The Vixen Queen

Chapter 2.1

There will be a time of penance for The Jadar, as there is for all men. A time of reckoning for their past injustices, for their fierce rejection of the gifts they now bask in. Alas, The Great Omen is more than a phobia. It is a prophecy. The owl and the eagle are ever locked in battle, talons bared, beaks pecking, spiraling towards the ground in mutual destruction. One will win in the end. But who?

Yes, The Jadar indeed attempt to paint over their unsavory past with strokes of piety, refusing to recognize that it was the witch herself which brought them to greatness. Now, she is filled with anger and vitriol, traits which The Weavers often use as a means of resolution, like fire cleansing a hillside of dead brush.

Yes, Rirris will one day seek vengeance on The Jadar for their crimes. She will rage across the continent, enveloping the storied land in her own darkness as she comes for their souls. The Great Omen will be revealed as The Great Prophecy, but it may well be too late. The Jadar have sealed their fate. Their age is long over, the end brought about by their own arrogance. Suicide, rather than murderous subjugation.

The Fourth Book of Crespa's Prophecies and Proverbs, banned and burned by The Vrilic Order and The Magisterium in The First Modern Era

The Bard's College sat elevated above the rest of the city at its southeast end, housed in a complex of stone buildings that used to belong to an ancient noble house by the name of Balogh that was prominent during the days of The Navalain Empire. Two main buildings flanked a massive courtyard, one for study and practice, the other for dormitories. Around the perimeter, leading down towards the walls, was a tranquil garden of trees, flowers, and vines. A winding set of steep, giant, irregular flagstone steps led from the streets of East End to its strangely hallowed grounds. Vasilica ascended them, stomping up each one, Even in tow.

Up ahead, The College was full of life. Existing in a world all its own, it was a carefree, libertine place, where one was encouraged to follow their passions, their desires, their inspiration — no matter what they were or where they led. Powerful voices sang ballads of ages past as lyres and flutes and drums added to the drama and intrigue. Vasilica passed one trio on his way up, an eclectic group of Telerians raptured in their song of glory in the old Jadar kingdoms of the first and second age. They didn't even move to let him through, forcing him and Even to step around and over. Another was up in the courtyard, channeling the spirits of The Muses as they paced beneath their statues, dressed both provocatively and colorfully, their pleasant voices going up to the nine goddesses as offerings. Off nearby, a serenade also wafted up from the gardens, where some romantic was wooing their paramour.

Vasilica knelt before the statues to pay proper homage to their holy place. He kissed the feet of each of the nine goddesses, offering them each a prayer of respect and adoration before presenting his personal matter to them and seeking their grace. Bereft of coin and with no other gifts, he offered himself for the entirety of his time in their domain, to allow his actions, his words, his desires, to be at their discretion and leadership. Even did the same.

It was likely that Elek hadn't given the goddesses a second thought, leaving Vasilica free to seek their favor without conflict. The Muses, he knew, looked not at intent, but at action and openness...and most importantly: recognition. The Muses didn't like to be ignored. They demanded their inspiration be properly credited. Elek followed every fleeting desire he felt, when he felt it, but Vasilcia knew he was negligent in honoring the spirits and deities of the realm. All gods loved to be honored, goddesses even more so, and they granted favor to those who honored them. The Muses were no different. Thus, Vasilica knew he had gained a powerful ally to assure he was avenged, which was a strategy he realized he had failed to utilize at The Silken Dragons.