-”Conversations: Eavesdroppings from the Mad City”
Heads were already turning toward the stage before I even felt the hint of an incredible pressure settling on all of us. Conversations die without even a murmur. Even the crystals hanging from the chandeliers overhead seem to still, the cascade of rainbow light painting the walls becoming an unmoving fixture.
The sound of boots clapping against the hardwood of the stage echoes into the vacant space of empty sound before the curtains can be pulled to the side. In the center of the stage stands a man who seems to bleed power. The elven man wears his golden hair pulled into a tail that falls over his left shoulder, draping the white cloth of the uniform he wears. The uniform is military in cut, bearing a conformity to spartan fashion, a pristine white accented by splashes of gold, blue, and red. The golden insignias of a serpent’s head shine brightly in the sunlight from the window. Whatever rank it represents is lost on me but able to impress me all the same.
The man is beautiful; all elves I have met seem to be. His high features are sharp, his form lithe but seeming to carry a graceful strength in each of his movements. Despite his graceful features, there is a severity in his blue eyes that steals all authority from the room. Without my thinking it, Galea continues to identify and catalog everyone in the room.
???(???)
I get nothing from it.
He finishes his approach toward the front of the stage, his eyes turned on all below. For an instant, only the soft sound of breathing is heard in the hall. The man nods, more to himself than to anyone else, and clears his throat.
“My name is Prince Sagistan Ramacalla, 47th son of the Emperor. It is both my honor and duty to address those assembled here today as, by Duke Mari’s request and the Emperor’s allowance, I have been placed in charge of this operation. It is unlikely that many of those seated before me have ever taken part in an operation on this scale. As such, allow me to make this clear from the outset. This is no contest. This is not a simple hunt for a powerful monster. I wish to impress upon each and every one of you that a beast tide is a devastating and serious event.
“So far, estimated casualties for the attacks that have taken place in the last few weeks have eclipsed eight hundred. Eight hundred men, women, and children, those who look to the powerful to keep them safe from the monsters that scratch at their doors in the night, are dead. We have failed them. Thousands of newly formed monsters rove through the countryside, launching an attack against civilization, and it is our responsibility to put an end to it, to save as many as we possibly can.
“I take that responsibility seriously. Dozens of disparate bands of adventures running out into the wilds on their own, dispatching what monsters they can find, will not be adequate. The loss of life that would occur in that meantime is unacceptable. All of us capable of protecting this land, of defeating this foe, will be taken and restructured into legitimate commands. If you find yourself unable to countenance authority, unable to follow the orders of those placed above you, I ask that you leave now. Once this operation begins, disobedience to authority will encounter harsh and swift consequence.”
With his ultimatum given, the prince steps back and watches the audience. Low conversation starts about the room at once, though no one stands to move toward the doors. Jor’Mari is the first at our table to speak, leaning in conspiratorily.
“I think that may actually be Prince Sagistan,” he says, pointing back toward the stage.
“Wouldn’t he be committing a crime if he wasn’t by saying that he was?” Jess asks.
“You didn’t know that a prince of the emperor would be here?” Dovik says.
“No.” Jor’Mari looks back up to the stage, shaking his head. “If that man is going to be involved, then this operation should be cleared up quickly. He is known as a pinnacle genius for an essentia magician, having reached the peak of the third rank in less than two decades. I’ve even heard tale that he has slain a hydra without assistance. Just witnessing his skill in battle will be worth putting up with the stuffiness of a formalized command.”
A pinnacle genius he says. I look back to the stage, watching the prince as he turns his back to the audience and converses with a few more on the stage with him, people who continue to linger toward the back. I can’t help but ignore them for now, my attention captured completely by the man who seems to attract the light in the room in a radiant way.
According to the books that I have read on the progression of an essentia magician, reaching the end of the third rank in under two decades is quite the achievement. When first reading that, I was somewhat doubtful. Corinth managed to make it to the fifth rank in only a decade after all. The more I learn about the world, the more my brother’s achievements seem impossible, and I only know a fraction of them.
Arabella once told me that there were geniuses in this world capable of ascending the ranks of magic through simple meditation. Perhaps that is what my brother had done to climb so quickly, but I don’t think so. No, there is an air about this prince that tells me the man has seen countless battles. In a way, it reminds me of Corinth. How little I know about my own brother.
“That’s Illigar,” Dovik says, gesturing to a man speaking with Prince Sagistan on the stage. The human man wears a simple blue robe absent any decoration other than a checkered pattern of green near the hem. His dark hair is cropped short and shot through with a touch of gray, and considering his rank, that would make him very old.
Illigar the Sage
Movement Conflux
“He is an enforcer for the guild,” Dovik goes on. It isn’t as if I need to ask which guild he is talking about.
My attention turns to the others on the stage: I count five in total including the prince and this enforcer for the Willian guild. Standing near the prince, doing his best to carry the same air as the man, is another elven man dressed in a similar military uniform to the prince’s. The elven man’s uniform is decorated and flamboyant, detracting from the serious persona he attempts.
Fas Cla’Mari, Son of Duke Cla’Mari of the Mari Duchy
The fourth man of those on stage is an earthspeaker, his skin marbled like limestone and his shoulders twice as broad as either of the elven men. A black and featureless mask covers the man’s face, and the armor he wears is a dark and coppery color which covers him almost fully. On his back is strapped a two-headed hammer that bleeds evident power in a shimmering haze of green and silver.
Torid Yas Falladri
Thundering Conflux
The last on stage is a diminutive woman dressed in tight bands of green, scaled leather, more knives tucked into her belts than I have ever seen a single person carry. Dark blonde hair bounces in tight curls around her head as she looks between the men standing in a loose circle around the prince, violet eyes peering out from a thin face. Tattoos are scribbled across her face in a language I can’t even begin to guess at, the green ink standing out against her chestnut complexion.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Maladasica Jane
Cataclysm Conflux
“His fourth son,” I hear Jor’Mari answer Dovik’s question as I turn back to the table’s conversation. He is talking about his half-brother up on the stage.
“He isn’t endowed then?” Jess asks, sounding a bit confused.
“No,” Jor’Mari answers. “Noble endowment is not the only path to power. Fas has a considerable talent, and you would be wrong to underestimate him. You called that old man up on the stage and enforcer, Dovik. Would you think him weak?”
Dovik chews on the question for a moment. “Some might, but I wouldn’t. His strength is not exactly straightforward. That is all I will say about the matter.”
“Don’t want to give away a guildmate’s secrets?” I ask.
“I doubt he would care,” Dovik answers. “It is more that my mother would care. She is always lecturing me about being too open with information. If it comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“Speaking of letting each other know,” I say. “We should get down to making sure we understand what each of us can…”
“You have had some time to consider!” A voice from the stage calls. Eyes turn back to find Prince Sagistan once more at the front of the stage, holding his hands up to gather attention. “Do any of you wish to leave?”
The prince allows a few heartbeats to pass before nodding. “Good. While I do wish to stress the importance of this undertaking, do not believe that the empire is hesitant in rewarding those that pay it and its citizens dutiful service. Both the Emperor and Duke Cla’Mari have opened their vaults to this enterprise. Top performers will be rewarded handsomely, of that you can be sure. However, before we can think to such matter, we must turn our attention to what we have discovered about the enemy.”
At the man’s gesture, lights spring to life on the stage, forming a flat image similar to the windows my eye makes for me. The similarity is so stark that for a moment I think no one else might be able to see them until the prince manipulates the image with his hand.
“Any successful operation begins with the dissemination of information,” the prince says. The image continues to shift and change at his command until it settles upon a representation of the duchy. “Since it was brought to our attention that a beast tide was underway, we have set ourselves to gathering those with any capacity for scouting. This representation of the Duchy contains the bulk of their observations.” At his words, black spots representing towns and cities begin to pulse on the map. A flood of red dots begins to appear one after another, clumping together throughout the Duchy, some moving while others stay in place or congregate.
“These are the locations of most of the rabble beasts that we have managed to locate so far. The populations of these monsters currently rest in the thousands, and we do not know as of yet whether that number will continue to climb or level off. The makeup of these monster populations seems to mostly be that of ordinary beast-type monsters, those that gather into packs to show force and strength. For the most part, the monsters range between the first and second ranks, though there have been sightings of several extreme variants in the third rank.
“The analysts of the Adventurer’s League have gone over the information collected from our scouting parties and have labeled this as a middle-tier second-rank beast tide, and I concur with their estimation. Further, we believe that a single creature is responsible for the manifestation of this beast tide. To tell you more about that, I will pass the stage to the esteemed Illigar, who some of you might know as Illigar the Sage.”
As the prince backs away, allowing the middle-aged-looking man forward, I have to admit that I find the tone of the address fascinating. The serious atmosphere is almost oppressive, and I cannot recall a time similar to it. In Westgrove, the few addresses I attended were more akin to a drunken taskmaster yelling at a bunch of misbehaved delinquents. Here, in this grand hall, everyone pays strict attention to the information relayed. Even that man resting among his obvious harem of hangers-on stares up at the stage, intently listening.
Now, the serious atmosphere doesn’t keep me from enjoying a delicious buttered roll as Illigar the Sage moves to the front of the stage to begin manipulating the huge image floating in the air. The rolls are delicious after all, and no one asked for any kind of payment.
When Illigar begins to speak, his voice is monotone, almost bored sounding. His fingers flex in a precise motion, and several of the dots on the map grow and turn to vibrant blue. “These represent the allocation of third-rank variants that we have discovered so far,” he says. He applies further manipulations to the image, with some dots turning white, others orange, and still more yellow. “For those whose relative strength we have been able to establish, these dots represent that strength in the standard rank-graded order. For those unfamiliar, white is early in the rank, yellow is mid-rank, and orange is high-rank. Taking into account merely the disposition of these rank-threes, a pattern emerges.”
He’s right. Excluding Danfalla, the capital, there are four cities of note represented on the map of the Duchy: Cors, Maidenlake, Black Rock, and Discaith. While the red dots representing the packs of dozens or even hundreds of monsters are scattered throughout the region, the differently-colored dots representing the rank-three monsters are congregated near or around the major cities. More, only a single blue dot resides near each city, only one high third-rank monster is near each city. The only exception to the trend is a grouping of colored dots clustered on the western end of the Dutchy, a cluster of all different colors out in the middle of nowhere.
Illigar continues. “What first occurred to me when taking the disposition of the enemy into account, and no doubt is now occurring to the quick-witted among you is that the enemy strength is distributed in far too even a manner. There are several kinds of beast tides. A plethora of magical phenomena appearing in our world can give rise to a sudden increase in the gestation of aberrant creatures from the magisphere, but I believe that this pattern of distribution tells us what we are dealing with. This beast tide was not caused by some flare of the magisphere or some accidental celestial alignment. No, what we are dealing with is an intelligent monster having appeared, and along with it has come the increase in monster spawning.”
The image displayed on the window focuses on that western area of the map, an open expanse of tributaries intermingling with the occasional forest. “We believe that this intelligent creature resides here and that it somehow possesses the ability to manipulate other monsters. This explains why it has separated the high third-ranks from one another, stopping possible territorial disputes before they could begin. Moreover, while huge herds of monsters have roamed the duchy at will, at least half have come together, creating massive hordes of the creatures. The intermingling of various monster species is unnatural, also leading credence to the thought that a central figure is behind this. This beast tide may be categorized as mid-second-rank, but make no mistake, depending on the capability of the commanding figure, the lethality that it possesses may be far higher than many of you would expect.”
“Have you spotted this mastermind monster?” someone calls from the crowd.
Illigar stops on stage, peering out into the crowd, his train of thought seeming to be completely disrupted.
“No,” the prince says, stepping back to the fore. “While we believe the western waterways to be the location of this mysterious monster, none of our scouts have been able to get close enough to confirm. Divination has proven difficult with so many powerful creatures gathered together. This leads me to the second topic that I wish to address.”
At a motion from the prince, the window displaying the map vanishes, leaving him standing once more on a naked stage. “Everyone in this hall is at the bare minimum a silver-rank adventurer. I do not doubt the prowess of any individual in this room, but as I said earlier, this operation will not be done by disparate parties but by a centralized command. Before I can properly structure our plan of action, I need to know what talents I have to work with. At this time, I implore all part leaders and solo adventurers to adjourn with me to the neighboring chamber where you will outline the skills and abilities of yourselves and your allies. We have no intention of breaking apart teams, but we still have to allocate ourselves properly.”
Without anything else to say, Prince Sagistan turns on his heels and walks off the stage, descending a short flight of steps and entering another room. A stunned second passes in the room as the rest of those on stage with him slowly file out. The scape of a nearby chair against the stone floor draws my attention away. Dovik pushes himself to stand, flashing a smile that looks a bit nervous to me.
“I guess that I should see about that,” he says. Already, more are sliding their chairs back around the room, following after the prince.
“Talk us up,” Jor’Mari says.
“Please do,” I agree. “I don’t want us to end up somewhere where there won’t be enough monsters to kill.”
“I am great at talking people up,” Dovik says, already walking away toward the door. “How do you think I convinced all of you to join me.”
Jor’Mari points out that tables of food have been set out at the back of the room. The staff for the Hall must be truly excellent to set that up during the Prince’s address without my noticing. While Jess and Jor’Mari turn toward discussing the information we were just given, my attention is pulled elsewhere. That same woman from before, the one whose eye looks like a twin to my own, catches my attention, nodding back toward the tables of food.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing from the table. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”
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