Arleous’ pork was perfectly tender. The bards and their instreuments were pristine. The retoro, blue as always, just right. His brother, he looked at the High Adjunct beside him, currently tendering his wife’s worried plump face, distracted. The king sighed silently.

To his left, just a table away from him was the Liege Lord, Feudore. An old friend who somehow noticed his king’s silent prying, took to him as well with a nod. Beside the Grafan was the Toronnin of Toutern. Liege lord of another mining company, a sister to the royal blue of Chonerin. He held his sky blue band, watering down his arm proud. Most of the liege houses were answering to their prime lord that night as each family overlaid themselves of color. House Jarick Scie in a toner tourmaline. House Cloud, the intellectual sour face of the scholar Clanadrin representing in her topaz colored long cloak. Next to her, like her cousin’s own orange, paler than usual was Varvarahin Oldotre. And the Lord Sodson, the old man in yellow out and about with the trade masters. To the opposite of that table was also Moroun, a young cheerful lady in gray entertained by a bard’s ballad. Yatan and his chatty wife, Catera, taking on the colors of Erodemon’s red. The boy lords representing Outern in murky white were now stuffed with pastries. The younger lad, Bufferon now in his final hold on wakefulness. The owner of the large boar on the table, young lord Aestetine Adeyala in ironic pink. Now in their yearly visit to the city, from the bark and swampy areas were Parcel and his daughter Parapita Worleyoine, dressed in their haggard dark brown. Lastly, Stoopey representatives, students of the pillar-state school were in metallic silver.

Farther down the aisle of tables, next to the rank of nobles were the Archbishop Gopdty and his staff in flamboyant gold necklaces and rings. The Thra religion was also followed by the Doyen Lord Visor Zazun and also his staffs of the pillar-state school. They also had delegates from other regions as well, clothed by their own images of Enthah and stub.

Not all liege houses were present that night, as many Arleous can know the names of his guests, as many should a king remember, infinite however was his knowledge on Cheron. It hissed at him many times the two soft and severe voices in his head. The Thravadin, the goddess's gift Chrovan Thra, of knowledge giving and the presence of beings, now violently quarreling with each other, shrilling in his head because of the promise of the plan.

“Tell him! Tell him now!” exclaimed the dark face, in his dark male voice Thradin.

“If we tell him, he will plot again to stop it,” responded a calmer voice, Thrava.

“It will help us sister!”

“Likely not.”

Decided, Arleous took to his brother, whose wife and children had gone and were no longer in the hall.

“I sent them for an early leave, my King, need not worry,” said Alcvin in response to Arleous’ gesture of inquiry. “You wish to speak with me privately?”

“It doesn't matter.” Taking out his goblet for a sip, Arleous drank before continuing, “I need you to prepare a declaration of proposal, my future paramour will arrive in the coming weeks. She is Lady Sahturna, a Thrindiyo delegate and the emperor has wished it for me.”

“Ye- yes. But have you not sought counsel from our very court about this, your grace? I fear the liege houses will make a racket.” The High Adjunct responded coolly, as often as he can.

“So it shall. The previous king was allowed as he had you and Alvon, and I will also.”

“Yes, your grace,” Alcvin bowed his head shortly before asking, “Shall I announce it at court?”

Only nodding to the accord, Arleous was closing his eyes to cover the shame he felt as Thrava wailed like a banshee in his head. He was not fond of disobeying either of the goddess’ faces but they haven't been Thravadin for as long as he can remember.

The chair beside him etched with a more elaborate noise as the High Adjunct stood up in behest. It was no surprise to find the room’s people to his attention thereafter. Alcvin held his goblet high and said with the hint of eth-koram, adding to the magnitude of his voice, “ I am well again honored to be celebrated with our success from the Chrav Alliance’s leadership. I just hope there is more room for this great news.”

Murmurs were now echoing as nobles, delegates, trade masters, and even the Satehk wondered what tidings the right-hand of the king was implying.

The High Adjunct’s discrete announcement was washed away as the series of grumbles and mutters flooded the room. More sweat was finally dripping down Arleou’s back. He was relishing the moment of his own court’s disagreement. He held his head high and stared at his people plainly as his own brother continued to announce his betrothal.

Questions were now slowly directed at the High Adjunct, much of it undoubtedly had an added puff. They were not brave enough to lecture the king.

“Loosen yourselves for which it is in Thravadin we trust,” the High Adjunct bellowed. And it is in Thravadin, Enthah’s version in Chustern, that all of them trust. The grumbling slightly shifted easily.

“Rejoice! We shall rejoice,” Alcvin said as he directed covertly his young squire to scurry off the bard’s ballad to an up beat jag. Immediately the High Adjunct continued, “ rejoice for I heard we have a very special performance tonight!” While returning to his seat, he signaled Dunder by the hall’s door to let the new guest in.

“Lords and ladies,” called out the house steward, “to give our gratitude to you for attending this night's banquet, we present to you the mystic of Entherah, Lady Bane!”

With the tune of the lute into an override, what came through the doors was a woman in a long frock both splitting at the end of her waist. Dancing like a flying silk, she flowed through the room in redundant twirls but strikingly harder poses from one over the next. She led herself over to the center aisle in carousing dances. As she was slowly making her way towards the king, the people at their tables she passed were also charmed. Somehow, this symbolic figure of Thravadin, one who was also wearing a long veil came to and fro like a silver lining Acolyte, dabbed although not in gold but white. What now she lacked were the four Chrovan wings, only that to recreate the very image of the one the region very much worshipped.

But this dance, however, was not satisfying Thrava and Thradin. They were screaming in their Acolyte’s mind.

“Ruuuuun!”

But their cries were too late for Arleous to escape. The immediate burst of black liquid energy from the dancer’s entire body towards him and her familiar cries in Gahades destroyed the entire evening's folly:

“Praise be theTarmorein! The true power against destiny!”

It was clearly a surprise to him when a very small gnome had suddenly appeared at the foot of the pavilion. Clad in a very white long dress, she even brightened more as Oria’s height was peeking at her zenith. He then noticed her illuminated green eyes, perhaps she was then Fae after all, and even maybe a fairy, for she was strikingly pretty. But what was left to find were her wings. He had however held his jerk when she started talking.

“You are hurt,” she said. The most innocent voice was enough to know. “How can I help you?”

Ignoring the little girl’s question, Malrow was now standing up to make his leave. “Please, you are hurt, we must find at least someone to help.” He came down the small stairs and walked past her short form. Continually ignoring her as he was making a break for the hall back. “Please, can’t you trust me?”

It was enough to stop him shortly in his steps. He then tried his best Thravbon, the best of the hisses to answer the simple question. “Princess, trusting you is like a hurricane of never ending blowing winds and rain. To fly into your weather is like being flung to an uncertain fate.”

As he left his back to her, his steps were then again cut-short as a horrendous explosive sound rushed through the air and left his ears the intense long ping. However, the sharp pain was not deterring him either way as he ran back to Fedolarian Hall as fast as his human feet could give him. Never once looking back at the little girl in the white dress.

After the sound of the stinging wind, Alve was still in a dribble of an unknown pull. She wanted to follow the boy and to tell her what he had meant. Subsequently, from the distant passage of the hall, she could finally hear her maid’s anxious call.

“Princess! Princess Alvedaima! Princess-,” when her maid found her at the same edifice, she instinctively ran towards her in a worried scuffle. The guards were now gone but Urda continued checking every inch of Alve’s face, ignoring the princess’ questions of, “Urda, what was that sound? Urda, there was this-”

Covertly knowing her maid would ignore all her inquest in an awful cold shoulder, Urda took her back to her room, gave her some milk, and not long after she fell asleep.

The small shift in the scattered charon rubble were the remains of the guests. It was already too much for Zazun to walk without levitation, and for an explosive reaction of a counter spell, wiping out the entire roof was beyond too much. Further in his periphery of the tiny celestials up in the sky, the Doyen Lord Visor could hear the unpleasant scream of a beast he had come to know by.

“Faharian!” came a shout from Lady Catera.

And the soft sling of the king’s sword ended the tainted Fae’s life.

“Get a fire started and burn the corpse.”

“Yes, your grace.”

When his assistant found him lying on the floor while staring at the stars, Zazun could only be glad that the lad was safe. When Palk finished carefully checking his master’s bones for any signs of damage, he was now shifting him to a sitting position. And although his assistant found the lord visor’s entire right arm withered and black, it could still not capture his master’s attention towards the king.

Standing in front of the burning flesh of the once beautiful Fae was the king of Cheron. Veiled in Acolyte form of pure white visage, without his faharan, the king’s face has returned to its old cold self of worry of death and destruction. Hopelessly knowing the worst for Entherah has yet to come, Zazun then said to his assistant in the old Etharini for the matters he wish he could solve alone:

“The dark times are coming back Palk and there is no hero who can save us this time.”