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Heard in Haven: November 1998
 Title: Word from the Empyreans Unnoticed by the milling crowd in the market square, a herald jumps upon the lip of a glorious fountain pool, high above the clouds in the Celestial City. Reaching within his tunic, he produces an ornate scroll, and with practiced ease cracks the waxen seal upon it. He takes a deep breath before beckoning to all those present in a voice that cuts through the din, "Cousins all, harken to me! For I speak of matters of the greatest import!" Some few patrons turn to look at him and, after taking his measure, most turn back away to what really matters to them: their own affairs and not the bellowings of some street hawker. Their inattention fazes not the herald as he makes a show of waving the paper before those nearest him in the crowd and declaring, "I hold here a proclamation from the Aegis itself, the ink still wet from their quills!" With satisfying effect, the herald's final words echo back to his ears as the whole of the market goes silent, for at the mention of the Aegis, all heads turn to him and all conversation ends. Joining his eyes with the multitude's upon his document, he begins to read. "Citizens! We are a great people. A wondrous people. A people who are above the other denizens of our world, both physically and philosophically. For ours is the glorious civilization which shines brightest throughout the long history of Aether and far exceeds any accomplishments that the other races have ever imagined, much less come to realize. It is through our dedication to the traditions passed from generation to generation, from our earliest ancestors, that we have built upon their foundations all of our learning, our culture, our families, and our commitment to the rule of law. "It is our sacred trust to preserve our traditions--nay our way of life in its entirety, so that our sons and their sons may continue to build upon the rich history we give to them at our passing. Once before, we were lax in our duty and allowed those beneath us to threaten the safety of our families, our homes, and our very existence, because we were unwilling to execute the determined and forceful response which was necessary and just. Today, circumstances are again thrust upon us, where we must choose to defend those whom we love, or once again be negligent in our duty to each and every Empyrean who has ever and will ever live. The answer is given. In this instance, our response shall be strong and swift against those who would seek to destroy all whom we love and hold dear. As the Varati in their stubborn ignorance strive to decimate our people by declaring war upon our Empyre, we are left with no other option but to react in kind and protect our own. Therefore, it is that this the 6th day of Septembris in the year Three Thousand, Nine Hundred, and Three, we the Aegis of the glorious Empyreal Empyre, do declare War upon the Varati race to continue until such time are they do not, and will never again be capable to, pose a threat to the safety and sanctity of our noble race." Signed with the seal of the Aegis, Lysander Marius Acesian  Title: Dancing Lessons "Not bad, was she?" The Siren is bursting at the seams on this hot late summer night. "Not at all. Good teacher, mind..." A raucous laugh. "Aye. What's her name?" "Jenean?" "No, y'great goof. Th' lass she was dancin' with." "Oh, her? That's Rainmaker. She's some kinda healer." Title: Gory Display A rather gory body was displayed before the Atesh-Gah the evening of Friday, September 14th. The mangled form was that of a Varati Nayaka, Vesir Xerxes. Along with the body was a shattered blade, and a plaque. The plaque read: "Such is the fate of those that would defy the Khalid's laws, and break the peace of Haven. Let it be a warning to all Varati. Haven is a city of peace." Only a Varati could declare peace with a dead body. The stories connected with the display speak of the deceased abducting an Empyrean, and a battle within the Atesh-Gah itself in which Visir Arslan Messala slew the treacherous Nayaka in a duel. The Visir has not been available for comments... reports say he has locked himself in his chambers. Perhaps the battle wounded the infamous Warlord more than he cares to admit? Title: The Hills Have Eyes Sunlight slipping down through the leaves, the sounds of animals underbrush... yet there is another presence within the forest. Unseen eyes that seem to be watching, whispering to your senses like a ghost glimpsed from the corner of your eye.... For those in and about the Sylvan Glen, Waterfall or Twisting Creek of the Ettowealona territory, you get the on-and-off feeling that something is watching you. Title: Rialto Incident A horrible incident happened today in the otherwise passively calm atmosphere of the Rialto. It seems that several people became injured after an altercation with some thugs who were attempting to kidnap a child under the care of the Citadel. Okalani was slightly injured. Jana, a Delphic student, was severely injured and is presently under care of the Healers of the Citadel, and an unknown Atlantean child was also injured, though her wounds were unspecified. Title: Corpse Stolen The body of Vesir, Nayaka of Clan Xerxes, was stolen on the night of Sunday, September 16th. The suspects are, a probably insane and blind Empyrean girl who'd been seen earlier, cradling the head of the corpse in her lap and muttering to it, and a male Sylvan who apparently approached the girl. As they began to whisper to one another, some of the guards grew suspicious, and in the next second the Sylvan had downed one of them with an unsuspected kick to the face and was last seen running southwards, followed by the rest of the guards. When they returned, the corpse and the girl who'd been caressing it were gone. Only the plaque, the gory stake used to keep the body up, and the remains of the shattered sword were left. The descriptions of the suspects are: A male Sylvan, brownish-coppery hair, 6' 4" tall and an unusual infinity medallion necklace that is made of granite. A female Empyrean, extremely pale with pink patches in her 25-foot wings where feathers are apparently missing, and eyes that lack both pupil and iris. Title: Strange Fire... The blind girl was spotted again on the morning of September 16th. She was seen on the beach, building up a huge pile of driftwood next to the corpse she had taken. Witnesses claim they heard her say she was going to burn him, to free the spirit she thought had been locked inside his body with the previous staking. She apparently got help from somewhere, because within fifteen minutes to half an hour, a fire was blazing hot, and the body was in the flames. A new description has been added to the former, as she seems to have taken the tunic the corpse was wearing and put it on herself. Title: Blind One Rumors speak of that blind one, the seemingly mad one, the Larissa Harmonia Doranius woman has been saved from a certain death of dehydration and shock by a certain Delphic Empyrean, Drusus. She has apparently changed her name now, too. Going by the simple name of Calandra. The Lark. Title: The Rialto, a Red Tent, and--Murder? 21 September, 3903 "Likely it was an Empyrean inside!" the cobbler says from his stall in the Rialto, to his neighbor, the leathertooler. "'Twas a half-breed in the tent, I heard," his neighbor says. "Half-breed or not, I heard the Hounds hauled the Varati away." "Nonsense. They don't even know who did it." The cobbler shakes his head. "Know or not, someone died this night. Who's to serve the justice for it?" Who indeed? The rumors fly, but one thing is clear: a man died in the Rialto this night, a man in the red tent of a night soothsayer. And no one knows who he is. Not yet. Title: Deus Thanatos Dead! A couple of Velite guardsmen wander through the Rialto, procuring supplies for the Palladium, since traffic to and from the Empyreal embassy is still severely curtailed. Bits of their conversation might drift toward the casual listener. "So, 'ja hear the latest? Thanatos is without a patriarch." "What, that's old news--it's been without one for months now. 'Less you count the bastard 'at was named Head of the House." "No, it's for real this time. Deus Raziel died--supposedly hung himself." Eyebrows raise, and a surprised, "Huh," is heard. "Well, they did say he was mad. Raving, at the end. 'Least it's better for the family, this way." "Aye, but I just wonder what'll happen to 'em now." His companion shrugs. "Why d'you care? It's no affair of ours..." And with that, the two guardsmen amble away, and their conversation drifts into obscurity. Title: Wedding! "Well, it's finally happened." The words are wryly spoken, coming from the lips of a dowdy mongrel woman, taking a basket of linens out to be washed. Her companion is just passing by with a bundle of supplies that the Velites have brought in, but she pauses to hear the latest gossip. "What has?" the second asks eagerly. "Deus Augustin," responds the first, with a rueful twist to her lips. "He's getting married." "Him?! But who would have him? Cold as ice, that one--" she pauses to snicker, "--prob'ly as much between the sheets as without." "Tessa!" exclaims her friend, shocked, but she, too, chuckles, then leans close to whisper, "But guess who he's marrying... you'll never guess..." Tessa shrugs, hefting her basket of supplies to her other hip. "Some addle-brained social climber, out for his money?" With the triumphant grin, the other shakes her head. "The Praefect, domina Tritonides--" "Her?!" Tessa interrupts, almost before her companion is finished. "But she's... well... I didn't think she'd ever get married. Tritonides women rarely do, you know." "Oh, nonsense. The family has to carry on somehow. I suppose he's as good as anyone else...?" Shaking her head and smirking, Tessa answers, "I still don't see why she's marrying him. Fire and ice, those two. It'll never last." "It has to, they're not Sylvans..." "No, but they'll probably kill each other first." And with that, Tessa hefts her burden and saunters off, a knowing look on her face. Title: Just how Paranoid are They? Overheard in the Rialto were two Sylvans talking as a third was busy trading rabbit pelts. "....yes, I know, and we were lucky to catch these today," comments a Sylvan woman. The young Sylvan male talking to her nods, "I've heard that you Ettowealonans have had scarce hunting lately." The woman spreads her hands. "If it was only that. Why even today we have this halfbreed being kept under guard for the night. And, they have added more sentries to watch by the Twisted Creek, also." With a hint of surprise in the man's voice, he asks, "A prisoner?" "Well, the Sachem says he is a guest, but really now, we're not blind," remarks the woman. The man just nods and switches his attention to the bartering the third Sylvan and a merchant are engaged in. Title: Starved Child Two mongrel farmhands, Orvim and Lammis, work their way along rows of grain, swinging scythes in sweeping strokes as they work on the fall harvesting. "Almost got fired today, bad as they need hands, I almost got fired," Lammis says. Orvim responds "Me too. All because we refused to work so close to those Sylvans at the forest edge. Someone should drive them away for what they did." The first nods. "Decent body can't trust them. People go into the forest, some don't come out. And that poor little Atlantean boy, looking scared to death and all skin and bones, starving. They must have held him captive. No telling what horrid things they did to him." Lammis looks indignant as he speaks. Orvim replies. "At least that pretty Atlantean woman, Amaris, I think I heard her called--brave one she is to go in there all alone the way she did. Anyhow, she rescued him--took him away right under their noses, carrying him in her own arms sometimes. Marched right through the middle of some of them and they weren't looking any too happy either, sort of jumpy and edgy. Hope the boy will be all right." Lammis snorts. "I'm not working anywhere near them, not after that, 'less they give us some protection." The two men move further along out of eavesdropping range. Title: Prices On the Rise The pressures of the war are beginning to have their economic effect: the variety of Varati goods is on the decline while the prices are rising for what is left. Anything that can be used for warfare or stockpiled in the case of siege (that is, just about everything) that is produced in the Varati homelands to the north is staying there; only a trickle of goods arrives in Haven now, except for the great and overburdened caravans--carrying mostly raw ore and minerals--destined for direct trade with other races. Many of the big names in Varati trade--the masters of the vaisya clans which do business in Haven--are notably absent from the city, along with their master craftsmen and -women. There are shortages in silk, metal goods, stoneware, and anything at all requiring the use of shaping magic to produce. The only thing there isn't a shortage of is spices; no Varati will go without his curry. And there are tales in the Rialto of fabulously long caravans of supplies going into Atesh-Gah full and coming out empty. Some say the beasts of burden and wagons were laden down with gold, others say grain, others say weapons and armor. Those Varati farmers and herders who bring produce into the city grumble about the raising of the required tithe to Atar and confirm that farm goods are one, at least, of the things being stockpiled in the embassy. The legend of the Atesh-Gah being larger on the inside than it is on the outside is bolstered; everyone wonders how the priests will fit all this stuff in. Title: Going Away Party Spirits lifted. Morale boosted. Good-byes said. Wishes for a safe return given. The Palladium is getting ready for just that. News spreads quickly that one of the Jovian girls is organizing one of the biggest social events the Empyreal quarters in Haven have seen in a long time. A large get-together to give the ones who will stay a chance to show the ones leaving for war what they will be fighting for, to exchange best wishes, give good luck charms and what more they want to give. There is talk of dancing, drinking, singing, entertainers performing; it seems nothing is left to chance. And best of all: anyone is invited, save those on guard in and around the Palladium and those to be on guard the next morning... The event will be held in the Palladium's Inner Courtyard, to give all Houses equal opportunity to partake. The time will be December 4, from 2 p.m. EST (RL) and on, speculation is the party will last deep into the night. So put on that party dress, wear those dancing shoes and enter the time of your life. People wanting to make a speech, play a flute to show off, demonstrate a new dance, make their secret admiration to someone public, or anything else, this would make a nice time. Title: Harvest Festival As summer passes reluctantly into winter, it is time for all the Varati people to send their thanks to Atar. His Light has shone on the growing things and made them plentiful, and so it is time for a Festival of Harvest. Offerings of harvest items, bread, grain, ale to Atar is the central theme, but there will also be dancing, music--let us all rejoice to the glory of Atar! Kites will be made to symbolize our surely soon-to-be reclaiming of the sky, contests of wrestling, bull fights, and so on. The kites will more often than not be depictions of wyverns and warriors, a symbolization of our determination to capture Civitas Dei and fulfill Atar's destiny! This is also a time that some of the less strict men try to help their wives with the household chores perhaps, a remembrance of all the things the women really do for the men. Even if the men don't literally help out with such things, it's a good time to give your wife/consort/concubine/woman a gift. And if she's not yours already, let your wishes be known straight into her face/her male Caretaker's face. Title: A Night To Remember The Siren's quiet, mostly because at 10 a.m. most of last night's revelers are still sleeping it off. "Mornin'..." Raven, the bartender is cleaning tables (yes, they really do do that, even in the Siren) as Bruno, the big sailor who's a bouncer for Jenean's girls, wanders in. "Just what t' heck was all that about last night?" Bruno laughs. "Somethin' 'bout a bet. Jenean was bettin' one of the ships crews' she could get their captain int' bed." Raven ah-hahs. "Aye. That'd explain it. Wondered why she was just hollerin' fer folk from th' top of the stairs an' not comin' down." A smile from the big mongrel. "Mmhm. Aye. Well, she did lose th' bet." Raven frowns. "Lose? Jenean never loses that kinda bet..." Title: Atlanteans Everywhere Mostly silent and unobtrusive, especially lately, the Atlanteans made quite a big splash today. As if by magic, or direct order, a large number of warriors that were never seen as part of the Korallion Guard emerged from the water and took up positions on the docks and immediate surrounding areas. Simultaneously, several notices were nailed up in various places around the city of Haven explaining the new situation. The docks have been declared safe by the Atlantean Decemvirate. Those wishing to trade or just live in safety will be able to do so, but all weapons will be checked in with a guard and returned upon leaving. The Hounds' weapons are the only ones not confiscated by the Atlantean troops around the docks area. A notice has been posted that if this situation is found to be intolerable, you are welcome to leave a message at the Korallion and your grievance will be discussed at the earliest opportunity. Some of the long-time residents of the area grumble that this is just a power grab, but aside from confiscating weapons, there has been no further curtailment of their activities. Title: Smoke in the North Like a sheaf of clouds it builds, the dark smoke floating over the valleys and ravines and ridges of the northern mountain range's foothills like a funeral pall. The smoke gathers, in wispy sheets, over the hills to the north of Edessa. A few stragglers make it into the villages within the Empyre's formal boundary to report of raiders, of attacks in broad daylight, of waves of Varati coursing over the spines of ridges or along the folds of valleys. "Like roaches, boiling out of the mountains," says one, gasping for breath. "Like water," another chokes back tears. "Like a wave of water, a flood, and nothing to stop them." At one time they were thought foolish, these homesteaders, for setting up their farms beyond the northern boundary of Empyreal territory. But they were not discouraged, perhaps in the hopes that by making their places there, the Empyre could claim more land. Whatever dreams spurred them on are shattered: the farms lie in ruins, poking the blackened beams of houses and barns into the sky like burnt bones. Every bit of grain gone, every last potato, every loaf of bread, every cattle or sheep, everything useable or functional was taken for the army on the move before the homesteads were set to the torch, and the number of refugees making it to the safety of the south is not equal to the number that moved north in the first place. Some of the burnt bones poking into the sky are not figurative ones at all. Those who press north into the lands at the very skirts of the mountains find Varati farms that are eerily empty, no edibles or usables left in the unburnt houses and half-varas, but no people there, either. It is as if they have been shuttered, and the only thing of note to be seen is the solid, muddy, stamped trace of the movement of a great horde of men, horses, and wyverns, crushing the dried stalks left by the early harvest. Title: Troops on the Move Along the northern borders of the Empyre, the flaming torches which adorn the watchtowers flicker incessantly in the cool autumn winds. From beneath metal brows, Praetorian watchmen cast their forlorn gazes out over the desolate hills which are the gateway to the Varati Kingdoms. The time of harvest in the Empyrean lowlands has come and will soon be past. Normally, this would be a time of thanksgiving, a time to reflect on the year's events and hold loved ones close. Yet this year there is no rejoicing or giving of thanks, for the marching of soldiers' feet has replaced the light music of the lyre, and the bright reds and yellows of fall have given way to the cold glint of steel. All over the Empyre, Praetorian and Velite legions are marching along the roads and taking to flight in the air. They go to populate the ancient bastions of their forefathers--fortresses which were throwbacks to the wars of old. One observer was quoted as saying, "Never in all my days have I seen such a force as these. Spears and swords glinting in the sun, columns of soldiers too deep to count and flocks of wing'd men that move as one. Truly this thing called war is as fearsome as it is beautiful." The roads leading toward the northern borders are often clogged with units moving towards the front, or with heavily-laden carts filled with supplies destined for one of the bastions housing the legions. Patrols are nearly constant, and checkpoints are a fairly common sight. The Empyre's harvests this year have taken a battering from the needs of the army. Whole farmsteads have been confiscated in the name of the government and carted off to feed the hungry mouths of the nation's defense. All are certain that this will be one of the leanest winters on record, and many fear that the stores of supplies for the civilians will run to dangerously low levels. What is certain, is that the supplies en route to the bastions is nearly constant, and that the troops therein will be well fed. Many Empyreal citizens in the lowlands have fled southward, fearing the wrath of fierce Varati, leaving many homesteads empty and abandoned--no more than ghost towns to greet would-be invaders. Title: Clash at the Korallion It appears that not all Atlanteans are pleased by Decemvir Marina's orders, and Okalani, High Priestess of Pasiphae, least of all. Since she heard these orders, she has been in an... interesting mood--in fact, most of the members of the Order have been trying to avoid her at all costs. But then again, most members were being avoided by the others in the Korallion for the same reason: the political caste had deprived them of their right to wear religious 'holy' knives. Needless to say that as soon as Decemvir Marina was spotted by Okalani, an argument broke loose, but typically Atlantean, there wasn't any shouting and the participants were polite to each other. The outcome? Marina offered that the knives would not be confiscated at the gates should the priests walk straight east. Okalani accepted, but now has forbidden any member of the Order to be at the docks. Rumors abound: would it be possible that the ties between the two classes have
broken? Only time would tell... but it's an uneasy peace for now.
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