It is the time before dawn.
Sorcerer- Ataraxia's The Unexplained, 1975
Elsewhere, the sky slowly turns that twilit-grey that is a signal to those who cannot sleep, that they will not sleep tonight. Here, the sky is always the same blood-red, no matter the hour, no matter the day- like there is always a fire raging in the distance.
It's peaceful, in its own way.
Deep in the Land of Darkness, residing in the ancient castle named Evernight, the Witch-Queen prepares for a special council. Not the humans that she calls her inner circle, those, experiments, pets, really- no.
Petty playthings, in comparison.
In her bedroom, kept clean but barely used, she pulls on a robe older than Vale, and still as soft and perfectly black as it was the first time she laid eyes on it. The Mothman was a failed experiment of a Grimm, but his wings made for fine tailor's cloth. She walks into the throne room just as the Beringels she had commanded to clear it of any unnecessary obstructions finish dragging the room-length table to one side. That sound is going to ring in her ears for days after she was done here.
Ascending to her throne, she settles in on the plush fabric, and with a deep breath to centre herself, she whispers a single word.
The crystalline walls of the castle shudder- creaking with raw power. Twelve Seers float in, bobbing silently across the room, their tendrils gently swaying to their movement. With slow, deliberate movements, they arrange themselves around her to form a perfect semicircle. The orange lights within the crystalline structure of their heads shift, each Seer showing a different place, a different visage- each one as alien as the next.
Three avian figures, one with a large hairline fracture that circles its mask, are settled in a forest clearing. Occasionally, they flicker in and out of view so quickly that they simply appear as blurs. When they do so, they generally come back with spatters of blood on them.
A single blood-red eye, so large that it takes up the entire view of the screen.
A creature that seems to mirror Salem in stature and grandeur- sitting with legs crossed, head resting against a single bony finger. However, its throne sits in the middle of a dead, blackened forest, in the ruins of an ancient, overgrown city. A simple rod of blackened yew sits next to it, strung with ancient fibre that holds a cruel-looking hook on the end.
A simple mirror in a dusty room, only reflecting the Seer.
A great, black tower, only barely resembling a creature, with mile-thick cables that extend high into the sky above, and deep into the ocean below; an ocean which
boils in its very presence. That Seer is rigid with pain connecting to its tortured sibling.
Somewhere else. Somewhere
not Remnant. Somewhere only filled with purplish-black mist and not much else. Salem chooses, quite pointedly, to not focus on that one.
"I call to session this meeting of the Council of Thirteen," Salem intones, her voice carrying easily throughout the grand hall.
REQUIRE REASON/DESIGN/PURPOSE FOR THIS MEETING.
"Because I have called it is reason enough," she states with a voice like polar ice. "But, in this case, I call it because plans are being constructed, and your power may be required."
weareeagertokillmaimripripripripwarriorking. whendoesplancommence?
The Furies were the easiest to pick out, from their garbled chirruping masked as words, and their hatred for Ozpin that nearly matches hers.
"Beacon is not our first target. Haven shall be."
The figure on its throne shifts.
dear. interesting|An choice,
4 2 | 1 3
Even with centuries of practice, Salem grimaces at the way the Fisher-King's voice divides and folds on itself when he speaks, split and shuffled like a puzzle she must spend precious time deciphering. The Grimm-King is the most humanoid of the council, besides herself, and yet all he seems to delight in doing is using his grand power to
annoy her.
"Mistral is weak- its pathetic underworlds collide in the streets of Kuchinashi, and ancient artefacts of great power have been unearthed by its people, sowing further chaos just by their presence. Its Huntsmen are stretched thin, and the Academy's Headmaster is..."
She smiles, exhaling as if laughing at her own joke.
"... Well, frayed would be putting it lightly. It will not take much to twist him to our cause."
thenweshallbringthegiftofcruelty?
"Soon enough," she promises the excitable birds.
The Furies
do catch on quick these days.
distraction, use intend do|How you to this then?
keeping? intention have action promises hot just is|Or this more air, of you no of
"Come now, Fisher-King, surely one of your
grand intellect can divine my plan, no?" croons Salem with a voice like warm honey.
That shut him up. He shifted in his chair, clearly irked by the insult, and Salem didn't fight down the smugness that quirked up her lips.
Low growling admitted from the eye-Seer.
The Grand Wyvern, Jabberwock. The most bestial of the ancient Grimm- and the hardest to reason with by far for it.
"You would hate Mistral- for having so many mountains around, there is nowhere to perch," Salem explains, her voice calm, almost motherly- the tone one uses when explaining something to a small child.
|Tch.
around. feral keeping insist why not still|I do understand you on that beast
The mirror-seer flickers, something appearing in the reflection. Quietly opening a door and slipping inside, a tall, rag-obscured creature quickly skitters past the seer and towards the mirror. It does not appear in the Seer's vision, even as it pushes its reflection out of the way to scratch at the mirror with long rusted-iron claws.
The sound is grating, sending chills down Salem's spine that she has long since become accustomed to suppressing, but eventually, it resolves into a message.
I V O L U N T E E R .
There is no name for this creature- she has never found one she felt fit, nor has it chosen one of its own. But it is chillingly good at its chosen pursuits.
"Break him, so he may be reformed as we need."
More scraping. More spine-chilling. The Fisher-King shifts uncomfortably in his seat, it starting to get to him
too. The Jabberwock groans low, its pupil contracting to a razor-thin slit as things rumble around it- she realises a moment too late that it's trying to cover its ears.
Y E S, M I S T R E S S .
The creature takes its leave, and the connection winks out, letting the Seer float off to its other duties.
Salem almost feels bad for subjecting Lionheart to that thing.
Almost.
"Very well. Does anyone have anything to report?"
REPORT/UPDATE/NEWS ON ANOMALY DISCOVERED/FOUND OFF COAST OF CONTINENT/MENAGERIE/PETTING ZOO.
The Tower is a lot to take in. Its presence- let alone being present when it deigned to move or speak- was deleterious to the continued existence of most things, other Grimm included. The way the Seer's tentacles curl up in sympathetic agony speak to that.
She leans forward, gently resting her clasped hands on her knees.
"Continue," she says, not letting emotion into her voice just yet.
ANOMALY/IRREGULARITY/ASH HAS SUBSUMED THE VAST MAJORITY OF SMALL ISLAND/LANDMASS/DEAD ROCK WEST OF MENAGERIE. HAS GROWN TO ENCOMPASS A MATHEMATICALLY/LOGICALLY/ARTISTICALLY PERFECT CIRCLE WITH RADIUS OF 100 KILOMETRES.
NO FURTHER SIGNS OF ASSIMILATION/CONSUMPTION/DIGESTION HAVE BEEN NOTED BEYOND THIS RADIUS. ALL ANIMAL LIFE HAS EITHER FLED/LEFT/ESCAPED OR BECOME SUBSUMED. PLANTLIFE IS DYING/ROTTING/DISSOLVING DUE TO MASS ECOLOGICAL UPHEAVAL.
Salem frowns. Her black-veined marble-white brow furrows in confusion, eyebrows knitting together as she thinks.
"... Why on Remnant would it stop…?" she mutters, more to herself than her council.
THEORY: IT CEASED/HALTED/STOPPED BECAUSE OF MY PRESENCE. ASH-FORMS HAVE BEEN DETECTED PATROLLING/SCOUTING/WANDERING THE SUBSUMED AREA- MY PRESENCE APPEARS TO CAUSE THEM TO MALFUNCTION/BREAK DOWN/ MELT. PRESUME MAJOR WEAKNESS TO EXTREME HEAT.
Now that was good news. Perhaps this was some new form of Grimm, as the humans speculated, perhaps it was something completely different.
But what mattered to Salem is that it wasn't under her control. Which, by definition, makes it a problem, either to be solved or to be eradicated.
And right now...
"No further human sightings?"
NEGATIVE.
"... Do as you will, then report on the results. Perhaps that should give us a clearer view of the path ahead."
AS YOU WISH, MISTRESS.
The picture becomes blurry with boiling sea spray, the Seer wheezing in pain as the Tower begins to raise its arms, wind buffeting its partner as the massive Grimm opens two white, angular eyes like lamplights-
The connection cuts out as a hairline crack forms in the Seer's crystal globe, smoke wisping up from it, the light inside dark as it tumbles to the ground.
Salem stares at it for just a moment, a small sigh of distress escaping her nose.
The Tower is so hard on the poor things.
"... Well. Anything else to report?"
The Jabberwock grumbles, the single eye drooping with fatigue. The rest of the council either stays silent or reports in the negative, and are summarily dismissed, quickly leaving only Salem and a dead Seer in the throne room. She rises, slowly walking down the steps towards the corpse then gently picking it up, almost cradling its still smoking-hot body in her arms, ignoring the burns it causes.
"Oh… you did well, little one," she murmurs quietly to the dead Seer.
It isn't a long walk to one of Evernight's many balconies, overlooking the Land Of Darkness in all its burnt-ash glory, volcanic sand covered in streaks of tar under an ever-red sky.
And below- the shaping pits.
She walks to the edge, hauling the Seer onto the sparse railing like it weighs nothing. The fall is long, and the splash is quiet- but it is done.
Salem gazes out over the vista, watching newly-formed Beowolves, Boarbatusks, and the occasional larger Grimm; Hags, crawling out in their dozens, forming their triads, then turning back to pull tar from the pit to form their black cauldrons; Vampyrs, shaking their wings dry; and the rare Goliath, who leave the pools almost dry when they leave.
For a moment, she wonders what time it is in Vale.
Seance- Ataraxia's The Unknown, 1975.
With a mental twist, another Seer is summoned- it silently floats onto the balcony with her. Its orange glow and gentle gurgling eventually resolve into a view of a room kept dark by blackout blinds and lit only by many laptop screens, bathing the walls in blue light. The view is partially obscured, like watching through a jail cell's bars.
It's hiding in the air vent, she realises.
From its vantage point, though, it can see the man in the room, sitting on the bed, working by side table lamplight on something in his lap that produces smoke.
With careful direction, hooked tentacles move forward, the chitin rearranging to form small, cross-shaped points, which then slither between the bars.
Within seconds, the grating is off, then silently lowered to the ground.
The man's head twitches, as the Seer slithers out of the vent, slowly floating towards the ground.
"You know, these Seers are, not as subtle as you think, Salem," he says suddenly.
Salem definitely did not jump a little at being noticed. Absolutely not, never happened.
"Ivory," she says after a moment. "Status report?"
He places the small lap desk to one side, a small circuit board on it. He clicks off the soldering pen and lays it down too, careful to keep the hot end pointed away from anything flammable.
Turning to face the Seer, he pulls a thin pack of thinner cigarettes from his vest pocket, pulling one free and lighting it with the end of the solder pen. He takes a long drag on it before responding, and visibly relaxes for the intake of nicotine.
"Currently working on creating the device Cinder asked for, but, it's a slow process."
"And why is that?" she asks sharply, a chill in her voice at the frank admission of any kind of setback.
"Never soldered anything before. I keep messing up," Ivory admits plainly, completely unfazed by her tone.
"Good thing I bought spares."
Salem almost sighs, still caught off-guard by the man's
irritating lack of fear or respect for her. In all honesty, she doesn't mind it all that much- it's refreshing, compared to Tyrian's bootlicking, or Cinder's constant,
ever-so-subtle knife-sharpening.
"About that," she starts, "Cinder mentioned that you told her the Black Queen was a futile plan. Why, then, do you keep working on a device destined to fail?"
"Cinder is… unreceptive, to the idea that this plan won't work. Violently so. Besides, soldering is a useful skill to learn."
"Why do you believe it won't work?"
"Another variable has appeared, something, undefined as of yet. If it isn't, isolated, I highly doubt this plan will, function, as Cinder hopes it will. It's a company, I think. Maybe the person who runs it, maybe, something inside it. But if it's what I think it is, then..."
He snorts, taking another drag on his cigarette, drawing so hard that the light almost reaches his face, the ash growing by half an inch or so- enough to start to sag.
"... We're screwed. It's, as simple as that. I may as well tell Cinder to, to pack her bags, I hear Mistral's nice this time of year, kinda screwed. But you wanna know what the real joke is?"
Salem is quiet, for a few moments, before silently gesturing at him to continue.
"The company's name. It's called Cloudbank Solutions," he manages before bursting into quiet laughter.
"Ah… if there are any gods left out there, they've got a really messed up sense of humour."
Salem pauses, considering exactly what would make him so certain that the plan was doomed to failure- and then she remembers.
"... How sure are you that it is not… a coincidence?"
Even with the fishbowl lens of the Seer, Salem could see Ivory's eyes glaze over, looking straight through her as his mind is suddenly anywhere but the present.
Ash crumbles from the end of his cigarette as his fingers begin to tremble.
"... Like someone had turned my spine to dry ice. Then, I met, the one who made it, I think- the controller was, following him around like a lost dog, anyway."
"How on
Remnant did you manage to meet him?" Salem asks with a frustrated
snap in her voice, more than a little annoyed that he hadn't volunteered this information before.
"It's the, the damnedest thing, actually- I was out buying these stupid, microcomputers, for Cinder's little project, and I found his- found his wallet on the ground. I don't even remember the boy's name, but I remember that it was his birthday."
… Salem
knew, objectively, that Cinder wasn't at fault here, but that didn't stop her from wanting to
skin her alive for even indirectly instigating this series of events.
Months- no,
years, of planning, down the drain because… she didn't
know yet, but there were too many coincidences piling up to safely continue calling coincidences.
Divine
fuckery, more like.
"... Well. Obviously, alterations will need to be made. Rest- I will need you at your fullest capacity in the coming days."
"Mm."
"Before you go, though-"
Salem gestures, and three more feeds come up on their Seers- three faces, two males, one young one old, and one young female. People who had
caught her eye, as she scried the world at large.
"Your opinion."
Ivory breathes out, finally focusing on her and her questions. The distraction should draw him out of his head, for a while.
"First- Alderman Hugh Kennedy- second, and husband, of the mayor of a small Mistrali town, population, around 8,000. Devoted husband, no children- both he and his wife are well-thought-of in the community."
Kennedy is a heavyset man in his forties, someone whose added weight seems to fit his personality- his face is heavy with laughter lines around the mouth and eyes, pushing the word
jolly to the forefront when it comes to describing him. Beside him, his wife, smaller and thinner, but still holding those same deep lines around the mouth and eyes. A happy couple.
"Second- Caesius Azar. A Mistrali teacher in Vacuo, who goes out of his way to provide his services to the more...
unkempt class of un-person in the capital. He has...
broken free of his initial role in Shade, and instead become something of a modern-day philosopher- leading all sorts of debates and lectures in public, for anyone to listen to."
By comparison, Caesius looks like the kind of person you find in a Mistrali romance comic- thin, but well-dressed, with short black hair kept neatly combed to one side. The only deviation from the standard was the start of some stubble, that did nothing to cover his well-shaped chin and jaw. The picture Salem showed Ivory was him teaching in a town square under the limited shade of a hastily put together canvas tent, reading from a text out to the public like an orator, or a man on the stage.
Almost every woman there has their eyes on him, and not just because they're fascinated by his words.
"Finally- Kea Nevada. She is a musician, who has gained some minor notoriety for having some kind of vendetta against some major Atlesian political figures. I actually quite liked what little I heard of her music- it's a shame she'll probably be found dead from 'suicide' within a few months if she's not careful."
The Faunus girl can't be older than her early 20s- short blonde hair cut into a messy bob mixed with bright green feathers that also appeared in patches all the way down her bare arms, poking through a fishnet shirt laid over a t-shirt that simply said "FUCK YOU ILMA HARRIS," in large block capitals.
"... Who's Ilma Harris?"
"I haven't the slightest clue beyond 'Atlesian politico,' but at least three of Kea's songs seem to involve an anger towards her that borders on
breathtaking," Salem informs him, her voice holding something almost approaching
respect for the girl.
Ivory says nothing for quite some time, quietly thinking over the question and his answer. She could almost see the way the light played behind his eyes, thousands of different connections and scenarios playing out at once, accompanied by a silent movement of his lips as thoughts inevitably slipped out. It was a level of thought that was almost fascinating to watch by itself.
"... Are you, aiming for subtlety, or spectacle?" he finally asks, after a long five minutes.
Salem smiles a smile that shows just a few too many teeth, that are just a little too sharp to be human.
"Why don't you surprise me?"
