The Spring Past The Winter

Lennings

Like much of the cities past the fall of Kalestiyanai, the port of Odium, sat tensely in the aftermath of the war. Defeated in the hands of the great adversary, many were bereft of any rights past the chains of serfdom. This reflected keenly into Odium's atmosphere, erected upon the corpse of the republic, stone-carved gothic establishments began to slowly replace the already-decrepit glassen tower blocks, as if to say the past superseded the future. Technologies that were fundamentally incompatible with Ardenarai's infrastructure are being forcibly phased out, such creations of outlanders had no rightful place in the Sacred Kingdom. On the edges of this sprawling metropolis was a dense slumland out of the reach of the governatarya's rule, ordained with buildings that strictly adhered to the phrase "anything goes", it was the only semblance of freedom yet to be taken.

Dokzentir

The sky was covered in a blanket of clouds, creating a dim and cool atmosphere. There was a general silence aside from the faint wind and light rain. The consistent faint noise was only broken by the occasional crow... and a barely audible distant music. Whatever the source of the melody seemed to be getting closer. The harmony carried a funky, cheery, and wild style, reminding of a carnival.

On the top of buildings in the distance a speck of flickering light was slowly advancing. The first thing identifiable were two pairs of butterfly wings, in the colors of azure and citrine. The figure was intensively playing something an instrument that operated like an accordion, made of brass and silver and ivory and dark wood. In a metal-and-glass case of the instrument was lit a white flame. From the device small sporadic streaks of colorful fire burst out as air was ejected.

The figure was gliding over the buildings on a skateboard-like vehicle. It sparkled as it came in contact with the roof. Jumping from one structure to the next, it left a trail of colorful steam and sparks. As the traveler passed by they were regularly caught by rays of sunlight that broke through the wall of clouds, as if they had their own spotlight. They departed as fast as they arrived, crossing the lands seemingly without a clear destination, continuing to play their music.

Lennings

The drab and subdued colors of Odium contrasted with the vibrant chromas of the switterlind, although the kingdom is known for spectacular shows of extravagance, this particular city just wasn't "it".

Commoners around the town were dressed in garments befitting a stereotypical depiction of a "peasant", colorless tunics woven from linen, going up to ankle's length for women. . There were very strict sumptuary laws that prohibited non-magi to dress with clothing that stood out from the general populace, to have any color at all was the privilege of the Ardenaraian pure-born. This made it also easy to distinguish who-was-who, based on their wardrobe choices.

It didn't take long for the pedestrians to take notice of the Switterlind's waltz over the skylines of Odium, most attempted to ignore whatever what was going on, nowadays a logical choice for people that wanted their head outside of trouble. Terrified, they gave a wide berth to the creature of the skies, one could guess it was an aberration that sought out for its next prey, monsters made manifest by magic's reality-bending properties, it could too be a magi's familiar, a common sight nowadays after the fall of Kalestiyanai.

The aristocracy, meanwhile were unfazed by the creature's sudden arrival, it looked mesmerizing in fact, perhaps a strange visit from the east was in order? Still, eventually they too moved on, such sights weren't uncommon in the Sacred Kingdom, at least from the far east.

The visitor would take notice of multiple landmarks, it be the wide grape fields on the residential districts of Odium, the slumlands of the outskirts, and a confectionery store a few metre's distance from where they arrived. What would possibly attract the fluttering fey?

Dokzentir

The colorful creature of eccentricities had taken a short path through the grape fields, and ~~stolen~~ indefinitely borrowed some of their fruits. Continuing it's travels, they eventually arrived at at the confectionery store. Your classic Switterlind had a weakness for all things made of colorful sugar. In excitement they made a sharp turn towards it, bashing into the store window face first. With mental distance from reality, and a hyper-fixation, the foreigner continued to flutter wildly against the glass, very confused and angry about the invisible force keeping them from the confectionery. The Switterlind mindset had a very difficult time processing things it could not perceive, and a very in-the-moment lifestyle without regarding future or past. Finally they picked up their skateboard-like vehicle and bashed it against the unseen adversary, shattering the glass into a thousand glittering fragments.

Lennings

The abrupt and ungraceful entrance of the Switterlind caused the store's alarms to blare loudly through the city's bustling streets, those who were outside were clearly agitated by the fae's presence, fleeing the scene in fear of a possible incursion by an aberration, it wouldn't likely be long before the townwatch would arrive, especially in such an urban area like Odium.

The confectionery was at least empty for now, save for its three current occupants. It was manned by a vaguely humanoid golem, a hardwood construct stylized like a marionette with a thin frame, as of now it was shrieking like a pig getting slaughtered due to the alarms.

The remaining two were customers, nobles with pockets deep enough to afford treating a sweet-tooth. On the opposite side of the room, was a grandma dressed in a plain sky-blue summer dress, unfazed by the Fae's eccentricities. She seemed more intent on finding out how the other would react, of whom was standing right next to the Switterlind.

Grey ash-like eyes briefly locked gazes with the fae. This woman in question wore a close-fitting jet-black tunic, embellished with golden stripes and ribbons indicative of her rank. There too was a dark overcoat draped around her shoulder, concealing a scabbard by her left hip. Both of the Ardenarains were pale like they have never saw the sun's light once in their lives, as with their hair. She stood in-between the blindingly radiant Switterlind and the candy containers, as a mother defending her poor children from violent intruders would.

Though the aristocrat moved to unsheath the spell-blade by her side to land a killing-blow, the Switterlind's would-have-been murderer seems to be frozen at place. Her menacing stance betrayed by her incredibly teary eyes. The elder on the sidelines was gaping from disbelief.

Dokzentir

With a hop and a small flutter the fey entered the store through the broken window, landing with a dance-like motion. They took in the situation for a moment, looking through the room with glinting eyes. Since the arrival in this land most people until now had been in the audience, or at most background characters, not participating on the main stage in the story of this fairy. But now there was this interesting woman, who seemed to engage an interaction. It was challenge, yes, a proposal for a spectacle. The Switterlind glared at the women for a moment with their bright, fanatic eyes.

Suddenly they blinked out of existence for a moment in a cloud of glitter, appearing with a sparking flash again on the other side of the room, pulling out a fancy gilded rapier from somewhere within their clothes. Behind the fey was a mirror on the wall, with the fairy's mirror image playing a violin, seemingly unimpressed by the affair happening around. The mirror-fey only gave a quick wink at the grandma, before resuming full attention to its play.

Lennings

Any lingering thoughts of hesitation washed away through the glittery Fey's spectacular performance, she unsheathed the spell-blade. a blunt dark instrument fashioned in the likeness of an estoc. It was adorned with minuscular but still distinguishable glyphs, periodically blinking in an organized pattern that seemed to respond to the bearer's hand movements. These things weren't purposed for melee combat, most magi knew better than to foolishly risk the front, rather such artifacts are made with the sole purpose of channeling their user's power into a precise, better focused output.

A small barely-perceptible mist began to emanate from the edges of the spell-blade as glyphs began to lit up one-by-one, Even as the Switterlind was yet to commit any direct violence against her, Ardenaraians had the dangerous habit of striking first, hard, and asking questions later. This was made more apparent with the Switterlind's most unusual existence, it could not be known whether it was an aberration on the loose, a tool of a rival to assassinate her, or a misanthropic familiar that had made its daring escape.

She moved for first blood, swinging the spell-blade in a horizontal slash. Light visibly distorted along the weapon's trajectory, forming alien colors born through mixing the endless possibilities of the world beyond, and our plane as it is. Energy violently pulsated through the warped air, damaging their once-delicate surroundings (powderizing glass, shattering fabric, combusting sugar). Furniture crashed against the force, and everything in the confectionery was getting ruined by the minute (along the desserts). The elder ducked out of the way, her attention now laid upon the task of deciphering the Switterlind's strange intentions. The swordswoman readies her stance to unleash another barrage.

Dokzentir

The Switterlind dashed out of the way in erratic motion behind a counter. The mirror behind cracked. The newly created 4 overlapping mirror-images of the fey began playing their music slightly off-tune. As the store got torn apart, a yelp came from the fairy. "Nooo! The confectionary!" Trying to save some of the sweets, they caught a flying cupcake and grabbed a colorful lollipop and a bag of gummies.

They were all for spectacular shows, but not when it came as the cost of innocent confectionery. A more delicate approach was needed. They took out a harmonica-like instrument in the shape of a silvery crescent moon, and began playing a soothing melody of the night. Lights dimmed, noise grew quieter. The world grew darker, looking up one saw the night sky.

The instrument was made of moonlight, and the melody made of sleep. With the last note the fey appeared from behind the counter, looking the women in the eyes. The instrument gave a short flash of light. The Switterlind's performance was a nightly charm, to compel the woman to lie down, close her eyes, and enter the realm of dreams.

Lennings

Arcane might that once threatened their very lives steadily fizzled away, consecutive blasts of rift-energy lowering in intensity, as the swordswoman's movements grew heavier. She was not quick to tire, but the magic started to take an effect on her especially without the presence of countermeasures. Ignorant of the Fey's true nature, or even capability of invoking spectacular miracles, she struggled to move against the rapidly-accumulating weariness, using the spellblade as a cane to maintain standing.

It was a good time to sleep?

The elder was much wiser, it may had at least been the better match for the dashing Switterlind were it be the one initiating hostilities. To counteract the concept of "rest" affecting the room, dissonance was produced from the painful ear-piercing screams of metals grinding against one another, and bright flashes of light continuously pulsed, irritating their delicate irises, but at least preventing them being drawn into a sleep that might never be broken. Strangely enough, she didn't even bother to extend its effects to the entire room, perhaps the elder considered it to be a lesson to be taught to the careless aristocrat.

"Tch..." The grandma made a sound to take the Switterlind's attention. "Dazzling, ever-so radiant. These are not monsters." She held out a . . . . tub of vanilla ice cream? Where did it come from? Perhaps it was from the groceries she bought for herself. Tolerating the cacophony might or might not be a specialty both the Ardenaraian and the Switterlind possess, but if it should ever still prove to hostile, the elder made it known that she is not to be reckoned with.

Dokzentir

The Switterlind would never decline an ice cream offered freely. Like an excited child they grabbed the tub and began eating from it. By their nature they liked being given attention. They stretched themselves and their wings to their full extent. They spoke in a glittering voice. "Greetings dear lady near of place but far of mind. Are you a traveler from the lands afar or an emergence of the locality? What are your names, your vices, your heart's desire?"

Lennings

They were just most likely not Ardenaraian, that was a conclusion made by the exasperated elder, judging by the lack of outright hostility made by the fae. The traditional Ardenaraian greeting consisted of a blade re-aligning a friend's innards, suppose to say some level of paranoia isn't unwarranted in Eleutheria.

The cylindrical tub of ice-cream sat victoriously on the fae's claws, it had a strange flavor of both honey and a mild floral aftertaste, aside from the vanilla ingredient. Still having her eyes set at the delicacy, the elder spoke out to the Fae humored at the situation. "Taldua (Idiot), you just had recently experienced our very own brand of hospitality." Her gaze briefly darted to the other noblewoman, of which is struggling to even keep herself upright. "I am..... nevermind, It is better if you talk to her. "

Though, the noblewoman wasn't eager to chat with the Switterlind, instead limping outside disappointingly. Any attempts by the Switterlind to draw her attention was merely ignored, strange for a person that once had tried to kill it.

The aureal retinue of Odium had arrived on-scene after the brief, and strangely violent misunderstanding that reduced the confectionery to a garbage-heap. Three gilded brass constructs served as the force's mode of transportation, fashioned in the likeness of an avian forever locked in a down-stroke flight, it did float. One could swear that they were about to blow the entire place up, instead, they went into the noblewoman's assistance, seems like she is an important figure. Without any further delay, one of the vehicles was used to ferry her away to a location far-away from here.

"Wow, anyways, they're here." The elder spoke in a hushed voice.

One of the retainers approached their immediate vicinity, in his hands were a papyrus scroll, even crimin- undocumented visitors cannot escape Ardenaraian bureaucracy. "Fill out the form."

Its contents were each spelled out by the the retainer-that-was-more-of-an-inspector [Name, Age, Occupation, Address, Reason for Visit, Permits, Health Certification, up to even the most unimportant details like what is one's favorite color.] It took two full-minutes for him to finish his statement.

Dokzentir

The Fey had very much a thing for contracts and paperwork and promises. Words had power. Having lived in a world of devilish dealings, the Switterlind retained the same trickery and evasives and caution for this inspection as for any other one. The visitor answered the questions in their sing-song voice.

"As for my name, call me Zircel. I lived for seventy-four seasons, some longer than others. I occupy the lands I claim. I am addressed with 'Sir' and 'Monsieur'. I do not have any reason for my visit, only passion. I rarely give permission. My health remains uncertified. The color of favorability is the one I carry myself, Dazzle-Citrine."

Zircel's way of conversing was often distorting the premise of the question itself. His answers tended into the cryptic, ambiguous, or nonsensical. But he liked to talk, and would talk without end. Such an inspection would prove a long and frustrating experience.

Lennings

"Hmm...." The inspector filled out details, his expression was grim, finding out the Switterlind to be the most troublesome fellow.

"Zircel, I assume that's an alias." He took a gel-pen from his pocket, writing down the visitor's background in a crimson-red ink. "Family name is traditionally included, although not an explicit requirement."

"Ardenarai determines seasons to be in sets of four each year, eighteen cycles, by your accounts, unless if you would wish to re-amend this." He seemed to not care whether if the Fae was deliberately obfuscating his own details, taking it merely as an absolute truth.

"Sir, and no reason." He noted

"Location of each lands in question?" The inspector didn't seem to budge on this point. "Social Rehabilitation Edicts of Odium prevent movement of lowborns from unauthorized regions, I'm afraid you will have to be interned until we can safely assure you are not an outlander, that is unless, if you can prove yourself?"

He moved on to the next subjects. "No permits, we will have to acquire one for you in the ministry. You'd have to come with me."

"Citrine...." The inspector had a barely-concealed disappointment on the Switterlind's choice, though why?

Dokzentir

Zircel seemed to be having his fun with the interaction. "Lowborn, ha! I can assure you, the circumstance of my birth were at great heights." He stretched his wings. "Citrine is the color of potential, of talent, of inspiration." From his clothes he pulled out a parchment. "Here is my permit." It simply read 'I am in full permission of taking any action my heart desires.' in an overly elegant script.

Lennings

He didn't seem to be skeptical at all by Zircel's claim to not be a lowborn, or were it already the truth? Regardless, procedures set by the ruling administration compel him to ask the obvious. "Hmm." The inspector rubbed his own chin, vexed about what to say to this fellow. It wasn't his first experience seeing a non-human, but surely the only time he saw one such as this. "Possessing the wrong color too, this will be tricky."

It was likely that colors were associated with allegiances in the Sacred Kingdom.

The elder tugged lightly on the inspector's sleeves, whispering a faint message of warning to the man. Shortly after, he replied to the Switterlind. "Alright, The Royal Ministry for the Rehabilitation of the Void-Tainted Peoples of Kalestiyanai.." An incredibly overspecific executive department, the true pinnacle of bureaucratic nightmares. "Would be compelled to give you a non-expiring permit for entrance, should you prove yourself to not be a spiritual abomination."

"Magic." The elder explained bluntly, "Inspectors of his rank are ordered to not bother with people that are proven to possess a brightened soul, and thus the capability to perform magic. I am also likewise, permitted to give you a certification based on your feats in-front another registered ministry official."

"I'll be leaving shortly though." She added. "My feet are getting numb standing."

Dokzentir

Zircel starred and the old woman with his cheery smile. "Maybe you are too heavy. It's probably because you are too grounded. You need to get more lightheaded and lighthearted." He threw a necklace at her head, with three azure feathers. The thing would bring the wearer lightness, like being reduced to a fraction of their mass, allowing for a certain floaty walking style, and reducing the dangers of stumbling and falling. It did bring the side effect of making one a little dreamy.

The Azure-Citrine butterfly turned back to the inspector. "You want magic, I can give you magic." He took out a black top hat, holding it out so the inspector could see the inside. "As you can see this hat is empty. But now watch." Zircel put his insectoid arm into the hat, deeper as should be possible. With a small yelp of pain, he pulled his arm back, now slightly bleeding. "Cursed carrot-feaster!" From the hat a distant voice emerged. Vibrant devil! I told you to never do that again!

Zircel then pulled up a small black ball that looked like paper with a small white fuse. His eyes glinted shortly, and then the spark jumped from his irises to the fuse and ignited it. He dropped the thing, triggering a short Blimey! from inside the hat, followed by a bang and a wave of colorful sparks shooting out from the top hat. Zircel then packed it away again. "Uhm... Maybe a card trick would delight you more?"

Lennings

The inspector squinted his eyes, mayhap it was already tired of the Switterlind's citrine light. "Ah, a performer, what beautiful time has been consumed by our dear stars." Turning around to the woman, he gestured her to go on.

The old lady took off the necklace the instance she began hovering, making a soft THUD as she was once more grounded. Clutching her mouth, as if to not vomit over the floor, the victim of the Fae's blind altruism complained. "Glgh... ask first, I did not meant it that way."

And then she grabbed the papyrus scroll into her hands, waving it in front of Zircel's chest. In the instance, the scroll began to dissolve, bathing him in silverish light like a warm sun's glow. Zircel would be able to perceive soft floral fragrances, a dull mixture of earthiness, and a general sense of safety. "There, that is your permit. You are now a Class C citizen of Ardenarai, what it means is that you are a noble not belonging to the six houses. Your magic befits an entertainer, though quite unique enough to warrant you a grade above eighty-percent of the kingdom's magi."

The inspector made a long sigh and began to steadily walk away. He stopped halfway to ask Zircel. "In anyhow, you do not belong here. I suppose you are seeking audience with someone of importance?"

Dokzentir

"Oh yes, a performer! That is my nature." Zircel made a pirouette, emitting a wave of golden sparks. "You ask me on an audience of import? If indeed I arrived here for you to ask me such, then that must have been indeed the purpose of my travels." In his way of reverse-reasoning he stated it like a detective might do a conclusion. "I am not from these lands' belonging, you are in the right." Zircel jumped forward, grabbing the cheeks of the inspector like one would a small child. "Show me pumpkin pie. Show me those individuals who are of significance, who would interest themselves in audienceship of mine."

Suddenly something spherical darkened the sun, seemingly a solar eclipse. The citrine Switterlind stretched one of his free arms in the sky. From the inspector's perspective it almost looked like Zircel was holding the sun-darkening thing in his hand. He closed his claws, grasping the thing, pulled it from the sky, unblocking the sun who shined rays of radiance. It his hand he held an elegant, steaming pumpkin pie, holding it towards the inspector. "A delight for compensation of your efforts."

Lennings

The inspector blinked in disbelief, displays of such magic was indeed rare even in the Sacred Kingdom. It may had just been a trick of the eye, who knows? Taking the pumpkin pie, he muttered a hushed word of thanks before handing it to a deputy that came along them shortly. The grandma was nowhere to be seen, perhaps she already had left, not wanting more of the Switterlind's antics.

"Resplendent, or maybe even effulgent." The astonished inspector commented on Zircel's magic. Some of the man's cheekiness seems to have disappeared, Ardenaraian culture was brutally magocratic, magi of higher rank could have a bad day, and just like that, decide to wipe out a town without facing consequences, well other than being put down by magi greater than them.

A resplendent-grade magi was able to levy a magical force equal to an entire town, a near-impossible feat to achieve well beyond superior artificial support. An effulgent-grade magi would meanwhile, be able to shape the world as they please, having one in their ranks was the Ardenaraian equivalent of wielding a nuclear arsenal.

So suffice to say, it became the wiser decision to treat Zircel less as a glorified circus performer, even as all he did was to temporarily block out the sun, to which he isn't completely sure that it wasn't an illusion.

They boarded the brass construct in the lead of the formation, entering through a hatch on its back. (again, the brass-construct was shaped in the likeness of an avian). It was large enough as a typical transportation bus, enough to fit a velvet couch and a dainty round coffee-table in the midst of it. There were no beverages, aside from a half-empty can of energy drink, and a box of chocolate brownies, still full. The inspector decided against warning the Fae to not touch his confections, again, such was Ardenaraian culture, his deputy meanwhile took the wheel, and off they go!

Dokzentir

Upon entering, Zircel immediately established himself in the area, taking up significant space with his large citrine-azure wings. Lying down on the couch he pulled out the a bag of loot he collected from the confectionary and started to consume them excitedly. He sometimes let out phrases in foreign languages. After a while he started becoming more quiet, until he dozed off.

The room seemed darker than before, and bigger, Zircel's wings no longer brushing along the surfaces. The world outside seemed also darker, and quieter. Occasionally one could see faint glowing lights slowly floating, like fireflies, appearing and disappearing in thin air. A faint melody of a music box in the atmosphere. In reflective surfaces withing and without the construct, one could sometimes spot a momentary citrine flicker, that vaguely reminded of a butterfly.