The Forgotten Zodiac

Gossain's Capital City, Niravan, one year preceeding the downfall of the Titan Neathor

"Alastor remains consistently focused on Bulliete and Herrace. The trade route's construction will take some time, but things are going well so far." Hora, the only female advisor for the King that sat beside her, had a commanding voice that demanded attention from everyone in the room. This was a very important meeting; planning for the future was a vital thing, after all. The meeting room was perhaps more grand than the throne room; the circular design and intricate framework spoke wonders of Gossain architecture. The room itself was completely soundproof; even if someone were pressing their ear to the crack between the door and the floor, they would hear nothing.

"The journey to Kaislun has been treacherous thus far. But our anscestors would be very pleased with us. The eternal peace is but a footfall away; Alastor, and by extention, Storaph, are the only threats that remain in our ever lengthening path." Another advisor said.

"There are...issues, however." A third spoke, an older man who had obviously seen the worst of battle. Half his face was burnt, the worst of the red and twisted flesh covered by a black eyepatch. "The military isn't ready for something like Alastor. Their warriors are like beasts on the battlefield; and to my understanding, the one overseeing the land-based branch is a beast himself! And those who reside in and around the castle..."

"Patience, Squall," Hora snorted. "A time will come for us to strike. Great Baras will guide us."

"Your pathetic god of war is not what destroyed the Vukan Empire, Hora!" Squall snapped. "Idols and hopeless religeon will get us nowhere."

"Religeon is hope, Squall," Hora snapped right back. "Without hope for future generations, without hope for the eternal piece that the 'hopeless religeon' promised these people, your pathetic excuse for an army would not have made it this far! They would not have moved from the mountains, not a single step!"

"Enough," The third advisor, a younger man with a feirce voice, yelled at them. "These arguments make no progress whatsoever!" He looked towards the kind. "My lord, what is your choice?"

((We'll get through this meeting, and your king-boy will skip off and find Ink.

By the way, Gossain is (obviously) going to wait until the trade line is finished before looking for a chance to strike.))

((Yes.))

The king, Riordan, was a tall, wiry man, somewhere in his older twenties, with a narrow, rather stern face. He had unique age-lines on his face, in the space between nose and eye. His hair was black, shiny like a raven's wing, and his eyes were a hollow gray. He sat rigidly in the throne, his white robes tinted with crimson and wrapped tightly around his lean frame.

"We will wait," he said, and his voice was a chilling sort of hiss that permeated the room like a cold breeze. "Once the trade lines between Gossain and Alastor are complete, we will search for our perfect oppertunity to strike. Only then will we have what we seek."

((I think 'skip off' was the wrong term there. 8I;; ))

That silenced the advisors. "It will be as you say." The younger one, who bore the name Lorace, sat down, pushing his glasses up on his face.

"Then we have nothing more to discuss." Hora stood, collecting her papers. Squall did the same, but sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's very unfortunate..." He sighed.

"What is?"

"King Werr is but a boy. He was very young when he was put on the throne, and he's still young. It's unfortunate that we have to end him like this. All this secrecy..."

"Squall, you know better than any of us that without deciet and careful footwork, we would not have made it this far. Now is not the time for moral conflict." Hora tutted. "But a boy he may be, yet you and I both know that we cannot risk civil conversation. If he knew what we were after...he would take it before we even had a chance at it. We cannot allow that. This meeting is over, Squall. Good night." She turned and walked off.

"What do you make of all this, Lorace?" Squall glared at the younger boy.

"I don't dabble in your political affairs. I am the economic advisor, and I will remain so." Lorace said tersely, choosing his words carefully, so as not to offend his elder. He stood and walked to the same door Hora had left through.

"Then be off with you," Squall snapped, sitting back and crossing his arms. After a moment, he stood and grabbed up his papers. "Good night, my king." He moved to leave as well.

That left only one other person in the room, on the opposite side of the round table from Riordan. A tall, thin woman, with tan feathers twinned into her dark auburn hair. She said nothing, instead standing and walking over to the king. She ran her fingers through his hair, silently examining him with her black eyes before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on his head. She was his wife, a very beautiful woman by the name of Valley. She was a year younger than him, and though she rarely spoke unless she wanted to, her eyes held bounds of wisdom that rivaled that of the three advisors put together.

"I'll wait for you in our room," She said softly before leaving, as well.

((Should we make it so that Riordan found Ink a long time ago, when they were both younger, or just find him now? Too bad Zex doesn't come in until later. .w.))

((FIXED))

((Eh, how about a mix of the two? Not so long ago, but enough time to get to know him well enough?))

Riordan watched his wife go, longing to follow her right now and revel in her presence, but he still had work to do. Work he particulary despised. With a deep, heavy sigh, he rose up out of his chair and swept off, his white robes brushing the ground behind the quick clack of his boots hitting the floor.

He was going to see his brother, whom he didn't have the best of relationships with. But it was amicable enough for now, which was all he needed.

((Okay. :3))

His brother's room was under the castle, further down than the usual dungeons. It was literally a jungle gym of sorts; there was a hammock off to one side, but metal bars across the ceiling, as well as an assortment of pillows, blankets and cushioning all over the floor. The room itself was cold, but it seemed to be comfortable enough for its single inhabitant.

"Brother," He was lying amongst the pillows and blankets. Maybe he had fallen down, maybe he was just lying there for the sake of lying around. He sat up as Riordan walked in. "And to what do I owe the wonderous pleasure of a visit from the great king himself?" He spoke with a light air, but his brother knew of the quiet bitterness in his every action and word.

He was like a mirrored image of the king. The main differences being his hygine. He was much less proper-looking; his hair was longer and unkept, he had grime under his fingernails, his clothing could have been mistaken for rags compared to his brother's. Funny thing was...Riordan was actually younger than this strange man in the basement. By about five minutes, certainly, but still younger.

His past was long and very unfortunate...and had affected his mind in a very bad sort of way. In short, he was much less sane than his younger brother. Thus, he was incapable of bearing the weight of the throne. "How goes the march against Alastor?" The king's twin grinned a bit. "Must be fun, planning for war..."

((FIXED))

"Yes, it's perfectly joyous," Riordan said, his tone saying otherwise. "I have better things to do, of course, but I suppose this is important." He sounded sarcastic as he spoke, and he quickly grew serious. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, tilting his head. "Well, as comfortable as you could be. If you need more food, anything in the kitchen is available to you." He sat down in a chair, frowning mightily at his sibling. He obviously didn't like him very much, and the feelings were mutual.

"As usual. The tunnel from this room to the pantries is a little tight, though. And before you mention anything about weight, I'd like to point out that firstly, muscle is heavier than fat. Secondly, I'd like to see you climbing through that thing." Ink tutted, then flopped back against his pillows. "Oh well. However tight my little tunnels are, I still support you, you know. Older brother's got your back, kiddo." He grinned and sat up again. "How's Valley? Must be nice, having someone you can play with all day long...can't I have another slave girl to talk to? The old one escaped through the pantry tunnel before I could catch her, scrawny little thing..."

Escaped through the same tunnel he had dragged her into. He hadn't done anything more than talk, really, but the poor girl had been too terrified to so much as reply. Thankfully, no one believed her when she told the other servants about how the king dragged her into a tunnel. It was a nightmare, most of them signed it off as such.

((As you can see, I fixed up my previous posts a bit. xD Sorry. I was tired last night. ewe;; ))

"Perhaps," Riordan said, though he had no intention of doing so. He shivered when he thought of Ink alone with someone else. There was no telling what he could do to them. "I'm glad for your support," he said, glancing around the room. "Without it, I'm sure none of our plans would ever succeed. Just imagine how the people would panic and ignore the very important tasks they must do if they saw two of us? We would never gain our true place, and you would never be able to walk freely like has been promised."

He had promised such, of course, and he intended to, someday, make it true. But that was a long way off, and if Ink messed things up before then... Oh, Riordan didn't even like to think about it. That's why it was important for Ink to believe that he was helping by staying down here.

(('Tis fine.))

Ink believed it, alright. He just got very bored sometimes. Thus, the poor servant girl he had dragged down here. Thankfully, she had gotten away unscathed.

"I've been hearing things, Riordan." Ink said suddenly. "The voices again. But one of them...one of them is almost calling to me...kind, sweet, melodious. Not like the others. I need to tell Doctor Markar. I need more of his injections. I need it to be quiet again..." He rolled over and over and over, until he hit the pole his hammock was attached to. Then he climbed up into it, dragging a blanket over himself. He peered over the top of it, glaring at his younger brother. "I don't hate you, you know. It's not your fault mother decided she'd keep you and not me. It's not your fault I was locked away for the entirety of my life. It's not your fault. I have no real reason to hate you...but at the same time, I suppose I've got no reason to like you. I have food, water, clothes, and entertainment," He motioned towards the bars, showing his muscled arm over the covers. He was remarkably fit for being locked up so long; his only real entertainment was climbing around. So that's what he did. That, and drawing on the walls.

"But at the same time, you keep me locked away, just like mom and dad did." He let his arm drop, then turned his gaze back towards Riordan. "Those things kinda cancel each other out. So I don't hate you, but I don't like you, either. Which makes me wonder...why do you always glare at me? Do you hate me? Why?" There was nothing but an innocent curiosity in his voice, truthfully. But he never got his answer, as he suddenly thrashed. He clamped his hands around his ears, twisting about in his hammock so furiously that it tipped over and sent him crashing to the floor. He just sort of laid there after that, pulling the blankets over his head. "I need Doctor Markar..." He moaned quietly.

Riordan wanted to speak, wanted to tell his brother that he didn't really hate him, but no words came forth. Instead, he rose stiffly and said "I'll go and get him for you. Perhaps he'll stay a while and talk with you. You like talking to him." He turned and walked away, his gait as rigid as his posture when he had been sitting in his throne earlier. It took only a moment to locate Markar, but when he did, the king gave strict orders to stay down there with Ink no matter what, and talk to him for a while. Just to make sure his sibling was comfortable.

By this time, he really, really wanted to be upstairs with Valley.

Valley was patient, thankfully. Though it was quickly growing late, she had been reading a book when Riordan came in. "All's well, I trust," She said softly, setting her book aside and draping her arms over his shoulders before planting a firm kiss on his lips. "How is he? I managed to convince the slave girl to never speak of the tunnel again, but...we may have to cut out losses and let her off. But," She rested her head against his chest. "Who's to say he won't try it again? It's all very frustrating, it must be. You need rest, my beloved...come. Let's go to bed." She took him by the hand and led him to their grand, comfortable and plush bed, voilet velvet blankets flowing over the side like a waterfall of delicacy.

((Riordan would have told her about Ink, so she would be able to tell the difference in case Ink ever did something stupid. xD

We can switch over to Werr and the others any time you're ready, now. :3))

((A'right.))

The king sighed, allowing his wife to guide him. "You spoil me," he said quietly, collapsing lightly onto the edge of the bed and sighing. He stripped off his robes, running a hand through his hair before sinking back against the blankets, staring up at his wife. "It's been a long day," he said with an exhale, shaking his head.

"I would imagine so," Valley murmured, reclining next to him with a tart smile on her face. "And yet, more long days remain to come. But for now, sleep. We will proceed a single day at a time, for that is all we can do." She leaned over and extinguished the candle next to their bed, resting her head on his shoulder.

Riordan lay awake for quite a while that night, holding Valley close in one arm, his gray eyes open and staring at the ceiling as a thousand and one thoughts and fears went through his head.

Little did they know that their following year - and a few months further - would seem like a cakewalk for those that take up residence within Alastor.

Alastor Castle, Present Day

"Werr. I'm surprised to see you up." The elder piped up. It was hardly a meeting; Ronan and Aries were merely delivering a formal report. Lexi had been listening intently, but she was obviously distracted by the arrival of her boyfriend.

"I'm not dead yet." Whether he was being sarcastic or not was beyond anyone there. Werr sat - not in his throne, but in a small chair on the other end of the table. He had brought food; his lunch, apparently. Very uncouth. It was to be expected, though. As the Elder had said, none of them had been expecting to so much as attend what he had once called a 'drawling lecture, akin to the classes in school'.

"Surprising, considering the lengths at which you take to wasting away in your bed," Obelisk chided lightly. Naturally, he attended these meetings with Lexi; while she did have a definite say in what went on, Obelisk was the one who spurred things into action. He took the harder tasks upon himself, being much older and more experienced. He was not confined to his ugly, bandaged form, though; about a month ago, Lexanna and he had taken a trip to Kaislun, in order to retrieve the Guantlets and forge another body for him. As, of course, the old one was with the ever-elusive Remor.

"Shut up." Was Werr's only response.

Lexi turned pleading eyes on her boyfriend for a moment, but resigned herself to comforting him later. He just...wasn't the same person anymore. Ever since Welk had died, part of Werr had died too, and it had strained their relationship in ways Lexi had never imagined (and had never wanted, obviously) before. Not to mention Cynyr hadn't returned yet. They hadn't even gotten a letter telling if he was okay or not. He had just...vanished. Lexi was afraid he had been killed somehow, but never risked voicing these thoughts to Werr.

So the girl turned away, lifting her head regally, with a strength that could only be respected, and spoke.

"...As I was saying. We received a letter from the Peacekeepers in Herrace, thanking us for our help in ending the war. I say we should reply kindly and cordially, as we don't know if we might ever need their help - or vice versa. So either I'll write a letter in return, or someone else can.

"On a more home-based topic, the city is currently calm and at peace. There's been no disputes between people or towns, and the Dire Horses were removed from the lower farmland a few days ago."

Dire Horses were demonic, ugly things that occured when wild horses were killed with great magical force. It formed a sort of black, skeletal creature that burned with blue flames.

"The necromancer that had summoned them was caught, placed on trial, and locked away for attempt of murder," she said, brushing a strand of her hair aside, along with a few papers in front of her.

"Excellent." The Elder nodded. "The farmlands will take time to repair, but all will be well before long. Thank goodness it was only attempted murder."

"Indeed. On another note," Ronan's heavy accent sometimes made it difficult to understand him, but he spoke clearly enough. "I've recieved a letter of my own, from my people. It seems that Gossain has ignored our hesitance and built a road. To my understanding, they've been working on this project of theirs for awhile. The road they've built connects directly to the mountain pass of Gallel, and it will be completed before long at all."

"It's merely a trade route. What harm could come of it?" Aries tutted. "What's the worst that could happen, tourists? Has this road harmed your people in any way, Ronan?"

"No, they've made a point to stay well out of my people's sight..."

"Then there's nothing to worry about." She shrugged.

"It's not a matter of tourists or people. It's the fact that the Hadaraak Desert is Alastorian land. They shouldn't be building on something that isn't theirs." Werr snorted. "Elder, write a letter warning off attempts to stop bandits. Where there are roads, there are bandits, and we'll be the ones to take care of that. Thank them for the gift of the road, and make sure that travel to and from Gossain is monitored for now." He stood, pushing his plate away.

"Finally back to giving orders?" Obelisk raised a brow.

"I'm still the king, Obelisk, and Gossain is a subject that has concerned me for ages now." He moved towards the door. "Just do as I say. I'll be in the library if anyone cares."

Lexi watched him go, sighing quietly, then gave a murmured "Dismissed," to the council and slipped away, trotting out with a timid call of "Werr!" He didn't pause for her, and she bit her lip, instead putting on a burst of speed and hustling to reach him. Once she did, she didn't risk touching him. He had become so volatile that there were times when she was afraid he would snap or shout at her if she so much as looked at him wrong.

"...I-It was nice to heard you say something in there." Her voice, when she found it, was timid and quiet. "I...I've missed your voice lately."

Werr glanced sideways at her, then let out a sigh. "Sorry. I've been...busy." There was stiff silence for awhile, and then Werr reached into his pocket. "I got a letter. From Luen and Forin. They're close to finding Diana and Seria..." He trailed into silence again, pulling the letter from his pocket and pushing it into Luna's hands. "And Remor."

Another painful silence as they walked. Werr walked right past the doors to the library, not that he seemed to care. He just...kept walking. "I've...been thinking a lot..." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "I, uh..." He looked down. "Never mind..."

"What?" she asked, turning her deep chocolate eyes on him. "You...you never talk to me anymore. You act like you want to, then you just...trail off. Speak to me, Werr!" She chanced it and took his hand, making him pause in the hall. She held his hand with both of hers, her eyes rapidly filling with tears. "Please...just...talk to me."