A Global Encounter (Overon)

[Pasthaura]

WORLD'S FAIR: 1880

The High Chiefdom of Pasthaura
Turactis
January 1, 1880

"Hail to the queen!" Called out a guard, wearing his highly stylized military uniform, with golden tassels and deep violet velvet, "Hail to the Marikh of the lands!"

Thastara stepped onto the platform, wearing traditional Pasthani attire. It was the closest thing to a national costume the nation produced. Her chest was covered by a violet wrap, and a skirt of matching type was tied at the waist, leaving the midriff bare. Long white gloves of the finest leather, obtained from young goats, adorned her arms to a perfect fit, emphasizing her style, grace, and regal status. On her legs were a pair of tall boots made of solid rubber, collected from the heart of the island her nation lay on, with carved and engraved heels of fine tropical wood. These served practicality, as the land of Pasthaura was often wet, and could range from a beach to a mountaintop rapidly. Thus, the boots served as an all-purpose item, staying both dry and insulated in all terrain. She coughed as she reached the top of the platform, overlooking a large crowd of the various ladies and gentlemen that had gathered before her. It came to her immediate attention that the national costume of Pasthaura defied the modesty standards of many of the assembled people, but she cared not. After all, national costumes were never a fanciful gown, and their age in design showed in how often they defied the moral standards of the nations. She opened her mouth to speak,

"Thaura kesam, vanakiyan rasarva. Vanakiyan thirai." She began to speak, her native tongue being the first words, "We are proud to welcome the ladies and gentlemen here to the World's Fair of 1880." she finally began, speaking the lingua franca, her accent showing. "Pasthaura is home to one of the oldest civilizations in the world. Our ancestors, many years ago, met with many of yours. They shared the land, they lived, they fought, but the history that Pasthaura has with her continental neighbors is undeniable. It is for this reason that we have been selected this round to host the World's Fair, and it is with great honor that I say my people have long anticipated the event. We present here the technological marvels of the world around us, the progress that civilization brings. We present here the artifacts of peoples from all corners of the world, ranging from simple tribes to sprawling empires. We present here the arts that man has made, of songs and paintings and poems, for all to appreciate. People from all walks of life have come together to produce for this event, and so I hereby declare the World Fair of 1880 officially open!"

Her guards began their impressive drills as music began to fill the air. The government officials present made sure to put on the best show they could, to amaze and impress, while the queen slunk away to explore the fair for herself. She was young, inexperienced, but she had proven herself a very capable leader thus far. Even organizing such a large event had proven her worth to the eyes of her people, to acquire the rights to host it, and to put it all in motion. She walked down the lanes of displays set up to demonstrate, with various carnies and showmen demonstrating their products.

"By the year 2000, the average gentlemen will own five hot-air balloons!" cries one, showing his small-scale demonstration of the physics behind the curious device, inflating the balloon and watching it float, and then letting it back down again.

"Come one, come all, come see the amazing contraption that will suit your home finely!" cried another, showing off some strange metal device that he claimed could peel and grate all sorts of foods. "Your kitchen will never be complete without this culinary omnitool!" he cried once more, beginning to demonstrate the various things it could do. It was truly an amazing device, as long as the task consisted of cutting fine lines into soft foods.

"Come test your luck!" yelled one carny, "With the wheel of fortune! You may win a reading of your future and know the will of fate itself as granted by the beautiful and mysterious Madame Strange, speaker of the bizarre!"

All of this intrigued and mystified the young woman, but what truly caught her eye was a large wooden monster, and twisting and contorting mass of wood and steel, a ride which had scarce seen permanent residence anywhere. This rollercoaster, an invention that had been around for decades but had never seen commercial purpose, was a beautiful and terrifying beast. She was enchanted, delighted, and managed to lose track of both the fair and of her own mind, leaving her standing before it, completely unaware of her surroundings. Completely forgetting her need to change into a proper gown, she simply stood in silence before the great thing.

[Veldias]

Frederick, Treßler of the Dranian Order
Turactis, Pasthaura
1 January 1880
12:30 post-meridian

"Well I'll be god-damned" whispered the Großkomtur to his brother, "if that's the way royalty dresses in this country, then I'll have to find a way to procure a Pasthani spouse."

"Lustful bastard," whispered Frederick, younger by three years, with a grin.

"I mean it," uttered the Crown Prince with a distant air of keen contempt, listening to the speech being delivered by the Pasthani Queen with the eyes rather than the ears.

"It would be a blank check for the papers," reasoned Frederick. "The Crown Prince -- in the arms of a foreigner -- oh, what a sight it would be."

"You know me, brother. I'm all about sights."

"Well, you certainly are a sight to behold," cackled Frederick drily and imperiously. Like his laughter, Frederick was an imperialist, and therefore appropriately old-fashioned. His manners reflected it, his dress reflected it, his values reflected it, and his actions reflected it. Frederick often played along with the romantic and scandalous adventures of his older brother, although with secret contempt -- one which stemmed partly from disapproval, and partly from envy.

The only scion of his father's first marriage, Siegfried had been born with his progenitor's powerful stature and handsome features. He bore his father's red hair and virile steel eyes, perennially accompanied with the formal and warlike dress of the Klagian aristocracy. By birth he was the Großkomtur, destined to eventually rule one of the Tetrarchies; by trade, however, he was a playboy, and infamously skilled at that, too.

---

Peacetime Dranian military fashion.

---

With the end of the Queen's discourse, the crowd began to disperse around the grounds.

"I have some, err, affairs to settle," said Siegfried to his brother. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you alone for a while."

Frederick knew better than to trust his brother. "Don't do anything stupid," he said bluntly. But Siegfried was already gone. He sighed deeply, filling his lungs with air, and rubbed away the first symptoms of a mild migraine on his forehead.

Despite his personal insecurities, Frederick was known to have a particular personality, reserved and diplomatic in formality yet relaxed and fraternal in informality. He had a thunderous and substantial voice which lent itself well to the command of the cavalry, a post in which he had served admirably in the colonies. His stoic demeanor in pitched battle and his unbreakable bravery in the face of the enemy had earned him the Iron Cross, a distinction which his older sibling had yet to achieve.

However, he wore it only -- and then with great reluctance -- in military occasions, in which convention forced him to do so. Ironically enough, Frederick despised any sort of military fashion, and preferred to dress as a civilian. Indeed, at that very moment, the Treasurer had chosen to conceal his military background by presenting a vintage pinstriped suit and a formal velvet hat as a façade, coupled with a thick pair of spectacles that allowed him to observe the world, and a tobacco-pipe that allowed him to digest it.

His impeccably-shined Oxford shoes traced a few steps forward through the paved cobblestones, regarding the host of tents and festivities with calm fascination, and took a few expeditionary steps in the direction of the Veldian exhibits.

He saw men swallowing scimitars; women balanced on lightbulbs, jumping daintily from one to the other as children; he saw quaint men in interesting makeup inviting him into colorful tents, and women in interesting dress selling polychromatic candies and pastries at stalls and benches. Frederick had always been fascinated by foreign cultures. At that moment, however, Frederick longed for home and country. Over the last five years, he had spent four and a half leading the Black Riders in one war or another in the colonies, and had only been allowed to return to his beloved Drachenhof in order to receive the Iron Cross before he was put on an airship and flown to Pasthaura for the occasion.

"You are the most diplomatic of my progeny," said Sigmund. "If one of my children can strike up a favorable and pleasant conversation with the Queen, and hence bolster the relations between our two realms, that is you."

Frederick remembered having been furious, but he loved his father, and found it impossible to disobey any of his orders.

"Alright, Father, I will do as you ask." For a second, he thought about inquiring why Siegfried, perhaps the least diplomatic of Sigmund's children, would also be involved in the trip. But he dismissed such thoughts, thinking that giving them any sort of substance would turn him into a coward and a hypocrite, and trusted in the better judgement of his father. For a second, he thought about the possibility of his brother doing anything to ruin the relations between the Wölsungs and Pasthaura.

Nah, the Queen seems smart enough to avoid him entirely, he assured himself. Lines and lines of exhibits continued to line the pavement on both his flanks, each and all of them trying to purchase his attention with calls, bright colors, and vibrant music. But at last he was at the Veldian cultural exhibit. He took a seat next to the bar and waited for the bartender.

"A flagon of beer, if you will," he requested politely. In those festivities, so different from the stoic and sober life he led in the military, and on that island, so exotic and alien to his own nature that he could scarcely breathe, a swig of beer was as good as being home.

---

Siegfried was not a man to fall in love. Love was too obsolete a concept for it to appeal to him, Siegfried von Wölsung, the textbook definition of the modern man.

"Come on," he'd often tell his friends, "It's 1880. We live in the future." And by that he meant no bills, no pressure, no worries; and long hair and cart racing and a different date every weekend. Drachenhof, the seat of the Order as it may be, was small enough of a city that a different date every weekend tended to make you notorious, especially in the circles of the high aristocracy. And with so many connections to the papers, and with such a passion for gossip as held by that aristocracy, then it meant that the antics of young Siegfried travelled far and wide through the Tetrarchy until they at last reached Sigmund's ears.

"Heh, I used to be just like that in the days of my youth," reminisced the Hochmeister, a cheerful grin on his face and an uncheerful one on his wife's. Of course, he had been nothing like that in his youth -- indeed, the stoic and stern character in which he had been born had been slowly eroded by the pleasantries of politics and the lively air of Himmelsdorf, and his sociable and gregarious nature he had only adopted during the last two decades. He had won his iron cross aged twenty-two against the Ambrians, purchased at the bloody cost of his right leg under the knee.

Siegfried, despite his gallant name, lacked the grit for warfare. Indeed, the brother he so relished in branding as 'cowardly' and 'womanish', three years the younger, had just been honorably presented with the cross, while his own military achievements were found to be lacking. At the head of the Schwarze Reitern, Frederick had personally led a charge against the face of overwhelming enemy fire, reached the enemy positions, and routed the foe, with thousands of witnesses to attest his personal bravery. Siegfried inspected his own medals. Good conduct. Five years of service. Rifle practice. Horse practice. Honorable citation.

Just like Frederick knew his older brother was better-looking and better with women, Siegfried knew his younger sibling was sturdier in stock, and proven in battle at that, and it would be misleading to indicate he did not suffer occasional pangs of jealousy, which he hid under his glamorous and carefree lifestyle.

---

Siegfried von Wölsung, 1879.

---

He did not trust Frederick. Over the last few years, Frederick had sapped their Father's former favoritism from him to the point where he considered all his children -- his two older sons, his two daughters, and his youngest son, only 14 at that point -- equals. This was most concerning to Siegfried, who began to convince himself that Frederick was plotting to assume his role as Großkomtur, and, in due time, his rightful post as Hochmeister.

This was, of course, untrue. Frederick was likely the least suitable person for intrigue in the Order, and the cowardice of such intricate and deceitful plots was repulsive to his simple, martial mind.

The only sign his father had given him, outside of not sacking him from his position in the Großwürdenträger, that he was still foremost in the line of succession to become the Hochmeister, was the fact that he had been casually invited to marry the Grand Duchess of House Gerulfingen, Gutrune. He was not particularly keen on her appearance, and she was not particularly keen on his debauched, womanizing trajectory, but their respective fathers, and earnest friends, thought the deed to be a fashionable way of cementing the Wölsung-Gerulfingen friendship after their own lives.

As he attended these thoughts, Siegfried continued his tour of the facilities, looking for a way to entertain himself. As he chanced upon a tall, sprawling mess of an edifice, an ugly hulk of wood and brass and iron, he observed amusingly as a series of carts danced around its tracks in a most peculiar motion. Another bauble of a spectacle, he thought. Best move on.

To his great surprise, however, he saw the Pasthani Queen directly in front of her. To his surprise, she remained in the unconventional garb she had worn earlier to the opening of the fair. He coughed, drummed his leather-gloved fingers on his forearms, and straightened his numerous, unimpressive medals. He approached the queen as elegantly as he could, although his terse and brusque Dranian gestures must have appeared gross and brutish to the graceful inhabitants of the island queendom.

"You must be the Queen of Pasthaura," began the Crown Prince with a feigned air of distinction. "I have the honor," he said, bowing his head, "of introducing myself as Siegfried, Großkomtur of the Dranian Order, the son of Sigmund, Hochmeister of the Order, and Kronprinz of Drania"

According to Veldian customs, he extended his hand, offering to take the Queen's to offer a kiss.

[Pasthaura]

Thastara was standing, enjoying the sight, building up the nerve to attend the ride's fierce might. It was then, though, that she was approached by a delegate. The man standing before her had caught her by surprise, as she had allowed the attraction before her to gather the entirety of her attention. She gasped and jolted a bit before calming down, "O-oh" she said, beginning to blush from embarrassment, "Good day, noble Sir. Welcome to the Fair." a slight smile began to form on her lips, "I am honored to meet you." she stated further, lifting her skirt slightly to resemble a curtsy, while being careful that the end tied at the hip not become a bit too open as she held it. Noticing the man's gesture, she quickly remembered her lesson on continental mannerisms and offered her gloved hand. "I am Marikh Thastara of the Wolf Clan, bringer of unity, speaker for the people...so on and so on." With a simple wave of her free hand, she dismissed the long list of titles that the state had invented over the years to keep up with the territorial extensions of larger powers. In a way, it was nothing more than propaganda, shouting how Pasthani leaders can keep up with everyone else in titles, but in another way entirely it was just as impressive that so many titles could be found, so many things justifying her rule, instead of just listing parcels of land she held.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself here, Sir." she continued, "I have my eye on this...great wooden beast." she looked to it with a twinkle in her eye, the massive coaster just a few paces away. "I have ridden the wood before, and I hope to do so many times again. It is bringing the utmost pleasure to ride the giant wood as it twists and turns. From just taking my seat, the colossal wood fills me with excitement. And the way it vibrates!" She shuddered, "it is quite the enjoyable experience. Tell me, Sir, have you ever ridden it before?"

She seemed keenly interested in the man, though her own feet took small steps towards the hulking machine. "Such a marvel of engineering, truly." she stated softly, overlooking once more the colossal wooden frame of the thing. "They say it is faster than any horse or train, twice as fun, thrice the excitement, but only a fraction the cost. It makes one wonder how such a thing, then, has not been more popular since the day of its advent, why it does not anchor down permanently instead of a couple of models traveling from fair to fair, for I can speak to my own experience that such a machine is far from a mere con."

[Veldias]

Siegfried, Großkomtur of the Dranian Order
Turactis, Pasthaura
1 January 1880
12:40 post-meridian

"Thank you, Your Highness," said Siegfried, pressing his lips lightly over the queen's ring [or in the absence thereof any other appropriate place]. "I am pleased you at least pretend to be humble. A virtue sorely lacking in the rulers to be found back home."

Siegfried rapped his foot lightly, pressing the hard soles of his long boots on the gravel. As Thastara continued to behold the forest of beams and timbers that held the tracks of the attraction in place, Siegfried thought long and carefully about the matter at hand.

Marikh? or Thastara? What are the naming customs in this place like, and which one would be most appropriate? He thought about the people of Gesellschaft-[Asia], and about how their family names preceded the names of the individuals, rendering any address to the people thereof a complicated and peculiar affair, and meaning that Siegfried often preferred to cower in the ambiguity of titles and formalities rather than risk a faux pas when addressing someone by name.

Your Highness. Yes, seems about right, it's impossible for 'your highness' to be inappropriate. At the present, Thastara appeared to suddenly have completed her musings, and seemed to be addressing a question to the crown prince.

"I must confess that I have never quite seen such a device as this one before," uttered Siegfried, eyeing the great structure with diligent studiousness. "We have trains and locomotives back home, but they don't rise at near vertical levels or plunge like the hillside landscapes of the Stothen ranges. I have never quite seen anything like it, yes, much less ridden anything like it. The engineers in my country are far too boring to think of anything as peculiar and marvellous as this," he laughed.

As he again saw the wagons fly by at a dizzying speed, hurling onto a steep hill before jarringly jumping into a dive, heroically escaping the fall at only the last possible moment, Siegfried thought with some unpleasantness that the ride may prove to be nauseating to his constitution.

[Pasthaura]

"Oh? That's a shame...you should try it!" She exclaimed. The car had yet to load, and so she eagerly took his hand and pulled him towards it. From the simple touch, the leather of her glove was of exquisite quality- through his own he might notice their soft suppleness, their smoothness, though much texture would be masked by his own. Perhaps this was expected, as Pasthaura had always been home to many luxury industries, thus their queen would suffer absolutely nothing less than their best. She eagerly hopped into the railcar that would carry them along the course of the track. The rails beneath them were clamorous, shooting the occasional jets of cool steam out of release valves. The ride operator stood by with a smile, The car was shaky with a small tilt, but the operator assured the both of them that the seeming tilt of the car was for maximum thrill, and that the whole thing was proven and tested to be the closest one could get to death without actually being in real danger.

Soon, the bar came down, and the car chugged up the hill, pulled by a chain. It was slow, almost painful, as it got higher and higher. Finally, nearly a full hundred feet above the ground, it reached the top and hovered for a moment. The young woman riding in the front squealed in delight as she anticipated the coming drop. She was terrified, but she loved it. Then came the drop. Going as fast as any horse, perhaps even faster, the car sped forward smoothly before making a significant bank. The car tilted to match the track, but the gravity would slam the bodies of the riders to the side. Up and down and this way and that way, the coaster raced and raced. This is, perhaps, why Thastara had neglected her more proper gown: it would never be able to survive these miraculous forces; and just when one might think it was to end, it would then go on to complete another circuit entirely. The great wooden beast had proven the most effective thrill ride of the era, and would, perhaps, never be surpassed.

After climbing out of the car once it had reached its full stop, Thastara began a releasing laugh, letting out the thrill, nerve, and a slew of other emotions that the experience had built. "Amazing!" she cried out, laughing. After a few moments, she caught herself again, wiped her eye, and straightened up for the delegate. "Did you enjoy it?" she said, a hint of giddiness still permeating through her formal stance. "I dare say, it is a good bit more fun than a horse- though, not nearly as long lasting or....liberating."

[Veldias]

Frederick, Treßler of the Dranian Order
Turactis, Pasthaura
1 January 1880
12:50 post-meridian

The barman spilt beer as he filled flagon after flagon. Frederick only noticed it after some time had passed since he sat down, but the more he remained stooped over his own metal vessel, the more he was annoyed by the constant waste being uselessly flung to the ground on account of the bartender's incompetence.

He glumly extracted some paper from his pocket, and his pen-case and ink-bottle from another, and studiously began to contemplate his writings as he had last left them.

"Let's see... accounts, accounts, accounts, bills to pay... notes..." Frederick spoke to himself in a low voice as he continued to regard his notebook. It was organized in the most detailed fashion: Individual pages listed in glorious titles, spartan page-numbers printed squarely on the edge of each page, and plentiful space on the margins for the occasional note or two.

Frederick raised his hand to ask for any food offered at the bar. He contemplated ordering coffee before realizing that he was already drinking beer, and opted to stay his course. One of the patrons stood from a stool and clumsily fell to the ground like a ragdoll, flinging his beer into his comrade, who laughed as his friend hit the dirt.

The Tressler observed the spectacle with disdain. A perfectly good flagon of bier, gone.

He tried to ignore these distractions as he reached a page pointedly marked 73, to chance upon his father's directives for the diplomatic mission.

"Let's see..." he began to scour the page. "Make a good impression. Big red letters. Yes, definitely have to do that one... Attend to the local dignitaries, offer regards, praise, condolences if required, & anything else... hmm..."

"Fritz!" cried a feminine voice from behind as Frederick continued to read.

"Eh?" he said torpidly, without turning around.

"I'm not surprised to see you studying at such a ceremonious occasion as this one," said the voice, amusingly observing the hunchbacked, spectacled figure that seemed to be shaken by her onset appearance.

"Studying?" said Frederick as he clumsily decided between standing up to greet the visitor or rearranging his notes, with the intention of putting them away.

"And studying over a beer? Who would have imagined?"

Frederick took a second to collect his wits, before turning around to regard the figure, finding a tall shako adorned with a silver Death's Head and a bright blue trim.

"Helena?" he said. "Aren't you supposed to be across the sea?"

"The Third Tetrarch is prone to send her trusted advisors to oversee... important matters," smiled Helena.

"I'll be damned if I'm not important, all right," laughed Frederick as he hurriedly stood up to embrace her.

"Then you should either stop believing in hell because if you do, that's where you're headed," she laughed. He stood back and regarded her warlike outfit.

"How long has it been, cousin? Four years? Five?"

"Four and a half, if you've lost count," said Helena with a grin. She straightened her shako, keeping her jet-black cape on one side and her sable, clothed in its scabbard, on the other. Above her sable she carried an unloaded pistol. Both instruments of war were ceremonial, of course -- the blade on the sable was dull, and she carried no ammunition for her pistol, in order to comply with the regulations of the festival.

"I imagine a lot has happened since," said Frederick, straightening his jacket and flat-cap. "The Totenkopf suits you well."

"Yes. Images of death and bloody combat are always perfect compliments to the femininity of a noble lady."

Frederick laughed amusingly. "Go tell Siegfried that, he'll run away and hide under a table. Come, sit down, have a beer with me!"

Siegfried, Großkomtur of the Dranian Order
Turactis, Pasthaura
1 January 1880
12:50 post-meridian

"I am your most humble servant," grinned Siegfried with some excitement as he was pulled into the cart. Siegfried recognized with some surprise that Thastara was much stronger than she appeared, and had to catch himself with a foot before following her into the mysterious attraction.

"My lady, are you sure this is safe?" he inquired with some trepidation as he regarded the unusual contortions of the track before them. Before she could answer, a thick metal bar was pressed into his perfectly-uncreased uniform. He realized, somewhat fortuitously, that his hands were still free, and even trapped in the constraints of the bar he was able to sway them around freely. He took the opportunity to remove his cap and hold it securely about his chest.

Siegfried perceived the forces of gravity pulling him strongly towards the ground as the train began to ascend some sort of an artificial mountain. How are they going to let us back down, he thought about asking, before answering his own question -- before them lay a drop that must have been fifty meters in high, a deadly plunge straight towards the ground.

Nothing was more unusual to him than the peal of delight that some demented woman on the seats in front of them released.

And suddenly the car rushed forwards and fell. He kept his teeth clenched and the entire strength of his arms forced itself onto the bar, which he held onto for dear life. His stomach left his body and was lost somewhere at the top of the hill; he could scarce feel his legs; his head reeled with the blast of air and wind and the sudden twists and turns of the device; for a brief second of respite he breathed for what seemed like the first time in his life, and then the madness continued unapologetically.

He lost himself in the fluttering contortions of the machine, daunted by the terrors of what must come next, and tortured by the screams of delight that everyone around him seemed to be releasing. He tried to turn his head to regard Thastara, and inquire as to her personal safety, but he found it impossible.

Suddenly, some braking mechanism -- it must have been hydraulic -- squealed loud over the deafening echoes of the attraction. The train came to a grinding halt, and Siegfried suddenly found himself in a state of incomprehensible inertia.

"Is it over?" inquired Siegfried, of nobody in particular. "Am I still alive?"

Almost falling over his leather boots, Siegfried left the attraction behind the Queen and turned back to regard it.

"Amazing!" Thastara let out, seemingly delighted -- her wits likely consumed by the madness of the device. The Crown Prince was dumbfounded.

"Oh, yes, quite a ride," he added breathlessly, grasping onto his creased cap as strongly as he had latched onto the iron bars.

"Did you enjoy it?" appeared to ask Thastara excitedly. In an instant, Siegfried suddenly realized he was fine and well, and his system was pumping with adrenaline.

"Well, that depends on how you define 'enjoyment'," he laughed, returning to the comfort of his usual mannerisms.

"I dare say, it is a good bit more fun than a horse- though, not nearly as long lasting or....liberating."

"Liberating, you say?" offered the Crown Prince as he feignedly busied himself straightening the creases in his jacket, offering the Queen a handkerchief as per Veldian traditions. After answering, however, he realized he had -- for a second -- forgotten to address the Queen with the proper etiquette. He quickly straightened up, placing his hands at his sides.

[Pasthaura]

"Yes...liberating." she replied, vaguely gesturing away the handkerchief, "for this great wooden beast rides only upon a track, though rapid it may be, while a horse of comparable speed can go anywhere, can jump, and requires no restraint to gallop. Though, I suppose that may be because we scarcely ask our horses to leap off cliffs for our amusement as we do this machine." she giggled, softly, and moved her hand to her mouth to cover the smile she had formed, her already-slim eyes narrowing as her cheeks were pushed up in response.

Heaving a contented sigh, she followed up with a simple statement: "Well, now that I have dragged you along, perhaps it is your turn to choose an escapade among the many laid bare before us. We can talk as you wish in the mean time..." she crossed her arms, and shivered a second as her coldish gloves touched her warm, exposed flesh, "and perhaps at some point I shall change into attire more suitable for you continentals. Apologies."

[Veldias]

--snippy snip--

"I suppose this is true, my lady. Horses are seldom as inclined towards self-destructive tendencies as some of the most debauched, some of the most weak-willed, or some of the most unfortunate members of the human species. It is all in their animal condition."

Siegfried drew a quick and potent breath of the crisp and clean air, relishing the absence of the industrial fumes that polluted the industrial city of Stargart, in which he normally resided.

"You are a threat to the prestige and the stature of the family," spoke a voice cold, distant.

"You are an embarrassment to your father. You are an embarrassment to your position, to your ancestors."

His mother, her puncturing tongue. The pulsating beat of his heart. The shadow glory of his father, looming as the towering, cathedralesque masonry of the Votivkirche, a bar with which he was compared, measured, and found lacking. The effervescent airs of a well-to-do young noblewoman who had chanced upon his quarters; the adulterous airs of alcohol, which stained his lips and teeth and choked his eyes and nose in a gaseous aura of numbness -- his mother's words, a hammer which he could not comprehend.

Es irrt der Mensch, so lang er strebt. And he had not been allowed back in Drachenhof since.

And now, even the air reminded him of home. Not of Stargart: a house, no home, but of Drachenhof, and the broad halls of Schloss Hinterseer, and of the way his father used to smile at him when he was younger, and of his father's face when it had no wrinkles, and of his father's hair when it was young in red and vividly defiant.

Siegfried suddenly came to the realization that Thastara had been talked, and managed to save himself by grasping for the final words she uttered.

"My lady, I have no authority to demand of you, or even to ask of you, to submit to the rules of attire of my land, when we both stand upon the soil that your people have ruled for generations."

[Pasthaura]

"This is true, I suppose..." she stated, "I simply would not want my guest to be uncomfortable is all." She shrugged it off for the moment, before emitting a small giggle as she remembered, "Though, we have some here who take your continental fashions and twist them to our preferences one way or another. Many call it some sort of protest." she explained, noting that a few Pasthani citizens roaming around wore gowns and suits of strange material, unusual proportion, or otherwise adding in local elements that inexplicably twist and defy what said fashions are meant to be without actually disturbing the wholesome quality of the fashions that made them so widely accepted to begin with.

"Sir," she began once more, "I know not what you've done so far today, but I believe a good option for our next endeavor if you so desire would be to find some fine cuisine and , in contrast to our previous escapade, to sit and calmly chat over a meal. I regret to say I've had not a bite nor a sip all day, and perhaps for the better as such things running through my blood shortly before giving a speech, however brief in its duration, may have impacted us all negatively."

She started to walk casually, before properly hearing a response, but noting instead the various shops set up to cater to the crowd. There was food of all types from seemingly every nation known to man, but naturally her eye was drawn to her native cuisine. She hoped that perhaps her new friend might not take offense at this- she knew that the cuisine of her isle was not too compatible with traditional tastes of Veldias, but perhaps he might be able to appreciate it still? She walked up to the stand and removed one long glove, using her now-bare hand to pay for a meal and to take it. While Pasthani cuisine was not always at risk of making a mess, it was almost universally comprised things that one would not want to touch without cutlery. This being a festival, naturally, there was no suitably cheap and available but still effective cutlery that a small-time shop owner could grant.

Handed a plate, or more properly a basket, of ambiguous roasted meat that emitted not only a strong smell of itself, but that its spices could be detected as part of the scent from a fair distance, she turned and approached her friend about the matter, "If you wish to try our cuisine, only ask- I'd understand if you'd prefer your own, however."

[Veldias]

"Hmm, yes, of course," said Siegfried, shrugging away a mental laudate deum. He regarded the scene unfolding before his eyes in the present distantly, as a man who is sleep deprived, and stared stupidly at Thastara while she continued to speak. He noticed her movements were much different than his own -- flowing, relaxed, easy.

When Thastara offered a meal, the prince nodded quickly. "I am happy to believe that would not be the case," he smiled affably, knocking away beads of sweat from his brow using the dismissed handkerchief. "My lady, in my visit thus far, you have given me no reason to doubt the powers of your eloquence. To be fair, however, I have yet to see them in action after a meal."

His thick accent was smashing and obvious. He spoke slowly, with poise and self-reassurance. He selected terms slowly, as if browsing through the pages of an imaginary thesaurus.

He nodded, and then they were both off.

With the excitement of a child at a formal event, which is to say, none, Siegfried observed the stalls and the fair around him. He saw a man walking a dog. He saw a child, running around with a sword. Below a tent, he saw a young woman, who regarded him blankly. He smiled disarmingly and was disarmed in turn.

Thastara turned towards him with a meat-bearing vessel. A powerful, acrid smell made itself manifest, and he turned his head away uneasily. He looked at the sun and then at his pocket-watch, observing the purple silhouette of the star shimmering across the hands. He opened and closed his eyes rapidly.

"I must confess myself to have some curiosity," he spoke in overtly literal terms, "as to the taste, substance, and quality of the cuisine of your nation. If I may?"

The meat in the basket seemed unsanitary, dirty, and sullen. He noticed the cut was different in that the streaks of fat ran perpendicular to the direction they ran back home. Clumps of peculiar spices had accumulated around the food, and their dominating smell continued to pervade him. Inquisitively, his bare hand reached into the basket, mistook an invisible nod for a visa, and was pleasantly surprised by a strange, unknown flavour.

[Pasthaura]

Thastara snickered a little at her companion's seeming hesitation to actually taste her cuisine. She understood, of course, how different Pasthani cuisine appeared to many continentals, but indeed if it was anything dangerous it would not be consumed so regularly. Furthermore, this was street food- of course it was authentic Pasthani cuisine but it was not the sort of 'court food' that a visiting dignitary might expect. Not that the court food was too different, anyway.

"Ah, yes, the food here might not be the haute that many of the continental gentility have grown accustomed too, but for what it lacks in beige cream and a mysterious green drizzle, it makes up for in having an actual taste!" she laughed, apparently quite fond of her own joke. After doing so, she used her ungloved hand to pick out a piece and place it daintily in her mouth, starting to chew. The combination of the lamb meat, the assorted array of spices, and her own familiarity with the national style of making food all combined into quite a pleasant experience. Just because it is street food, does not necessarily mean that it is poor quality!

She looked around the fair truly for the first time. Seeing the various displays of technology and achievement from all nations was quite nice, though such displays were quite distant and they were firmly in the Pasthani pavilion and its dedicated section on culture and history. She wondered how much of the inner workings of the land and its people her companion was aware of- did he understand how the tribes worked? The judges? Did he understand truly the antiquity of some of the things he might see beyond the fair, with ancient walls older than the Talonic Empire itself?

Letting out a contented sigh, she spoke once more "If it pleases, we may find a place to sit to continue discussion and meal alike."

[Veldias]

Siegfried von Wölsung
Drachenhof, Klagenfurt
20 December 1879
Afternoon

Siegfried entered his father's reading room, closing the door behind him. He was greeted by the spectacled eyes of his father. His right hand clutched a pen, which he now placed on the pen-holder at his desk. He drew deeply from his elegant ivory tobacco-pipe.

"Ah, my son, I am happy to see you arrive. Come, don't stand there, you resemble a servant or a page."

Siegfried, his arms crossed on his back, approached the large desk where his father was seated, throwing furtive glances in his direction.

"Yes, take a seat." Siegfried took broad steps towards his father's desk, carefully lowering himself into a chair.

"Black Cavendish," noted Siegfried. "This is not the mixture of preference of a gentleman of age."

"Perceptive." Sigmund smiled. "I do not claim to be a gentleman, but -- calling me aged? I see it is true what they say: that the youth of our time has no sense of respect; that peace with the other houses has softened and spoiled our heirs. Thank you for your punctuality, yes, it is good to see you here." He removed his spectacles and placed them on the papers in front of him.

"I hope I am not interrupting your work."

"Interrupting? No, of course not. I demanded your presence at precisely this time, did I not? And this? This writing of letters? Bah, this is more pleasure than work. When you grow older, my son, you will acquire a fondness for the 'boring' matters of everyday life. You acquire a taste and a delight in it."

"For which I should apologize all the more."

"Ah, you and your apologies. No need, no need. My son -- they say the devil is in the details. But I believe the details are in the devil, too, which is why one takes pleasure in them. How I relish the details... die Kleinigkeiten. The family crest on a wax seal, the flow of the ink to the paper... and the old tobacco here, which you cheerfully deride as, well, inappropriate."

"Yes, father. Now, I believe you summoned me for a reason, I presume?"

"Ah. Not in the mood for the musings of the 'aged' anti-Ehrenmann, I see. Well, to the point, then. I summoned you because certain problems have arisen. Yes, there is a critical issue which, together, we must address. But, before we get to that -- your mother, I talked with her you see, she was not especially pleased with that... 'scene'... yesterday."

"Yes, it was most unfortunate."

"What was most unfortunate? The 'scene' itself, or that she was the witness?"

Siegfried reflected for a moment. "Both, I guess."

His father chuckled. "I don't believe you. Not for a second. Not about the first point, in any case. The second, eh, yes, concerning, but your mother has always been a friar -- no surprises there. Deeper faith than the Unctian pontiff, that one. I suspect her irritation with you will endure for some time."

"Yes."

"Indeed. However, well, on to the new development. Your mother and I, we received a particularly... vitriolic... letter at about noon. Addressed from a certain Graf. Sound like anyone you know? Or, at least, like anyone whose wife you have known... Yes, it was the sort of letter which can only be written by a man who, intoxicated with the fragrance of young love, suddenly discovers himself to be... cuckolded..."

"Oh, the Graf has become aware?"

"Why, yes. His insults in this particular letter are rather creative, and there is no shortage of them. I suspect that, in another life, our friend the Graf von Gerenden would have made an excellent jester, or a satirist, at the very least... It's an amusing letter, you'll have a good time giving it a look. Except for the threats at the end." He opened a cabinet and extracted a letter with a broken wax seal, bearing the arms of House Gerenden.

"To be frank," continued Sigmund, "I am surprised that I know something you don't within this sphere. Versed as you seem to be on the whisperings and rumours of the rabble. The... information was, well, it appeared on the yellow press and the tabloids. Plastered all over the city this morning, your face. Let me say, not even thirty years of age, and already known among the commoners... shameful, really. You should feel ashamed."

"I understand."

"Yes. Your mother and I, well, we fear the worst. Our agents have informed us that the Graf intends to challenge you to a duel -- that he intends to demand satisfaction, Zufriedenheit verlangen. The letter certainly supports this information. And your, well, adventures in the guest room certainly offer the grounds for that, as per the old customs."

"Demand satisfaction? Is this why you summoned me? Father, this is no problem at all! I am a skilled swordsman."

"I am aware. Still, my son, you will not gamble your life over some petty wench."

"And, by petty wench, you mean the Countess of Gerenden?" Siegfried said with a smirk. On the other side of the table, Sigmund reciprocated with a short burst of laughter.

"And that bastard Johannes is nothing more than an spoiled brat. Even now, thirty years his senior, and with a peg-leg, I could run a rapier through his side.... But, all jests aside -- no, we cannot allow you to remain in a position where the Graf can challenge you to the sabre. He may be a pig and a fool, but even the most oafish of men often prove lucky with the sword. Listen, my son -- your mother and I, we have discussed this -- our decision is made. You will leave the capital at once, and take residence in our house in Stargart. The appropriate arrangements have been made. I recommend you should leave as soon as you exit my office. It would be unwise for you to run into your mother after yesterday -- trust me."

"Stargart? Impossible. I shall remain in the capital."

"Listen, my son. My duty as a parent is to prepare you for the role of Hochmeister, which I believe to have attended to the best of my abilities. You are trained in the ways of etiquette, diplomacy, administration, delegation of power, management... you have excelled in the tasks I have given you thus far... the realm prospers. "He who gives," "wer gibt," as the poet writes, and all that nonsense. You have much to learn and much to mature if you are to become the Hochmeister. You cannot complete such learning if you are dead."

"If, I am to become the Hochmeister?"

Sigmund took a pause to draw once more from his pipe. His vacant stare betrayed a sense of disappointment, of reluctance to continue. He reached for his hair, straightening it sideways, and focused his attention on his son's eyes.

"This... trifling... is unbecoming, really. Unbecoming of a Grosskomtur. Unbecoming of my son, of a Wölsung. The stakes are now too high. This is where your mother and I, where we draw the line. We have thus far avoided involving ourselves in your private life, for it is yours to live. You are an adult, and you are free to make your own decisions. But your life is not yours to throw away. No, you owe it to your family, to your people. You will leave for Stargart at once, and --"

"I refuse to go to Stargart."

Sigmund was silent for a while. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice. While at Stargart, you will --"

"Father -- I will not go to Stargart."

Sigmund's eyes relaxed for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, lightly rocking back and forth. He enjoyed a long draw from his pipe, releasing the smoke in a warm haze of vanilla and raisins.

"You don't have a choice," he repeated with stern conviction.

Siegfried crossed his arms and stared at his father. In return, Sigmund offered no signs of life or emotion as he continued.

"You will go to Stargart," he began with caution, ready to be interrupted again, "and you will prepare for your next assignment. You have a matter of state to attend to."

Sigmund relaxed again, settling back into his chair. With an eagerness unbecoming of his age, offered: "Have you heard of the Global Fair?"

"The Global Fair?" Siegfried raised his eyes upwards and thought for a moment. "I have heard it is to be some sort of global convention. An exchange of pleasantries by all involved. The bandying of words, the wasting of time, something of the sort."

"You may not consider it glamorous, but it is important that we are represented at this event. I have decided to send you in my stead; my constitution does not approve of the... foul vapours of that island. You will be my representative at this fair, and speak in our name."

"Our name?"

"Why, the name of the family, of course."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"No," replied Sigmund.

Siegfried folded. "Fine, then. I shall give your warm regards to the Pasthani officials." Siegfried began to rise from his chair, ready to leave the room.

"Before you go -- hold on for a second." Sigmund drew from his pipe again. "Here, take this." He reached for a thin paper envelope and handed it to Siegfried.

"In case you become, let's say, lost for words, when you behold the beauty of exotic Pasthaura," he added with a grin.

"What is this?"

"Your dear old pop, aged and rustic as you think he may be, knows a thing or two about diplomacy."

"Eh?'

"It's a few words. In case you should speak with any prominent bureaucrats of the island. You should take them to heart, it's always useful to have prepared words and speeches. They are tactful, sincere, and, most importantly, ostentatious. Should do the trick just fine."

"Yeah, sure," replied Siegfried as he reached for the envelope.

"And one last thing," said Sigmund. "Frederick is to go with you."

"Frederick? As in my brother?"

"That is correct. He is to be your -- how shall I put this? -- chaperone!"

"Chaperone," said Siegfried blankly, with a dumbfounded expression.

"Correct. To make sure you don't end in any compromising situations."

"This is about the incident."

"Of course it's about the incident."

"It won't happen again."

"Exactly. It won't."

"Frederick doesn't need to come."

"But he shall go regardless."

"I can control my impulses."

"This conversation is evidence that you cannot."

"Nothing will-"

"We cannot protect you in Pasthaura. We can protect you here, as we have been for years now-"

"Father--"

"I've heard things about that island. How the acrid air can melt a man's resolve away. "Abstumpfen," the crusaders called it. Becoming dulled. That is not all, however. In that country, a decent man may enter the forests and emerge as a deranged savage, clad in nothing but sack-cloth. A man may eat the food of the locals, and never feel well for the rest of his life. A man may attempt to understand the philosophy of the land, and become a muttering fool. But I've heard the most treacherous part of this isle is its women. Ah, that is a country of willful, emancipated women, who care not for our 'outdated' and 'constrictive' definitions of decency and modesty. All things said, an extremely dangerous place for a man such as you."

"Ah. I see you laugh at my expense."

"Can't say you haven't earned it. Now go, make me proud. And don't stray too far from your brother!"

---

Siegfried von Wölsung
Turactis, Pasthaura
1 January 1880
13:00

"Ah, it is nothing to fret about," said Siegfried with a smile, "I am quite fond of... new experiences. Surprising as they are. Nothing like a bit of a jolt to remember that -- fortunately -- one has some life in him yet." The memory of the wooden rail mountain, or whatever it was, delivered a final pulse of adrenaline, and he felt a slight shudder run through his spine.

As he walked, he rested his hands on the pockets of his martial frock coat. His right hand discovered a small paper-wrapped package -- why, of course, his father's speech and documents. Siegfried had forgotten all about it. He shifted his hands, removing his right to stroke his elegant moustache.

Rely on my father? No. I shall do this in my own terms.

"Of course, my lady, we shall do as you please."

[Pasthaura]

"We shall do as you please."

The words rang in Thastara's ear, for but a moment, that she may consider what, precisely, it was that she pleased. While her guest had seemed to hold a somewhat mixed and cautious attitude to what he had been presented with so far, and her internal questioning about how much he seemed to actually understand and be prepared for his visit to the humble island would evidently have its answer. While she did not know for sure yet, his caution, habits, and dress all seemed to indicate that he wasn't entirely aware of what he was getting into with his visit. Perhaps, then, he might enjoy to hear a traditional story? While they were still in the proper pavilion, an old sage sat nearby telling Pasthani legends every so often. A rare glimpse into the stories of Pasthaura, so often kept hidden from the outside world behind esoteric layers upon layers of rituals and secrets, was there being offered. Perhaps, if he just heard a story, he would be able to appreciate the environment around him just a little bit better?

"Come, then," she told her guest, leading him with the usual grace and liquid flow that all Pasthanis seem to move with, passing by a few lovely displays and models of various Pasthani sites and locales, restaurants, artifacts, to reach a large bronze door with an elderly man standing in front. She took her seat at a nearby table, placing her basket of strange meat thereon, and pausing for a moment to lick her fingers clean of the spices and juices of the past few nibbles. Looking to the stage, she waited for Siegfried to take his seat before informing him of the situation - "That man is a...sage. A priest, or a wise man, or...one of those words. A storyteller. In but a few minutes, he will begin to tell a legend for those nearby to hear. I thought it might be appropriate entertainment for our meal? Speaking of..." she paused, "If you desire anything beyond what I've provided here, it might suit your interests to do it now and quickly before the story begins."

[Veldias]

Frederick von Wölsung
Drachenhof, Klagenfurt
25 December 1879
Afternoon

Frederick pressed his ear against the cold brass door, holding his respiration to improve his hearing. Buried in the unyielding drone of the twin engines, he distinguished a number of sounds on the other side. His eyes narrowed in bitter recognition, and he kicked the door with a studded boot.

“God damn it, Siegfried!” he yelled amidst the metallic clamour. “What the hell is going on in there!” The thunder of the whirling propellers roared around him. He groaned with displeasure and took a few paces back, leaning against the wall opposite his brother’s quarters. More than ten minutes had passed before his sibling, clad in nothing but a luxurious cashmere bathrobe, peeped from a crack in the door.

“Merciful heavens, Frederick! How long have you been standing there?”

Frederick glared at him for a few seconds. “Longer than I would have preferred,” he replied with poorly-concealed disgust. “I thought we had established boundaries on your... adventures!”

His brother grinned. “We’re not in Pasthaura yet.”

“Hmm. I suppose this is true,” Frederick conceded. “Still, doesn’t hurt to start getting used to it as soon as possible.”

“Possibly. But one must enjoy what he can, when he can.”

“Well, your when isn’t the longest. We land in Pasthaura in less than a day.”

Siegfried stared at his brother. He offered a thin smile, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“No.”

”So you were eavesdropping. Hear anything you like?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“So you did hear something you like. No worries, my brother, no worries! I know that feeling. Jealousy. But see, you will eventually find a woman who can tolerate you...”

“No, I didn’t—dammit! There are many women in my life who tolerate me!”

“Ah. Yes, you are correct. Well, perhaps you will eventually find a woman willing to, well, ‘love’ you...”

“There are many-“

“Or actually — amending my previous point — maybe your best shot is an arranged marriage. Like they did back in the “good old days” you always talk about. Old pop’s mentioned a certain Gutrune. She ring a bell?”

Frederick thought for a moment. “If I recall correctly, she is your bride to be.”

Siegfried laughed. “Listen, brother. I’m no marriage counselor, but I can tell when something will work and when something won’t work. I’m free as the wind, and I blow back and forth. She’s a steady old boot, always there, never too fanciful. Get me?”

“Err... possibly.”

“An iron cross on your spotless sable uniform... why, she’d be happy to have you. How do six children sound? Seven? Ten?”

“A little excessive.”

“Five children. Happy medium. How does that sound?”

“Smashing. Tell me, brother -- are you trying to peddle your betrothed to me?”

“We’re not technically betrothed yet.”

Frederick sighed, raising a hand to stroke the sides of his temple. He turned away from his brother and peered out of the airship’s window. Clouds broke the horizon as far as the eye could see.

He thought about one time, when he was visited by a dream in which he took Siegfried’s place in the Wölsung line. Siegfried, the victim of the venereal disease, died young and childless. Divine retribution for his base ways. When he awoke, he realised that it had all been a dream. And then he arose, stupefied, and looked at himself in the mirror.

Tousled hair, as always. Need to trim it. Nah, always do a bad job. Siegfried is the legitimate heir. He is the legitimate heir. No moustache, suits me this way. Damn Iron Cross, where’d I put the little box. Velvet. The colour of blood. Legitimate heir. Yes, legitimate. Firstborn. There, hair finally in some order. Heir. Siegfried-heir, well, he is the eldest-heir, the Hochmeisterson, the Siegfriedgrosskomtur, the truelegitimateson, the Sigmundheir. Where are the salts? Eh, water will do.

He had washed his face, and sat on his desk to think. Siegfried, by right of man and God, was the next Hochmeister. He had no right to think otherwise. Siegfried had his defects -- but who didn’t? Frederick believed intensely in himself, but only in a handful of matters. He understood he was an uncannily inspirational officer and leader of troops. He understood he was an excellent accountant and financial administrator. In many other areas, he recognised he was mediocre. Interpersonal relations. Bureaucracy. Caring about people. Romance.

But he didn’t care for those things, did he? Velvet box. They were not germane, so to speak, to his purpose, correct? The glow of the pagan dances of his older brother, the devious fluorescence of his antics, these should be a reminder that I, not he, do what I must in my position — in war and finances, I am the slayer of dragons, the heir of Wölsung, the custodian of Drachenhof. His is the distraction of wenches. Yes. The drunken distraction of wenches. The darkness shining in the light (And the light does not receive it). I broke my damn pen. The debased that poisons the soul of man. It thrives even in my soul. It calls for offerings to the Epicurean gods of simple pleasure, and their idol is nothing more than noise and smells, senses that feel and then don’t feel, yes and no. Dust in the wind, a rock thrown into a river.

And, in any case, my family’s legacy lives in me, and will endure with me so long as I draw breath; and if Siegfried fails to produce a line, which he may well do, then the valiant blood of Siegfried the First will endure, coursing through the blood of my progeny. Wait a second -- oh, damn! Here we are here again. A puzzle, only turning more fragmented and discordant the more one tries to solve it. Yes, now I must again visit the mirror. Siegfried of Wölsung‘s house. My house. Siegfried Firsteldest Legitimateheir. That bastard! Slimy bastard! Hair tousled, must straighten it. Shave? Tomorrow. Siegfried Sigmundheir. Washing of face. Sitting desk-thought. No hatred -- just -- disappointment? Disatisfaction?

My father gave his leg for this. I don’t exactly know what I gave for this, but it was something alright. Greater than I have words to capture it in, feelings to grasp for it in the dark. Something indeed. What is a person in the roar of the rifles, desperate distant distress dead in the call of the cold careless cold cannon. Something? Not-nothing. What is a man when torn apart by a shell, atomized into an infinite number of invisible particles, suspended in the momentary and ethereal glow of a velvet cloud -- a reflection and recognition, the transcendence of the classically-air-borne soul. Something? Anything? He is a thought, a telegram home, a rubber seal or stamp. An experience. A memory. An idea. Nothing. Can’t even dig a grave for the sad bastard.

Itch in the eyes. Cool clean water. I do not hate him. I do not bear resentment toward him. I seek not to cause him harm of any kind. Mirror mirror on the wall. But the mirror is now the window, and my reflection is now the azure domain, the stage of the gods, and their clouds, their orchestra, and here I am in this airship, my hair is still tousled, I don’t need to shave, and my brother is beside me, and in that smoky darkness resides a desperate soul who agreed to fuck him. I need to go wash my face.

Frederick turned back to his brother. “Anyways, who’s the lucky woman back in there?”

“What makes you think it’s a woman?” said Siegfried with a smile.

---

Siegfried von Wölsung
Drachenhof, Klagenfurt
25 December 1879
Afternoon

“Is he gone?” inquired a voice from the depths of the dimly-lit room

“Yes, thankfully.”

“Thank the gods. Your brother is crazy.” A slender hand reached for a gas lamp on the nightstand, turning a knob until its rays spanned the room. Siegfried unmade his long bathrobe, and began to replace it with his Grosskomtur uniform.

“Categorically insane,” affirmed Siegfried as he fastened the buttons of his shirt.

“Why is he so?”

“Dunno. He’s been weird for as far back as I can remember. Never crawled like normal babies do, went straight to walking.”

“Why, that’s peculiar!”

“I’m not kidding. Want to know what his first words were?”

“I’m intrigued.”

“‘Field Marshal.’”

“Feldmarschall,” came the reply, laden with an air of quiet admiration.

“Impressive, eh?”

Momentary silence. “You’re not joking about him again, are you?”

“Oh, I wish I was in this case! But he really is a piece of work. Sees things, too. One time, we were riding horses out in Hinterseer. You’ve been there a few times. Remember the forest, to the north? I believe we were two or three miles out, when he suddenly cries, ‘Siegfried, Siegfried!’ What, I answer. ‘Look! Look over there?’ Where, I say. ‘Those trees! See that?’ See what? ‘A dragon!’”

“A dragon! How old was he at the time?”

“Seventeen or so. This was only a few years ago.”

“Why, he’s a lunatic.”

“He’s had visions like that for a long time. He’s seen wyverns, and trolls, and apes, and other ungodly things. This dragon affair was the last he revealed to me. After that, he enrolled in the army, trained as an officer. Didn’t see him again until he came back from the conflicts in the colonies, two, three weeks ago.”

“What a peculiar individual. Say, Siegfried, have you ever thought of enrolling in the army?”

“Heavens, no. That’s not me. I’m not tired of life.”

“That is a relief.”

“No need for the Grosskomtur to be involved in the army any more. Kings and Dukes don’t lead armies. Not in modern armies, such as ours.”

“But then… you would look strapping in a Feldmarschall uniform.”

“Ugh. You remind me of Frederick! When he was a child!”

“But, those red and gold epaulets…”

“Don’t I look strapping in my Grosskomtur uniform?” Siegfried feigned a princessesque twirl, curling his leather-booted feet as a would a nimble ballerina.

“And you think your brother is a child!” Siegfried tried another spin, but lost his footing. “Bravo, that was lovely!”

“Ah, that sarcasm. Charming as always. Anyways. I’m off to the bridge. Need to ensure everything is in order. Need to pick something to eat. You’ve any requests from the pantry?”

“Bring some wine. Dry Venstadtian. It’s still a day’s journey to Pasthaura.”

“Yes, this pleasure yacht isn’t the fastest rig in the world. But it’s comfortable. Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”

“Quite so,” said the woman. She began brushing her hair with a pearlescent comb. The light of a gas lamp on the nightstand shared a prismatic glare for an instant, highlighting the azure shield of House Gerenden.

“A beautiful comb,” he said with a smirk. He nodded to the countess, and closed the door behind him.

[Veldias]

I am truly a man of the future. My peers back home would regard these strange customs with suspicion, taking offense to this... these... what even are these spices? Nothing like I've ever tasted before, and I've been to Pasthani places in Himmelsdorf... bah, trash, should have expected it... oh, and the... finger-licking... the finger-licking! If my mother had been here! Ah, unlike the pedestrian paradigm of my countrymen, and the greybearded anachronisms of Frederick, I can behold the spectacle of Pasthaura with an open mind. But, secretly, Siegfried did feel uneasy about the peculiar spices, which had left a lingering feeling of foreignness in his throat, and the almost childlike finger-licking of the revered Queen of the Land. "A storyteller, then," noted Siegfried as he gawked at the seated orator. "I have heard from my countrymen that the stories of this land are quite fantastical and entertaining."

[Pasthaura]

"You could...say that." Thastara eyed him for a moment, curious about his choice of words. Fantastical and entertaining perhaps, but did he mean to denigrate so? To imply that these stories were nothing more than just that - stories? They were, after all the legends of her people. Stories of demigods and ancestors and the forces of nature combined to bring about the mortal world as it was known. It was, at the very least, an insidious subtext to what her companion might've thought a relatively harmless phrase. It was, then, fitting that Thastara brushed the comment off as his ignorance. It did not matter, the story would start soon anyway.

Indeed, in but a few minutes, the elder man stood and looked over the crowd. His bushy, curly, gray beard hang from his chin, though its sides sufficiently trimmed that only a central strip fall in its stead. This central strip was braided for most of its length, but a brush-like bush protruded from the very bottom and flared outward. Mixed with his outward-flaring hair, the man had a respectably ancient look to himself. His wrappings and robes layered upon one another looked fine, albeit the colors a bit faded. He leaned upon his staff as he stood, and smiled at the gathered flock before him. A purveyor of the stories of old, passed from generation to generation, and now he passed them unto a new generation altogether. His rites and rituals may be esoteric and hidden, but everyone loved a good story, right?

"My children!" he called out in his booming voice, loud enough to overcome the whole noise of the fair around, to gather everyone's attention. The man was, evidently, a true orator. His posture, his chest-puffing, it all contributed to his fine art of projection, "Children of this world, of the many ancestors of times come and gone, the world that we know now and all of its wonders were given to us by those great folk of the Everywhen, the time that was, is, and will be, the time of dreams when gods roamed the earth! We respect our ancestors of that era by telling their stories and honoring their names, and today we shall all hear the story of our great creation! The Twins, our progenitors in this world, and the Sympoesis that brought us the world as we see it today. This is the story that we shall all know."

The legend threw back Thastara to a time long ago. The sweeping gestures and oratory techniques made her wonder if, for just a moment, this was the same man that she had seen in her youth those many years ago. It was a different time. A much different time.

---

A much different time

A little girl hopped up on a cushion much larger than she, thick enough to support her full weight and then some, a bit of bounce and a bit of fluff all around. She laughed as she got a little bit of air, the golden tassels on her body-wrap flying about. A hefty chieftain, burly and unshaven, caught her in the air with just as much of a laugh. Although age had begun to set in his bones, he was as healthy and virile as he had ever been. He almost pulled the little girl into a hug, but instead fooled her and tossed her back into the air. Catching her this time upsidedown, the skirt of her wrap fell down to her waist, revealing her legs beneath. More appropriately, it revealed the rubber coating that'd been smeared on her legs and let dry, the thin white layer creeping up to her thighs. Still holding his little girl with one of his large hands, he used the other to pinch her toes and peel these covers off and toss them aside.

"Don't want you spreading mud around, now." he told her, but she only giggled under the ticklish influence of her father's grip. Thastara's hair, under the influence of gravity, fell a distance nearly her own full body length, those luscious brown curls thick enough to block all light that tried to pass through them. Naperaunu patted those curls to see if she'd gotten any mud in them before dropping her back on the cushion, the girl bouncing once more and laughing all the while. The latex socks tossed aside, he kicked them a bit further away, to a general discard pile. Sitting on a nearby cushion of his own, a kindly man about ten years her father's senior looked at the two of them, and Naperaunu nodded to him.

Extending a bony finger to the little girl, she grabbed it, fitting a whole hand around it. She was no longer tiny, but the finger was exceptionally long and thick, and yet bony all the same. It was a fascinating specimen of nature, and yet this was not his purpose in being there. The old man was a storyteller, here to teach her the legends of her people. Sitting all near to the roaring fire, staying warm and cozy in the modest evening air. A heavy weight fell upon her shoulders as a thick blanket was handed to, and over, her, and she cuddled up in it to listen. It might be a story she'd heard before, it might be a story she'd never known, but it did not matter; storytime was always fun and exciting and new no matter how many times the same story might come and go. Such was the beauty of a good orator.

"Listen, my child. I will tell you..." blah blah, this was just the set-up, really. What Thastara was waiting for was the meat of the story. She bounced up and down and up and down and up and down energetically on the cushion until Naperaunu laid his hand on top of her head and pushed down, keeping her in place. The story began.

"Once upon a time, two twins lived high, high in the divine heavens, a time before the world and before man. These twins lived each day exploring the sky and enjoying one another, but one day they grew dreadfully curious. A great mountain led them downward, and so they climbed their way down and down and down, and the world got warmer and warmer and warmer as they descended until they reached the bottom. There they found dry earth, a near infinite realm to explore. They played in these dry fields for hours and hours, the great wide land offering them a bounty of new space that they could've only dreamed before. They molded statues, they dug holes and shaped the land, and then reshaped it as it was before, they kicked the dirt, they ran in it and raced one another and chased one another, it was an absolute paradise of play."

"The twins, however, grew tired. Homesick. For each hour they spent in the world of dirt, their weariness grew. When at last they knew that they had to return to the sky, they climbed the mountain, and they climbed and climbed and climbed, but they only got more tired as they neared the top. After hours of walking, the twins discovered that the summit had disappeared, replaced by a boiling crater, and their ability to return home evermore cut off. It was then that the Twins began to realize that they were trapped forevermore, and, ultimately, a deep and mournful longing for the home they'd left behind

---

A not as different time

The young queen-to-be ran down a hill with her good friend, the wonderfully athletic Lurhani. She was the prettiest girl Thastara knew, and perhaps that was good, because she was to be her bodyguard some day. If monarchy were a beauty pageant or a popularity contest, then most certainly Lurhani would help her win by being on her team. It was, of course, an even better game trying not to trip over her bootheels as she ran, but such feats of balance were what helped to build her into a physically excellent condition, fit for warriorship or sneakcraft or even just acrobatics and dancing. It wasn't exactly conventional, and the boys were not always subject to such forced practice, but Thastara didn't care. She enjoyed her time, her race with Lurhani. It came to mind the story of the Twins, of two people as close as can be running and playing throughout the world without care or concern, just pure delight over an infinite field.

As she reached the bottom, she tried her best to stop her legs from going any further. It took a few more steps, a strong dedicated effort, and she quite nearly fell on her face when she attempted to dig her heels into the ground for traction. Lurhani caught her and swung her over, held in her arms like some sort of waltz. The two girls laughed, Thastara's more of a giggle while Lurhani's more of a snicker, as Lurhani let her go and she started to fall down again. The young princess would not be outdone and grabbed her arm, pulling herself back up and knocking Lurhani down in the process. Now, Thastara snickered, but Lurhani frowned for but a moment before she burst out in laughter. Thastara helped her up, and Lurhani patted the dirt off of her skirt.

It was then that the two girls looked at the hill they'd just raced down, the slope somewhat forgiving but the height truly astonishing. The legends of old came to mind, of how these hills had been crafted by the bugs building up great mounds of earth, that or perhaps they simply exaggerated that which was already there. After all, the Twins had a volcano to climb down in the first place, did they not? Whatever the case, it took Thastara a moment to realize the great distance she'd just run, and to now feel that ache in her diaphragm as she tried to laugh just a little more. Taking the moment to catch her breath, Lurhani patted her on the back and she choked out another chortle yet.

Those were such happy times.

---

The same time as before

Thastatra looked to her companion, Siegfried, and analyzed his face. She dug into him mentally, trying to see his thoughts as the storyteller finished wrapping up the legend and took his seat once more. She licked the last of the spices and juices off of her fingers, one by one fellating her own hand until it was as clean as it could possibly be. Indeed, it was as if she'd never picked up a thing a day in her life. With this, she put the glove back on, sliding it up her arm, tugging the leather until her hand fit into the space specifically designated for it, pulling the rim further up her arm, and at last tugging once it reached its end to clear of any wrinkles, scrunches, or crumples. Indeed, in this last phase, she tugged up all along the glove, reached a finger inside the rim and pulled outward slightly just to gain the extra leverage to tug it all the way up. It was a slightly busy process, but at this point in her life she could do it without much second thought or even a sideways glance at her progress. As the rim finally rested firmly on her bicep, she made a fist and rested her chin on it, her other arm buttressing herself on the table, and the whole form one of casual curiosity and observation at her continental visitor.

[Veldias]

"Fascinating, fascinating indeed!" exclaimed Siegfried as he applauded the orator. "There really is fantasy to this! It makes the tales of home seem bland and boring in comparison. Is this depth of imagination present in all of the stories of this land, or is this a tale intended for children?"