Solo A Clerical Error

In which Alses gets a pay rise, and delivers letters for the Tower.

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The Diamond of Kalea is located on Kalea's extreme west coast and called as such because its completely made of a crystalline substance called Skyglass. Home of the Alvina of the Stars, cultural mecca of knowledge seekers, and rife with Ethaefal, this remote city shimmers with its own unique light.

A Clerical Error

Postby Alses on February 10th, 2013, 9:35 pm

~The Dusk Tower~

Timestamp: 62nd Day of Winter

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Another glorious day in the city of stars – not that any stars were evident at the moment, of course, it being a shining winter morning, the air crisp and clear and the sky a bowl of endless powder-blue. The city streets were full of the scent of fresh-baked bread, rising in puffing clouds of white vapour from the elegant chimneys of its bakeries, and what with the ordered progression of citizens and carts through the wide streets and the courteous, unobtrusive Shinya guard making their sedate patrols as usual, it would be easy to believe that the city had forgotten anything that might rock it from the state of calm serenity.

Appearances, however, would be deceiving; for all the outward calm, Lhavit had been shaken to its crystal core. It had been a turbulent winter so far – fights with otherworldly creatures and chimeras summoned within the city confines, ever-bolder Zith attacks on the Okomo herds - and subsequent rampages of panicked livestock, meteor showers, amnesiac snow, the suicide of a Synaborn and much else besides. It said something for the fundamentally calm, practical nature of the city that it had swung back so readily to ordered serenity, methodically repairing the damage, tending to the wounded and then getting on with the steady, sedate procession of life.

Even so, whilst the general citizenry of Lhavit might have been only too happy to put the worrying, upsetting, odd and/or downright perplexing anomalies of the season to the back of their collective minds, the militant arm of the city government, the Shinya Guard, certainly hadn't forgotten all the upheaval, and nor had the civilian elite for that matter. The Council of Towers, that august body of Lhavit's wealthy and powerful who collectively advised the Night Lord and Day Lady on the running of the city, were in discreet uproar. Yes, for anyone who had eyes to see and the ears to hear, there had been conferences and congresses, summits and meetings galore as of late, an almost continual round of one Tower hosting the others - and select representatives from various other parts of the city: the smallholders of the Azure Market, the Seekers representative from the Bharani Library, the Head Astronomer from the Observatory...on and on it went, and it showed no sign of stopping or even easing, everyone scrambling to formulate a response to the unsettling events which had streamed down onto the celestial city almost as soon as the Watchtowers had finished their boreal flare.

In accordance with the more hectic schedule of those who sat in government, there was certainly a great deal more Tower message traffic these days, a stream of couriers arriving and leaving at all bells, come day or night, rain or shine or meteor showers for that matter, and all that translated into a lot more work for the traditionally-impecunious Tower apprentices who generally got drafted in for that sort of thing.

Alses, for the moment still one of said impecunious apprentices, strolled through the gates and into manicured grounds of the Dusk Tower, taking her time and savouring the last few moments of freedom. This was something Alses made a point of doing, no matter how busy things got, relaxing and preparing herself for a hard day of graft in service to House Dusk.

Alas, a gentle wander through House Dusk's grand garden couldn't last forever, even though the sheer perfection of the design, refined down the centuries by the gnarled hands of a succession of master gardeners and landscape artists - she felt mildly proud of having remembered the proper term for anyone who thought nothing of moving a couple of thousand tons of stone to make an artificial lake and then followed it up with planting thirty thousand trees on a neighbouring hill to afford a pleasant view to the Tower's occupants - gave it a grandly timeless quality, unchanging and eternal, even though Alses knew that the grounds were exactly the sort of studied idyll that needed a great deal of maintenance to keep them looking as though they needed no maintenance at all.


A


Inside, the Dusk Tower's main atrium entrance was an elysium in shades of teal-green, blue, and delicate purple shades, as peaceful and tranquil as ever it had been, at least, now that the Akka priesthood and their battalions of more mundane assistants had finished in the entrance hallway, growing skyglass coatings over all the once-exposed wood and common stone which had infiltrated the Tower over the long centuries – prime conduits for out-of-control wild djed, as everyone had been painfully reminded back in Spring. Alses included.

Most unusually, Mr. Secretary was not at his marble desk when Alses came to call; he knew she arrived on or about the tenth bell of the morning and generally made sure to be there ready with a stack of the day's instructions (and generally a pile of heavy message-boxes to go to the prosperous and important people of Lhavit) . She didn't have to wait long for the dapper fellow's return, however – she'd barely crossed the room to gaze, pensive and unseeing, out of the window at the sun-dappled, snow-covered grounds when the door whispered open once more and in shimmered the immaculate figure of Mr. Secretary with the career servant's gliding walk, his mirror-polished leather shoes almost silent on the skyglass and marble, swift and sure across the Eypharian rugs with nary a stumble or slip to impede his orderly and rapid progress.

Ah, Alses!” His face split into a small smile as he continued: “I was hoping to catch you. Sit, sit.” He waited patiently whilst she took a chair opposite the desk, shuffling a few papers into a more pleasing order whilst she arranged herself as comfortably as possible.

After the usual ritual pleasantries: the comments on the vagaries of recent life and, as ever, the capriciousness of the Kalean weather, Mr. Secretary came to the meat of the matter that was troubling him. “Now...now, I believe we owe you something of an apology, Alses.

This was a sufficiently unexpected turn of events as to render her temporarily speechless; she blinked stupidly at the dapper secretary for several long moments.

We're sorry, Mr. Secretary?

A brief smile flashed across his features. “No, I – on behalf of the Tower – am sorry, actually.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair a little; it gave easily and silently under his weight.

It's a matter of bookkeeping, really...” he coughed, slightly uncomfortably. “There's been a little...oversight, shall we say?

Alses closed her eyes and groaned, a heartfelt rattle. “How much do we owe?” she asked, bracing for the worst.

She opened an eye at the burst of gentle laughter. “What?

Always so sure it's bad news. You misunderstand; the Tower owes you, really. We do a full audit – well, when I say 'we', I truly mean House Dusk's seneschal – of the accounts every two seasons, and the recent one showed up something of an anomaly with regards to your good self.” He took off his monocle, polished it industriously for a moment, and then slid it back into place with practiced ease. “One of the junior clerks made a minor error with the account books, and your...well, I shall be blunt. Your salary was never upped from the probationary wage. Now, usually, after a season of satisfactory work, that gets raised – in the case of couriering work, to our standard of three kina a day. In your case, it stayed at one due to the aforementioned oversight.” He sighed, and then continued. “It's now been rectified, of course, and we've backdated it to the first day of Winter at the full three kina.

Alses blinked, doing a few rapid calculations. 'Two hundred and seventy-six kina for winter!' her mind crowed. “That's a substantial increase,” she managed; the secretary didn't dignify it with a response. Two hundred-odd kina was pocket change to House Dusk, and probably even less than that.

Alses leaned forward. “What about Autumn?” she asked quietly. “Not that we wish to seem ungrateful, but-

Mr. Secretary waved away the rest of the sentence. “Perfectly understandable, and most everyone else would be baying for the seneschal's blood right about now.” He looked uncomfortable again; it was clear that denying an Ethaefal was no fun for him. “I'll see what I can do, but general policy's just to the beginning of the season. I'll pass on the comment to the seneschal, but it'll probably have to go-” he cast his eyes briefly heavenward “-higher. No promises, mind.

Alses smiled, vaguely wicked. "None expected, Mr. Secretary." A small imp of mischief led her to add: "I shall have to trust in the fabled generosity of House Dusk." Which made him squirm.
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A Clerical Error

Postby Alses on February 24th, 2013, 7:46 am

The number kept bouncing around in her brain all day as she ran to and fro all across Lhavit, and it was still ricocheting around her mind as the evening drew near and she left with the final batch of messages. She was – to those who knew her, anyway - oddly quiet and pensive for a shining Ethaefal, padding quietly out of Mr. Secretary's office and down the curling marble steps, across the verdant atrium, oblivious of the House servants and guards all around, and it was only when she emerged into the fresh air, cargoed with tiny flecks of ice and snow at this time of year and bracingly cold, a whole-body shock, that she became more attached to the mundane world once more.

Tucked in the recesses of her clothes were a sheaf of stiff, gilt-edged letters and cards, all of them impressively stamped with the Dusk Tower's official purple seal as well as a smaller, more delicate personal crest; these were evidently Family missives, either invitations or personal correspondence to various people in Lhavit.

Wealthy, important people, Alses noticed – the first was to go care of the Ethereal Opera House, for its radiant owner. Alses had met her – well, from a distance, at least - on several occasions, mostly at one Ethereal Opera function or another, and had always marvelled at the happy accident of birth that had led to a mortal coming close to celestial beauty, even if the inheritor of such magnificence was slightly cold, distant, even, in unguarded moments when she thought no-one was watching her. Auristic Sight was, unfortunately, very good at picking up on that sort of thing; a Tower-trained aurist could be chatting away amicably, or engaged in browsing the food and drink on offer, whilst in actual fact closely examining every facet of your aura from afar, getting a sense of your personality, your emotional state, and, at more advanced levels, some measure of your hopes, dreams and fears, too.

Since Alses generally took advantage of any opportunity, no matter how small, to practice, and since the Opera House could generally be counted on serving up interesting new dishes to its discerning clientele, Alses was usually happily experiencing her way down the groaning sideboards, and there was always a certain amount of overspill. Delight, joy, lust, on more than one occasion – all these and more she'd felt from the Ethereal Opera's patrons, along with pallor and deep coldness rolling off Lili A'realia, under the golden mask.

A half-smile, as a thought came to her. Others delighted in the masquerade balls – indeed, Alses herself was very fond of them, in the evenings, since she could hide her pallid mortal chain behind a burnished mask and gown – but Lili A'realia lived something of a masquerade, it seemed.

Interesting.

As she approached the enormous Opera House, Alses slowed and drank in the masterpiece from afar. She'd heard that the place was one of the oldest structures in all Lhavit, but it showed not a jot of its age as it bulked and soared to the sky, the abundant light that Syna blessed the city of the stars with, even this late in the day, catching and spangling in reflected rainbows from the skyglass ornamenation, from the gilt finials and roof decoration, and from the elaborate livery of the Opera House's legion of footmen, always ready to take patrons' outerwear and escort them to their seats in style.

The portico, an expanse of exquisite arches supported by clusters of fluted columns, holding up the loggia and terraces of the second floor – was covered in mosaic-work and frescoes, vibrantly painted and carved by masters of the crafts; it showed in the reaching expressions of the faces, the subtle body-language of ecstasy and enjoyment that many of them exhibited. Gilded lips and crowns-of-horns blazed brightly from the proud Ethaefal statues at their places on the decorative upper parapets, forever reaching up to the sun and its infinite energies.

Behind the shaded, cool portico – blessed by the footmen on every hot summer's day – and the loggia which overlooked the Ethereal Opera's forecourt, the main mass of the building rose in tiered ranks of magisterial splendour, shimmering and shifting in the sunlight. It was an ethereal building – truly living up to its name – in a glorious fantasy city, not seeking to emulate or recall any style other than its own and the richly-storied history of Lhavit splashed across its imposing façade.

Despite the impressive exterior; the grand colonnaded courtyard with its elaborate fountain hurling jets of sparkling water high into the air, the fresco-work and the glowing skyglass spires rising all around the grand arc of the central dome, the true masterpieces were all inside. Fitting, really, when one considered that most of the Ethereal Opera's life was lived under the aegis of Leth.

Alses glided slowly across the acres of chequered marble tiles, drinking in the magnificence all around. Even compared to the exterior, the sight was a breathtaking one – the great golden staircase up to the balcony level, banisters of buttery marble and gilded iron wrought into the fantastical shapes of nymphs and the esoteric fauna of Kalea, swept up to a grand landing and met over a glorious mosaic of the flamboyant crest of the Ethereal Opera, before splitting off and curving high into the air and forming intimate galleries hung with gold and crimson drapes. These were beautifully comfortable and intimate, the playground of Lhavit's rich and famous of a summer evening, when Riverfall champagne flowed like water and every lady dripped with diamonds and silk.

The lamps had evidently just been lit, and the warm glow of candles encased in double-glass lights flooded the scene. Great statues of gleaming gold bearing great candelabra that projected soaring flame towered up to the vaulted ceiling, split to brilliant day and mysterious night, a dome of pearly grey clouds swirling overhead in the centre of it all. Fire soared from the candles’ silent tongues, encased in watery brilliance, sending golden shadow flickering across the magnificent panoramic mosaics, paintings and bas-reliefs of the celestial city itself, striking imperious fire from the gilt and secretive, rich highlights from the crimson drapes.

Marbled arches shone with luxuriant fire, the gilded statuary erupting to fantastic light ascendant as candlelight blazed with brilliance in the great washes of sumptuous golden clothes and the alluring golden skin of each masterpiece of the metalsmith’s art; Ethaefal and goddesses, nubile and sensual, bearing heavy crowns of candles that shone in their massed ranks with the sun’s own fierce and flamboyant light.

There was, as ever, an air of anticipation and expectation to the currently-empty hall, one that would, in short order, fill with exquisitely-dressed Lhavitians eager for a night dreaming on the wings of song. For now, though, the elegant sideboard tables were bereft of sparkling champagne and delicacies, the cloakrooms empty and forlorn, the second-floor galleries silent without the clinking chimes of champagne flutes and the ripple of genteel laughter.

Alses pursed her Cupid's-bow lips in mild consternation; normally, she'd have headed for the box office, two incredibly discreet mahogany and brass stands tucked away at the far end of the centrepiece entryway – and the flamboyant hall really was a centrepiece; the entire Ethereal Opera was a show, in a way – but when she'd checked they were both dark and shuttered – evidently all the tickets for tonight's performance, which Alses knew to be the Ethereal Ballet's Sweetest Whisper, were sold out and so there was no point in opening the office before the first patrons came in, especially since this was the last night of the performance.

With a shrug, she began to climb the staircase, on the basis that she could see a pair of open doors leading deeper into the Opera House, probably to the main theatre itself. She wasn't more than halfway up, however, just setting echoing footstep onto the landing, when an Ethereal Opera footman shimmered into existence at the top of one of the curving staircases and cleared his throat.

Can I be of assistance, my lady?” he called softly.
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A Clerical Error

Postby Alses on February 28th, 2013, 8:32 pm

Alses looked up, startled; she'd been far too engrossed in the artistic beauty all around to have heard, seen, or felt his approach. She liked to think she rallied quite well, though, with only a split-second instance of mutual incomprehension between them.

I was looking for the Director, actually. Do you know where we can find her?

Madam Director is observing the rehearsal for tonight,” came the reply, spiced with just a touch of disapproval – although whether that was directed at Alses or said radiant Director she wasn't adept enough to discern, and nor did she care to burn djed to find out. Had she been in a more whimsical mood, it might have been a different story, but now? No.

And so Miss A'realia will be...” Alses let it tail off, expectantly.

Busy,” came the short reply; Alses drew in a shocked breath – few in Lhavit ever dared to be rude to an Ethaefal, after all. The footman continued, after a moment, though: “However, I will inform her of your presence; I'm sure she'll make at least a little time for you. This way, please.

Obediently, Alses began to follow him, up the second flight of shallow ceremony steps, along the plushly-darkened curve of the gallery and through onto the smaller corridors which wrapped around the main theatre itself. The footman in front of her continued on, oblivious, heading for a currently-open door cunningly hidden (at least when shut) in the panelling. Beyond it, a decidedly less-ornate passageway, sloping down into the depths of the Opera House.

Er...

It was like a shout in the auristic aether, there for anyone with the eyes to see it, a cat's cradle of despair and fear uncoiling in wailing strands, pressed, no, burned deep into the otherwise-static, placid auras of the bare stone beyond the pomp and perfume of the main corridors, strong enough to disturb her with whispers and crawling foulness about her legs – a thousand phantom hands, reaching and reaching – even though she wasn't actively focusing at all, just delighting in the faint touches of colour and light that mantled the world. Here – at least, here in the plush parts of the Opera House, the auras were pale gold, the colour of fine champagne, shot through with rich chocolate shades and sprinkled liberally with laughter and life.

'So why, in a place devoted to the highest of pleasures, is there such fear?' Alses thought, slowing and coming to a halt, preparing herself for greater synchrony with the world. Her skill with the aurist's perspective - that particular way of looking at the djed of the world and interweaving it with her own personal magics to, from that exuberantly coruscating synergy, extract meaning - was growing in leaps and bounds; every time she stretched forth her inward hand for her reserves, they leapt to their task with greater facility, greater alacrity – Alses smiled; greater finesse. The Tower's teaching methods were rubbing off on her, to be sure, as she tangled and ravelled and twisted the gossamer strands of her personal djed reserves between phantom fingers, gentle, intricate propitiation rather than the harsh demands of her early attempts.

It wasn't necessary to demand, to shout and stomp and command (at least, metaphorically); a gentle request of herself was all that was needed, a gentle 'Come here, and send me sounds, and sweet airs that give delight, and hurt not,' to set the strands of djed weaving wonders for her to feast richly on.

Like a symphony swelling to a triumphal crescendo as her reserves began to drain, shimmering curtains of colour and light, billows of scent – cigar smoke, wine, even the heady musk of sex – whispers of phantasmagorical sound – the crystal ring of glasses raised in toast, expensive laughter and a thrilling echo that was the pure quill of opera – scribbled themselves into existence on the canvas of the world – no, no, that wasn't quite right, more that they wrote themselves into prominence as she drowned herself in djed, a thousand tangling skeins uncurling from the warp and weft of Mizahar itself to display their gaudy, mesmerising shades of meaning to one with the means to understand their silent dance.

It was whilst Alses was dipping ever deeper into the obscured world that her attending footman realised there was something amiss; he seemed to realise that she wasn't following and turned, quizzical, to see a swaying Ethaefal in the middle of the corridor. Now, he had had experience with the tipsier patrons of the Ethereal Opera after a large evening, but it was the middle of the afternoon; far too early for anyone to have got at hard spirits or cocktails, surely. He approached, but cautiously.

Ma'am? Are you all right?

His voice came to Alses but slowly, as though dripping through treacle; she turned in place as his voice filtered into her perceptions and fixed him with a gaze that seemed to read his soul. From her perspective, the footman was barely visible in the middle of a rising glory of light and sound and smell and touch, a sun-dazzled medley of a person spiced with anxiety and spiked with the headily-bitter bite of...regret? Possibly.

What...happened...here?” her voice was slow and distant, the majority of her mind occupied with its synchrony, peeling back the superficial layers, inverting her Sight to banish them from her vision. Away with sparkling golden champagne-shimmers, the burnished-gilt glimmer of wealth! Silence to the trills of laughter in the walls and the chinking crystal-glass in the floor! Cessation for the billows of cigar-smoke and brandy-wine fumes on the air!

One by one, whilst the footman stammered and gaped under her unblinking, far-Seeing gaze, each aura flamed and died, darkening as she poured more of herself, more of her reserves into the casting. Something was here, dark and old and reeking of blood and terror, poisoned tendrils uncurling – and here, her thoughts became spiced with revulsion – throughout the entirety of the Ethereal Opera.

A strangled, half-muffled noise, muted surprise and horror in about equal measure, escaped her lips as iron manacles and chains snicked tight about her arms and legs, a heavy wooden beam settled like judgement across her neck and a strangulating collar clenched, noose-like and lead-heavy, about her throat. There was the sound of chinking chains, of harsh voices and the lashing crack of a whip she knew only from caravan teamsters – and then, with a chance change of the breeze, they evaporated as though they'd never been and it was suddenly as if she stood in the middle of a crowd of Lhavit's great and good, brushed by velvet and silk, dripping with diamonds and with the sound of genteel chatter ringing in her ears.

She tore herself away – and this time, at least, it was with relief, perfect and pure, as she rose through the skeins of layered meaning and back to the shallow, superficial world that most knew. Alses swayed, trembling like a leaf in a gale; she'd taxed herself quite heavily, diving that deep – the sensing of things past was still something she found difficult and erratic, expending vast amounts of her personal reserves to maintain synchrony and focus in the middle of a welter of expanding impressions.

The footman, bless his confused soul, was beside her in an instant, warm hand supporting her back and arm, stopping her from going on an immediate, unplanned and above all unfortunate date on the floor.

Ma'am? Do you need a doctor?

Alses shook her head reflexively, and winced at the bells going off in her brain. “Just somewhere to sit,” she burbled. “And not down there,” she added, very quickly, a fresh wave of sweat pearling on her skin at the thought.

The plush scenery of the Opera House passed in a nauseating whirl – Alses rapidly closed her eyes against the unnatural movement, and only opened them again when she felt plush velvet caressing her back and arms.

Please wait here, ma'am. We'll – I'll let you recover, if you're sure you don't need a doctor, and I'll try and find madam Director for you.

OOCI couldn't resist sneaking in just a little bit of The Tempest :p .
Last edited by Alses on March 1st, 2013, 12:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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A Clerical Error

Postby Alses on March 1st, 2013, 12:15 pm

Alses had no real sense of the passage of time for quite a while, hunched half-collapsed as she was in a chair that could have cheerfully stood in for a throne whilst the world whirled and looped sickeningly around her, tides of sound dinning in her ears.

Slowly, very slowly, the uneasy roil of Mizahar settled and faded back into rock-solid immobility, and the only pressures on her skin were those of the chair and her own fingers, dug deep into the yielding flesh of her face. No manacles curled around her wrists, no shackles dogged her ankles, she could no longer hear the scringeing metal rasp of chain links on stone, nor feel the dead weight of a collar, vice-like, around her neck.

Everything was normal, everything was safe. it was important to cling onto that, even as Alses' surroundings slowly resolved themselves into the opulent extravagance of the Ethereal Opera House. Right next to her, for example, a parade of gilded lovelies held up long swags of fabric, their voluptuous curves graced with figured lengths of gilt gauze that had, in defiance of gravity, fallen fortuitously in just the right place to stop art becoming pornography. Gold and red velvet was much in evidence here, with nary a dull patch or spot of fray to mar the vision.

Bang.

Startled, Alses' head snapped up and she peered for the first time over the ornate balcony railing in front of her, highly polished brass fancifully engraved with all sorts of intricate beasts, drinking in the sudden sweep of the opera house laid before her, row upon row of richly-upholstered seating gleaming crimson and gold, and, directly facing her, the proscenium sweep of the stage with its extravagant framing arch and heavy velvet curtains, currently pulled back to expose the Ethereal Ballet corps, a group of young women (mostly) dancing under the exacting gaze of their dance mistress and choreographer.

Bang.

Ah. That explained it – without the melodious roar of the pipe-organ and the full-bodied accompaniment of the orchestra, every time the dancers, as one cohesive whole, came to earth from one of their many leaps and pirouettes, it sent a wave of blunt sound washing out over the auditorium. No wonder that all the large group ballet pieces always had robust orchestral accompaniment, to hide that unfortunate din. One dancer leaping all over the stage, that would probably simply be swallowed by the distance and the acoustics of the theatre, but fifty all at once?

Still, even without music, and with the thin, reedy stream of complaints and censure from the rail-thin ballet mistress providing a counterpoint to the regular bang of rosin-dipped ballet shoes on stageboard, it was engrossing to watch the precise, graceful movements of the dancers, how they all interlocked and meshed with one another into a larger, more cohesive whole, before someone took a slight misstep and the whole thing disintegrated as the ballet mistress waded in in full voice.

So engrossing, in fact, that Alses didn't even notice another figure slip into the Ethereal Box (which, had nations and nobility still held any relevance in Mizahar, would doubtless have instead been termed the Royal Box) and settle into a chair nearby.

Indeed, when that figure spoke to her, it was only quick reflexes that stopped her leaping from her chair and catapulting over the railings. It was a pleasant voice, to be sure, and quite a familiar one at that, but still a complete surprise.

Lili A'realia, Director of the Ethereal Opera, at your service, my lady. Do forgive me, but as you're the only Ethaefal in the building right now, may I assume you are the one who took ill and terrified my employee?

Alses took a few deep breaths – until her heart stopped trying to smash its way out of her chest – and turned to drink in the radiant beauty beside her. Gone – for the moment – were the low-cut silken gowns of the glittering evening Lili, and in their place were relatively practical, everyday Lhavitian garments, in darker colours that wouldn't show up dirt or stains anywhere near as much. The contrast was quite unsettling, all the more so since Alses was used to seeing her beauty matched with exquisite clothing.

Ill?” she echoed, softly. “Not ill, exactly. And we apologise for the distress to your footman. Please, what's happened here?

Lili simply looked confused, a few faint frown lines creasing her forehead. “Do you perhaps mean the ballet? Oh-” a tinkling, cadenced laugh, “-it's nothing to worry about. Final practice before tonight's performance. Some of the second chorus aren't quite on the mark, and the Ethereal Opera does try to make every performance perfect. Do you attend the opera, by any chance?” Her tones made it clear she didn't expect an affirmative. Alses, therefore, took some pleasure in her next words, and the effect they would doubtless have on the redoubtable Director.

Oh yes. You are well-known to us; we've seen you at all the events before and after the performances, and a few other places besides.” Alses knew Lili would now be racking her brains to try and remember if she'd ever exchanged pleasantries with the radiant Ethaefal in front of her, and then, depending on how much she knew of the half-divine race, which of the legion of patrons she spent her evenings entertaining was actually the mortal chain of the Synaborn currently in front of her. She pressed home her advantage. “Please, what happened here?

There was a moment of silence, and Alses saw the carefully-assembled smile of confused demurral start to form. She continued, relentless: “The lower levels of the Ethereal Opera are poisoned with pain and fear, burned into the very stones. Even here, I can feel shame and rage, and everywhere in this theatre is touched with venal greed and lust and iron cruelty.” Alses gave a wan smile. “Overlaid with a thick veneer of joy and laughter and beautiful opera, just like in the main halls of this place, but there all the same once we knew what to look for.

Now it was Lili's turn to look away, out over the sweeping expanse of the grand opera theatre, hands folded demurely in her lap. “How did you...” she began, tailing off.

Aurist. It – whatever it is – is burned into the stones themselves.

A heavy, heavy sigh. “You came to our city later than the Day of Discord, didn't you?” her voice was quiet and low, and she resolutely kept her gaze on the dancers, not moving her head even an inch, lest she catch a glimpse of Alses.

Lili didn't pause for an answer, however, simply continued, speaking in a quick near-monotone. “Of course you did, otherwise you wouldn't even need to ask the question. It was the talk of the city, at one point. The Ethereal Opera – along with the rest of Lhavit, although that doesn't make it any better – fell into disrepute whilst Aysel and Talora were away. Rather than the opera theatre it was built as, this hall became an auction house for indentured flesh. The warrens beneath us run all the way down to the Tranquil Port. Originally, that was so delicacies could be brought straight to our kitchens without having to risk them on the mountain path, but depraved minds found another use for those passages; moving slaves en-masse from slaver galleons to here, where they were sold on that very stage to the baying citizens of the Diamond of Kalea.

Syna above...” Alses breathed, a roiling sickness building in her stomach.

A wry smile kinked Lili's perfect lips, still not looking at Alses. “Most of the citizens here were probably ordinary, decent people, but when the rot sets in at the top, things go very bad, very fast. Lhavit became a martial place where three families ruled with an iron fist and any who objected were cut down on the shining streets and left to rot where they fell, or strung up on the steps of Koten Temple as a warning to the rest of us.
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Alses
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A Clerical Error

Postby Alses on March 1st, 2013, 12:18 pm

This was allowed?” Alses could barely believe her ears; it sounded like an entirely different, and altogether more bloodthirsty, cruel and craven, city than the paragon of order and civilised serenity that so characterised present-day Lhavit.

At the time we thought so. And then came the Day of Discord, when Aysel and Talora marched back through the Amaranthine Gates with the gods near-visible at their backs and tore the corruption root and branch out of Lhavit, broke the iron chains of the slaves and sent every pirate ship in our harbour, down to the very last skiff and lifeboat, to the bottom.” A coldly self-satisfied smile sat on Lili's golden face, quite out of place.

The Towers, all of whom had grown unchecked, suffered most, of course – Twilight particularly. They lost their Patriarch to Aysel's sword, and every Tower lost their city estates; they were broken up and given to the people who actually lived on them, all excepting the little bits around each Tower, of course. Glorified gardens, now. The Day Lady and the Night Lord took an axe to the governance of the city, too, stripping away the Council's power and reversing the damage. The Towers got a taste of power and it ruined them, which is why they're nothing more than advisors now. Important and influential, yes, but Talora and Aysel don't have to do anything they say.

And here?

What do you think? They freed all the slaves and killed my – killed the owner who'd allowed – encouraged - the glorious Ethereal Opera to spiral down to nothing more than a slave market. I've spent the last fifteen years of my life returning this place to its former glory and proving everyone who counselled against it wrong. Eventually, I'll drown out those days, and they'll be but a blip in the history books, a momentary aberration and nothing more.

Alses smiled, deciding then and there to let Lili's slip lie. Some things were best left in the dark. “We're sure you will. Eventually the pressure of all the fine performances and the joy they give people will crush even the stones' memories into nothingness, and on that day I shall take great delight in telling you – or your descendants, of course – that the poison is gone forever.

Was that supposed to be comforting?” Lili asked, after a suspicious pause.

Quietly, and still with neither of them looking at the other, Alses murmured: “We're not very good at it, are we?

That brought a proper smile, however small, to the Director's melancholy face. “No, you are not. Now that you've pried the sordid secrets of the Ethereal Opera out of me, is there anything else I can do for you? Throw myself off the peak, perhaps?

Alses froze, and then with a hand that very determinedly did not shake, she reached inside her pockets and produced the sheaf of fine cards, riffling through them for a moment before selecting the right one and presenting it with a flourish. “Personal message from the Dusk Tower.

Lili took it in one elegant hand, looked at the crests for a brief moment and then tucked it away in some unknowable pocket with every appearance of indifference. “My thanks.” When Alses still did not move, she asked: “Anything more?

Alses nodded quietly. “One of our kin threw himself from the third tier of this peak not three days ago. There are now, to my knowledge, forty-nine Ethaefal in Lhavit, not fifty. Even as a joke – and we sincerely hope it was one - that was in colossally poor taste. Good day to you, madam Director.

Without waiting for a reply, Alses rose in a whisper of fabric and made her way out of the Opera House, walking at the uncomfortably rapid clip that was, to any reasonable people-watcher, a sure sign of someone upset or annoyed.

'Kinell Hotsprings,' Alses thought 'And damn the other deliveries. At least if we burst into tears there, it'll be hidden in the water, and the heat will do us good in any case. Mr. Secretary might complain, but he's a reasonable man at heart.'

END
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A Clerical Error

Postby Elysium on March 4th, 2013, 4:23 pm

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Alses

XP:
Auristics +4
Observation +4
Rhetoric +2
Socializing +1

Lore:
The Dusk Tower: A Minor Discrepancy
Auristics: Uncovering the Sordid Past
Lhavitian History: The Day of Discord
The Execution of Weisur Twilight
The History of the Ethereal Opera House
Lili A'realia, Callous and Beautiful

Notes:
This was very well done, as usual! I certainly appreciated the discreet reference to elysium, as well as the allusion to Shakespeare. Good work and if you have any questions at all, feel free to PM me!

and so, the journey continues...
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