Windcrest Market Square

"I don't care if you tell them. I'm not planning on going anywhere near them." Helena spoke as she glanced over to the two people that were known as her parents before looking at the podium where the candidates would start their debate. "They disowned me. They don't have the right to know my business and I'm not going to cause drama and interrupt their little pampered lives. Plus, they wouldn't want a bastard under their roof. I'm not married. I'm not involved with anyone and I'm certainly not going to be involved with anyone."

She smiled a bit, probably at the thought of such rebellion.

"And you can tell them that if they have anything they want to say to me, they can come and say it to my face. I'm a big girl now, you know. I can deal with it. Oh, and let them know that I'm back here to bring my child up. Not to grovel for forgiveness to them."

Finally it appeared that the two candidates had arrived and even Helena was shocked to hear her brother ask her if one of them was drinking. That certainly looked like he was drinking. Even without the fact that he'd announced that it was whiskey. So much for voting for that man. It didn't matter what he said now, she wasn't going to vote for either men. That was final.

"I knew this would be a waste of my time, Jay. Why did you bring me here again?" She asked, annoyance lacing her tone.

Franklin gave a glance to Sigurd, noticing he had no intention of moving, and shrugged. He gave a nod to Nina before standing and patting his chest for a second to smooth his appearance. He looked to the Seer and lowered his head slightly, showing the great legend the respect he had earned from all of Windcrest. When he picked up his head, Brice looked out over the crowd, letting his eyes go out of focus over the mass of bodies.

"Windcrest's and the rest of North Aslund's Isolationism has been a grace to this land. It has kept us strong, and prideful. United are the people of the North in our accomplishments against the nature of the very land we choose to inhabit. And thus I can not deny the proof that our solitude has been a factor in our prosperity...."

He paused, letting his hands slip behind his back and placed the back of his left into the palm of his right.

"But the question is not whether or not our being Isolationist is a good thing, but rather, can we even consider ourselves Isolationist any more. Do we not have the refugees of the southern lands amongst us? Did we not recently endure the unprovoked attacks of the sociopaths that tend to gravitate to the south? True it may be that we have dealt with these incidents, showing the strength of our people, but can the families of those considered casualties say the same? Is not one Northern loss too much? I do not propose that we break our solidarity, but rather, we prepare ourselves for when the rest of the world breaks it for us."

"Mmh," Regndropi nodded as Brice finished, his voice a murmuring grumble. He looked quickly to Sigurd, his sharp eyes as hard and cold as midwinter ice.

"Olafson!" his voice boomed, "since you've seen fit to go out of turn, perhaps you'd now like to tell us what you think of my question?"

Sigurd stood up, clearing his throat with a booming cough and removing his helmet, throwing it with a loud clang onto the table in front of him. He'd made his point that he would chose the time to talk, and not the other way around, his stubbornness was leagues ahead of that of the most stalwart of goats.

Sarangerel had called him a goat once, that had been an apt name.

"You think we want to get involved in the chaos of the other towns? No. We've stood as a people strong against the tide of invaders, monsters and soldiers for how long now?" Sigurd raised his broad shoulders in a questioning shrug.

"Not just that, but we are far from cowards who stand by when others suffer! How many people have we allowed to live here since the founding?" Another a shrug and the Sigurd's voice only got louder and more aggressive. The spite of the man known as Franklin Brice trying to trick him with those... political words.

"I wouldn't be the man I am today if we were truly isolationist. It is a far cry to accept those people trying to escape those troubles than going to go find those troubles in the other cities, it's why most of you are here! To escape the chaos." Sigurd's veins pulsed as he felt the urge to break something.

"We are like... A ROCK! We have weathered the elements time and time again and it only makes us stronger. A VERY STRONG ROCK." Sigurd finished, clearing his throat again and sitting back down his chair and thumping his fists against the table.

It was better than calling the town a goat.

"You tell him Olafson!" a child's voice called out from his hiding place overhead.

The lad's words drew a few laughs from those gathered before one of the more responsible among the Le'thorian Knights rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the child.

"Get him down from there, before he gets himself hurt," he said.

As a couple of the Knights moved towards the entrance to retrieve the child from the building top, the lad's face disappeared from view with a groan as he began his climb back down towards the street outside, and likely into the hands of an escort back to the orphanage.

Meanwhile back inside Olaf frowned thoughtfully at Franklin's response. Some of it held merit, but he couldn't rightly make sense of his declarations of Isolationism. Others were exchanging perplexed looks as well. Windcrest may be self-sufficient and independent, but their 'isolation' was a matter of circumstance. The rest of the world didn't pay them much mind up here, but they themselves were far from isolationists as was well proven by the large quantity races, and cultural ethnic groups from all across Terra that made their home in the north - especially in Windcrest. There was even an Aschen Admiral seated beside him that spoke further of their openess to outsiders.

And when the TNG had formed, they had thrown their lot in with the national government rather than choosing to remain independent as the Shintenchi nations had. Relations between northern Aslund and the TNG weren't exactly stellar, but that had little to do with isiolationism and more to do with the rest of Terra not really giving a right care about anything that goes on up here.

No, they were a proud lot, but they weren't isolationists, nor had they ever been. Anyone who made their home in Windcrest was absorbed and adopted into the culture just the same as those native born. If anything, he would go so far as to say that it was the southerners who sought to exclude the north, rather than the north who sought to isolate itself from the rest of the TNG.

He grunted gruffly.

Jason shook his head at his sisters words. "Don't you see, it's not about liking politics," he tried to explain to his sister. "It's about this being our home, and our votes will determine which of them will represent us to the rest of the world. They will be our voice." He gave her a playful nudge with his arm. "Don't you want a say in who gets to speak for us?" he asked her with an arch of his eye.

He had tactfully avoided the rest of Helena's words for the time being.

He nodded his head towards Architect to direct her attention that way. "Mom and dad think that one will bring a bit of the south to Windcrest. Police agencies, more military, regulations on the mining industries," he explained. "Don't tell them I said it, but I half think they just figure if there's police agencies up here, then I can retire from the city militia and find a safer line of work," he said with a grin. "Not that I would," he added with a wink.

He liked his job well enough, and if the day came that the city militia was disbanded in favor of formal police agencies, then he would likely just change careers to that of an officer.

"Frankly I think they just miss everything they lost when they moved up here. A lot of people do."

He nodded to Sigurd next, trying his damndest to get his sister interested in the candidates. "And that one's a favorite of the native born, if you can't tell," he told her with amusement.

Redngropi made no expression that would give the impression he favored either response. He was carefully reserved and guarded. Once both candidates had made their statements and seeing how neither interjected to directly counter the other's argument, he continued with the next question.

"My next question concerns not only the North," he began, "but Terra as a whole. This planet has experienced continuing immigration and expansion from foreign populaces. Long has Terra held its arms open wide towards those from other planets, galaxies and nations. The TNG's immigration policy is lax and simple. Getting in and out of the planet is incredibly easy compared to other intergalactic factions. This mindset is a curious contradiction from Terra's foreign policy, a doctrine that increasingly favors isolationism and independence from foreign powers. Given the great struggle that this planet has seen in the past in her bouts with the Aschen, the Taiyou, the Belkans and the Cybrans, the politicians of this world seem to be constantly drawing inward, refusing foreign aid and alien presence on her soil as often as they can." He looked between them cautiously. "So my question is this: Why is Terra's immigration policy such a contrast from its foreign policy, and do you agree with it as it stands now? Should things be changed?"

Helena wasn't listening to a word the contenders on stage were saying. She didn't give a damn about any of them. Not one damn. he didn't care who spoke for them. Her vote wouldn't make much of a difference anyway. It was one vote. It wasn't like they were depending on her vote to see who actually won. Though, maybe she'd find out who her parents were going for and go for the opposite to really piss them off.

"If they miss the South so much, they should go back down there. Maybe then I'll be out of their dirty view and they can stop looking down their noses at me." She told him, frowning.

She looked at Jason. "Who are they going to vote for? Have they said definitely. I might go for the other one just for the hell of it. Piss them off some more. Might as well make a bigger disappointment then I already am for them." She smirked, once again glancing over at the snobs that were called her parents.

"I've publicly stated on multiple occasions that I believe in Xeno-equality, that is to treat anyone from any other planet with respect and fairness, with few exceptions for those that have earned a reason to be treated otherwise." Brice stated, pausing for a moment to allow the point to be made. Their was a certain and very specific group that he was addressing in the second half of his statement, however it was up to the people to interpret just who that was.

"It might be a bit hypocritical, I admit, but we do not live in a perfect, happy-go-lucky universe, and there are exceptions to every rule. But I haven't yet addressed foreign policy, and I'll get to that right now;"

Another pause as he looked out over the crowd. He wondered just what kind of opinion was forming about him, not only as a politician, but as a man from Windcrest. He knew better than anyone that many of his views challenged the deep rooted tradition he was raised in, and he had no doubt that made him an easy target.

"I believe that before we begin to do things like sending aid to other planets, establishing diplomatic relationships, or other such endeavors, the TNG as a whole needs to be strengthened, centralized, and focused. As of this moment there are several issues on a domestic scale that must be given priority as is our responsibility to the citizens that we represent."

Nina stood from her seat, coming to stand next to Franklin as he finished speaking. She looked out over the crowd, clearing her throat before leaning over to Franklin. "I just need to say a few words." She told him, bringing her full attention back to the crowd.

"I am an immigrant to Terra, I originally came here with the Invictus and like many of my comrades I've decided to make this place my home because I feel it has potential to get better." Nina said, "That brings me to the point I'm trying to make. Where I am from originally, Serbia, we didn't have that potential."

"We have a saying in Serbia that I think will help you all understand why we need a more unified Terra with stronger foreign policy." Nina paused, glancing down at her feet. When she lifted her head she spoke with what might be seen as disappointment. "A Serb's worst enemy is his fellow Serb. Backstabbing and blood feuds over minor ethnic differences or the archaic notion of a family's honor has destroyed my people time and time again. It's left us vulnerable to invaders and the corrupt." Nina said to the people of the north.

"My family left Yugoslavia, Serbia, because we were watching our people implode. It wasn't home. Terra won't be home for any of us if we allow it to happen here. I personally don't want to see the future generations raised around constant hate and violence towards their own." She said, puasing yet again.

"You, the people of the north who are not unlike my own people in many ways, set an example for the rest of the planet. Show them that together we can not be moved, but broken into smaller, lighter pieces we can be scattered. I have faith that you'll vote for the right man."

Nagala slowly leaned over to Amund, and scowled slightly.

"This is a frakking joke." She whispered before she moved to bring her attention back to Brice, scribbling a few errant notes in Anquietas before she turned back to Amund.

"Exceptions to equality' is not wise foreign policy. it's liable to get the government discredited and pave the road to another war." She added, scribbling a few more notes down.

"Personally I think this entire campaign has been a charade." She added. Staring emerald green daggers up at Franklin, subtly daring him to add another quip about the Empire.

Amund let out a rumbling chuckle at Nagala's ire.

"Might be that it is. We never have had much of a need for the TNG up here in the north," he replied back. "I never had a taste for politics myself, but the TNG says we need to hold elections, so we hold elections."

"I don't expect that one will be winning over many of the natives though," he added.

A burst of white light. A change in surroundings. Images and sounds too complex to comprehend, too fast to perceive. A sudden feeling of cold.

Suddenly, snow.

Quinn came to sometime around the time she found herself in a snow bank in the middle of town. Bits of ice, cold enough to burn, found her way through her thin windbreaker jacket and stockings and made her awake.

When she awoke, she found herself on her back, staring at the sky.

Hovering above Windcrest in a dimensional crossover using spatial stealth technology to phase itself into a dimension that was “vibing” with the origin dimension, allowing it to go undetected while still being able to examine the world around it, was the Gopher. The Gopher was a small assault transport launched by one of the Attican vessels orbiting Terra. They didn’t have to send down the Gopher to deliver Cleo, as they could have used their teleportation gadget onboard any of the vessels, but Cleo had wanted assistance close. Onboard the 45 meter long Gopher were 12 soldiers, 8 automated units, and 4 Paladins that served Hekate and were commanded by Cleo as part of Hekate’s Cult of Attica. The silent vessel stayed in one place, possessing no clear presence to most forms of detection should the area it is in be scanned.

Cleo herself was the only one to be transported to the service, as landing the Gopher wasn’t in their best interest, and simply teleporting Cleo down with the others onboard awaiting her orders was what they wanted. Once they were done here, Cleo would be teleported back to the vessel, and the assault transport would return back to its mothership. The white snow melted upon contact with Cleo’s skin, transforming back into miniscule quasi-droplets of water. She was lucky that her phased vessel could teleport her while remaining phased, as detection would not be her favorite thing. Knowing that the locals who knew about teleportation technology would think that she had been teleported by a vessel in orbit, or one of the starbases, she need not worry too much.

A vision from the Gods, or perhaps from her own abilities as a seer developing into a passive power, had been sent to her. She knew what a message from those mighty beings that first walked on Terra before any creature had felt like. It wasn't like a normal dream, if it came to the receiver in their sleep at all. In the vision, Cleo felt a rift from another universe, not another dimension or even another world, being ripped open; she also detected the magical potential of someone within Windcrest she was told may become the apprentice she was seeking. The huge amount of power to send someone to another universe worried Cleo, especially if the Gods felt like sending her a vision, so now she was here, investigating both.

A formal white and indigo outfit was what Cleo had got dressed into using her exoskeleton’s fashion application. The white shirt she wore was largely covered up to be an accenting factor by a thick, indigo buttoned coat that reached down to just below her knees that had small, fluffy white threads dotted throughout its texture, but they blended very well, and weren't polka dots, but rather just a part of the fabric; it reached down to her wrists where her tanzanite cuffs and their white casing found their place, though it was currently pulled up to being just before her elbows. The long topcoat had a nice, thick collar, and centered between them, hidden beneath the white shirt, and around her neck, was an amulet. The Ring of Nemesis was placed her right ring finger, and a gorgeous watch was on her left wrist. The black pants with white and indigo accents she wore were tighter, but still professional-like, and they were stuffed into a pair of fine brown boots. She felt confident in her appearance, happy to finally use all of these items from the application in tandem.

Cleo stepped forward after entering the market square by teleportation, looking around at the same time her sensory abilities prodded the air for evidence. Then it hit her. A wave of mana so powerful that Cleo was sure it would have destroyed this market if it were weaponized. It was hidden somewhat, but someone of Cleo’s caliber in the sensing of the mystical, especially with the blessings given to her by Hekate, wasn't going to be deceived, and that's why she felt the traveling aura. Cleo continued stepping forward, entering the graceful, confident stride of not a businesswoman, but a warrior, hands in her coat’s pockets, finally coming upon the other woman that people saw suddenly appear.

Cleo examined the girl on the ground coolly.

”Welcome to Terra.” She said.

As quickly as the rift came, it passed. Sensations of the warm light and images beyond human comprehension were replaced with the burning cold that tore through her jacket and stockings.

It had been only a mild fall day in Chicago. She could still feel the adrenaline rush of CPD bearing down on her, having just evaded an arrest that would have put her away for a ten-to-twenty. The nail in the coffin, she thought, on her life of crime. If it weren't for...

What the hell was that? There was her accomplice, closing his eyes and chanting nonsense under his breath. There was the bright light, the police sirens fading, the images that came too fast to comprehend; like a complex dream that one forgets after they wake up. How much time had passed? Was her accomplice still there, on the rooftop of that Wells Fargo, whispering that gibberish as if his life depended on it?

Where was this place? Hell, most likely, she thought. Maybe she had fallen to her death, or one of the police snipers had put her out of her misery. This is what you get, for living the life that you have. It wasn't the worst thing. Hell had more dignity than prison.

Quinn raised herself to a sitting position, bits of glistening snow and ice sliding off her back, to get lost among the others. Still wearing her black bandana, she slid it off of her face to reveal the features of a young woman. Her gaze came to the woman standing above her.

As she watched the other woman, Quinn spoke the first words that came to her mind.

"Fuck me, it's cold!"

The white snow of Windcrest fell gently upon Cleo, some of it sprinkling her hair until it was evaporated by her body heat, just like the rest of the snow. Inside of her coat pockets, her fingers tapped against each other’s fingertips, index upon thumb, middle upon thumb, ring upon thumb, and then pinky upon thumb, but it wasn’t very noticeable. The cold, coat-penetrating wind didn’t bother Cleo, but someone who wasn’t as wrapped up as the young woman before her definitely would feel the freeze. She kept her smile as she thought about Maximillian, her son, wondering if he was feeling cold right now out on Ruula, the world of Pokemon. Cleo continued to examine the girl, before looking up at the gray skies, and reaching out her right hand for the girl to follow.

”It is, isn’t it? There is a fire going over here made to keep people warm, I suppose. Conveniently, there is also a clothing merchant nearby. I’ll do you a favor, and buy you a set. This place is rustic, and simple, but they have everything you’ll need.” Cleo said, speaking only as many words as she needed to.

”I know you’re not from around here, but you don’t need to worry. I won’t be telling anyone.” Cleo’s hand went to her side instead of hanging in her coat pocket, her left still in its respective pocket. Cleo didn’t wait for the woman to follow, certain she would come along in such a hostile environment, especially to a warm place, and certainly when clothing was offered to replace such inadequate wear. The head of state sighed as she placed her hands up near the fire, enjoying the heat even though her symbiote was keeping her warm.

At the moment, Cleo was thinking about how she should have brought her handmaidens. They frequently accompanied her, but were back on a ship in orbit. Next time, she would make sure they got to enjoy a place as beautiful as Windcrest.

Quinn followed behind, pulling off her black gloves, stuffing them in her pockets, to let warmth of the fire reach her skin. She brought her hands almost close enough to the fire to burn, taking comfort in the heat. She rotated her arms, like a roast cooking on a spit, absorbing the heat in every pore.

Quinn looked up at the other woman, analyzing her features. I must look like a fool, Quinn thought. Thin windbreaker in the icy winter. A skirt and stockings, not thick enough to keep the cold out. Combat boots like some kind of punk reject. A bandana around her neck, a hood over her face - all black, of course. Like a felon. The thought made her laugh.

She pulled off her backpack and unzipped the top to take inventory. Everything was still there - she had been homeless, and the backpack contained everything she required for life. Most of it was stolen, some of it gifted, or traded. Almost none of it bought. Her eyes glanced past her baseball bat, an item so large the handle stuck out of the top, trying to weigh whether or not she'd need to use it.

Her hands found her way to a Snickers bar. To make sure it was real life, she told herself. Her hands, no longer shaking, tore the wrapper apart. She took a bite, savoring the flavor in her mouth - it could be her last, she told herself. Maybe candy didn't exist on Terra.

There it was again. Worrying about the stupidest things. Snickers bars are the least of your problems, a voice in her head said.

"Who are you, and what is this place?" Quinn spoke. Her voice was soft.

The fire crackled, the wood inside of it singing a little song as it was licked and devoured by the roaring fire that kept this small area so warm that much of the snow melted before it hit the ground. She admired the stone being caressed by the flame it contained, looking around at the rest of the people in market. Some were dressed in plate armor, others in leather armor, but many of the citizens weren’t armored at all. A boy was getting some kind of winter rose for his sick mother, she overheard, hearing that it was just a cold, something being treated, but that sweet child was still worried. She gave a wave to the observant boy, who had noticed her looking at him; she saw a dagger at his hip, and her grinned, giving a wave.

”Hello, bold, little hunter.” Her thought beamed to him, and he just gave another wave as a goodbye before scurrying off.

”This place? This place is interesting. It is named Windcrest, I believe. It’s a city-state of a sort. I’m not sure, entirely, but I know it is run by a Jarl.” Cleo said, confident enough to admit she didn’t know something. She noticed the other eyeing her baseball bat, and she gave a soft scoff.

”You won’t need that. Not here, anyways. There are tons of guards in this marketplace… and if you’re scared of them, they won’t bother you. They don’t know you, remember? Relax.” Cleo reached into her pocket, and held out her Attican I.D.

”Ignore the part that says Empress. They insisted that go on there, but I want to have it removed. I run Attican Productivities, and, as you can see, my name is Cleo Wright. Clearly, it isn’t your usual corporation. We care about our people. We even have citizens.” Cleo wasn’t worried about revealing that to the woman because she deserved all the comfort of knowledge she could get. New universes had to be terrifying.

The I.D. card was repocketed; she didn’t use it normally, and it didn’t hold any importance, but it was useful for telling other people who she was since they didn’t have the Attican database, or the extensive scanners that allowed them to identify themselves. Cleo pulled out some gold coins, and looked around, seeing someone trying on a fur coat in one of the stalls.

”Over there. The clothing is built for this weather, but still rather nice. Follow me over there, please? Would you mind telling me your name? You’ll need work here.” Cleo said, this time waiting for the girl to follow.

”When we get over there, pick out whatever you need. We’ll get some other gear for you after. You’ll need something stronger than a bat to survive here.” The witch waited patiently, thumbing at the edges of a golden coin.

”You’ll also need a guide, won’t you? Join me. It’ll be fun.” She continued to thumb the gold coin.

Quinn swallowed the first bite of her candy bar slowly, cautiously eyeing the woman. Her other hand slipped inside the bag once again, this time retrieving a couple small pieces of green paper. "Federal Reserve Note" was printed at the top of them.

"Quinn. You can call me Quinn," Her words were slow and unsure. "I, uh... Thanks, but I can pay for the coat." She held the green papers up, pulling them taut between her hands for a second, so they were clearly visible to the other woman. She slipped her backpack back on, feeling its heft on her back.

Her eyes looked around at the townsfolk, clad in armor and dingy fabric like something out of medieval times. She wondered, for a second, if this world was one in the past, before her present time - she wondered if perhaps the rift had sent her back in time. Or perhaps this was some kind of dystopian future, one where mankind had been reduced to primitivism. But what of this woman, using technology far beyond the limits of Quinn's time?

It was then, she felt it, as if a veil had been removed, letting her perceive the way the Multiverse intended her to. This wasn't a tangible past, present, or future. The universe she now existed in was all times and all things colliding. It existed on no plane of reality that she had known; it was a world its own, or many worlds perhaps, collectively giving way to a grand reality.

Her hands, still clutching at her fiat currency, now reached behind her and returned the paper to a pocket on her bag, as she felt its futility become apparent. "Then again, I'm not sure if my money is valid here," Her tone was almost sarcastic, treating the illogicality of her actions as if it were a joke.

"Sure, I'll come with you. I think I need quite a few more things explained."

The green currency that Quinn had brought a chuckle out of Cleo. She knew that they only accepted gold here in Windcrest. Places like these, they still ran on ancient trade currencies. Gold was always a good thing to have, though, and because copper and silver wasn’t as valuable, it was one of the best. Cleo usually paid for things much less expensive than gold with a few of her coins, but she had more than enough of it in her pockets; she could have probably stored it with a spell, but… well, maybe Cleo should start doing that if she didn’t want to waste money.

”Well, Quinn, you’re right. Your currency isn’t valid here. They run exclusively on metallics. Thankfully you picked out some of the nicer clothes, so I don’t have to waste my gold.” Cleo was still looking out at the rest of the market, not facing the tender. She turned, and gave a smile to the store owner, and flipped them a gold coin.

”You won’t get bored with me. I’m not your usual businesswoman. I’m usually more secretive about who I am,” Cleo said, leaving out that she was holding back much, much more than she was telling, ”but I felt fine with giving you that info. Let us go get you a weapon over here. Something magical. I’ve heard they have excellent enchantments.” Cleo moved forward to an actual building this time, opening the door, and looking to Quinn before she stepped in, head quirked to the right.

”Maybe some light armor, too.” She said, stepping into the shop.

Quinn'a eyes darted around the shop, feeling the stare of many townsfolk. "Outsider" may as well have been written on her forehead.

"The fuck you lookin' at?" She was unsure if they understood her words, but her tone was enough to get the meaning across.

She apprehensively explored the shop, her gaze moving from item to item. A familiar feeling came over her. Every blind spot and hole in security became apparent as she strolled around. Secretly she knew how easy it would be to conceal something when the clerk turned their back, walking out with a new piece of equipment while they were none the wiser. But this looked like small business, she thought. She would save such an endeavor for more affluent places in the Multiverse.

Quinn spoke to Cleo, her eyes still not leaving the merchandise. "So what do we need weapons for? Are we slaying dragons or something?" Her words carried a deadpan sarcasm.

As Quinn finishes her sentence, the rift comes again, bringing her to another location in a burst of white light.

Sabnach has arrived, coming from Sjief's Lodge.

Sabnach vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.