FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

________________________________________________________________________________

…it can surely be tempting, as you read these historical accounts, to forget just how potent a vantage hindsight can be. How many sources we have access to, however fragmentary, that those living in that moment did not. We have had literal centuries to piece everything together and look at the big picture, seeing the chains of cause and effect that led to world-shaking events. So easy it is, then, to say "What fools! The signs were all there, but they did not see them! Those outcomes were all predictable, but they did not predict them! Oh, if only I had been there, I could have set them all straight…"

But do not deceive yourself. You are no wiser than the people who stood in the middle of those cataclysmic events – indeed, you are unlikely to measure up to some of the intellectual giants that populated the Beastmaker's Palace in those days. They, however, sat among the ongoing events, surrounded by a thousand distractions that could not easily be distinguished from the signs and clues we see so clearly today. Rest assured, were you in their place, you would not have foreseen the Capital Riots either, nor the events that surrounded them. You, too, would have looked upon the Beastmaker's Empire and seen a nation destined to last for ages to come, under the watchful eye of an immortal Empress… ignorant to the vile plots festering beneath the surface.

• Excerpt from A Brief History of the Empire of The Beastmaker, by High Scholar Marova

________________________________________________________________________________

It was well past midnight on a balmy spring night. The day had been bright and warm, but around evening, a thick layer of clouds had swept in from the Great Bay, making fishermen on its eastern coast grumble as they returned to their homes, knowing that when they went to work in the morning, it'd likely be through pouring rains. In the Capital, meanwhile, few had enough of a weather-eye to draw such conclusions – so people had simply hurried home along streets lit by arcane lamps, shivering as the plunging temperature conflicted with their light springtime attire.

Darkness, thus, lay thick over bay and city alike – the stars were all hidden behind the clouds, and even the half-moon was barely visible as a slightly-brighter spot in the sky. Those forced to be out and about under such circumstances held their lanterns high, pushing back that darkness at least a bit – and, of course, making beacons of themselves, visible from miles around. There was, however, one group that was moving quietly through this murk, with no lights to show their passing – not that a regular old lantern or torch would have done them any good, mind, seeing as they were moving along the bottom of the Great Bay, where several fathoms of chilly water stood ready to quench any flame, and indeed absorb whatever minute bit of light the surface might hold.

Half the group were Merfolk, as one might expect at such depths – but even so, they were moving furtively, close to the seafloor, alert for any sign that others of their kind might be out on this deep, dark night. There was good reason for them to worry on that account, of course, for strips of gleaming, silvery skin lined their torsos and fish-tails, marking them as members of the Deep Sea Tribe – and they were a long way from the territory along the continent's western coast that had been given to them. The war was over, sure, but it was not yet forgotten – and a group of Deep Sea Merfolk caught in the Great Bay by their coastal cousins would, at the very least, face a great deal of suspicion and be required to provide a reasonable explanation for their presence there.

Any such suspicions would only be magnified by the rest of their company, meanwhile. They were human – or, at least, humanoid – and clad in pitch-dark attires of form-fitting leather, alchemically treated to reject the water's touch. Odd, disturbing masks covered their faces, with dark hoods affixed to their edges – skull-like, crafted from dark metal, and sporting both eye-hollows gleaming with a faint, ghostly-green radiance, and a steady pulse of red light from behind the grille-like mouthguard. The intimidation-factor of these masks, though, was secondary at best – enchantments more complex than anything human hands could craft had been etched into the metal, providing the wearers with the ability to breathe underwater, as well as the capacity to pierce the pitch-darkness just as easily as their guides' deep-sea-adapted eyes did.

Fortunately for this rather suspicious lot, they weren't moving near any significant centers of Merfolk habitation. Rather, they were cleaving close to the shoreline, following it south from one of Mosvaruch's shadier piers, where the land-walking members of the party had first joined up with the waiting Merfolk detachment and set out on their shared mission. As they moved south, their pace slowed and every set of eyes swept across the seafloor looking for the key landmarks they needed to find their target. It had been scouted ahead of time, in somewhat better lighting, but leaving any kind of easy marker near it had simply been too risky.

Finally, they found it. A near-vertical cliff-face that rose from the bottom of the bay to well above the water-level, turning into a lookout-point with a lovely view of the bay somewhere up there. Mind, anyone using it had to be careful not to take a plunge – sure, it wasn't that far, and there were no pointy rocks waiting down there or anything… but the dense forest of bright-red sea-ivy that extended out from the cliff, there, wasn't much better as far as humans were concerned. The tall, wavy fronds of this particular breed of seaweed promised a stinging, smarting embrace for anyone fool enough to dive into them… but, the Merfolk were immune, and the black leather outfits worn by their humanoid escortees seemed to provide ample protection from the stinging plants. Undeterred, the group plunged through the weeds, towards the cliff itself.

Their goal was a particular point, where some long-past rockslide had left several large boulders scattered across the seafloor near the cliff. Together, they formed a miniature labyrinth of weed-choked passages and gaps… all leading towards an entirely nondescript patch of cliffside. The leader of the Merfolk detachment was feeling confident by now, though – even in the darkness, the uniquely-shaped boulders made it easy to orient yourself, so he knew exactly where he was. Not that he'd ferreted this location out himself, mind – he'd confirmed it during a scouting-trip a couple of months ago, but the actual directions came from his new allies. Apparently, the one who'd provided them with it was no longer in this world, having been granted relief from the tortures that had loosened her tongue once the information was confirmed…

Swimming up to the wall, he ran his hand over it, searching for a specific spot, a hidden latch… and within seconds, found it. With a slight bubbling, a circular patch of cliff swung open, revealing a hatch that had previously blended seamlessly with its surroundings. Beyond the hatch, a tunnel carved from the bedrock itself extended into the distance, curving steadily upwards. A wan, blue light was shining from it, courtesy of widely-spaced bands of enchanted crystal, meant to make it more navigable to Coastal Merfolk with weak, human-like eyes. With a cautious glance, the merman pushed himself back from the gap with a subdued swing of his tail, gesturing the 'guests' he was escorting forwards. He struggled to tell humans apart even at the best of times, and with identical black outfits and skull-masks, it was entirely impossible – hopefully, they knew who he meant.

One of the black-clad individuals silently floated forwards in response – looking into the tunnel with the green-glowing eyeholes of his mask for several pregnant seconds. A low, undulating humm came from the mask's mouthguard, and suddenly, the water just inside the submerged tunnel seemed to shimmer in a strange, unnatural way, while previously-invisible runes etched into the surrounding stone appeared, glowing in a faint, sooty red. A spell had been anchored here, courtesy of some of humanity's finest mages – a barrier that would deny access to anyone that had not been specifically designated as welcomed, and alert the highly-secure palace that sat at the other end of that tunnel, should anyone attempt to force their way through.

But, they were only humanity's finest mages – and the figure now inspecting their work was moving through the water with incredible, almost off-putting grace, especially considering that he was hardly a habitual swimmer. A harrumph of grudging respect came from his mask as he privately acknowledged that these mages really had reached a rather impressive degree of mastery, considering their mayfly-short lives. Then he set to work dismantling all their hard work, with whispered words that resonated strangely through the water, and sharp gestures of his long, slender fingers. It took him nearly ten minutes, which was five more than he'd expected, but well within the tolerances of the overall plan.

As soon as he gave the all-clear signal, the group darted into the tunnel. Five mermen, pulling along five black-clad humanoids as quickly as they dared, forwards and upwards through the curving tunnel. Their eyes nervously flickered hither and dither – they were on enemy territory now, and their information about this flooded tunnel-network was purely secondhand. Bit by bit, the passage curved more and more upwards, putting them well above sea-level and turning into something more like a well than a tunnel. Then, the procession paused as a side-passage loomed on one side, leading away from this vertical shaft.

Another of the black-clad intruders nodded, patting the merman who'd been pulling him along on the shoulder. The merman – a veteran soldier who'd had the dubious fortune of being laid up in a field-hospital with a fresh wound when the rest of his unit, and indeed most of the army he'd once belonged to – was destroyed by a single, cataclysmic attack from the Beastmaker – nodded firmly, and twitched his fins a bit to carry them a few feet above the rest. There was nothing unnaturally elegant about this person's movements – he clearly wasn't used to swimming, and the skin-tight outfit betrayed a noticeable paunch, but his fingers were swift and certain as he pulled a small device from his belt. Made from glass, wax and waterproofed sailcloth, it owed much of its basic design to the very weapon that had decimated the Deep Sea Tribe – though its payload was much different, and it had some tricks of its own to deploy. With a silent prayer that the whole thing would indeed work as hoped, the black-clad man pulled a string on the device and then gave it a good shake.

There was a slight hiss as two alchemical substances mixed within the fist-sized device, producing a modest quantity of hot, lightweight gas, which then rapidly filled a sailcloth bladder on the side. As soon as the wielder let it go, the device started floating rapidly upwards, scraping against the curving wall of the shaft for a while – before emerging into a large pond and, a moment later, reaching its surface. Around it, the empty, night-dark reaches of the Seraglio Garden sat quietly, abandoned by its residents. During the day, it had been full of life, pleasure and fun – as was their habit, the members of the Harem had celebrated the fine springtime weather with their own kind of 'garden-party' – but at this hour, everybody was asleep. Sayn herself was slumbering peacefully in her bed, alone there for once, having thoroughly tired herself out during the earlier party.

Only one person was stirring, an eyelash fluttering as the floating device in the pond triggered in response to reaching the surface, producing a quiet bubbling noise and ejecting a light-purple liquid into the water where it rapidly dissipated. Aishee, the Mermaid Consort to the Beastmaker, had made it a habit to sleep in the central pool of her water-filled chamber during the warmer months – one that connected directly to the pond outside via a narrow but deep canal. Sensitive to underwater noises and vibrations as she was, this practically ensured that she'd wake up if anybody else decided to take a midnight dip in the pond – and considering that this often meant a stellar opportunity to feed her voyeuristic tendencies, she judged such interludes well worth the lost sleep.

However, the free-floating device had been too quiet to stir her – and, as the drug it carried spread through the water, flowing through the canal right into her bedchamber, her face grew slack. Without ever fully awakening, she fell into a far deeper slumber than she normally would have, effectively dead to the world. Had Croco, the Beastkin Consort's river-otter mate, been sleeping in his den at the edge of the pond, the fumes rising from the water now would've likewise lulled him into a deeper level of sleep – but, with his mate, Lutra, currently in an advanced state of pregnancy, he was currently slumbering beside her on the bed in her luxurious personal chambers, behind a lovely, sound-dampening door.

A few minutes later, ten figures surfaced in the pond, and the floating device – now empty of its payload – was carefully collected and stashed. The five Deep Sea Merfolk had consumed a counteragent for the sleep-drug before they set out, though this was more of a 'just in case' precaution – the alchemical substance had been designed to rapidly dissipate once it had done its job, so the water should be safe already. If it wasn't, though, the masks worn by the five other members of the team would protect them from any unscheduled naps.

While the mermen waited in the pond, eyes alert, trying not to move more than they had to, the five humanoids climbed out of the water and looked around. They'd never been here before, of course, but the Seraglio's octagonal garden still seemed quite familiar to them. As part of their preparations for tonight, they'd repeatedly walked through an illusory copy of it, crafted based on aerial scouting-missions from before the Palace defenses had been upgraded to deter eyes in the sky. They all knew exactly where to go. Two headed towards one of the doors, three towards another, right besides it. This second group included the paunchy man who'd deployed the sleep-drug in the water, the tall, lithe, inhumanly-graceful person who'd broken through the tunnels' magical defenses – and another, whose tight black outfit showed off the curves of a woman's body.

For ten minutes, the tall, long-fingered humanoid labored at the door, sweat beading his forehead underneath the mask. Then the black-clad woman leaned forwards, gripping his shoulder and squeezing firmly. The man froze for a beat, then a quiet sigh escaped the grille of his mouthguard, and he reached into his belt-pouch – pulling out an odd item. A raw, uncut ruby, its base coated with pure, glistening gold that extended along its crystalline structure in odd, meandering lines… as if the gold had simply been melted onto the gemstone, and left to set where it pleased. Still, rough and primitive though it looked, there was a power throbbing in its heart, awakening to the touch and spreading a pulsating, sooty glow.

Ten minutes later, the door opened. The slender individual who had accomplished this looked exhausted, shoulders sloping, and the ruby in his grip was smoldering hot enough to scorch his gloves. But open it was, and in they went. Fifteen minutes later, three dark figures emerged from there again, in a tight cluster. The two who had gone for the neighboring chamber were done as well, swiftly joining them as they hurried towards the pond and their waiting exit-route with the best balance of speed and stealth they could manage – though, still noticeably slower than on the way in. Nods were exchanged, victorious grins hidden behind black skull-masks, and one of the two other members of the unit lifted a finger to rub a jeweled ring on it – making its emerald stone briefly blink. Then, five black-clad figures plunged back into the pond, where five mermen promptly grabbed them and flicked their tails powerfully, carrying them all towards the underwater tunnel. They left nothing behind to indicate that they had even been there, beyond one mermaid who would, perhaps, be waking up feeling unusually groggy the next morning.

Duke Ferdinand Azzizi IV, Senator to the Province of Norberia, paced nervously through the night-dark hallways of the palace, glancing repeatedly down at his hand. His target was just ahead, but he had to wait… wait for the signal, for the all-clear. Or, more worryingly, for the signal that would suggest that something had gone wrong and the plan was off, at least for today. He'd been assured that even if that happened, there was plenty of leeway to make an orderly retreat, improve the plan, and try again later… but he was no fool. If things really went sideways, his allies would no doubt be far too focused on getting their own asses out of the fire to worry about him. For that matter, they might very well try to sell him out by pinning everything on him – after all, that was what he'd do in their place!

Finally, something glimmered on his finger and, in a heart-stopping moment, he looked down on it. The emerald ring there was glistening with a pale, magical light. The ruby ring remained dark. With an explosive expulsion of breath, he wiped his finger over the emerald, shutting down the magical signal. Time for him to gather his courage and play his part. He felt rather like he was standing on the edge of an abyss, about to plunge down into the darkness… but what was waiting at the bottom? Great piles of gold and the soft bosoms of obedient slave-girls, or pointy spikes of death? Only one way to find out.

His target was, of course, close – he'd been pacing outside the door for the past ten minutes. Now, he gathered his courage and pushed it open, not bothering to knock – emerging into a still-lit office where three young men with dark pouches under their eyes were busily leafing through great record-books, climbing ladders to fetch more from high shelves, and so on. Even at this hour, there was no rest for the Three Immortals, and the room remained alive with the smell of ink and the scratching of quills against parchment – after all, their master never slept, and never needed rest. All this work, however, paused at the arrival of this unannounced visitor… then remained paused for several silent, pregnant moments as Duke Ferdinand looked around at these simple clerks and nodded firmly at them, painfully aware that if any of these young men had lost their nerve or decided to go back on the offered deal, he was in what a commoner might call deep shit.

The three exhausted-looking clerks shared wordless looks. For a minute, the guttering of the oil-lamps on their tables was the only sound heard in the room. Then one of them breathed in noisily, straightened his crooked back as much as he could, and stepped up to the door in the back that led into the personal office of their tireless master – Cybra, the Empire's eternal watchdog, the unblinking eye that watched over both the Imperial Bureaucracy and its secret police. With a light rap on the door, he waited for a beat, then opened it a crack to quietly announce that the Duke was here to see it, requesting an audience despite not having an appointment, and that it 'sounded urgent'.

A moment later, the expected reply came, and the secretary stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. "The master will see you now, Your Grace…" he quietly declared. Nodding, Duke Ferdinand stepped smartly towards the door and this long-awaited meeting. So far, everything was going according to plan, so surely he could allow himself a bit of optimism! The promised bribes had clearly had the desired effect on these young, overworked men – who, while well-compensated by most standards, clearly weren't paid well enough to be happy with their slave-driver of a boss. At least, he hadn't been arrested and dragged off to a cell in the palace dungeon by the Secret Police yet… which had to be a good sign!

Inside the office, Cybra awaited him. A diminutive construct, mostly covered in fluffy wool, looking like something midway between a sheep, goat and dog. Facing it was always disturbing, a fact that Cybra seemed quite aware of and happy to use. It was the eyes, mostly, the Duke reflected. They were… mere pebbles, painted in a simple, childish fashion to resemble eyes. This Beast was supposedly one of the first that the Beastmaker had ever created, and he could believe that – its whole design was undeniably childish, lacking any of the sleek refinement of her more recent creations. Thus, finding yourself under Cybra's sharp, ruthless gaze was rather like being stared down by a child's finger-painting – providing an almost nightmarish sense of unreality.

Still, this wasn't Ferdinand's first meeting with the tiny creature. He wasn't going to be thrown off his game by its appearance, and he'd rehearsed his lines and his role thoroughly in advance. "Sir Cybra… thank you for seeing me on such short notice…" he declared as he closed the door behind him, deliberately allowing his nervousness to show. The darkening of the coat beneath his armpits and the sweat on his forehead from all that pacing probably helped too. If the Beast could 'see' with those painted-pebble eyes, then surely it could smell with nostrils that were mere holes drilled into a muzzle made from carved wood!

"Well, I usually have to drag you here to explain yourself, Your Grace, so I was far too struck by the convenience of you turning up on your own to pass up this opportunity…" the construct snidely replied, displaying its usual, sharp tongue. Indeed, his past visits here had always been something in the nature of… interrogations, answering for various irregularities surrounding his person that could, potentially, be interpreted as corrupt or otherwise self-serving. He'd always managed to smooth things over well enough to avoid a follow-up interview with that accursed Kirin, Korlin – against her Eyes of Wisdom, there was seemingly no defense – but it was likely only because she was perpetually busy. No doubt, Cybra was hoping to catch him out without needing to trouble the Kirin. Well, too bad for it…

Sighing theatrically, Duke Ferdinand approached the small construct's custom-made desk, pulling out a silken handkerchief to mop his sweaty brow. "I'm well aware that you harbor suspicions about me, Sir…" he declared in snippy tones. "And it seems your low opinion of me has spread! At least, that is the only reason I can think of for why I was approached, just this evening, by conspirators hoping to persuade me into joining a treasonous plot of theirs!" Cybra's pebble-eyes seemed to narrow in response. "Treason, you say? Fascinating…" it remarked, and Ferdinand quickly nodded. "Oh yes! Of course, I would never dream of turning against our fair Empress in such an underhanded fashion, but I earnestly feared for my life if I turned them down – so I pretended to be interested in what they had to offer, and learned much in the process!"

Cybra barked out a sharp laugh. "So basically, you were looking to line your pockets as usual, but got in over your head and chickened out once you saw the full picture. And now you're hoping for clemency by turning in your co-conspirators. But, sure, we can go with your version instead, if you think that sounds better!" That was, more or less, the expected response – and the Duke did his best to play out the reaction he might have had, if this had indeed been accurate. A visible flinch, followed by drawing himself up in a suitably aristocratic fashion and displaying an expression of wounded pride. "You injure me with your suspicions, Sir! I have come here only as a dutiful subject of our Empress, to share vital intelligence…" he declared bombastically, prompting a sigh and an eye-roll from the sheeplike construct. He could actually hear the pebbles grind against wood as they rotated… always disturbing.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you have, Your Grace…" Cybra replied sarcastically. "Now – I trust you have some names for me?" Nodding jerkily, Ferdinand reached into the pocket of his grandly-decorated coat. "Better than that… I have evidence!" He answered, putting a look of real interest on the construct's elongated face. From his pocket, he pulled a square of what looked like regular burlap – and which did, indeed, unfold into an ordinary burlap sack between his hands, while Cybra's gaze grew increasingly skeptical. "Really? Because to me, it mostly just looks like you've got a… sack." It remarked, prompting a grin on Ferdinand's face.

"Yes… that is what it is meant to resemble…" he countered, pulling the sack open and lowering it so that the light of the twin oil-lamps on Cybra's desk fell into it. Instantly, the Beast's expression grew intent. "You can see the hidden stitching, yes?" The Baron and Senator continued eagerly. "Arcane sigils in silver tread. Too fine to be made by human hands, I immediately realized." Indeed, the inside of the simple-looking sack was lined with thick velvet, which itself was stitched with silvery runes. "So those stubborn old fools in the Last Enclave are finally making their move, huh?" Cybra grumbled, seemingly mostly to itself, as it leaned in for a better look at the elaborate thread-work. Referring, of course, to those last few elves who had refused the gift of renewed fertility offered by the Empress – and the submission to Imperial Authority that came with it. "And what is it meant to be for, then?"

Baron Ferdinand could not resist – much as he'd tried to tell himself during his preparations that it would be a foolhardy thing to do. As he leaned over and grabbed the construct's hindquarters, he snidely made his answer even as he shoved Cybra – who was, after all, no bigger or heavier than a small dog – headfirst into the sack. "Why, for you of course, Sir!" Then he quickly cinched the top of the sack shut, triggering the enchantments before the construct could react. For a moment, he just stood there, holding the closed sack. It was moving, weakly, but unlike most of the Empress later constructs, it hadn't been made for war – it had no meaningful offensive capabilities, not even fangs, and the enchanted velvet lining of the bag could easily stand up to its hooves and the square-ish pebbles that made up its teeth. Likewise, not a sound was escaping… but it wasn't really sound he was worried about.

Seconds dragged on. There was no sound of an alarm being raised, no flurry of activity as guardian Beasts throughout the palace leaped to defend their master. After all, the diminutive construct did have one truly dangerous ability – controlling and coordinating any lesser Beast in its vicinity, with nothing more than a thought. The enchantments layered on this simple-looking sack were meant to prevent this – but of course, until this very moment, it had all been purely _theoretical. A_ccording to his allies, they had been based on an elven study of the Beastmaker's abilities, enabled by the recovery of an odd, mole-like Beast, built around a crystal heart and seemingly designed to extend her control over a wider area. A whole chain of them had apparently been deployed, reaching into the northern part of the Beastkin Territories, unbeknownst to all – though, the project had seemingly been abandoned after that point, for no clear reason.

Regardless… the theories that the elves had formed based on their studies of how Empress Sayn controlled and communicated with her Beasts, had apparently been spot on. With a shuddering intake of breath, feeling strangely deflated with relief, the Baron slung the sack over his shoulder, trying to replicate the way he'd sometimes seen his servants carry such loads, and stepped out of the door again. Three sets of eyes rested on him as he emerged into the front office – or, rather, they rested on the sack, which was still twitching weakly. There was hatred in those eyes – hatred for the ruthlessly demanding master that had run them ragged, and indeed run many of their predecessors into the ground. Hatred that had emboldened them to accept a promise of vast wealth, equal to decades worth of their wages, for cooperating with this scheme. None of them said a thing as Ferdinand nervously nodded at them, walking through their office and out the front door, back into the darkened hallways of the Palace. His steps were quick and certain, now. The heist completed, the crime done – now all he needed to do was escape with the loot, which should be child's play. The incurious and thoroughly-loyal porter he'd brought would be napping in the waiting-room near the Palace gates, where servants without the clearance to go further could await the pleasure of their betters. The guards at the front gates wouldn't look twice at a Senator heading home after working late, trailed by a servant carrying a simple sack… and in the darkness, they surely wouldn't notice it moving, either.

A chilly, rain-filled day dawned in the Beastmaker's Seraglio. A drenching downpour was well underway, starting just before dawn, and it showed no signs of clearing up anytime soon – making it clear to the residents, as they emerged from their rooms to face the day, that they'd not be repeating yesterday's pleasant garden-activities. And also that they'd be very glad of the covered walkways that bordered the garden. The only one welcoming the weather was Aishee, who – obviously – didn't mind a bit of water, and also found herself struggling to really wake up this morning. Emerging groggily into the pond, she rose up up on her tail, enjoying the feeling of the cool water washing over her pregnant belly as the gills lining her ribs twitched, unable to decide whether they were underwater or not.

Breakfast proved to be a subdued affair. Sayn seemed unusually tense, eating rather more slowly and carefully than usual, and Korlin was notably absent. When Orichaniel asked if anybody knew where she was, it was Sayn herself who answered, somewhat coldly. "She is busy – an important matter came in during the night, and she is applying herself to resolving it. Do not disturb her. I will bring her breakfast myself, and likely dinner as well – I suspect she will be taking her meals in her room for a while." Well, the dutiful Kirin busying herself with the work of keeping the Empire running was hardly new, but this seemed like a new high – suggesting that the problem she was working on had to be rather serious! However, when Thielwen worriedly asked as to the nature of this 'important matter', she was swiftly shut down by Sayn. "It is not relevant to any of your areas of responsibility. A purely… human matter. Kindly focus on your own business, and leave Korlin to hers."

Thus, it was more than just the weather that was making the members of the Beastmaker's Harem feel down as they returned from breakfast to look upon the sodden Seraglio Garden. "Any idea what's got into Sayn?" K'teshi cautiously asked Orichaniel, knowing that the flower-dragon tended to be remarkably perceptive when it came to such things – but Ori could only shrug his petal-scaled shoulders. "Not sure… she's definitely colder and more distant than usual…" he remarked. "Reminds me of when Thielwen was in the care of the Unicorn for a time – she got all icy and started snapping at people back then, too. Perhaps this 'human matter' affects someone she cares about – like the Great Plains Reservation, or even her mother personally? You know she tends to get a bit strange when it comes to those people, too…" K'teshi nodded hesitantly – indeed, he well remembered both of those incidents. "I just wish she'd talk to us about it…" he complained. "Even if it isn't something that it's technically our job to solve, we could surely still help." To which Ori could only sigh and nod. "I'm sure she'll tell us, when she's ready…"

---

Something is clearly wrong with Sayn - but will the Consorts realize what in time to save the people they love? In time, even, to save the Empire itself? A plot long in the workings has finally surfaced, a shadowy foe revealed... and the rest of the story awaits on my Discord-server. Find the link there on my Profile!