Fantasy Cinders and Ashes (Completed)

[ArcticFox]

"Cinders, as you call it, would indeed fall under our jurisdiction. The immunity granted by that thorn - spina - would be revoked." Meaning, you realise, that everyone in Cinders would join the demon's thralls. "I cannot guarantee anyone's safety but your own," Malachite continues. "But, anyway, in the paltry time you have been here, you cannot have formed any lasting attachments."

"In any case, you will be richly rewarded, and be free forever of any taint of the Wood, and any need to preserve your spina." Malachite sighs, rolls his eyes, and holds out his palm, the interlocking lines there glow briefly, flashing like lightning before settling into a tempestuous black, and then fading. "This is my promise. I cannot go back upon it without suffering grievously indeed."

"But I must have your answer. Will you join me, and my compatriots? It would be greatly to your benefit."

Do you ally with the demons? To be alone atop a seat of wealth and power - it can be a great thing.

On the other hand, to allow all of Cinders to fall, that is no small matter. To be alone with wealth and power could be a lonely thing, perhaps. If you wield sufficient influence, you can try to persuade Malachite to allow someone else to remain Willed with you.

- Yes.
- No.
- You are not sure.
- Ask for someone else to remain Willed.

 

[Ezri]

It was as she suspected— if Vivian accepted this deal, then Cinders as she knew it would cease to exist. Everyone there would become Fallen; there would be no Cinders at all, not really. Bruno, the colonel, Wren and Danaer would all become those hollow, humming things. Regardless of how she felt about the town itself, or some of the people in it, that fate wasn’t one she could wish on anyone.

“I have to admit it is a very generous offer, Mr. Malachite.” She started, keeping her courteous air despite her growing unease. There was one thought that she held onto that gave her some hope— that Malachite wouldn’t make this offer for nothing. She had _something_ that could threaten him, and as long as she had that she had some chance of solving this. “And I have no doubts that you would keep that promise, I assure you. But, I’m afraid humans are a little too good at forming attachments. If what you’re saying is true, then I can’t join you.”

 

[ArcticFox]

Malachite looks annoyed. "I can grant you the safety of that one person you claim to be attached to. But no more than that. I cannot justify it to the others." His tone will brook no further argument. "Who do you wish to save?"

- Choose someone.
- Refuse.

 

[Ezri]

“I apologize, Mr. Malachite, but one isn’t enough.” She said, just as firm. Even if she did ask for one person to be spared, would they agree to it? Could they forgive her for damning everyone else? Vivian wasn’t sure that she could forgive herself, if she did. “Although it’s a shame, it appears that we won’t be able to reach an agreement on this matter.”

 

[ArcticFox]

Malachite tilts his head, sighs, and nods. "Very well, but I will not pretend that I am not disappointed. I fear I must attend to other duties." It is a clear signal for you to leave. "I shall send for the carriage." A sly look passes behind his eyes, so quickly that you might have imagined it.

The warnings about the Wilds come to mind, how those who attempt to find their way in them without a demon's guidance succumb to the magical fumes in the air, and, maddened by it, lose their way.

It also occurs to you that now you have served your purpose, it might not be quite so important for Malachite to safeguard your return to Cinders. After all, you know a great deal.

The thralls who now appear, smoke-silent and gray-faced beside you, do nothing to allay your suspicions.

How do you ensure you return home in one piece?

- Ask Malachite for a guarantee of your return.
- Threaten Malachite.
- Trade spina.

 

[Ezri]

“Of course. It’s nothing personal, I assure you.” Vivian said— she hadn’t expected her refusal to go over well, but it wasn’t until now that she fully realized the potential consequences. Malachite might not kill her outright, but that didn’t mean he would return her safely either.

“And don’t get me wrong— I don’t intend to simply take advantage of your kindness.” She said, trying not to sound rattled. Any leverage she had would be hard to lean into here, when she was alone and armed with nothing but her suspicions. She might just have to grit her teeth and accept a loss of spina, as dangerous as that was in its own right. “It would only be fair that I compensate you for my journey home.”

 

[ArcticFox]

Malachite eyes you with evident surprise, and increased respect. "Very well." He reaches into one of the capacious folds of his coat, and produces a white flower with a delicate golden stamen. It is so pale that its edges blur against the sun and your eyes water A perfume reaches your nostrils, crisp and bright, like a sharp Spring morning, and you feel your spina disappear.

"This will ensure your safe passage." Malachite says.

The carriage inches along the hinterlands like a beetle in the sun. At times, the sun refracting against the eerie clouds and that sharp edge of the horizon make you dizzy, even from the safety of the coach.

If you fix your gaze towards the front, the dizziness subsides slightly. There is a dark patch, an extra haziness there - this must be where the Wilds meet Cinders' lands. But with the Wilds curving around, endless to the eye, it seems less a crossing between territories than a gateway between worlds.

The chariot jolts and shudders, creaking, a sudden gale has blown up. You poke your head out of the window to get a better view. The Fallen who drive you seem to be conferring about something; their bleary faces are turned towards each other, and then crane simultaneously to the east. The horses stamp, jittery.

A great stormcloud, green-tinged and bristling with dust and debris, is approaching.

It buffets the carriage, rocking it until it seems quite unsafe to remain inside. The Fallen scramble out and open the door with difficulty, beckon to you to step down - the driver unbuckles the horses and lets them bolt out into the wilderness.

It's that or risk being crushed.

Within moments, the storm is upon you. You close your eyes and huddle against the carriage, but the particles of dust are everywhere, in your nose, mouth, eyes. The dull greenish light seems an omen of the grave.

A great gust of wind knocks you against the chariot's wheel. With a resounding crack, it careens onto its side onto the ground. The wind twists you around, pushes you to the ground. When you turn your head, you can no longer see the chariot or the Fallen - the storm has consumed them.

You are alone in the Wilds.

- Use Malachite's flower.
- Trust your instinct to find the way.
- Run in the direction where you were headed before.
- Call upon the Fae for help.

 

[Ezri]

Thankfully Malachite was receptive, and although she might regret that loss of her spina later at least she would be alive. That was the plan, anyway, but the Wilds had its own ideas.

The pain she might have felt from being tossed around like a ragdoll was eclipsed by shock and panic as she looked around for the carriage and found nothing. There was nothing, and the air was still dense with that magic; Vivian wasn’t sure that she should even breathe. For what felt like a long moment she just stood there, statuesque, until she remembered the flower. She scrambled to retrieve it— he said it would help, and he had better have told the truth.

 

[ArcticFox]

You take the flower out of your pocket and hold it to your face. The aroma makes your eyes clear, suddenly, the storm does not seem so all-encompassing. You see clearly which direction in which to go. Light illumines the path ahead, the storm cannot touch you while you are certain of your way.

Once you are out of the storm, Cinders appears, suddenly and fully, on the horizon. It was a mirage that seemed to be so far away.

You feel the border with every particle of your being, it is a jolt akin to a thunderbolt striking too near. Now, suddenly, your lungs can expand freely - now, suddenly, the acrid, acidic taste of Wilds's magic is replaced by good clean air. Breathing is easy, the air is soothing to your skin.

You return home with a new goal in mind:

- To protect Cinders from the demons.
- To help demons.
- To gather more information.
- To tell someone about the things you learned.

 

[Ezri]

As the flower’s scent cleared her mind and her senses, Vivian felt a little bad for doubting Malachite’s words. But there wasn’t time to think about that as she ran for home, crashing through the border almost like it was solid. But it was such a relief to be somewhere familiar, to feel as though existing was simply a given and not a continued struggle, and as she gathered herself she took a few deep breaths just for the sake of taking them.

She did not think Malachite was as evil as she might have before; her trip had taught her many things, maybe the most prominent being that demons weren’t as removed from her own kind as they seemed to be. But that didn’t change the threat on Cinders, or the fate that awaited everyone in it if the demons took it as they wanted. It had to be stopped, somehow— maybe if she knew what Malachite wanted she could negotiate, but that wasn’t something she could count on.

 

[ArcticFox]

Cinders bustles sleepily as usual, seemingly unaware of its impending changes. Its cobblestone streets and limestone edifices shine in the sunlight, as if nothing could shake it. But you know differently. The stability you see is an illusion - it could be removed in an instant.

The issue of the keystones must be addressed. After all, it may be only a matter of time before the Fallen succeed - if they have not already done so. The sun is dipping low into the afternoon - it is too late in the day to call upon others or to search for more information. Your best bet is to find them at the opera.

--

You hasten to prepare for the opera, putting on your finery. The evening is reminiscent of your first night in Cinders - not long ago at all in time, but a different world. At just this time in the evening, you thought it of paramount importance what you wore, and whether you entered on Rowan's arm, or alone. The Assembly commanded all your attention, the need to be respectable and approved-of, to show the other gentry of your worth. But it's different now. Tonight you feel...

- Nostalgic.
- Strange.
- Motivated.
- Resentful.
- Worried.

 

[Ezri]

It always struck Vivian as strange, how willing most of the people in Cinders seemed to be to ignore the terrors around them. Any average citizen would have no clue about the keystones at all, let alone any overarching demon plot that involved them. It might be a cynical thought, but part of her wondered, if they did somehow learn about it, whether they would just simply turn away from it as they did when people fell.

But she took some solace in the fact that she knew people who would care— multiple, even. And as she dressed for the opera, every detail as it should be, she didn’t feel jaded or disheartened. Knowing what was out there in the Wilds, what future lie in store for them if nothing changed, she felt increasingly motivated. While she might not enjoy the petty politics of high society, if she could use it to aid herself and others then it was a game worth playing.

 

[ArcticFox]

A note arrives from Wren - it is penned in a slanting scribble that is difficult to read. You can hear his voice in your head as you puzzle out the words.

It reads:

Miss Price, I trust I will see you at the opera this evening. I have some information which may be of use. Yours, etc—W.G.

This is not the usual trip to the opera, by any measure. You are nearly ready, resplendent in all the finery you can muster. If this is to be your last evening in this Cinders, you will make it one to remember.

The opera house boasts all the splendour a town the size of Cinderscan afford - it is certainly not on par with the facilities of the City, but, all considered, not too shabby. The interior of the theatre certainly has enough gilt to dazzle spectators in such a town. The glow of hundreds of candles illuminates the boards and audience members alike - there are not enough attendants employed, however, and more than one candle wavers and gutters, while more than one theatregoer shrieks at the sensation of hot wax spoiling their finery.

As you enter, a chill breeze seems to sweep through you. This place, this scene, the stage upon which grand drama can play out, it is so far removed from the tenuous secret upon which Cinders rests that it is difficult to feel at ease. Among the throng, how many people know the danger they are in?

You breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of candlewax and polished pine, of smoke and that unnameable dusty force that is an impending story. Near you, a lady in a pink hat is discussing "I Dormiglioni Segreti" in rapturous tones - Bruno was right about its popularity. Evidently, two of the singers came all the way from the City for this performance.

The gong rings out, people are taking their seats. You eye a row of several boxes, each containing a different habitual resident. As a newcomer, and one of the gentry, you could join one of your acquaintances.

- Join Rowan and his wife.
- Join the Gruffords.
- Join Alcindor.

 

[Ezri]

Whether Wren was in a hurry or his handwriting was always like that, it seemed very like him. And his promise of information spurred her forward through her preparation and commute although of course she made sure to look the part of an elegant socialite despite her more clandestine purpose.

Still, Vivian could appreciate the atmosphere, in a distant sort of way. It was almost a shame to see such a lavish opera house, staff issues aside— if in another life there was no impending disaster, or even if she were ignorant of it, she might have properly enjoyed it all.

She smiled politely as she drifted passed anyone she thought she recognized, although her destination was clear. She might not be able to discuss the issue of demons with Wren openly, but it would be better to make her presence known to the Gruffords anyway. Danaer was a welcome companion, of course. And if Roland happened to be present, she would take any opportunity to observe what she could about that shady character.

 

[ArcticFox]

You catch sight of Wren and Danaer Grufford, along with Danaer's father, just entering the hall. They are on the late side, already the bell is chiming to go into the hall. You wade against the stream of theatregoers to greet them.

Danaer's eyes widen, seeing you, and he smiles. Wren shakes your hand, giving you a look of clear approval - only Roland Grufford seems displeased to see you: he sniffs, smirks, and shuffles.

Roland Grufford, more or less, ignores you. He looks even twitchier than usual, looking several times over his shoulder and scratching the side of his head with a pained expression on his face.

Danaer and Wren exchange troubled glances. "You will join us, will you not, Miss Price?" Danaer asks. You follow them to their box, a rather small and aspirational one, but with a passable view nonetheless.

- Talk to Wren.
- Talk to Danaer.
- Stay silent.

 

[Ezri]

So Roland was here, and he was as shifty as he ever was . Vivian wondered if it might simply be her own paranoia, but his odd behavior over was difficult to ignore, especially paired with his activities in moving people out of the city... it wasn’t as though she had a lot of concrete proof,
but if Roland Grufford really was involved with the demons somehow, she would not be surprised.

At the moment she couldn’t pursue this lone of thought much, and instead she redirected herself to the cousins as she joined them in their designated box. “I certainly will, thank you.” she replied with a smile . They were both good men, and good confidants, so by and large she felt that sitting with them would be the right choice.

It seemed rude to ignore one completely in favor of the other, so she made an attempt to address both of them when appropriate. But of course she and Wren had more of a rapport, so to speak, and her attention tended to drift toward him. “Apparently it’s quite a popular play, although I admit I’m not familiar with it..”

 

[ArcticFox]

You watch, and listen, keeping half an eye on the hall and half on the action on stage. The story is something about a beautiful daughter of a countess who has been captured by a wicked sorceress, and who is forced to sing to the several imperfect suitors who have been enchanted into sleeping statues. But then, there is the correct, perfect suitor with a brassy tenor, who arrives and declares that love is the only enchantment worth having…

At some point, you cease to pay attention to the story at all. The mood is tense, and you are not the only person spending more time studying the other audience members than the stage. There is a constant buzz of activity, as the spectators leave and re-enter the hall quite frequently, though many do seem to be following the action on stage.

The curtain falls on the first act, and you join in the applause, absent-minded, before heading with the throng out into the other rooms. Perhaps watching the opera itself is the wrong tactic entirely - wherever the spy is, they are not likely to sit still at this juncture.

Wren finds you at the interval. "I have been looking," he says. "Not a thing."

You spend some time watching the crowd together with him from one of the boxes.

The second act is noticeably worse than the first. The soprano's solo would be far more pleasing if the singer had a more convincing stage manner. There are so many pressing matters, and so much at stake… The other members of the audience seem jumpy as well. The level of activity, always constant, rises with the sounds of chatter and movement.

Midway through a lively duet, you notice someone getting up several times, looking about. It is Roland Grufford, acting even more strangely than usual. The torchlight glitters against his rings. He meets your gaze, practically leaps out of his seat, and scurries out of the box.

There is something odd here, something that doesn't fit together.

- Follow him.
- Tell the Philosophers.
- Try to make sense out of it on your own.
- Ignore it and stay and watch the Opera.

 

[Ezri]

As expected, it was difficult to actually pay proper attention to the opera while her mind was preoccupied with so many other things. What she hadn’t expected was that much of the crowd would be similarly distracted— Wren’s vigilance wasn’t unusual, but the audience as a whole? Maybe they really were attuned to their foreboding future. Still, it was difficult for Vivian to pick out anyone of interest...

But her eyes met Roland Grufford’s, and his panic sent a rush of adrenaline through her. She gave chase without a second thought, weaving between other attendees as quickly as she could without losing sight of him; he was up to something, he had to be. It only occurred to her that she could use assistance, but there was no time. This time she could confirm all her suspicions with her own eyes.

 

[ArcticFox]

But you fail to navigate the cluster of people at the foot of the stairs, and lose Grufford's trail. When, at last, you slip out, there is, at first, no sign of Grufford. But then, there he is, hurtling out the front door, evidently in a foul humour.

You hasten to follow him, but the door attendant gives you an odd look. "Can I help you, Madam?" To your profound bad luck, a clutch of gentry surround you - you've been caught acting very oddly indeed. Attention swirls around you, whispers and unsubtle glances strike you right and left. Suddenly, you are the focus of attention. And it is not attention you would have wished for or sought.

One person's voice floats to your ears: "…Spying, poking into things which are best left undisturbed…."

The crowd surrounds you, faces striving for a glimpse of you - notorious. You catch Lady Eugenie's gaze, high in her box, she turns away, giving you the cut direct. You have been publicly shamed. There's nothing else you can do that night.

--

Dawn breaks hard against the sky. You rise early after a restless night - it is a pity you needed to sleep at all, but the body can only be pushed so far. Clouds loom heavy over the hills;,the air is thick with anticipation. The fate of Cinders stands on a pin. The events of today could determine its future for the next century, at least, and you play no small part in it.

Without all four keystones in place, the town will never be safe, without all four removed, the demons will never succeed. Wherever your allegiances lie, it is imperative that you find them as quickly as possible.

As you are putting on your clothes, Bruno hands you a small card. "A messenger just arrived from the Council," he says. You look at the card - it is a summons.

In the distance, the town bell is tolling.

"Shall I call you a carriage, Madam?" Bruno asks.

- Call a carriage.
- Walk.
- Ride.
- Don't go.

 

[Ezri]

Maybe it was just a reaction to shame, but Vivian couldn’t help feeling angrier and angrier as she left the opera house, as she lay in bed that night, and even as she got up the next morning. What right did Lady Eugenie or any of them have to judge her? Their every move was scrutinized by demonic oversight, and instead of taking any control of the situation they decided they’d rather keep their heads down.

The message from the Council did not do anything for her mood, either. She didn’t know what they wanted, although she couldn’t think of any good reason they would call on her. She sighed— worrying about her social standing was starting to feel like a lost cause, but she’d better at least see what they wanted. “Thank you, Bruno. I’ll just ride there myself...”

 

[ArcticFox]

You hasten to the town hall - you're not the only person who has noticed something amiss. The council members are assembled, buzzing with questions.

Col. Ayax raises a hand, and everyone falls silent. "We are here to discuss an urgent matter that has come to our attention. Earlier this week, there was a break-in at the council library."

There are gasps from more than one quarter. You continue to watch the Colonel. This is not the most recent news, not by a long way - but it seems those who knew had their own reasons for keeping silent. Sure enough, Ayax continues. "Nothing was stolen; the thief was halted and the documents in question moved to another place for safekeeping. We have been investigating for any traces of the thief, but have yet to find them."

"Why the urgent summons, then, if all is well?" says a peevish voice from the back. "I, daresay, we all had more important matters to attend to." There are a few grumbles of agreement.

"The manner of the break-in, and the nature of the documents in question mean that it is necessary to investigate it thoroughly, and with utmost haste," Col. Ayax responds.

Now that you have the evidence of the demons' meddling, what will you do? If you have found the spy and chosen to expose their identity, presenting the evidence will build a good basis for this. Otherwise, if you feel that, regardless, the council will act too slowly, by attaining their blessing on your acting alone, you can negate any possibility of being blamed for the whole business. And then, of course, there is always the instinct of self-preservation to be reckoned with.

This is an opportunity to bring to light knowledge of the demon plot and ask for help, or to try to keep the council in the dark.

- Present the evidence to the council.
- Tell the council about the problem, but solve it on your own.
- Run away from Cinders.

 

[Ezri]

So they were investigating the break in, although if they were trying to do it with haste it already seemed to be a bit late for that. To be honest, after the events of the night before Vivian didn’t have a lot of hope for a favorable reaction if she offered what information she had... the murmurs of the indignant crowd around her were far from encouraging. But the Colonel was a good man. He would take this seriously.

She had no desire to be tied to Council decisions when the situation was so dire, but would they trust her to look into it on her own? They didn’t have any reason to, in particular— but in the end, it might not matter whether they trusted her or not. The council might be too slow, too bound by pretense and protocol, but they did have more resources than she did.

Vivian took a breath stepped forward. In order to avoid suspicion her best bet would be to tell them about the ring, and explain what she and Danaer had seen in the woods. At least they could be informed. And if they denied her request to keep investigating alone, then she could think about disobeying or mitigating the damage. Either way, at least someone would be fighting this.

 

[ArcticFox]

You stand and present the evidence to the council. How you have seen the Fallen attempting to move the keystones, how there are other witnesses as well. The burglary, and evidence of the spy. Many heads nod after your points - your evidence is sound, and you are convincing enough.

The council confers. Never have you seen these bastions of Cinders so animated. Clothes are mussed from wild gesticulation, hair coiffures are damaged, spittle flown in defence of one angle or another.

Finally, a consensus is reached.

"The plot is due to the Wood," one of the members pronounces. Heads nod in agreement. "If the Fae had done their duty and protected us, none of this would have happened. Is not that the point of their presence, to regulate affairs on the - er - magical level? If such a plot was possible, it can only be due to a great neglect on their part."

More and more of the council seems convinced that this is where the blame lies.

However, Jocasta whirls and focuses instead on you. "I, for one, am disinclined to believe Miss Price," she says in a cutting voice. "Why should we believe the word of such a person? She must have fabricated it. Everyone knows that certain people itch for the chance to prove themselves a hero, so much so that they would rather cause a disaster than appear mundane."

The implication that you could have been involved, and for such a reason, certainly throws you in an ill light.

- Answer.
- Stay silent.

 

[Ezri]

That the Fae were supposed to protect them and had not was not something Vivian had considered deeply until now— it was true that they had some animosity with the demons, and probably would not take kindly to their territory being encroached on. Perhaps they were fighting it in their own manner, or maybe they’d gone back on their agreement. Either way, as far as Vivian was concerned the more pressing matter was the spy— this was unfortunately out of her hands.

She whipped around at Jocasta’s accusation, only alarmed long enough for the exasperation to set in. Of course she would pick now to get her revenge.

“I haven’t fabricated anything— there is no shortage of witnesses to corroborate what I’ve told the Council.” She said, addressing the room as a whole rather than Jocasta in particular. She didn’t want to give credence to her accusation by responding to it, but it would be better to remove the distraction from this discussion. “If I did such a thing, I’m would have created a problem I could solve— but I can’t. I can only tell you the truth and present evidence for it, and hope that something can be done to protect everyone here.”

 

[ArcticFox]

The force of your words seems to be felt by the room - those listening draw back and appear ashamed.

"I say it is all the Wood," one council member repeats. "Let's burn it! And see how the stickmen dance and meddle then!" He means the Fae, you realise.

Which view do you support?

- Support razing the Wood.
- Say you need to defend against the demons.
- Say that the humans are at fault too.