alienated all in one.

Where his curiosity would draw him would be the crux of creativity itself – the theatre. People crowded around the current show were silenced, breaking their quiet only at the right times to laugh, gasp, shriek or cry along with the players themselves. Aevenon watched on his toes for some time, before allowing his wings to loft him just a mite to get a better view.

Childish in nature as he was, all of this intrigued him to no end. He could have sat all day just watching the people act out their stories and entertain one another. It was all so wonderful and brought a rare smile to his pale lips.

[Vysten Ambre]

Vysten pushed her way through the crowds, following her nose to the sweet scent of food. She knew there had to be vendors somewhere, she just couldn't see them with such a huge crowd.

After breaking through a large mass of humans, Vysten discovered an entire area devoted to food. She hurriedly rummaged through her pockets and found he only had enough for a small ale and some unknown meat on a skewer. Walking up to the booth, she quickly bought her items and left, munching happily.

She wandered through the festival with no particular destination in mind. Vysten found herself coming to a sort of theatre. She shrugged to herself and walked closer to the stage, unaware of the people staring at her, as she was the cause of certain chomping noises.

[Helios]

There was a figure standing on the outskirts of the crowd. Tall and slender, his taut muscles displayed by the white undershirt he wore in conjunction with a pair of white cargo pants, white leather sandals, silver belt and a pair of dark sunglasses. Though his dress sense was a bit odd, it was not the most peculiar thing about this man, his skin and long dreadlocked hair matched the color of his outfit and though most people were sweating in the summer heat and their skin pigment was darkening in the midday sun, this man seemed unaffected by the weather.

"Mommy is that an a bino?" A curious little boy who noticed the figure asked his mother who was holding on to his hand as she looked for a closer place to sit and watch the plays.

"Don't point Jonathan Paul O'Reilley, what did I tell you about manners and people that are different," The red-haired beauty who was the boys mother replied, in a hushed, yet scolding tone.

"Now come on, I see a place for us to sit on the knoll." she said as she dragged little Jonathan behind her.

To the normal observer it was hard to notice if the albino Dark Jedi known as Helios had noticed the woman and her son or over heard their conversation. But he had and he watched them walk away behind those mirrored glasses, a hint of cyan dripping fron beneath them.

Helios wiped his face, it was the only moment that people could tell whether he was a statue or not. He then turned and looked at a building behind him. It would be an ideal perch for the Dark Jedi Apprentice, to watch the days festivities from, uninterrupted...

[Taylor Millard]

The players are beginning to assemble, as the audience watches...some distracted by the Ambrilian's appearance as an angel, others by the albino standing in the background. Others not so distracted by the sounds of bone cracking and meat pulled off of the cracked bone by the smuggler sitting in the crowd.

Eiremoc's set was a prison with five doors off to the left and four to the right. All were filled but the one in the middle which was reserved, a sign on the door said, for someone 'special'.

The guard, whose costuming was a mixture of black and green (the color of Kiterix's Balmorran Emblem), stood between the cells with a blaster rifle in hand. Occasionally he walks from one side of the jail to the other, looking in the cells to make sure no escape attempt is going on.

Through the bars of one of the cells a young man stands, his clothing and hair the palest of blue. His face, innocent and clean, is wide-eyed and staring. His name...is Rafuzal.

RAFUZAL: As we walk through the door, our sorrows we see. We sit here wondering will we be free. Achillios what say thee?

From the third cell over on the left Achillios, his face unseen by the crowd spoke.

ACHILLIOS: We wait...the person who will save us will come soon enough. We are 'The Nine'...those that will help save our planet. We wait.

GUARD: Quiet! No talking.

With both Helios and Aevenon the words 'The Nine' perk their ears up. As with one other in the crowd. They've heard of 'The Nine' through various ways of thought or dream. 'The Nine' have special meaning to them...very special meaning to them.

Vysten sits, munching on her meat and drinking her ale. Beside her, an middle-aged man sits, his head covered by a top hat and dark glasses obscure his eyes. His clothing is black also and his face shadowy

He leans over, "They say Eiremoc spent the entire Civil War in Tyrel Kiterix's prison, just writing. Have you ever wanted to write or do you just enjoy surviving?"

[Vysten Ambre]

Vysten froze, still holding her meat two inches from her mouth. She swallowed slowly before turning to look at the male voice that had spoken. Was she that easy to read?

Looking in the general direction of where the man's eyes should be Vysten replied, "I survive," she growled. "Don't know how much I enjoy it. What's it to you?"

[Helios]

"The nine...,

Helios perked up, when he heard the actor speak those words. He had only heard them in passing from his master and keeper, Wargrave, but never in reference to anything. He knew however from the tone of Wargrave spoke these words he did so with great reverence and respect, leading the intelligent albino to the conclusion that these Nine where individuals of a group that wielded considerable power.

Helios was now even more intrigued than he had been before by the play. His own natural yearning for knowledge made any and all literature of great importance to him and literature that made reference to the ancient days of the planet were of even greater value to a man who barely spoke, but understood and read basic, fluently.

[SashaKovalev]

Alexander Millard accepted a cup of the wine as a server passed by. But he did not raise it to his lips. This was somewhat uncharacteristic of the young man, for he was prone to indulge on most occasions. And despite the fact that this was a festival of fun, a recent episode of overindulgence still remained a bit too close to home.

He continued to walk through the throngs of people, cup in hand, violet eyes alert while the rest of him seemed relaxed. From time to time they would settle on someone, observing before they looked away to another of interest.

Though he was currently enrolled in the University on Balmorra in the flight school, he did make time to take classes in history and literature. Both subjects fascinated him, though there were few people that he would openly admit such a thing to. And today was a day he was excited to be able to attend.

When his uncle, Taylor Millard had suggested he go, he’d perhaps raised an eyebrow, though inside, he’d been more than excited at the prospect.

Throughout the day, he’d been watching the performances, going between them and simply people watching. But the words of the most recent made his head turn. Odd violet eyes left the mother and child sitting on the hillside to turn and gaze at the set.

....the Nine

The words seemed to echo in his head and the cup of wine dropped from his hand, spilling in the grass. It wasnt anything in particular about these words, simply something he had heard in passing, but something that nonetheless that had caused a moment of distraction. Something that had seemed like a moment of deja vu, though...it wasnt.

“Sorry…” He mumbled distractedly to the person nearest, on whom the wine had splattered, his gaze not looking to them, but towards the stage, intent on hearing every word.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The vornskr had come with Sasha, staying by his side like a diligent pet out with its master. But she was far from a simple pet. And she was also far from a simple vornskr.

Oh, she gave off just such an appearence, her bulk parked patiently by Sasha's side. Her silver coat was clean, her muscles easily distinguished beneath the pelt, and her massive paws lay still in the grass, clawtips slightly depressing the soft soil. It was in her tawny eyes though, that belied her sentience. In them burned an intelligence not seen in any animal or beast of burden.

Whip-like tail lashing back and forth, she stood patienly, looking up as the cup fell the short distance to the ground, her ears swiveling forward as Sasha mumbled an apology.

She'd been listening to the words of the play, and wondered what it was that'd exactly startled her companion.

[Taylor Millard]

And so the play continues. As beast and alien alike wander the grounds. As smuggler and Force Users all watch, the play continues without stopping.

RAFUZAL: I have been studying a plan of escape Achillios. I believe we will be rescued by our comrads.

ACHILLIOS: The Guard is not on our side...shush yourself!

In the cell next to Achillios, an elder man, his eyes wizened and his face cracked with age. His head is uncovered and bald...he speaks with a halting tone. Dimos...he is called.

DIMOS: You...two both...do not know what you want...We might be...the Nine...but we are not complete...We still need one more....to be whole...

Behind the cells voices are heard, as the chorus speaks.

CHORUS: Oh what sorrows do man see
When they are torn apart by war
What evil does man see
When they are attacked from within?
Does betrayal come at a cost?
Will a man who seeks his own gain be destroyed by Honor?
The goddess Honor who watches from above?
Does she believe it should be punished?
Breaking apart families
Destroying homes
Will she allow the evil one's destruction?
Will she allow 'The Nine' to come together?

The Nine!
The Nine!
Will they save us?

DIMOS: We have waited for years for the circle to complete. It needs just one more. The girl with flaming hair is here. The hammerbearer has come unto his own. The shadowman lurks...and the young one is growing up.

CHORUS: The Nine! The Nine!

DIMOS: The old one leads. The man in white waits. The slave is free.

CHORUS: The Nine! The Nine!

DIMOS: Ah but two are missing...The winged one...is not here. But soon...soon he will come.

(laughter)

DIMOS: And they will save us all.

CHORUS: The Nine! The Nine!

Next to Vysten, the middle age man chuckles. Such ignorance is not something he enjoys. He moves his hand so his cane rests on his lap, the falcon-head pointed up.

"Now, now you were doing much better before. Such a nice face, shouldn't speak such unpleasentries. I was simply making conversation."

He raised a small glass of wine up to his lips, sipping it down silently.

"I survive as well...I suppose you could say we all survive in one way or another."

[Aevenon Cloak]

A light smile danced on the Ambrellians face as he watched and listened. Never before he had witnessed anything like this and at first he had been of the belief that what was going on onstage was actually real and some people were locked up. Thankfully he had corrected himself before he had borne himself off to save them. As he listened, if he himself had an audience he did not notice it.

DIMOS: Ah but two are missing...The winged one...is not here. But soon...soon he will come.

Aevenon’s head tilted to the side somewhat, blue hair tumbling over his face. That was odd, he thought. There were not many winged people. Perhaps this play had been written with a member of his species in mind. That was a fanciful thought; he knew… perhaps he was too hopeful. Still, it made him shift about in his seat awkwardly, a little more self conscious now, especially with the line about the winged one having sparked off some more interest in his person from the crowd.

[Vysten Ambre]

Vysten lowered her head slowly in a nod and looked at the stage with unseeing eyes. The chorus was now saying something about "the Nine", which Vysten didn't understand at all. "Yeah, we all do," she said slowly as she stared into her ale reflection in her small mug. She swirled the contents of the mug, watching the liquid spin round and round. What good is surviving if there's nobody to care whether or not you do?

Shaking her head quickly, Vysten rid the thoughts from her mind. He's only trying to make conversation. I'm not gonna push my pity stories on someone who's trying to have a good time.

Vysten balanced the half-eaten meat on the top of her mug. Her hands were filthy now with grease, but that didn't matter. "You asked me if I like to write... I used to from time to time, but now I think I have just," Vysten searched for the right phrase, "gotten out of the habit. What about you, sir? Do you write?"

[SashaKovalev]

Sasha took a seat on the grass beside the vornskr and continued to listen to the players as the story began to unfold. Though he could not see the stage as well sitting as he was, he did not need to see the stage for the story to come to life. His over active imagination was more than willing to conjure up images of the Nine as he listened to the short descriptions of them. Warriors, in his mind. Powerful men and women who held Honor as the single most important aspect of life. Men and women who worked to preserve honor and provide protection from corruption and unnecessary cruelty.

Without realizing it, he had reached out to the furry creature that lay stretched on the grass beside him. It was a natural reaction to having a beastly companion with him. Back when he’d been with the Sith Order, he’d spent long hours with Robi, the canine companion of his close friend Gouyen. And though s’Il was not by any means his pet or companion, for the day, she was, and having the furry creature with him now made him slip back into comfortable habits.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Utterly relaxed and enjoying the fresh air, the vornskr had sprawled her hulk on the grass beside where Sasha sat, comepletely relaxed. It wasn't too hot, and it wasn't too cold; it was just... pleasant. She sniffed the air idly, her nose raising up to test the myriad of different scents around her, and in some ways it was intoxicating.

When his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she looked to him, tawny eyes thoughtfull and calm. With a small whurffle of happiness, she looked back to what'd caught his attention so much, her monochrome vision picking out the stage and the actors on it. What they were saying meant nothing to her; it was just another play to watch in her opinion. But, Sasha obviously had had his interest piqued, and she was more than willing to rest on the grass, taking in the sun and chatter around her.

Chin resting on paws, the animal let out a heavy breath and lay still, content to just spend the day relaxing with Sasha and enjoyimg the festival.

[Nathanial K'cansce]

*Why had Nathan, only now, been able to attend the Summer Festival of Omar Prime? For close to six years now, he's heard about it, through tale and hear-say. Everyone saying how much they loved it; the atmosphere, the people there, the arts, crafts, plays, music... everything. It just felt like they were back in History, enjoying the day much like their grandparent's grandparent's grandparents would have back when they lived.

And each of those past five years, Snack wished ever so much to attend, just to submerge in the flow and feeling of being there. But training had kept him from coming. Conditioning, learning... training.... responsibilities of a young man with too much power for his own good. He had dreamt back then about exploring the galaxy and having fun. He dreamt about what life would have been like if he hadn't chosen the Sith... then the Jedi... then the Sith again. And that dream had always ended up in a place like this with wonderful aromas, pleasant eye candy, and delectable tastes.

But now young Snack had grown up into a mature Nathan. Now, he had the time to enjoy himself. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had to make time, for he swore to himself he wouldn't miss another Festival.

The day seemed to be going by too fast for his own liking. There was still so much to sample, so much to do! Nate had passed by the food tasting and the wine sampling and enjoyed every second of that. He listened and watched a couple of lute players and some other musical performers, playing and singing real music with real lyrics about some old Hero and his epic tale of woe.

Yet that was not the best part, oh no! He seemed to fit in where ever he walked! Not into those social cliques, for he traveled alone, but in his wardrobe. The entertainers paid to be here, some of them wore very similar robes and cloaks to those on Nate's form. Others, too, had black clothing, grey robes, and everything else, so no one really paid much attention to the tall, pale man in black. Everyone's clothing was so elaborate and so ..wow... that they were getting all the attention. He smiled openly at that.

Clapping caught his ears as he wandered about, eyes wide. And then a hushed silence followed in one direction, towards the larger of the stages where a crowd had gathered. At first, the stage was dark, and then it revealed a nice looking set. inside one of the "rooms", a man began to speak.

"As we walk through the door, our sorrows we see. We sit here wondering will we be free. Achillios what say thee?"

What an attention grabber. Nate stopped mid stride, his body turning to where the stage was. Just with that line, Nate figured this would be by far the best catch of the day. He made his way through the sitting crowd and found himself an open seat. Once he sat, he pushed his robes and cloak around to the sides, and placed his hands upon his lap. He listened intently on the developing story, picking up on some of the key phrases and descriptions, such as "The Nine" and the people that it composed of. Or that's what he thought.

You're getting soft

Shut up and enjoy the show, ya old coot.

So far, this had been a day well spent, and one that made him kick himself for not taking the time to come in the previous years. Leaning forward, Nate continued to watch and listen to the unfolding play.*

[Taylor Millard]

As the players of our story start to watch the play going on before them, the air around them begins to cool as the sun begins to set. This was the affect Eiremoc wanted...showing the sun set slowly on Kiterix's Empire.

Those actors in the tragedy continued their discussion...but not before an interuption...

GUARD: Bring him forth! Cast him into the unoccupied cell!

Three guards, clad in the same green and black as the other Guard, enter dragging a man wearing armor with them. The man is young, blond and a large scar is visible on the side of his face. The unoccupied cell was opened and the man was thrown in.

(Guards Exit)

RAFUZAL: Who is he?

ACHILLIOS: I know not.

(He looks into the cell as coughing arises from within)

ACHILLIOS: Ho! Say thee! Who are you?

BARAZ: I am Baraz...I fight against the evil one.

RAFUZAL: What news from outside do you have?

BARAZ: The usurpser is losing steadily. The true leader will win.

ACHILLIOS: The Nine are winning?

BARAZ: Aye. Accompanied by the 'City Destroyer' and a 'Butcher'. The Nine will win.

DIMOS: Ah...the 'City Destroyer'...he has yet to realize his own fate. He will be important in the years to come.

BARAZ: And the Butcher?

DIMOS: I am tired. Let me rest.

BARAZ: No! What role do the Butcher have to play?

DIMOS: The Butcher will be more important than all. She will curve the heart of one of the Nine. And strengthen him in his time of need.

CHORUS: There is one who watches and writes, recording all. What will he decide in the coming days? What more will he do? His works are secret...his motives unknown. Will he defend Balmorra or watch it fall?

The Nine will need strengthening from one who is not a member. They will help in their darkest hour...when two have fallen. The Nine will still be strong, even when their ranks are lost by two. For one...one of the fallen will become more than have ever known. And the other will never be seen again...but never forgotten.

The shadowy man turned to Vysten, with a mysterious smile.

"I've been known to write a passage here and there. But you haven't read it. I keep my own writings personal and private. For my own pleasure. I've always thought if the author was pleased with the writings...then the writings are worth being pleased about."

[Abraham Xavier]

The dream (http://meras.org/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=8100) haunted his mind as he traveled. It had been a day since his last vision. Equally, it was a day since his first. En route to Omar Prime, he found that he could barely contain his agitation. Something was happening, blossoming, coming to pass; and he was to be part of it. This is what he had trained for. This is what he had waited for all this time. This is why he was who he was. Energy coursed through his veins that he had not produced in fifteen years. It was as though he had been given the gift of life and purpose.

Making his way hastily off the shuttle, he quickly and quietly avoided attention. This was his speacialty, of course, and he found it very useful in avoiding taxes and fees. Dispatched into the bustling crowd of the busy spaceport, his dark cloak blended into the other mixed bag of colors as he slipped past various patrons. He knew where to be--his senses his guide with nothing else to navigate by. It was more than luck or instincts. It was destiny. It was the Force that guided him.

He traveled lightly, for the lighter on was the easier one took flight. His business was often dangerous and always secretive. Discovery meant two things: escape or die. His craft was not illegal nor his dealings of the darkside; it was a code among Clerics. To be caught is to be killed; there is no alternative. If not slain by your captor, slay yourself in honor of our covenant. The secrets we keep must be silent in our sleep. Two automatic rail-pistols hung in holsters under his arms. He had read Crena's Journal, and he knew that the days of slug-throwers had come and gone. Weapons were too strong and rail gun technology was the key to successful outgunning, should the situation call for such performance. A dark leather satchel hung across his body. It was filled with several treasures--numerous datapads, a few old texts as well as personal datarecorders and text journals of Xavier's. Around his neck was a silver chain of which, under his dark tunic, bore an emblem few carried but those who needed to could understand. The emblem of The Watchers. The Hand of the Clerics. A cloack enshrouded his body and possessions as he tread upon firm, sturdy black boots.

Having faced several traffic spots, Xavier finally made his way to the square. The play had begun, and some of it had already passed. He recognized it immediately--it was a take on The Prophecy! Who would know? What. . .how? Who. . .? He found his brow furrowing as the information came over him. Though he had expected not to witness such a public display of The Prophecy, it occured to him that none would truly understand it. The public did not believe in such 'nonsense,' and he found part of himself at ease that they would not.

The play was good--it highlighted and described pertinent points of interest. Quickly, he found himself jotting down information into his datapad. His holo recorded the muffled sounds through his bag, though they generally ended up being pretty clear. It was the best he could do, as he couldn't draw too much attention to himself. It was for the better.

Several energies pulsated around him. This was a hotspot, and he had found it. He nearly kicked himself for having not discovered it sooner. Then again, it had not been his place yet. The Force decided the timeline, and it was given to do as it pleased. That had yet to change. Thus, he had followed. He was a servant, and it was his job to obey and record. That was his task, his job. It was not pleasurable, and it was not a hinderance. It was simply his purpose, and he had accepted it from the start.

Quietly, he stood in the back, observing the rank and file of the crowd. Soon, he would be able to pinpoint those he sought. Soon, the pieces of this puzzle would begin to reconstruct. Soon, he might understand exactly what he was witnessing and precisely what he needed to do. Until then, he would do what he was instructed to do.

He watched.

[Vysten Ambre]

"I guess you're right," Vsten said softly. "But it's been so long since I've written anything other than a list of things to do I wouldn't able to have an opinion." She then wiped the grease on her hands onto her already stained flight pants.

This man was obviously trying to make conversation, but Vysten found it extremely hard to reply to him. She could tell he was intelligent, and she felt like she was making a fool of herself with every word she uttered. Scratching behind her ear, Vysten looked toward the stage and pretended to be interested.

[Helios]

Helios did not understand the context of the play he was watching, to him it was but an elaborate story these creatures who had taken him as one of their own used to amuse himself. Helios had been in stasis during the Civil War and not known the inticacies of the political and military struggles that had played out. Still the mention of "The Nine" played heavily on his still developing mind.

On he listened as mythology, history and fiction wove into one undiscernable thread. He was spellbound by the work.

[Taylor Millard]

It was now the play began to wrap up Act One, with the assembled prisoners staring around each other. The crowd, enraptured by the tragedy, continued to watch as the prisoners discussed 'The Nine' and their effect on the future.

BARAZ: The news of the front I have told you. The true leader is winning, his forces helped by many allies from the outside.

DIMOS: When the times look bleak...is when the true leader makes his abilities known. 'The Nine' are not the only ones who aide him.

ACHILLIOS: We have heard rumors of those on the outside who've helped him. Who are they?

BARAZ: There is a man...the Great Tactitian, he is called. He has provided assistance against the usurpser.

DIMOS (coming to the bars of his cell so his face can be seen) : He will assist him when the time is right. Although he does not agree with the Empire, he sees it as his duty to defend it. Especially when it is all he has.

RAFUZAL: The Great Tactician, I have heard of him, but never believed in him. 'The Nine' should be able to survive on their own.

DIMOS: Young fool! Were I able to move, I would slap you for it!

'The Nine' are strong yes, but they cannot survive on their own. For although they are weapons, their ability to receive support from others is their key. The 'winged one's' looks give him support. The 'old one' is the true leader, his visage and reputation guiding him. The 'child' has much potential and his ability to aid him. The 'City Destroyer' has power, although he has yet to find it all. The 'Man in White' is pure weapon...he and the child will work well together. The 'slave' with fight hard and the 'woman with the flaming hair' will be a pillar of strength for one of them.

But all is not well for 'The Nine'. The 'Shadow man' skirts on the edge of sanity and the 'Hammer bearer' is doomed. Even the 'Old One' will see sorrow at the end of his days.

By the end of 'The Nine's' coming, they will all learn sorrow. I have forseen it. Now...leave me alone, I wish to be with myself for a while.

(He disappears into his cell)

CHORUS: Yes, the seer has forseen it.
'The Nine's' power will stretch far enough to defend all of Balmorra.
Their loyalty and beliefs will keep the borders strong and the heart of its Empire.
But even then will trying times come.
As the sage, Dimos, has spoken...the 'Hammer Bearer' is doomed and the 'Shadow Man' teeters on the edge of sanity.
But those who remain will be heartened by their comrades.
For Balmorra is more than 'The Nine'...and it will last forever.

Through turmoil and strife, Balmorra shall reign,
through sorrow and unhappiness, Balmorra shall reign,
through anger and rage, Balmorra shall reign,
Through war and famine...Balmorra shall reign.

The crowd in the theater lit up with applause at the words from the Chorus. Indeed hearing praise about Balmorra would cause such a reaction. Eiremoc had written his play well, but it still had another act to go.

The shadowy man smiled at the words and the crowd's reaction.

"Such powerful words indeed," he said to Vysten, as he adjusted his dark glassed, "But I do wonder where Eiremoc learned so much about prophecy...Perhaps he himself has done some reading in the 'Book of Records'."

[SashaKovalev]

As act one came to a close, Sasha laid back on the grass, his head supported by his hands as he stared up at the sky, the vornskyr hanging out beside him on the hilltop overlooking the amphitheatre. He gave a contented sigh, his thoughts on act one and trying to decipher its meaning.

He’d heard pf prophesies, though in his young life, he hadnt been given many opportunities to ever see them actually fulfilled. And so he didn’t entirely believe in them, or that anyone could so accurately predict the future. But…he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was something behind the story told in the play – he was a young man with an active imagination, and eager to experience the future, even to experience war – simply because he had never known it, and knew not the pain, anger, and sorrow it could bring.

It the late afternoon, early evening fading sun, he closed his eyes and relaxed. He didn’t think of possible threats – nor did he employ the force on this day to warn him of anything. He was with a vornskyr, and had already once learned the dangers of using the force around her. The scars still remained on his hand, arm, wrist and ankle to this day, though, truth be told, he bore them proudly.

And as his thoughts drifted off, they began to fit those he knew into the play, making his uncle, who he already believed to be a hero, one of the players. His master, Wargrave, another. Piece by piece, part by part, he imagined the others his master had trained. Of course, he didn’t have nine of them to fit into parts, and so a few of them he left blank. Daydreaming, as a kid his age does, of tremendous conquers in battle. Of being something more than he was.

A few moments later, as the vornskyr stirred beside him, he sat up.

“I wish my life was that exciting….” He commented, speaking to Lok in her altered form beside him, as he referred to the events in the play.

He gave a soft, wistful sigh, and then cast a gaze at what seemed to be a slowly setting sun.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She looked up from her self appointed task of nosing through the grass and whurffled, snorting grass blades from her nostrils to look at Sasha as he spoke. It was easy to see the kid had that restless look to him, that he wanted adventure. If she could talk, she'd tell him that usually adventures weren't all that adventurous, and tended to be more taxing than anything else. She'd quite had her fill of adventures, and was perfectly happy to simply live her life doing her own thing, and not go out for someone elses glory. She'd done that once. And once was more than enough for her.

Hell, rooting around in the grass for no reason was fun enough at the moments, catching snippets of the play. Once, she had perked up, as her ears caught the word 'Butcher', but she dismissed it without a second though. Some still called her that, but her part had been played in Balmorra's troubles. Or at least that was what she thought.

So now, looking up at Sasha, she gave him a toothy grin, her whiplike tail slightly wagging back and forth as mirth danced in her tawny eyes.