Calor Elohan's Story

There was not even a whisper of sound. The breeze did not blow, the birds did not sing, and not a single footstep reverberated against the marble walls of the throne room. A gaze the color of turquoise looked down below her at the image of her birth. After a moment, she swept her gaze onto her hand which rested on the black marble throne.

It was white as snow with nails painted red, the color of blood and life. The dressers had painted all of her skin white until it held it own luminosity, glittering in the sun light which poured in from the open archways of the room. Her was braided in minuscule and intricate braids as if each hair had been braided separately. It was dyed red too, and the paint around her eyes and lips matched as well.

White and Red. Purity and Life.

The meaning was not lost on Sarene Iracot; the God-Queen of Iracot and all of Viridian.

She moved on the throne, shifting her weight on the uncomfortable chair. The black silks the dressers had adorned her in did nothing to hide the body beneath. They accentuated on her sexuality and did little to give Sarene privacy of her own body; a body that did not belong to her but to her people.

"Calor," Sarene called out into the room. Her tone was quiet, yet powerful and demanding. The goddess reached at her throat and fingered the elaborate silver-cuff there. It was heavy and cut into her flesh. The jewels in her hair were heavy, too. It pulled the strands and made her entire scalp itch as if every ant in Viridian took nest in it.

Restraining herself from fidgeting, Sarene prostrated herself in the throne, spine rod-straight and ridged and her arms flush against the armrests. Her eyes were the only things that moved on her body as she awaited her Dragoon Knight.

An archway gave birth to the shadow of a man, who stepped forth into the throne room with all the delicacy of Sarene's braided hair. His steps made no sound, as though his feet did not truly touch the floor but instead hovered but millimetres above it.

"How shall I serve you, my Queen?" Were the only words he uttered, as he stopped in the exact centre of the room so he could turn to face and look up at the Goddess as though every single movement of his body was formulated and trained for this symmetry in order to please her. Then, he lowered his left knee to the ground, bowed his head until a braided lock of white touched the floor, then pressed his fist into the ground to both retain his balance and show his respect.

Calor Elohan was tall and built up of strong muscle and flexible tendons. Today he wore the same as always, a uniform custom to display his unique rank above others; consisting of a padded shirt of white and a long coat of black adorned with brown fur around the rear of the neck. His breeches were brown and possibly leather, while dark boots with toes capped with steel offered both a solid walk and a painful kick. His hands, as always, aside from a signet ring on the middle finger of the right hand, were bare so as to never dirty the mask of white, blue and gold so often seen hanging around his neck by string.

The mask was a unique signature, one of anonymity, strength and royal will. He wore it to kill, he wore it carry out Sarene's will. And as it hung below his chest, the black spaces of the eyes would watch the woman on the throne.

The God-Queen watched Calor enter with eyes that drank in his every movement. The Dragoon was her most loyal servant and most well known. They two would be considered "friends" if such a term was even possible between a goddess and her subject. There was hardly a rare moment where one was not seen without the other, hidden deep in the shadows.

"My dearest Guardian," Sarene spoke, her voice echoing off the cold walls. "Rise," she commanded. Her fingers stroked the marble beneath them.

"The Magistrates insist that I choose a husband. They droll on and on about this business and I no longer wish to hear of it any longer. They claim it will raise the morale of my people, a wedding. They believe that sacrifices are no longer enough the placate my people. What is your opinion on this manner, my dear Guardian?"

Sarene's eyes never wavered from Calor. She watched him like a statue, staring and unblinking.

He stood using those perfectly rehearsed movements, his eyes of dim gold peering up at Sarene as he straightened out his clothes and made sure he looked just as presentable as when he first entered. As she spoke, he considered her words and found both surprise and worry in them. Of course, these thoughts only forced him to remind himself that he had no opinions of his own. Nor feelings, possessions or family. Sarene, his Queen, was his Goddess, destined to be worshiped and followed by him for all eternity. He would never allow his opinions to differ from her own, for in her divine righteousness she knew best for all.

"My Queen, my Goddess who lacks imperfection, my lowly mind is only of servitude to your greatness. I could never propose to influence or inspire you, for no matter the outcome, only the path you choose to take is that of truth."

He paused for a moment.

"However, no matter who you choose to love, respect and wed, please never place them in a position of power or importance rivaling that of your own. Only you can lead your people, all others must bow before you, even he who shares your heart, mind and body in the partnership of marriage."

"As for the matter of sacrifice, if such things please you then they should please your people, my Queen. Those who would not go to all possible lengths and trouble to bring you happiness are little more than heretical bastards; though I fail to see how any could exist when her majesty graces us with her presence on this world."

"Silence!" Sarene commanded, rising from the black-marble throne with an unmatched grace. Her movements were as liquid as mercury and the gossamer of her gown flowed down her form like a silken waterfall. The heeled shoes on her feet clicked sonorously in the cavern like room as she descended down the dais.

"You over step your boundaries, Calor Elohan. Your very existence is dependent on my tolerance of you, and yet you disgrace me with the way you address me," Sarene chastised the guardian. She circled him with the train of her dress following her movement in a flowing puddle.

"But you are daring, are you not, Calor Elohan," Sarene said. Her expression did not change but the tone of her voice held a subtly to it; a mocking countenance. "It was, after all, I who asked of your opinion. I am the one who forced you to disgrace yourself and you willingly obeyed like the true servant you are. I am pleased."

Sarene Iracot stopped directly in front of Calor and raised a bone-white, painted, hand. Just the bare tip of her finger touched the tender patch of flesh beneath his chin. She raised his face to look him directly in the eye.

"The Magistrates have all chosen husbands for me, those whom they have deemed qualified. I do not trust their judgment and they disappoint," Sarene said as she dropped her hand to rest back at her side.

"It will be you," the goddess spoke as she turned to return to her throne. "We shall be wed. I have spoken my will."

Sarene sat herself on the throne and crossed her leg over the other.

"I congratulate you, now speak," she demanded.

"I..."

He paused, his very soul stumbling in shock. "I.. Am humbled, honoured and ecstatic beyond words, my Queen. To.. To choose me, your lowly servant and forever loyal bodyguard over all the Knights and Noblemen of your great realm is..- I would never, even with all eternity to say them, have enough words to express how I feel. I have always offered you everything I have without question or delay and with this marriage, I will finally have the chance to not only protect you, but do my utmost to make you happy. And with this wedding, I will finally have the chance to let every soul on this world of yours know that the only thing in creation capable of separating me from your side is you, and you alone."

His feet made noise now, as they pushed him forth step after step, his form of mere mortality daring beyond belief to approach her throne of black marble. On the dais he lowered himself to his knees, expressing, "I would kiss your feet as your menial retainer," - before doing so, if she would allow such a thing. Then he would lift himself a little more, reaching out to try and take her hand in his own with all the gentleness he could muster. Then, he followed with, "and your hand as your Fiancé." That too would then be kissed, if she chose not to object.

Sarene Iracot had several thoughts during the time it took for Calor to kiss her feet and then her hand.

Calor Elohan had always been at her side. He, above all others, had devout his very existence to her will, unlike others. At a flick of her wrist he had executed those who doubted her and her divine rule over Viridian. He was the one person that was going to make sure she endured and survived. Calor would sacrifice his life in order to keep her alive.

He was her protector. But what use did a goddess have for one?

The Magistrates were going to be displeased at her decision. They had chosen Knight-Commander Gabriel Envictus, a man that could be controlled not by just the God-Queen's hand, but by theirs as well. Sarene had undermined them by appointing the one person that was truly trustworthy and that was Calor Elohan.

"The engagement shall be announced when Iracot is addressed for the Sacrifice. The wedding shall be in a few days' time. When we are wed, you will become an extension of me and my holiness. Your will shall be mine, though mine be greater. Do not count on children for this is a political arrangement and nothing more. I do not love you as a woman does a husband but as a goddess who loves her worshiper. Do not mistake this marriage for what it is not," Sarene Iracot said, removing her hand from beneath the man's lips.

"You will not leave my side for any reason unless I command you to do so, no matter who it is that tells you otherwise. You will command them to stand aside and to leave, or you will kill them where they stand. You will move your possessions, sparse as they may be, into my quarters and take residence there."

"Now, gather the crown and place it upon my head, Calor," Sarene said. "The Sacrifice will begin soon."

On a stand beside the throne lay the God-Queen's crown. It had been cut from the largest diamond to ever have been discovered. A dozen spikes protruded from the brow, sharp and deadly. It was a cold and as cruel as the God-Queen could be, yet beautiful and awe inspiring all at once.

"Of course, my Queen," he replied as he stood from his kneeling position and then moved around to the crown's pedestal so he could lift it with the delicacy such an artefact deserved. "Your will shall forever be my command. Whether a true lover, a political husband, a friend, or simply a retainer, I shall always defend you with my life. Should a single hair upon your head ever be harmed with hostile intent, I would gladly take my own life to pay for my sins. If the time should ever come for you to decide to leave us in this mortal realm of ours, then I would follow with your permission so I might forever stand by your side as your protector."

He extended the crown over his Goddess, then lowered it upon her head. Once finished, he stepped back from the dais and down to the floor of the Room of Thrones, where he bowed deeply and awaited her next command.

Something troubled him, though. It was, of course, the norm for a married pair to share quarters with one another, but something about her words played on the back of his mind until he could no longer ignore them. Was she becoming cautious? Approaching the fine line between it and paranoia? Of course, he rarely left her side in normal circumstances, even if he believed she wasn't entirely aware of his presence, but to order so directly that he not leave her? Perhaps he was doing too much thinking on the topic; he truly hoped this was the case, for the alternative would be that his Queen felt threatened. Who would dare threaten her? Who would have the tenacity to place her in any sort of danger? Even the very thought made him livid.

As if on cue, several moments after the crown had been placed upon the Queen's head, a knock resounds through the chamber from the main entryway. The person seeking entrance would wait, as long as it might happen to take, for the God-Queen's permission to answer; and only hers.

When this was eventually obtained, the door would be opened, and a tall man, covered in armor, would step into the room. Knight-Commander Gabriel, sans helmet. He was clean shaven, as he always ensured he was in the God-Queen's presence, and his black steel armor had been polished to a sheen, glistening dimly even in the poor light of the throne room.

Shutting the large door behind him, Gabriel draws his blade, laying it on the ground before himself, then adopts a position of submission, on one knee and with one hand resting near the point of his mighty weapon. "My God-Queen," he says, in a tone of pure reverence. He pauses, if she chose to acknowledge him further, before continuing as she might allow. "Your Honor Guard is assembled, and the time of the Sacrifice draws near. We await your will." He had not laid eyes upon her once since he entered the room. He was among the most devout of the Knights, and seldom felt himself worthy to gaze upon their Goddess.

Neither, did he look upon Calor. Either due to his having disappeared into the shadows, or simply by Gabriel's leaving his full attention to the God-Queen, he was scarcely even aware of his presence, save for the knowledge that Her Reverence was not alone, but neither was in danger.

The God-Queen stood from her throne and descended down the dais with her sheer gown billowing out around her body. Her blue-green eyes settled onto Calor and Sarene stopped. She placed the most delicate of kisses on his brow, leaving a trace of red on Calor's forehead.

"You honor me, Calor Elohan," the God-Queen said. "I bless you with Strength, Vigilance, and Perseverance." A direct blessing from the God-Queen was an extremely rare event. None could remember the last person that had received such a gift from the beloved goddess. It was believed that with a blessing from the God-Queen you would become immortal and untouchable. And if she were to curse you, you're life would be full of suffering, plague, and long-lived agony. There were many that could remember being cursed by Sarene Iracot.

"Knight-Commander Gabriel Envictus, rise," she commanded. The God-Queen walked toward him and the wide doors. In passing, Sarene merely touched his shoulder and the shining armor he wore on it. A slight smudge of her paint had come off on the armor, a testament that the God-Queen had actually touched the Knight-Commander.

"I shall go meet my people and conduct the Sacrificial Ceremony. It is time," Sarene Iracot stated.

"Of course, and thank you, my Queen," he replied, not bothering to wipe away the trace of red. Such an honour should be kept for all to see, not removed as though a nuisance. "I shall accompany you as always, my sword ever at the ready."

He made to follow her, separated by a few feet empty space to give the Goddess her room to breathe. Rest assured it wasn't enough of an opening to get through Calor Elohan, who could immediately maneuver himself to block even an arrow already in flight. His sword would do it; slung from his hip as it was. He had mastered it in his youth as he sought perfection - and gone arguably further as he progressed into adulthood. He could fell ten soldiers in a room as easily as one of those soldiers could fell a single crook, his form and footwork without error in battle.

And then were his other skills, those speculated by drunks in candlelit corners. Men whispered that he could move without noise and that no wall could keep him. They whispered of the supernatural and magic far more mysterious than that of the mages - that he could read thoughts, see through lies and walk through shadows.

He smirked a little. Myths might have their basis in reality, but myths, he was quick to remind any who approached him on the subject, were just that.

Taking in a breath of the fresh air, he prepared to follow his Queen out to her address. He said nothing to Gabriel, whom he did not know particularly well. Certainly he didn't see the Knight Commander as someone who would betray their Queen and that was good enough for him.

Gabriel rose at his God-Queen's word, placing a hand over his chest as a form of salute. He kept his head bowed until she had passed, at which point he turned to follow her, flanking opposite Calor, albeit at a much more respectable distance. Out of his periphery, he had seen the kiss graced upon his forehead. If he cared to look, he would even see the mark, still there; much as he now bore a mark, the touch of the Goddess' paint on his shoulderpad. It had given him a very brief pause; the Magistrates had told him that he had their favor for the God-Queen's hand, an unthinkable honor. Now, it seemed, that honor was lost.

Or simply contested.

He did not know Cador personally; he knew of him, the most skilled, faithful, and secretive of all of the God-Queen's Dragoons, an order of her personal guard that were the only ones to whom Gabriel would ever think to yield; excepting the God-Queen and the Magistrates, in that order. He had what Gabriel thought to be a self righteous smirk on his face. Gabriel did not blame him, though his heart burned in jealousy, if what he thought was true.

He could not dwell on such things; he would keep it, lock it away, release it when needed. For now, his full attention would be to keep his beloved ruler safe, even if his presence was merely to support her unfathomable power.


Outside the Rooms of Thrones proper, the Knights Gabriel had selected were waiting, all kneeling in perfect formation in a semi-circle before Sarene, while leaving ample space for her to walk between them without being sullied by their personal auras.

There was Dunkel, the Herald and Standard bearer of the Knights; his duty today was to bear the God-Queen's own banner. It was tethered to the wall beside him, and he would not take it until he was given the command.

Andre, the most devout Knight among them, with the possible exception of Gabriel. He was weeping silent tears that fell through the eye-slits of his helmet, for having been chosen for Her honor guard was so great that he felt he could not allow himself to be bare-faced before her.

Charles, the second in command of the Knights, had placed his helmet before him, with it facing towards the God-Queen. His magnificent armor, with its gleaming silver wings and scales, shone with a radiance, polished just so to reflect Her own.

And lastly, Quinn, the oldest living-and-serving Knight among Her Own, was the chosen Shield Guard, who would be given the honor of the Knights of standing opposite her selected Dragoon, to defend her should any seek to attempt against her in any way.

The four of them were silent, save Andre, who could not suppress a brief, muted utterance, "Praised be the God-Queen, Sarene."

Gabriel would admonish him later for breaking protocol, but he was proud of their statuesque posturing, prostrate before their Queen in submission and devotion. They were prepared to march at a moments notice.

The Heralds of Iracot began to walk through the city, shouting with their magnificent, and possibly enchanted, voices.

"The God-Queen summons Iracot for viewing of the Sacrifice of Riyo Shikiro!"

The summons to the Sacrifice had begun.

A bell tolled.

The unnamed eyes of the crowd all turned toward the balcony. Those who had been sitting now stood and even the children stopped playing, standing for their God-Queen. A hush fell over the courtyard but there was an energy building, excited and fearful.

Knight-Commander Gabriel Envictus appeared first followed suit by the ranks of the royal escort. And then in her full glory, God-Queen Sarene Iracot in her gossamer gown and crystal crown was revealed. Calor was not far behind.

The goddess kept her head held high and her face blank of any emotion. The sun burned the paint on her body and face, but she showed no pain. Sarene reached the edge of the balcony where everyone had the pleasure and privilege of looking upon their God-Queen. Raising her hands, she turned her palms upward and opened her arms.

"Iracot!" Sarene greeted. A cry of adoration and pure love rose up from the crowd, deafening to the ears. The very stones of the courtyard vibrated from their voices. Slowly her hands dropped and rested on the balcony's wall. The roar died down and all ears attuned themselves to the God-Queen.

Sarene swept her gaze over the crowd. Many women, and some men, fainted for they believed their God-Queen had looked them directly in the eye.

"Iracot, the people that I have given birth to from my own bosom. My Children, each and every one of you. I bring you today a sacrifice. A sacrifice to protect my Children from those who wish to come and conquer our lands from the Outside. The cruel rulers who come with vast armies to rape your wives, your children, and to kill your husbands in torturous, dishonorable, deaths."

"The Sacrifice that fuels the barrier of the border is given today by a young man. This young man came forth to me, confessed his trespasses, and begged to give his life to his Mother and to her Children so that they may continue to live on in everlasting peace."

"By the mercy of my hand, I have granted him this boon," Sarene said. "Bring forth Riyo Shikiro."

A line of Knights entered through the northern archway and made their way down the stairs. Riyo Shikiro was among them. He was not held in restraints and there was no trace of rebellion in his eyes. No longer did he blaspheme against the God-Queen, nor did he speak a word. He walked down in silent reverence, setting his eyes on the God-Queen as if she was to be the last thing he saw before he died.

The knights led Riyo Shikiro onto the platform. He stood at the center and out of the corner of his eye he saw Orfea. His lips trembled but still he dared not to say a word. Not yet. Riyo had seen sacrifices before where the God-Queen chose a Knight to honor. He, or she, would come and slit his throat and bleed him out. There were lines carved into the platform, scrolling and decorative-No, they were a symbol. It was a glyph.

It really was magic. He had been right!

"The Sacrifice today will not be preformed by one of my Knights. Today, Iracot, I give you this sacrifice," Sarene said, her voice projected easily in the courtyard.

"Orfea Pathen," Sarene Iracot called out. There was no mistaking the name, nor to who it belonged. Everyone was staring at her, even Riyo whose eyes were wide with fear, shock, horror, and filled to the brim with tears.

The Knights of the God-Queen were stationed here and there throughout the courtyard; those in the Honor Guard were but a few of all those in the city. While her Armies were vast and powerful, it was the Knights who had been chosen to watch for trouble during the ceremony.

Knight-Commander Gabriel and the Honor Guard had positioned themselves around, but apart from, their God-Queen. Quinn Lemons, the Shield Guard, was standing a few feet behind and to her left, ready to spring should any threat be detected. The Knight Herald, Dunkel Sarokonnen, stood well behind her, the Banner of Iracot held high above his head, but not so much that it overshadowed the God-Queen. The other three Knights, including Gabriel, were stationed apart at regular intervals. It was a well rehearsed play, and one they were honored to take part in.

Leading the retinue of Knights guarding Riyo Shikiro, Enrico Vaseli strode at the head. He was an intimidating figure, wearing only his finest armor, black with gold lining, and holding his deadly Black Steel scythe aloft, the tool of the executioner. He was oft the chosen man for the job, and so he expected to be for this day.

He had known Riyo fairly well, even liked the boy a bit, but duty was duty, and in the God-Queen's name he would perform it... or so he thought. When She revealed her choice, even among the Knights there was surprise to be had. Enrico didn't dare voice his disappointment, but it was evident on his face.

A hush had fallen, awaiting only the approach of Orfea. Two of the Knights, Marcus Salazar and Charley Sweepers, had begun moving through the crowd towards her; to escort her in her new path.

She watched as Riyo was practically dragged into the courtyard, shaking her head slightly in dismay.

Orfea listened half-heartedly to the speech, trying to compose herself so she didn't break down... Again. It was only when she heard her name be called the she finally looked up, but seemed to be frozen in place. The words 'I can't do this!' kept running through her already jumbled thoughts as she noticed the crowd set back so she had room to approach.

She could see her parents staring down at her in shock and sorrow, but also with the fear that she would run. But Orfea knew that she hadn't a choice, and was soon travelling the makeshift path the crowd had made her.
Once there, she bowed to her Queen in respect, before glancing over to Riyo - her only friend. Her eyes filled with tears, but she was quick to blank her face and hold her tears back.

Orfea put on a brave face, acting as if she was confident in the task she had been given. She looked over the crowd as they merged back into the original formation they had been in before. They were all staring at her, and secretly in unnerved her. Of course, she could never let that show. Instead, she acted as though she was perfectly fine with the hundreds of eyes that laid only on her.

"Please, Cordelia, formalities between us are far from necessary, I assure you," Selwyn said with his trademark grin forming across his face. He gently placed his hand on her cheek.

"I look forward to seeing you later," he cooed."My lady," Looking straight into her eyes, boring into them with his chestnut brown ones, he lightly grazed her skin before removing his hand and moving past the other Knights, nodding to each with a smirk of falsified respect as he passed.

The man had always taken an interest in Cordelia. Despite not caring much for anyone or anything other than his coin and position, he was still a man at the end of the day, and any man finds it difficult to escape his carnal interests. There had been several times where Selwyn hired concubines of the Pleasure Ward who had similarities in appearance to that of Cordelia Ightlor. Always in secret, of course, and making sure to pay them handsomely for their discretion. Although most of these courtesans were aware that if any secret of Selwyn's escaped their lips, they would find themselves mysteriously waking up halfway across Althaea, far from where any damaging information could be used against him.

He heard the bell toll and made his way to his spot on the balcony, looking to the God-Queen herself. "Your grace, it is, as always, an honor to be in your presence on such a glorious occasion. Praise be to you," he exclaimed with a deep bow. Stepping towards his designated spot on the balcony, he noticed Shiabiann, the Magistrate of the Pleasure Ward, already in her position. The two had a mutual respect, yet distrust of each other. It was an interesting relationship, to say the least. They knew they could ruin each other if they wanted to, yet most times it made more sense to both to be in good graces with each other...as long as they always remained at a bit of a distance.

"Magistrate, good day to you. I trust things are good with you in your Ward, yes?" he asked with a bow of his head and a smirk.

Overlooking the masses, he took in the proceedings and watched as his Queen called up Orfea Pathen to the sacrificial stage. Selwyn stood back, crossing his hands behind his back. Taking a last glance at the hunger and blood lust in the citizens eyes, the man grinned, excited for the opportunity to satisfy their vices in drink and gluttony in his Ward post-cermony.

It would, after all, prove to be a profitable day.

Cordelia now stood on the inside of the gateway to the courtyard, along with her comrade in arms, Calvin. There was not a soul left in the empty streets and nothing to guard. She could not stop thinking about Selwyn and what he had said to her. If Calvin had said anything of his opinion on Selwyn, or on what the man had said, Cordelia definitely had not heard.

She was beginning to doubt her choice of attending the event. And yet, Cordelia wanted nothing more than to be cornered by the powerful Magistrate. Her heart raced in her chest from the mere thought of spending time with the man in the dark. His touch alone on her cheek had sent tendrils of delight racing down her belly.

Her lustful thoughts were disrupted as Orfea was called to the platform. It was unfortunate that she had to perform the Sacrifice of Riyo. It was no secret that the two were friends, and there were rumors of them being more than companions. It was not lost on Cordelia how the God-Queen had publicly denounced Orfea Pathen's Knighthood. Sarene Iracot had given the privilege of the Rite to a citizen and yet, she had called a knight's name.

Knight-Commander Envictus most likely had orders to cease and strip Orfea of her rights as a knight as soon as the ceremony was over.

"Enrico Vaseli, hand Orfea Pathen a blade of her choosing," the God-Queen's voice rang out, even to the farthest reaches of the courtyard.

Riyo Shikiro's eyes pleaded with Orfea, begging her not to be the one to end his life. He tried so hard to say something but he found that his voice would not come. His entire body was frozen, out of control, and unable to move at his will. The tears that ran down his face would be, unmistakably be taken as pure joy to be the sacrifice for Iracot and the God-Queen.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" Shiabiaan said to Selwyn. She was unafraid to speak behind the God-Queen. None would notice. All eyes were on the little lamb and his friend. "I do enjoy a good sacrifice. It does boost revenue when it is all done. Many of the citizens come to me after they have left your ward in order to enjoy one of my ladies or boys," Shia stated as if Selwyn's business was a participant in why she had accrued so much wealth.

"Will you be coming too, or will you be attempting to bed the prude virgin?" A knowing smirk spread across the breath-taking woman's face. She never made eye contact with Selwyn but kept her eyes on Orfea and Riyo. Her breathing was irregular and deep. Shia, perhaps, was taking more pleasure in the Sacrifice than most would have.

Calvin had lost the amused look during the events transpiring next to him. Very unprofessional, Cordelia. Very. When Selwyn had finally left, he scowls and speaks, in a mock of the man's more silky voice, "Please, Cordelia, formalities between us are far from necessary, I assure you. Hmph!"

"I don't know what you see in him, honestly. Money... fame... hmph. I bet I could take him in a fight," Calvin decides, talking half to himself bitterly. He'd lost the preconception of trying to watch the gate, not that he'd simply allow anyone to just walk up to them. He was about to say more when the God-Queen's voice sent a shiver through him.

When her speech had finished, he blinked a few times, peering towards Cordelia, comrades again. "She's having Orfea do it? I thought they were... close." He makes a crude gesture.

----

Enrico was beside himself. The God-Queen had addressed him with a specific duty in mind. Even if it was not the execution of the sacrifice, it was almost as good. He bows his head to Orfea, and gestures to the rest of the retinue of Knights, who in unison offer the hilts of their various arms. "I would be honored," Enrico says softly, "If you would take mine for the duty." He, too, offers his mighty Scythe.


Gabriel and the rest of the Honor guard were performing their true function; seeking the crowds for those who would disrespect the God-Queen by speaking during the ceremony. A few brief, hushed exclamations were common and allowed. If there was any consortium that became a conversation, he would set his people into motion. And, he had detected the group of three, huddled together and carrying on, despite the gravity of the situation.

Making a covert gesture recognized only by the Knights, Gabriel sends two of them to bring retribution to the group of three. Dravinglov and Luna had begun to advance through the crowds, like wraiths descending on their prey.

With that, he returned his attention to the shocking choice. He had not known Sarene's intentions with Orfea, but her words, and the intent behind them, were clear. He knew what must be done after the ritual was complete.


----

Nearing the edge of the city, an exhausted horse and rider crests the last hill overlooking the great holy land. The man was Shein Clovin, Knight-Errant and runner, who had been assigned to one of the Knights' border combat teams. And he had a dire message that needed to be received immediately. Urging his steed on, he carries forth towards the Palace.

Sven stood upright as he saw the lead knight's gesture, he knew what was coming now. If they were wraiths, he was the ghost that taught them all how to haunt, he knew all the tricks when it came to fighting an armored knight or otherwise, he'd taught most knights after all. Proud was an understatement, but only a few knights deserved recognition among them.

"Shh. The feral dogs come to bite. Just visit the Agricultural Ward tonight. They'll be a congregation, don't waste your time at the Crimson Fox, neither. The owner'll slit your throat, then piss in it." Sven hissed though closed lips and gently pushed his two new companions apart gently.

If the knights intended to make Sven and the other two men an example, the look and gesture the ex-knight gave them would probably deter them. Sven gave them a smile, a slight bow and with his hands gave them a gesture that he had used in the training rounds of Iracot a few months ago.

The gesture warned of an incoming blow, the first finger said if it was a sword, in this case it was a sword, and the second alerted to the direction, which happened to be left.

"Pull up your hoods and distance yourself into the crowds if you want to live." Sven hissed loud enough for the two men to hear.

"You dare to blaspheme your God-Queen?" It was Magistrate Shiabiann that had spoken, her voice traveling over the gathered as easily as Sarene Iracot's had done. The elegant and scantily clad woman smiled in amusement. There was not only one death to be had today it appeared.

Sarene Iracot's eyes stared at Orfea Pathen with a vengeful gaze. The Sacrifice was not turning out as it should and the Magistrates were there to see the God-Queen's failure. Failure was unacceptable.

"Seize her," the God-Queen demanded of her Knights on the platform. "And Riyo Shikiro shall burn for your utterances against my Holiness."

Flame erupted beneath Riyo Shikiro's feet and his tongue was loosened. His screams echoed through the courtyard as he was burned mercilessly. The smell of searing flesh filled the noses of those who were the closest. His skin blackened with char and melted from his bones as the fire consumed him.

"I am a merciful god to those who are worthy. Those who betray me will suffer as these two shall today. Do not forget Iracot. I am your God!" Sarene was infuriated. Where there was one who would dare to speak against her there were more.

"Behead the blasphemer and her family!" the God-Queen commanded before she turned on heel to leave the courtyard. A resounding boom of the massive doors that lead into the palace signaled the leave of Sarene Iracot.

Selwyn remained seated, smirking at Shiabiann's attempted words of insult.

"Come now, Magistrate. Jealousy is not a good look on you, especially on such a joyous occasion. I daresay our 'God-Queen' would only want positive emotion from one of her Throne Holders," he spoke with only a mere hint of apathy in his voice.

"Besides, it would be such a terrible shame if one of your top earners were to suddenly disappear, or if perhaps a brothel of yours burnt down from a drunken citizen celebrating the day's events. Of course, should such a terrible event occur, you have the full support of the Merchant's Ward."

Selwyn moved his attention from the cat and mouse conversation over to the blue haired Knight known as Orfea Pathen, summoned for the execution. As she turned to the crowd to deliver her blasphemous tirade, Selwyn reached into his belt and grasped the hilt of an ornate dagger, sheathed in crimson, bearing the head of a silver fox at the base of the handle.

Upon Magistrate Shiabiann's words of scold to Orfea, Selwyn rushed up behind the blue haired Knight and held his now drawn dagger to her throat as the rest of the Knights readied their weapons at the woman. The God-Queen took her leave to return indoors just before Selwyn leaned in close to Orfea's ear, lowering his voice to a mere whisper.

"A word of advice; if there's one thing I learned along my rise, it would be to never let anyone know your true intentions, my dear Orfea."

Selwyn let the God-Queen's Knights take her out of his grasp before turning back to Shiabiann.

"This does not bode well for our Wards, Magistrate. Order must be restored, or riots in our streets are inevitable," the man spoke as he turned to the now restless crowd, chanting and screaming obscenities up at the stage. He began to address them, drenching his words in as much charisma as he could muster. Selwyn raised both his hands in an attempt to garner the masses' attention.

"People of Iracot, do not fear. Praise be the God-Queen and her rule. We are now blessed with not only one, but two sacrifices on this, a most momentous of days. Enjoy the rest of the ceremony, and afterwards, enjoy your first round of drinks on me at any one of the taverns in the Merchant's Ward," he let the words ring out before delivering the finale to his speech.


"In addition, Magistrate Shiabiann Xao-Lai is most graciously offering her Ward's services at half price all evening in celebration of our Holiness herself!"

Selwyn smiled, knowing Shiabiann would not be pleased at all. He lowered his hands and turned to the stunning Magistrate of the Pleasure Ward, speaking so only she could hear.

"We do what we must to keep order," Selwyn said, his smart smirk turning into a full on smile.

Everything had gone wrong, Calor noticed. He stood there as the God-Queen took her leave behind him, his head shaking slowly as the knights and those few who dared opposed the God-Queen's rule seemed to verbally duel back and forth, and as the figure known as Parem' Zel rushed through to try and save the woman who had refused to carry out the sacrifice.

"Are these people serious?" He asked, a brow raised as he heard them yell in the crowd. Words of unfairness, cruelty, of being unjust and tyrannical?

"SILENCE! I DEMAND SILENCE!" His voice roared out over the crowd; the silent blade that protected their 'beloved' Queen shocking most of them into silence.

"Cruelty? Witch? Tyrannical? Have you not looked at yourself, you disgusting hypocrites? I have walked as one of you, drank in your taverns, made friends and enemies of both the poorest and most comfortable of you. Let me tell you this, peasants: all of you are below the God-Queen, guilty of all things you accuse her of being."

He began to walk back and forth, his pacing speeding as he kept his head on the thousands below him.

"You people drink, you fornicate, you sit in basements and exchange coin as dogs tear each other asunder and cheer for more as men and slaves use all manner of lethal weaponry to slaughter each other in rings of combat. You laugh as men beat each other to death, as they slice and stab and butcher. You crave war and violence, you ignore those lesser than you in desperate need of help and charity and you seek nothing but to further your own wealth and power and are jealous of my beloved Queen because by right of divinity, she has it.

"Rule under her banner is far more preferable to the chaos you cretins yourselves would cause if you did not have her to follow. And do these sacrifices not resemble the executions many of you go to watch regularly? Where you shout, cheer and insult the criminals about to have their lives taken away? Do you not throw turds and rotten fruit and dishonour them with every movement, even if guilty only of stealing from a market stall, or wrongly accused in the first place? Why are these sacrifices, why are the things my God-Queen demands so much more despicable than what you yourselves do?"

"Our God-Queen is Queen by divine right. She will guide us to be a better people, she works tirelessly to love us all and rid us of the sins inherit in our kind, yet you do nothing but resist her and scream of foulness. By order of I, Calor Elohan, chosen husband of God-Queen Sarene Iracot, I order all of you to bow, re-pledge your allegiance to her and her state and immediately stop all thoughts of treason. If you do not, then you will no longer be welcome in this country and I hereby sentence you to be exiled and cast beyond our borders; your lands, possessions and titles stripped away from you, by force if our Queen's Knights deem it necessary! Those who do not comply with either of these orders will be restrained and taken for future sacrifices."

Oh, he wasn't sure his Queen would like his speech, but it was said and done and he had nothing else to do but turn and follow her back into her palace.

Melody watched complacently as things went south. Poor pitiful Orfea. Melody instantly knew there would be bigger repercussions for the girl's actions and wasn't surprised by her thoughts. Not only did the God-Queen become angry, but decided to punish the girl's family as well. As the musician stood there, she kept her calm as others next to her started to panic. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, ready to move if possible. The tension in the air though rose to a feverish pitch by what happened next. She caught a flash of movement as she saw a man saved Orfea. The silver hair woman gave the man credit for his courage. The fact that he was a magic user didn't surprise her for a good number of people were like that, herself included.

When Magistrate Selwyn spoke though, Melody wanted to roll her eyes, but didn't. A more silver-tongue fellow she'd yet to meet. She had performed at his tavern at times and had been a target of some unsavory characters, the magistrate included. She had yet to figure out his true motives though. One thing he was good with was his words.

Of course the next one to speak was none other than the God-Queen's shadow himself, Calor Elohan. When he ordered all to bow, she wasted no time in doing so. Inside though she hated doing this. She only served her masters, but until she was given a direct order to act, she would bide her time. His speech did make a point though. Humans were natural hypocrites. She herself was one of them and be the first to admit it. However, her purpose was for the greater good.