The Crimson Dream

[TheDarkDM]

Marvella dreamed. Phantasm and fancy tripped past adult eyes with all the wonder of a newborn child, and in the safe chill of her innermost self the cares and concerns of the outside world melted away. Gone was the war, the weight of responsibility sliding from her shoulders like a heavy robe, leaving her free to dance in a field that was at once the topmost glacier of the Ice Wall and the sparkling azure of the Americ Sea. So wonderful, so intoxicating was the dream that she did not notice the red star that began to glow in the sky, growing with every passing instant until it filled the sky, until it was the dream, until azure and ice were tinted red, and a heady warmth spread from her bosom whereon lay a burning star. She felt something else, something alien, but according to the inexorable logic of dream she simply continued to dance, even as the ruby enveloped everything, even as it enveloped her...

Click.

It was a simple sound, yet it struck Marvella like the rumble of an avalanche. At once she was free of the dream's rhythm, returned to herself. Yet she was not awake, and as comprehension dawned she realized she stood in a parlor of carved ruby crystal, impossibly delicate and so beautiful it could not have existed in the real world. Behind her stood the door to Yphine's temple in Sycia, standing free without wall or hinge to support it, and far across the room stood another door, black basalt inscribed with carvings that could only have been of Tzalteclan. Between the two was a simple expanse of red glass so clear it seemed almost liquid, holding a vaulted table and several spidery chairs. And in one of those chairs sat Nezetkhamun.

He wore nothing from the waist up, while a garment of living shadow pooled around the legs of his seat and hid his nakedness. As Marvella's eyes fell upon him he smiled, standing to gesture to one of the empty chairs.

"Welcome, Marvella. Please excuse this intrusion into your slumber, but word has reached me of your misgivings about the war. I thought you might appreciate a chance to discuss things."

[HalfTangible]

Marvella stood frozen (metaphorically) in one step of her impromptu dance, simply glaring at the man/dragon. Nezetkhamun was lucky that tonight had been the dancing dream. Embarrassing as that was, he could've seen far worse. As it was, she still looked like a nineteen year old woman who was far more beautiful than anyone in the real world could ever be, and she wore an impossibly layered light blue dress that by all rights should have left her unable to walk. Dreams, eh?

Marvella sighed as she slipped into the regal bearing she'd long grown accustomed to in the real world and strode to one of the chairs. She sat and steepled her fingers. "I'm not sure what there is to discuss. War's happening. We failed in terms of diplomacy, this will happen. If there was a time where it could be prevented, frankly I'm not sure I was even born yet." She didn't bother to hide her bitterness - there was no public here to see how upset she was.

[TheDarkDM]

Nezetkhamun tilted his head as Marvella sat at their ruby table, a sad laugh his only response to her statement.

"There is no need to stand on ceremony with me, Marvella. I have lived a very long time, and I know the value to be found in an honest conversation among friends. I suppose that is really the crux of the issue."

He leaned back in the chair, staring towards the vaulted ceiling that was suddenly a tableau of the first meeting in Tzalteclan between what would become the Concordat.

"Do you know that Serendel offered me vassalage when I proposed the formation of the Concordat? In my own hall, he suggested that Tzalteclan and Glazfell bend the knee to Lyradis. All that would be required were some "slight changes". That is the caliber of people we are dealing with now."

Another sigh, and the tableau shifted to what Marvella could only assume was Vizini as a boy.

"But we thought Guilder was different. They were invited in part because they split the East, it is true, but we seemed so alike. I betrothed my favorite child to Inigo to secure our friendship, but she was stolen from us by the machinations of the Jaaku Na."

The ceiling shifted once more, becoming the laughing face of a woman clearly of Nezetkhamun's line, proud cheekbones and imperial bearing coupled with the lines of purest joy.

"I thought my Maatkare could bridge two worlds. She would have been Teotlkan, you know, had I not ordered her into that marriage. Oh, Senusret would have struggled mightily, but he was never quite his sister's equal. But she is gone, and the only legacy I have of her is Vizini."

Black storm clouds began to gather behind Nezetkhamun, as he returned his gaze to Marvella.

"Vizini, who has done nothing but squander his birthright since his first idiotic adventure in the West. Who submitted to the will of a madwoman, and now sits happily beneath Raaneka's thumb. My children were born to be leaders, but Vizini's weakness has made him little better than a slave. A slave who trails disaster in his wake and then has the audacity to blame others for his own failings. Torn between his loyalties he chose an empire that had abandoned him to war, that had forced the blame for Buttercup's crimes on him. And worst of all, he sent his son away. What kind of man, even the meanest, declines the honor of raising the next generation? Seeks the education of an empire he is plotting against in the shadows? You are correct that this war has been brewing for some time, Marvella, but I fear you place too much emphasis on our role in it. We are the wounded party, and Guilder's hands still hold the knife."

[HalfTangible]

Marvella steepled her fingers as Nezetkhamun finished his little speech. Her expression remained unreadable throughout.

"Do not treat me as the child you first met me as. I know full well that this war was inevitable, Nezzie. And quite frankly I don't care who bears the most blame because we all do. I blame you for letting it fester this long despite the fact you didn't start it, I blame the Empire for acting as an empire does, I blame guilder for swearing an oath it could not follow, I blame myself for not doing anything about this sooner, even though I took my throne long after reconciliation is possible... I don't denounce actions based on 'who's to blame'."

Marvella's expression grew hard as iron and cold as ice. "As far as I can tell, people are dieing in droves because the Concordat and the Empire couldn't settle who had the pants on in their relationship. Tell me, do you still know what the price of a person's life is when you can end a few hundred by breathing too hard?"

"I've killed one man by my own actions. One. And that one kill ensured I could rule an entire kingdom without interference from anyone who thought themselves my better based on my age."

"THAT is what one life is worth in my world. And the Empire and the Concordat - the former because you use slaves and the latter because of a familial dispute - decides that throwing out hundreds (or more likely thousands) of lives was just worth it."

She ran her own hand along the table they sat at, and much like her hosts' tableau, the table took on an image as well, though hers was inscribed in ice. Wesley, Eero Krii Valkoinen, Eirlys, one of the Tzalteclan delegates that Marvella had never learned the name for (the cute one!)... the table flashed with all of their images and more: King Ghalle, the Teotlkan, Vizini, even the leader of the warriors of Syvine.

"I care more about people than I do my pride, else I would have broken off my vassalage with Glazfell already. Any or all of the people you hate may die tomorrow, and leave our empires at war for the pride of dead men."

She threw her arms up. "Yes, the war was inevitable. Did it need to be? I'm not so sure it did. If your entire problem was with how Vizini conducted himself, a simple assassination would have sufficed. There doesn't seem to be any love lost between the two of you."

"Oh, and you're hardly one to talk about sending away his own child, considering Vizini is of your blood." The image switched back to Wesley. "I'm not convinced Vizini didn't want peace. Wesley came to Sycia, he learned of my people and their ways. Maybe it'll make things easier when he takes his father's place, who knows."

She swiped her hand one more time, and the ice melted away, leaving no images. "I intend, my dear, to make war between Empire and Concordat nigh impossible - for Serendel, at least - by the time this war ends."

[TheDarkDM]

Nezetkhamun sat impassively as Marvella delivered her condemnation, his face softening for an instant as the image of Wesley appeared on the surface of the table. He was silent for a long moment as she finished, and when he answered it was in a whisper.

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps my imprudence in inviting Guilder into the fold despite their prior allegiance planted a seed that could not help but flower into war. I commend your efforts in Serendel, Marvella, and I hope they bear kinder fruit than my own forays into the Empire of Dawn."

His voice trailed off, and as it did his face hardened, and when he spoke again it was with the force of absolute conviction.

"But you ask me if this war is worth the cost? The lives, the blood, the treasure, the pain? Only time can answer you without fault, but if we emerge from this conflict with a unified East and a Lyradis steeped in your convictions, then I say yes. A single life, a thousand lives, both are precious, but when compared to the millions of lives we could better by removing the inept rulership of Guilder or the debauchery of Raaneka? I say yes, this war is justified. Were it not for our intercession, Guilder would already have burned in a war of vengeance with the Salterri, or the Ashenians, or any of the other factions they have wronged and continue to wrong. A decade of slaughter is lamentable, and a stain on all our hearts, but if it leads to a century of prosperity and peace, is it not worth our own temporary suffering?"

[HalfTangible]

Nezetkhamun sat impassively as Marvella delivered her condemnation, his face softening for an instant as the image of Wesley appeared on the surface of the table. He was silent for a long moment as she finished, and when he answered it was in a whisper.

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps my imprudence in inviting Guilder into the fold despite their prior allegiance planted a seed that could not help but flower into war. I commend your efforts in Serendel, Marvella, and I hope they bear kinder fruit than my own forays into the Empire of Dawn."

His voice trailed off, and as it did his face hardened, and when he spoke again it was with the force of absolute conviction.

"But you ask me if this war is worth the cost? The lives, the blood, the treasure, the pain? Only time can answer you without fault, but if we emerge from this conflict with a unified East and a Lyradis steeped in your convictions, then I say yes. A single life, a thousand lives, both are precious, but when compared to the millions of lives we could better by removing the inept rulership of Guilder or the debauchery of Raaneka? I say yes, this war is justified. Were it not for our intercession, Guilder would already have burned in a war of vengeance with the Salterri, or the Ashenians, or any of the other factions they have wronged and continue to wrong. A decade of slaughter is lamentable, and a stain on all our hearts, but if it leads to a century of prosperity and peace, is it not worth our own temporary suffering?"

"I'm not so sure it will, but you've been around longer than I have." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "I don't mean to snap at you... This is a mess..." Her voice grew calmer.

"Raaneka's hedonism is deplorable, yes, and Guilder could definitely use a good kick in the rear - there's no reason at all they should have accepted admittance into the Concordat if they were already an Empire vassal... But one is not going to be ended by war and the other would have been done with - again - one assassination."

"'Every man or woman slain is three children unborn, and each of them another three'. Third Adherence, Verse 14. The true cost of war is immeasurable." She raised a finger. "Example: The Empire is a strong center for the Rajurdic religion. Should Serendel come under the influence of the Doctrine, the Rajurda may very well wage war of their own to remove them. I doubt I could turn the entire Empire for numerous reasons (Raaneka in particular) and I definitely cannot before Rajurda decides we are a threat."

She ran a hand over the table again, and the ice reformed into an image of a letter. "Rajurda opened its hand in friendship to me when I made my deal with Serendel, but it's evident they consider the Doctrine a threat. There is only so far they will allow Her Doctrine to go before they declare it heretical. And then Yphine is removed from the Rajurda pantheon, my adherents are slaughtered or exiled or worse, and that's millions more that will die when the winter comes."

"And that is assuming you're right and this war will result in a unified east."

She sighed and buried her face in her hands. "This war will be like no other in the history of this planet in sheer scale. Even should we succeed by such a degree that the Empire willingly bends its knee to us, and that century of peace you hope for comes, the damage wrought will take most - perhaps all - of that time to heal..."

"... But my grievances are out, and I doubt you'd leave your dreams-" Perhaps unconsciously, the ice on the table formed into what Marvella imagined Nezetkhamun's dreams to be like... apparently she was under the impression that the dragon liked to make angels in massive piles of gold (like snow angels) while half-naked women giggled and tittered around him, showering his mortal form with affection both verbal and physical. "-to hear me complain the whole night about a war that cannot be stopped any longer." She pulled her hands down and smiled. "So-" She then noticed the ice, and her eyes bulged. She quickly scrambled her hands over the image and in its place was a grandfather clock.

Marvella stared at the clock for a few moments more before her head slammed into the desk. "... Well that's embarrassing."

[TheDarkDM]

As Marvella stammered to cover the images conjured from her subconscious, she looked up to see a smile of barely constrained amusement spread over Nezetkhamun's face. As her hands desperately changed the shape into that of a grandfather clock, she found them held in Nezetkhamun's own scaled hands. She could not help but note they were surprisingly soft, wrapping around her own like a warm blanket.

"I exhausted those fantasies the first week after my ascension."

His smile quirked higher, and Marvella wasn't sure if he'd been sincere or had simply shared a conciliatory joke.

"Your compassion does you credit - you have grown into a fine shepherd for your people, Marvella. But even the kindest shepherd must be wary of wolves. You say you fear provoking Radurja? I say there is no course of action you could take that would prevent it. They are a cult led by a restless ghost that seeks to consume all gods and reshape them in their own twisted image. They have spread from the Triumvirate like a plague, and have already all but consumed the worship of the Lord of Fire. I have no love for that fool religion, but it is a stark lesson in Radurja's intentions."

Nezetkhamun pulled his hands away, and where the grandfather clock had stood now lay a tableau of the Dragon's Eye Festival decades in the past, the very instant he had driven his hand into Xochiconetl's chest and devoured his heart.

"This is all Radurja deserves, Marvella. To be the fuel for the glory of a true god. Tzetultep, Yphine, Kina, the Silver Lady. These are the divinities to whom the mortal races owe their existence and their fealty. All others are pretenders, and Radurja is the worst parasite of all."

The image faded, along with Nezetkhamun's smile, until his face was serious once more.

"You wish to know my dream, Marvella? It is peace. A peace in which my legacy - the Concordat, my children and granchildren, and Tzetultep's mighty church - are safe to prosper for centuries. The Empire of Dawn threatened that peace, and so we have war. Radurja threatens that peace, and so I welcome their involvement. We will have peace, Marvella, and when it comes you will see the wisdom in my words. The cost of war is immeasurable, it is true, but the prize of our victory? That is priceless beyond words."

[HalfTangible]

As Marvella stammered to cover the images conjured from her subconscious, she looked up to see a smile of barely constrained amusement spread over Nezetkhamun's face. As her hands desperately changed the shape into that of a grandfather clock, she found them held in Nezetkhamun's own scaled hands. She could not help but note they were surprisingly soft, wrapping around her own like a warm blanket.

"I exhausted those fantasies the first week after my ascension."

His smile quirked higher, and Marvella wasn't sure if he'd been sincere or had simply shared a conciliatory joke.

"Your compassion does you credit - you have grown into a fine shepherd for your people, Marvella. But even the kindest shepherd must be wary of wolves. You say you fear provoking Radurja? I say there is no course of action you could take that would prevent it. They are a cult led by a restless ghost that seeks to consume all gods and reshape them in their own twisted image. They have spread from the Triumvirate like a plague, and have already all but consumed the worship of the Lord of Fire. I have no love for that fool religion, but it is a stark lesson in Radurja's intentions."

Nezetkhamun pulled his hands away, and where the grandfather clock had stood now lay a tableau of the Dragon's Eye Festival decades in the past, the very instant he had driven his hand into Xochiconetl's chest and devoured his heart.

"This is all Radurja deserves, Marvella. To be the fuel for the glory of a true god. Tzetultep, Yphine, Kina, the Silver Lady. These are the divinities to whom the mortal races owe their existence and their fealty. All others are pretenders, and Radurja is the worst parasite of all."

The image faded, along with Nezetkhamun's smile, until his face was serious once more.

"You wish to know my dream, Marvella? It is peace. A peace in which my legacy - the Concordat, my children and granchildren, and Tzetultep's mighty church - are safe to prosper for centuries. The Empire of Dawn threatened that peace, and so we have war. Radurja threatens that peace, and so I welcome their involvement. We will have peace, Marvella, and when it comes you will see the wisdom in my words. The cost of war is immeasurable, it is true, but the prize of our victory? That is priceless beyond words."

... Oh, it's pronounced Radurja? I'll have to keep that in mind...

She sighed and placed both hands on the table, fingers spread. She was silent for a few moments after Nezetkhamun finished his speech. "...... And I want to ensure that as many of us as possible make it to the end of the Final Winter. The more blood we spill, the weaker we'll be when Yphine's mercy ends."

Her fist clenched. "But a creeping glacier will not go away just because I ignore it. You're right."

"... We must not fail."