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Barsoom Tales I - COMPLETE
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<blockquote data-quote="barsoomcore" data-source="post: 1454067" data-attributes="member: 812"><p>Etienne fretted. Everyone had left the house, gone up to this ball at Count Elek dan Treuhoff's. He could hear echoing footsteps out in the hall as servants went about their duties, but all his new friends had left, dressed in borrowed finery and looking forward (or at least in Isaac's case, dreading) the chance to visit with the upper echelons of Pavairelle society.</p><p></p><p>Leaving him here alone.</p><p></p><p>In the house.</p><p></p><p>Where anyone could find him. The Whispers. The Nevakada. The Blood Council.</p><p></p><p>The "underworld" of Pavairelle was large, complicated and unpredictable. Numerous factions made deals, hid agendas and operated under multiple identities. The most fundamental division reflected the basic political division of the city: Kishak versus Pavairellean. Ever since the thirty-year-long Blockade had been ended by the peace agreement made by Prince del Viandour and the newly-restored-to-sort-of-life Tyrant's Shade of Kish, the city had grumbled under a Kishak governor with masses of troops stationed throughout the city. None of the city nobles were allowed to maintain standing armies larger than a few squads, so in true Pavairelle style they had immediately turned to the next best thing: assassins.</p><p></p><p>They were called "The Whispers". Secret clans of assassins, some tied by loyalty to noble patrons, others operating more independently, all of them constantly feuding with one another, joining only to battle the hated Nevakada, the secret police of the Kishak government. Deadly battles were fought on the rooftops and in the sewers of Pavairelle, battles Etienne had only ever caught rumours of.</p><p></p><p>But now he was tied up with these del Maraviez people. With Isaac's long-running feud with the del Orofin. With Elena's strange powers. With Nevid's weird connection to Isabella (who was, in Etienne's opinion, a complete and total bizotch). And Arrafin, talking to the Blood Council about sorcery.</p><p></p><p>The Blood Council.</p><p></p><p>Perhaps it was coincidence that just as he considered that strange organization, spanning the entire world, manned entirely by enigmatic Lohanese women in their signature crimson robes, the door to his room opened and in walked Kimiko Torokan. An enigmatic Lohanese woman in her signature crimson robe.</p><p></p><p>Etienne's mouth worked a few times. He wondered if he were about to die.</p><p></p><p>High Blood Sister Kimiko Torokan bowed minutely.</p><p></p><p>"Are you in pain, Etienne?"</p><p></p><p>Etienne's mouth opened and closed a few more times.</p><p></p><p>"No, Sister. A little queasy, a little shaky is all."</p><p></p><p>"I am pleased."</p><p></p><p>Watching the tall, elegant woman close the door behind her and approach the bed, Etienne struggled to direct his frantic thoughts.</p><p></p><p>"How could you... Won't people...?"</p><p></p><p>Torokan smiled.</p><p></p><p>"No one saw me come in, Etienne. Don't worry. There will be no talk."</p><p></p><p>"I didn't mean..."</p><p></p><p>"I know."</p><p></p><p>She settled herself and her elaborate robes in the chair beside the bed. Exactly where Arrafin had been sitting only an hour before. She leaned over and kissed him.</p><p></p><p>"Now. Tell me about this Arrafin and the book that she has. Tell me everything, my dear."</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Isaac sincerely wished he'd been poisoned instead of Etienne. Right now he'd been lying comfortably in bed with no worries beyond whether to lie on his right side or his left. Instead, he was walking up a carefully tended garden path to enter a party thrown by some Count he'd never heard of, dressed in the most ridiculous, uncomfortable, impractical outfit he'd every worn, looking (he was sure) every inch a complete buffoon, to socialize with a bunch of strangers he couldn't care less about.</p><p></p><p>And Marques expected him to find out about a shipment of muskets. Some muskets that might or might not have been offloaded from some unidentified ship last night. Some muskets that might or might not have been stolen from a del Maraviez ship on the other side of Saijadan several weeks ago. Isaac snorted. Right.</p><p></p><p>The house before them towered four stories high and stood imposing and well-lit against the early evening sky, lanterns hanging from all windows and banners showing sigils and heraldry unknown to Isaac. He found the del Maraviez colours, silver and blue, and not far away, the familiar del Orofin red and yellow. Isaac stiffened and nearly stumbled.</p><p></p><p>The thought that there might be del Orofin here had never occurred to him. He put his hand to the hilt of his father's sword and was suddenly glad he'd refused Marques' offer of a more stylish modern rapier. If del Orofin blood was to be spilt tonight, it would be by his father's sword.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Arrafin's mind was racing through memories of mathematics classes as she and her friends approached the great house. The formulae she'd glimpsed in that book had enthralled her from the very first sight, and now, having spoken to Kimiko Torokan, knowing that they unlocked secret energies, she paid almost no attention to her surroundings. Indeed, she didn't even notice tripping on the flagstones, much less notice Elena's grip on her thin arm that kept her from falling.</p><p></p><p>There had to more to it than just math. She reviewed the strange equations in her mind. They seemed to cascade into each other, like complicated pathways to be negotiated, intellectual labyrinths to thread. She couldn't stop running what calculations she'd deciphered in her head, practicing the solutions which led to further equations which kept her engrossed until they entered the massive house, passing under a broad archway lined with uniformed guards and emerging into a three-story-high entrance hall, gilded and polished on every surface, the galleries filled with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, Pavairellean, Saijadani, Kishak and Naridic, all bustling and murmuring and watching the new arrivals with expressions ranging from intrigued to disdainful. Quiet, stately music played from some unseen location. Brilliant chandeliers rained dazzling light down.</p><p></p><p>Arrafin's face sent dazzling light back up as she smiled, looking up around at the surrounding finery.</p><p></p><p>"Look at all the people."</p><p></p><p>Elena had locked eyes with an extremely handsome Kishak fellow, his well-muscled body clearly revealed by his outfit, the traditional leather harness and loincloth of a Kishak soldier. His red skin gleamed and his dark, deep-set eyes watched her enter the room from the upper gallery where he stood.</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, look at them all."</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Nevid felt more at ease here than he had at any time since joining these madmen. He nodded to the Countess Sofia, who he'd met briefly on a trade mission with Isabella years back. A portly, well-attended man with an elaborately waxed moustachio caught the young Saijadani's attention, and Nevid recognized the man as Captain Emile Staznoyan. The famous fencing master ran Staznoyan's Academy, where Pavairelleans learned the art of the fence. Many of Pavairelle's greatest duelists were former cadets. It was also well-known that the school acted as a gathering place for Pavairellean patriots opposed to the Kishak regime.</p><p></p><p>Including, Nevid realised, the slender young man standing next to Emile. Kendorik Oparashan, the city's most notorious duelist, known and feared for his sharp temper and even sharper sword. Rumour had the death toll by his hand into the dozens. With the two men stood a woman unlike any Nevid had ever seen. Yshakan, with dark skin and dramatically chiseled facial features, she stood a head taller than either of the two men, with broad shoulders and powerfully muscled arms. Nevid lifted his eyes to hers and found her looking straight at him, studying him with as much curiousity as he studied her.</p><p></p><p>There had to be drinks about somewhere. Nevid plunged into the crowd in search of something. Anything.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Isaac knocked back his second drink as Nevid scrambled clear of the press of people and ordered.</p><p></p><p>"You okay, Nevid? You look a little..."</p><p></p><p>"I'm fine. Fine. Any news on Marques' cargo? I'm fine."</p><p></p><p>One Saijadani eyebrow raised as Nevid grabbed the glass from the bartender and downed it in a single swallow.</p><p></p><p>"No. Arrafin's talking to some pasty-faced fellow claims to be a publisher."</p><p></p><p>Nevid signalled for another drink.</p><p></p><p>"Uh-huh."</p><p></p><p>He sucked that one back as well.</p><p></p><p>"Steady on, lad. It could be a long night."</p><p></p><p>Nevid spun and put his back to the bar. Isaac considered the young man's frightened expression and looked up to find three people standing facing he and his friend. The portly chap with the moustache smiled and bowed and presented the young fop beside him.</p><p></p><p>"Sir," the moustache addressed Isaac, who raised both eyebrows, "My dear friend has a personal matter that requires your attention."</p><p></p><p>Isaac looked up sharply at the sudden silence that descended upon that remark. Everyone nearby had frozen and were now watching the drama (such as it was) playing out by the bar. He shrugged.</p><p></p><p>"Your dear friend is unknown to me."</p><p></p><p>"That may be, sir, but I assure you he is in earnest."</p><p></p><p>Isaac frowned.</p><p></p><p>"If you have something to say, out with it. I've got drinking to do."</p><p></p><p>"Can it be you do not understand?"</p><p></p><p>"It can."</p><p></p><p>The moustache considered.</p><p></p><p>"You have offended my friend, sir."</p><p></p><p>"Impossible."</p><p></p><p>"Do you give me the lie?"</p><p></p><p>Something about the tension around him got through to Isaac, and he looked over the annoying foreigners once again. The moustachioed fellow seemed perfectly at ease, smiling pleasantly. The fop hadn't moved and wasn't even looking at Isaac as the conversation progressed. Instead, he was whispering something to the tall Yshakan woman beside him, who seemed to be staring rather fixedly at Nevid.</p><p></p><p>He snorted.</p><p></p><p>"I have never met your friend. I know nothing about any of this. Come to the point, man. What do you want?"</p><p></p><p>The moustache twitched above a polite smile.</p><p></p><p>"I shall be frank. You have offended my friend most gravely, and he desires satisfaction. Most particularly."</p><p></p><p>"What?"</p><p></p><p>The circle of stillness around them unravelled as Marques burst in, dragging behind him an older man with lined features twisted in a condescending sneer.</p><p></p><p>"See?" Marques slapped the man on the back, ignoring his obvious disdain. "I told you he was here. This is Isaac del Valencia. Isaac, please greet Fernando del Orofin."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="barsoomcore, post: 1454067, member: 812"] Etienne fretted. Everyone had left the house, gone up to this ball at Count Elek dan Treuhoff's. He could hear echoing footsteps out in the hall as servants went about their duties, but all his new friends had left, dressed in borrowed finery and looking forward (or at least in Isaac's case, dreading) the chance to visit with the upper echelons of Pavairelle society. Leaving him here alone. In the house. Where anyone could find him. The Whispers. The Nevakada. The Blood Council. The "underworld" of Pavairelle was large, complicated and unpredictable. Numerous factions made deals, hid agendas and operated under multiple identities. The most fundamental division reflected the basic political division of the city: Kishak versus Pavairellean. Ever since the thirty-year-long Blockade had been ended by the peace agreement made by Prince del Viandour and the newly-restored-to-sort-of-life Tyrant's Shade of Kish, the city had grumbled under a Kishak governor with masses of troops stationed throughout the city. None of the city nobles were allowed to maintain standing armies larger than a few squads, so in true Pavairelle style they had immediately turned to the next best thing: assassins. They were called "The Whispers". Secret clans of assassins, some tied by loyalty to noble patrons, others operating more independently, all of them constantly feuding with one another, joining only to battle the hated Nevakada, the secret police of the Kishak government. Deadly battles were fought on the rooftops and in the sewers of Pavairelle, battles Etienne had only ever caught rumours of. But now he was tied up with these del Maraviez people. With Isaac's long-running feud with the del Orofin. With Elena's strange powers. With Nevid's weird connection to Isabella (who was, in Etienne's opinion, a complete and total bizotch). And Arrafin, talking to the Blood Council about sorcery. The Blood Council. Perhaps it was coincidence that just as he considered that strange organization, spanning the entire world, manned entirely by enigmatic Lohanese women in their signature crimson robes, the door to his room opened and in walked Kimiko Torokan. An enigmatic Lohanese woman in her signature crimson robe. Etienne's mouth worked a few times. He wondered if he were about to die. High Blood Sister Kimiko Torokan bowed minutely. "Are you in pain, Etienne?" Etienne's mouth opened and closed a few more times. "No, Sister. A little queasy, a little shaky is all." "I am pleased." Watching the tall, elegant woman close the door behind her and approach the bed, Etienne struggled to direct his frantic thoughts. "How could you... Won't people...?" Torokan smiled. "No one saw me come in, Etienne. Don't worry. There will be no talk." "I didn't mean..." "I know." She settled herself and her elaborate robes in the chair beside the bed. Exactly where Arrafin had been sitting only an hour before. She leaned over and kissed him. "Now. Tell me about this Arrafin and the book that she has. Tell me everything, my dear." ***** Isaac sincerely wished he'd been poisoned instead of Etienne. Right now he'd been lying comfortably in bed with no worries beyond whether to lie on his right side or his left. Instead, he was walking up a carefully tended garden path to enter a party thrown by some Count he'd never heard of, dressed in the most ridiculous, uncomfortable, impractical outfit he'd every worn, looking (he was sure) every inch a complete buffoon, to socialize with a bunch of strangers he couldn't care less about. And Marques expected him to find out about a shipment of muskets. Some muskets that might or might not have been offloaded from some unidentified ship last night. Some muskets that might or might not have been stolen from a del Maraviez ship on the other side of Saijadan several weeks ago. Isaac snorted. Right. The house before them towered four stories high and stood imposing and well-lit against the early evening sky, lanterns hanging from all windows and banners showing sigils and heraldry unknown to Isaac. He found the del Maraviez colours, silver and blue, and not far away, the familiar del Orofin red and yellow. Isaac stiffened and nearly stumbled. The thought that there might be del Orofin here had never occurred to him. He put his hand to the hilt of his father's sword and was suddenly glad he'd refused Marques' offer of a more stylish modern rapier. If del Orofin blood was to be spilt tonight, it would be by his father's sword. ***** Arrafin's mind was racing through memories of mathematics classes as she and her friends approached the great house. The formulae she'd glimpsed in that book had enthralled her from the very first sight, and now, having spoken to Kimiko Torokan, knowing that they unlocked secret energies, she paid almost no attention to her surroundings. Indeed, she didn't even notice tripping on the flagstones, much less notice Elena's grip on her thin arm that kept her from falling. There had to more to it than just math. She reviewed the strange equations in her mind. They seemed to cascade into each other, like complicated pathways to be negotiated, intellectual labyrinths to thread. She couldn't stop running what calculations she'd deciphered in her head, practicing the solutions which led to further equations which kept her engrossed until they entered the massive house, passing under a broad archway lined with uniformed guards and emerging into a three-story-high entrance hall, gilded and polished on every surface, the galleries filled with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, Pavairellean, Saijadani, Kishak and Naridic, all bustling and murmuring and watching the new arrivals with expressions ranging from intrigued to disdainful. Quiet, stately music played from some unseen location. Brilliant chandeliers rained dazzling light down. Arrafin's face sent dazzling light back up as she smiled, looking up around at the surrounding finery. "Look at all the people." Elena had locked eyes with an extremely handsome Kishak fellow, his well-muscled body clearly revealed by his outfit, the traditional leather harness and loincloth of a Kishak soldier. His red skin gleamed and his dark, deep-set eyes watched her enter the room from the upper gallery where he stood. "Yeah, look at them all." ***** Nevid felt more at ease here than he had at any time since joining these madmen. He nodded to the Countess Sofia, who he'd met briefly on a trade mission with Isabella years back. A portly, well-attended man with an elaborately waxed moustachio caught the young Saijadani's attention, and Nevid recognized the man as Captain Emile Staznoyan. The famous fencing master ran Staznoyan's Academy, where Pavairelleans learned the art of the fence. Many of Pavairelle's greatest duelists were former cadets. It was also well-known that the school acted as a gathering place for Pavairellean patriots opposed to the Kishak regime. Including, Nevid realised, the slender young man standing next to Emile. Kendorik Oparashan, the city's most notorious duelist, known and feared for his sharp temper and even sharper sword. Rumour had the death toll by his hand into the dozens. With the two men stood a woman unlike any Nevid had ever seen. Yshakan, with dark skin and dramatically chiseled facial features, she stood a head taller than either of the two men, with broad shoulders and powerfully muscled arms. Nevid lifted his eyes to hers and found her looking straight at him, studying him with as much curiousity as he studied her. There had to be drinks about somewhere. Nevid plunged into the crowd in search of something. Anything. ***** Isaac knocked back his second drink as Nevid scrambled clear of the press of people and ordered. "You okay, Nevid? You look a little..." "I'm fine. Fine. Any news on Marques' cargo? I'm fine." One Saijadani eyebrow raised as Nevid grabbed the glass from the bartender and downed it in a single swallow. "No. Arrafin's talking to some pasty-faced fellow claims to be a publisher." Nevid signalled for another drink. "Uh-huh." He sucked that one back as well. "Steady on, lad. It could be a long night." Nevid spun and put his back to the bar. Isaac considered the young man's frightened expression and looked up to find three people standing facing he and his friend. The portly chap with the moustache smiled and bowed and presented the young fop beside him. "Sir," the moustache addressed Isaac, who raised both eyebrows, "My dear friend has a personal matter that requires your attention." Isaac looked up sharply at the sudden silence that descended upon that remark. Everyone nearby had frozen and were now watching the drama (such as it was) playing out by the bar. He shrugged. "Your dear friend is unknown to me." "That may be, sir, but I assure you he is in earnest." Isaac frowned. "If you have something to say, out with it. I've got drinking to do." "Can it be you do not understand?" "It can." The moustache considered. "You have offended my friend, sir." "Impossible." "Do you give me the lie?" Something about the tension around him got through to Isaac, and he looked over the annoying foreigners once again. The moustachioed fellow seemed perfectly at ease, smiling pleasantly. The fop hadn't moved and wasn't even looking at Isaac as the conversation progressed. Instead, he was whispering something to the tall Yshakan woman beside him, who seemed to be staring rather fixedly at Nevid. He snorted. "I have never met your friend. I know nothing about any of this. Come to the point, man. What do you want?" The moustache twitched above a polite smile. "I shall be frank. You have offended my friend most gravely, and he desires satisfaction. Most particularly." "What?" The circle of stillness around them unravelled as Marques burst in, dragging behind him an older man with lined features twisted in a condescending sneer. "See?" Marques slapped the man on the back, ignoring his obvious disdain. "I told you he was here. This is Isaac del Valencia. Isaac, please greet Fernando del Orofin." [/QUOTE]
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