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True World Fantasia

Perigeosis
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chs / week
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Synopsis
The immense creaking of something, terrible and divine... The blooming of the blue lotus... The iridescent shimmer of a clear sky... Mystical, auspicious dreams of beastly heavens... The vespertine light of a solar past... Pale blue irises flecked in light... And history turning, blistering, churning and changing shape. All that a mage wishes for is... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is my first web novel, please have some patience. I don’t know when exactly I’ll add chapters, though for now I think I’ll stick to 2 a week, usually 2k to 4k words each. Thanks for reading :)
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Chapter 1 - 1 – Arrival

Roderin had been awoken by a terrible dream. Living flames surrounded the world in a blood-red cocoon. Strange figures danced to the droning chant of angels. The earth twisted and cracked, and melded into the sky, where some, thing, now forgotten, awaited, open, divine and demonic, as a thousand beasts climbed to its glowing maw. He still heard the bells, the chimes, the singing, turning all into the whistle of dull tinnitus.

The ship swayed, gently now, as they approached shore. It had been a near three years since he returned to the continent. The Mariannic sea, the thundering cobalt blue gem, tapered its wrath at its edges, as if welcoming returning pilgrims. The waves offered a familiar comfort. A traveler he was, certainly so, however, he missed home, and even near constant expeditions, diggings and so on —excavations and scouting-work—, as life affirming as they were, grew tiring after endless months. 

He remembered, now focusing on the disappearing dream —a common occurrence— how the strange visions had started after a certain discovery… a momentous excavation of the Lasham ziggurat. The unearthing of a certain poem, which, upon discovery, was presented to the crown. However, a small detail was omitted, one, he was sure, woul—

"Lamartine!"

A shout from deck blasted his thoughts away.

'Well, all these years wondering… Perhaps I should lay it to rest. It is not as important as I make it seem, I'm sure'

He shook his head, as if to make the doubt disappear.

"Coming!"

 *

Captain Mont-Veroux stood against the deck, and the unending blue. The sea climbed up to heaven, an immense cape of azure. In his hands he cradled a white Pigeon, and between his fingers held a small roll of parchment, held by twine.

"Quite the clear w'ther, ay? We're almost to port." He said to Lamartine, still looking ahead.

"Hmm? Yes. I could tell by the waves."

"This 'ere message arrived for ye" Finaly turning, he handed him the roll, allowing the pigeon to fly off.

"What's so urgent…? By pigeon and just before we arrive… How…?"

Opening the message a smile marred his face.

"What's with yer smile?"

"Nothing much. A close friend has invited me to visit him."

He held the message up.

"It's the address. He's staying at some villa."

"Hmm." The captain responded with an uninterested hum.

Far ahead, the shape of land could be seen, peeking over the horizon, tinged a pale blue haze. 

 *

A forest of hawthorns and sycamores hid an extravagant summer villa, with great gardens and fountains, plain fields and ponds; a picture-perfect painting of aristocratic leisure.

Once at its gates, Lamartine was received by a pair of giant-like guards, muskets at their shoulders, sabers at their waists. Towering over him, dressed in unmistakable white-red-gold uniforms and black bicorns, the sentries were certainly an imposing sight… however, Roderin seemed as if comfortably walking right into his own home. Taking the address-paper from his hands, and directing him to a beautiful annex, he was made to wait in a sizeable study. He marveled amidst the oil paintings of verdant landscapes and renowned rulers, coupled with display cases filled with skulls, trinkets, strange foreign artifacts and the busts of long-gone aristocrats. Running his finger through bookshelves chock-full with invaluable tomes, he was surprised to find books in every known continental language. As he eyed one in Verdanaise, a journal recount of some author's travels, the door behind him creaked open.

Roderin feigned surprise and stiffened up. While putting down the book he half bowed.

"Your majesty."

The other man scoffed.

"Don't start, Roderin. I have enough of that…"

Both men looked at each other, stern expressions glinting for half a second, though soon laughter filled the study. As the pair hugged and sat down the mid-day sun filled the room with a pleasant glow. 

Indeed, Roderin De Lamartine's close friend, one could say his closest one, was none other than Alphonse Léon Māvors von der Wölfli-Loggia, regally known as Alphonse XVI, current King of Romanse or, alternatively, as every other before him, the King of Love and Dominion. 

"I planned on visiting you tomorrow, however… that pigeon certainly surprised me. Are you not busy with your kingly duties, that you would summon this vagrant, your humble servant?"

Alphonse once again scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I was bored to death… I got wind you were arriving and sent the bird. You'll be the second excuse I'll use to give unto my council and ministers those… kingly duties."

He laughed, sprawled out on the chair, pulling, from a blood red coat speckled in gold tassels and buttons, a cigarillo, which he lit. Close eyed and holding his brow, the king puffed out smoke, as if releasing from his body some crushing fatigue.

Thinking, Roderin looked at him.

"The second excuse?"

His question seemed to awaken Alphonse.

"Hmm? Yes… Marennise is pregnant" 

"I see…"

"So, the pregnancy of the third queen consort, and the approaching birth of a new prince has bought me nine months of… offloading this burning kingdom… for now it is the ministers' problem."

"You talk as if strife is not commonplace during every reign. It'll soon pass."

"It was not so during my Great-grandfather's reign…"

"Well…"

"Enough…" He exhaled "I won't waste my rest talking about this. How was the sea?"

"Ha! As terrible as always."

"Is that so…"

Some light returned to the kings' eyes, like an ageing man remembering the days of his youth. However, this ageing man was yet a young thirty-two years of age.

Roderin knew what Alphonse saw in his minds' eye. The once adolescent royal, known then as the Lily King, for his feminine beauty and dainty form, surprised both his subjects, and the continents' aristocracy; engaged in his western and southern colonial campaigns, the youth showed a frenzied, warring nature, near cruel and sadistic, leading troops and drafting war plans, betraying the era; for this was a duty which, now, kings left for their generals, ministers and armies; much less did they directly engage the enemy! The loss of a royal at the front lines was no longer seen as show of honor, virility and chivalry, but an atavistic dogma, barbaric and primitive, common of tribesmen. So, not only did the youth make his generals and handlers spit blood in worry and rage, but shock the entire continent, so much so, some called him the "Red-Caped", as he was seen in a notorious oil painting, over a defeated host of southern barbarians, showered in blood. Of course, this also gained him whispers of cold bloodedness, bloodthirstiness, and many other blood-soaked epithets. Even so, it was undoubtedly thanks to his expeditions that the Kingdom of Romanse, known for its stillness, reluctant to move —shaken by the death of The Hellian, and two subsequent monarchs in quick succession— became a colonial giant, and, once again, like in his Great-grandfathers reign, a feared power.

Now, the near middle-aged king, hardened by time and war, no longer showed any delicate, flower-like beauty, but a refined sharpness, like a spring ready to, at any moment, release a latent, blood-tinged strength. However, Roderin knew, the king grew disillusioned, now with no place to wantonly wage war, his kingdom beset with bickering winds of reform brutal wars would not solve, and a wanting for, once again, experiencing the glorious colonial campaigns. In fact, it was during these expeditions that he met Roderin, a then budding archeologist, who, led on by fate, would become his closest friend. He surely envied the explorers' freedom, who could cross the Mariannic at any time, by whim. And, by asking about the sea, he imagined himself, once again, crossing its tempestuous expanse.

Their friendship was by no means a secret, but a matter of the King's private life. Although some knew, Alphonse presented a desolate and cold persona to his subjects, lending fire to the myth of the "Red-Caped" King.

"And how is Marennise?"

"The woman will not be still… She should rest now that she's with child, but, as you know…" He sighed, then flashed a small, content smile "I fear for the maids if the child is half as difficult as her."

Both men laughed.

Romansean royalty was known for taking in multiple wives. Even so, Alphonse made it very clear: he held no affection for his first two consorts, who were, if anything, political moves made by the King, plays to secure something or other, most likely benefits. But, his youngest and latest wife, Princess of Verdanaie, Marenisse Roderika Austaufangr-Céline, married to him as a youth of 16, was the only woman he had ever loved. Haughty, rebellious, and uncaring for etiquette, behaved like a war hungry conscript, a man, or so the papers and detractors said, birthing even more rumors about the cold and distant king, which he, of course, paid no heed to.

"In fact, she wanted, "fresh air", and complained constantly about the palace, using her pregnancy as an excuse… so, I had us moved here. I've never used this villa; I think… was it made in my fathers' youth? I had little more than some books moved here, to this study."

'Marenisse complained, surely, because she finds palace, and court life, tiring, mind rending… She cares for Alphonses' worsening mood, however. It would not surprise me if she threw a fit for his sake, if anything.' Roderin mused. 

When talking about the woman, the Blood-Caped Kings' eyes softened, almost gleamed. It seemed like the only thing he found as dear to himself as war.

'And now, this child, unlike the other princes and princesses, he's sure to favor it. If it's born a boy…" The archeologist sighed internally. "Terrible drama… A succession crisis perhaps?" He half-jokingly feared for the future of the kingdom.

Alphonse seemed to remember something, as his eyes widened.

"Roderin, I know, I told you to lay off the talk of politics and power and such… I have something to ask of you."

This was new; surprising to him. In the twenty years or so of friendship, his King —although that fact was a near null in their relation— had asked not one thing of him in this tone. His pale blue, misty eyes, which would not be out of place in the visage of a saint, or a muse, instead of a cold-blooded warrior King, seemed to shine, and his blond hair, as if weaved out of crystalline gold, was given glow by the midday sun. He took on a serious, though soft tone, towards his old friend, and spoke.

"Become an advisor. I'll retire that fat imbecile Bassáth and make you Chief ambassador and diplomat, minister for outer, and trans-Mariannic relations; even colonial overseer if you wish."

Roderin was stunned for a second.

"Alphonse" The man sighed "I have no idea how this got into your head… I'd be an even worse incompetent than Bassáth —I'm an adventurer, a traveler, yes— but not a politician. Even more, I'm barely nobility, I'd have not the legitimacy necessary. This move would cost you…"

The king laughed, as if told an amusing anecdote.

"You pester me, every time we meet, to talk politics and statecraft, and now that I give you the chance to do so, endlessly, and act upon it if you please, you refuse with such a shoddy excuse? I'm the king, Roderin, I can do as I please! or else I would not have sunk this country into two of its most bloody wars just for pleasure." Alphonse asserted, as he puffed his tobacco.

"If any café habitué, who talked endlessly, as you say, about the wrongs and rights of your reign, could become advisor, or worse so, minister… One thing is to say, another to do; and I only say so much because I worry about you." Lamartine held his head in his hand. He then continued, with a groan "Or better yet, let the editor at The Radical or even that insect, Mahret? Mahrat? who writes columns upon columns about you in L'Ami du people become minister." Ending his rant Roderin let out a boisterous laugh. "Ha…!"

"It is no laughing matter. This kingdom is going up in flames, even if you close your eyes and cover your ears, and think that doing so will make you impervious to fire… I have Marenisse, and soon she'll have our child. However, if I must brave this storm with only them, and you are happy-as-can-be dancing waist deep in some sand, dusting skeletons, I'll go mad." The king firmed his brows. "Stay here, and help me. Please." 

Roderin believed Alphonse to be exaggerating; thinking about some disastrous future that was never to come; perhaps his nerves were getting to him, as he had passed years now without killing something vaguely human shaped. Still, even if this was the case, and Alphonse merely grew paranoid, nothing more, he would still worry about him, about the kingdom, as well —even though he was by no means a fervent loyalist— 'Once again'. he thought, 'his worsening humor is no good herald… and well, maybe…' 

Seeing his friends' pleading he could do nothing but sigh a:

"Allow me, at least, to think it over. It has not been yet a couple hours since I left a ship."

"Very well."

They then spent some breaths in silence, as Alphonse watched his cigarillo smolder and dissipate, shaking the last ashes off his fingers and into a golden case.

"Ah… well, I need some fresh air. Let's walk the gardens?" The king asked with a smile.

Roderin couldn't but laugh again.