A moment of clarity, I beg of you... [private]

[Ogabe K'tinga]

Early brightening, 24 Ioannes
Summer, Era XIII P.F.

A notice had been given.

A message had been sent.

An invitation given, and accepted.

And thusly did dappled katta await the one person on Telath he knew and loved enough to entrust such thoughts to. One person whose counsel he sought above all others. Mekare had a way of making things seem so simple. When she wasn't being arachaically cryptic and confusing, that is.

Guai Gong Zuo had been dismissed for the time being, much to the aged Kemite's chagrin and consternation; such discussion not entrusted to even his ever-discreet presence. The suns had barely crested the horizon, fitting enough for the topic at hand. A new era was upon them all, inescapable even by those with power such as the lean cheetari wielded. When he had first left his foster parents, he had had no power and all the choices in the world. Now, scant eras later, he had nearly all the power in the world, and no choices at all. Ironic, really.

You can either stand there and feel sorry for yourself, or you can get back in the hunt and do something about it, he chided himself softly. Shaking his head of the few cobwebs remaining of sleep, not to mention his teleport from Stillwater Keep, Ogabe paced a bit behind his desk, the four brightening old copy of the Herald still laid upon its surface showing signs of much reading and rereading. Things certainly were moving along now, the Regent's job nearing completion with each passing candlemark.

So why did that bother him?

Call it instinct, the voice of experience, or a plain old gut feeling. Something just wasn't right. Granted, there were a ton of things actually wrong at the moment in all corners of the Empire. The feeling had always been at the periphery of the sharp-witted katta's mind, never strong enough to warrant more than a passing moment of ponderance before other issues drove it into the dark recesses of consciousness. But now...

But now.

Golden eyes flitted over the cover story for the five thousandth time it seemed, a quick mind damned close to memorizing Milo's words at this point. A heavy sigh again overtook the slender katta, his own mind unsure as to why. He wasn't afraid of being displaced, certainly. He had more than enough money on deposit with the bank of Nexus Prime to stave off that evantuality, and the Keep for long-term income and pursuit. His future was set, honestly. Ogabe still had the uncanny feeling that he was not long for the office he stood in.

The fact that that somehow bothered him, well, bothered him.

His formal coat was hung in the small bedchamber, a loose, flowing shirt of crimson silk tailored and cut to add a splash of color to an otherwise muted outfit of grey cotton lay draped over his lean shoulders. If only that was the sole burden of his existence.

You're getting morose again, stop it.

Thankfully, the drab reverie was broken by a soft knock at the office door, preceding by a few moments the uniformed guard (Daisy had yet to arrive for the brightening) posted immediately outside. "Excellency? Consul Taryn is here to see you." he said deferentially.

"Show her in, please, Thomas. And see that we're not disturbed?"

"Yes, Excellency." he replied, before going about his business.

Only once the door had been shut did the slender cheetari deign to speak. "Seraa, my friend. I have need of your counsel." he opened, their long-running joke not forgotten, but not brought to bear this time either. "I assume you've read the Herald? This business is good news that sounds like it has the potential to be catastrophic. Beware Eunisians bearing gifts and all that muck. It sounds too good to be true, which usually means that it is." he concluded cynically.

"The scariest part of this is that anyone can be chosen, technically speaking. Though I hope in anything I can find that the Gods will show better judgment than that. The problem is that if someone worthy of the Crown fails to come forward, I am filled with trepidation that we will have an Emperor that is merely the next best thing rather than the genuine article. Alleria has too long suffered under pretenders and half-hearted sovereigns, not to mention the questionable legality of the people wielding Imperium over the last decade. I worry for the Empire, for the people, Mekare. The instability that has plagued the populace since the disappearance of James de Rothchild, especially after the ouster of Nighthawk, has done great damage to the fabric of this society. I can only hope it is not irreparable." he summed up, a lot having been pondered before the Lady Taryn had ever graced the room, apparently.

[Mekare Taryn]

Without a doubt, a message had been sent... an invitation of the sort that could not be refused no matter the circumstance.

A much beloved friend deserved no less.

That the missive had been admittedly short and to the point, the Lady had somewhat expected. Ogabe had long been known for precision with words and a keen mind, both of which could be sharper than any Kemite blade... yet she feared neither, and he would have it that way. Ah yes, she knew -- and loved -- him perhaps too well... and safely cradled as she was within that comforting familiarity, she could not have guessed at the true purpose behind what she had thought an entirely social engagement. That he might have any intention to the contrary had simply not occurred to Mekare. Many months had passed since the game had begun. Still it had not slowed in any wise, and thus it was with some measure of peace that the ancient beauty had accepted the invitation to an early-brightening rosyun without pause. This was to be only one more meeting between sometime partners in mischief...

The once named Rose of Prime could not have realized how very mistaken she was in that assumption.

Yet if ignorance was bliss, and should the revelation that this brightening was destined to be the second in a seeming series of debates with much-loved brothers never come, surely she would have been content. She might even have wished to remain dumbfounded until the end of the next age! but act on faulty impressions, she had, and was soon to pay the price. Dawn had only just begun to break. Through the greyed mists of twilight did the ever-strengthening rays of the suns pass, almost mercilessly... as if to chase any and all remnants of the darkening from this plane forever. Still they could not keep the shadows of sorrow from her mind... no, even the promise of pleasant company could not keep them at bay. Though swift steps remained silent, an intelligence borne of the ages worked feverishly as she approached Ogabe's outer offices, endlessly seeking more than mere madness in the events of the last few brightenings... and failing thus far.

Her meeting with Milo had been... turbulent, at best. It was she who was to blame. In an effort to protect her friend, she had sinned against him. Now she could only hope that he might someday understand.

May the Mother help her friend the Judicator -- and the Lady herself -- should the Katta seek to broach similar subjects.

She had arrived.

Few stirred at this early candlemark... indeed, there were none yet who traversed these same corridors. Even the air seemed to sleep in this place, more akin to Sorrowpeak in its silence than the seat of the Imperial Government, and she had become an apparition trapped in time. A ragged sigh escaped her throat at that particular sentiment. No, it would not do to have Ogabe see her so dispirited once more. Calm thy face, and the rest will follow... Slender digits worked the latch with the ease and grace of the vampire, the audible click of its inner mechanisms the only harbinger of her presence. Soon enough, the immortal found herself within the confines of a furred Minister's offices. A brief exchange with the creature known as Thomas would have her shown further into the sanctum not long afterward... and thus did a pair of strange bedfellows meet yet again. She could feel the trepidation within the Katta, the uncertainty and worry which plagued him far more than even he knew...

...and in that moment the Lady realized that this was not to be a mere social call.

She needed no glimpse of the Herald lying upon his desk, no physical clue to alert her to his intentions. Again, she could feel it, even before he began the verbal battery of his diminutive angel. He loved her, trusted her to be in his world where paranoia and fear of betrayal would keep all others at bay... she would not abandon or deceive him, this he knew. She was ever-constant. Verdant eyes barely blinked at the tirade. Instead they sought his golden gaze... perhaps in an effort to bring him down from the rafters and nail him to the floor where he needed to be. With patience everlasting did Mekare endure the onslaught, porcelain features inscrutable as always. When finally he had ceased brooding over subjects that were entirely too weighty to be considered this early in the brightening -- except by one such as herself -- she greeted a beloved friend with a wan smile. To think, she had been the one (for once) to deliberately forestall her own melancholy nature!

"Serale, and good brightening to you too, dear Ogabe."

The Lady Taryn, much reknowned amongst her friends and family for the word of the brightening, as they called it, could not resist the temptation to do exactly what was expected of her. She left it at that. Perhaps it was enough to bring a newly christened Avus out from seeming despair. After all, if at least one of them were not irreverent, then surely the both of them would be ready and willing to end the sojourn through this plane here and now! For the rest? They would deal with circumstances as they came.

Until then, they both needed to keep their heads.

[Ogabe K'tinga]

So inurred was he to the gravitas of the moment that Ogabe merely blinked in response, the runaway caravan wagon of thought grinding to a halt as his mind was forced to ponder the completely unexpected from his eternal friend. A soft snort of laughter escaped him after a moment, his smile returning somewhat at Mekare's gentle jibe. A gentle sigh followed, understanding her reasoning far better than most. At last, he nodded in acknowledgement and appreciation, seeing that she did truly love him, as only she could, the tempest of thought and emotions within him stilling somewhat, though more akin to the eye of the storm than its death.

"As someone who has been in service to the Empire far longer than I, I would like to know your take on this. Are we just spitting into the wind here, or is this a real opportunity for ending the turmoil? I shudder to think of either of the two publicly declared candidates being selected, but the season is yet young, and I am sure others will step forward." he said, not sure even if he believed himself.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in the job? No? Well, then we'll have to see about leaning on someone else who wouldn't make a bollocks of the whole mess." he added only half jokingly. "Any ideas who we should be talking to, besides Milo?" he asked, racking his brain for anyone else he would trust with the Aethercrown.

[Mekare Taryn]

"My... take?"

An ageless beauty was left somewhat perturbed... not so much by the use of admittedly colorful vernacular, perhaps, as by the realization that -- in spite of countless eras spent in the company of these mortal children -- she remained perpetually out of date. To wit, the slang that Ogabe had chosen to elicit an opinion garnered him nothing but a blank stare... at least until she had found some context for the word within her own mind. That such phrases and jargon as these still eluded the Lady was obvious... that it took more than a few moments of silence to translate them, likewise. Nonetheless, once done, the one being in all Telath who could claim to have slept in the Katta's bed simply folded lithe hands behind her back and began to pace the room.

One could have heard a pin drop.

To state that she was most displeased to be participating in yet another discussion concerning this topic was to express the most hideous of understatements... yet for his sake it would be done again. An involuntary sigh of disgust escaped her slender throat. He wanted an opinion. So would she give it to him...

...whether he liked it or not.

"You wish to know my thoughts? You do not know what you ask."

Taciturn steps continued to carry her throughout the room. Only a serpentine gaze would give any indication that she truly was focused upon him, that she was still within this moment. He could not be aware that a thousand memories flooded through the endless corridors of consciousness, that what the Aethercrown could and had done had affected her personally. It had taken from her the one whom she had loved the most, even as it took from the Empire the one creature who could have held it together at the time. It had plunged the entirety of the Medonian continent into chaos from that moment on, yet the travesty had not ended there. The fracture of the Aethergem had continued it, and now the Crown sought to disrupt the fragile stability that Milo had worked so feverishly to sustain...

"It is as you have said. It is a catastrophe that styles itself good fortune. It is too good to be true, and the Gods will choose whom they will choose, whether it seems good judgment or not. I know that such an assessment may seem harsh, but I must make it nonetheless. Ah, my dear Ogabe... I have seen the faces of Gods. They are not kind. Nor are they careful of us. The truth is this... the turmoil will continue so long as there is power to be gained within this realm. We, my friend, are a game to be won for them... and to win that game is to win the undisputed rule of this plane. They can, have, and will continue to wage mighty wars -- using us as pawns -- toward that end. Whether the damage to this society is beyond repair is irrelevant. They will have their way regardless."

A sharp gaze returned to meet that of her friend.

"You have guessed correctly. I have no desire for the Crown. Where my ideas are concerned... I bear no wish to see any whom I love, whom I call friend, as candidates for the Rite. The Aethercrown is much too dangerous, Ogabe. Leave it for another."

[Ogabe K'tinga]

Another instance of Mekare's cryptic nature was certainly expected by Ogabe, the woman's enigmatic nature still something the keen-minded Judicator had yet to fathom completely. The confrontational nature she was now showing him, that was new, to be sure. He digested it in silence, put off just slightly, if only because it seemed he was being upbraided for asking impertinent questions. The pale flower of Enamoria laid her philosophy bare, as it were, contempt for the Gods and their machinations quite evident. Her reluctance to be involved in same hinted once again at her agelessness, such a perspective often shared by the elves, who deigned not to get involved in anything unless it was in their own interest. Granted, the lithe cheetari would not group his friend in with the Combine, but the paralell was hard to ignore. "Perhaps you are correct, Milady. But if that is the case, why do we persist in being a part of the game at all? Why not just find a retreat in the mountains and watch the grand game from a discreet distance? I'd be sorely tempted to join you if you did, but you and I both know that we are ill-suited to watching, especially when people we care about are exposed to the slings and arrows of this world through no fault of their own. You and I, Mekare, are far more alike than either of us would care to admit in some respects. We're not watchers, dear, we're doers. We do what we can to save whom we can. Not for glory, not for fame, but for one life, alone, in the dark, where no one will ever know or see. One life or a million, Mekare, it's all the same. Were it not for my homeland's plight, I'd have happily lived out my life slinging ale in Zenith. I would never have left to find the Veldar, never have elicited allies to free K'tida, never have found myself in Nexus to gather support, would never have heard Nikolas Baragot speak, would never have been appointed Justicar... Well, you get the point." he said gruffly, pausing a moment to collect his rambling thoughts. "I am where I am because I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to make others' lives better. Not because they owe me something, not because I thrive on adoration, but because it is the right. Thing. To do." he added, punctuating it with a firm drum of two cream-furred digits upon the desk.

Another sigh escaped from the lean wilderkatta, thoughts quite the mess once again. "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to get all preachy on you. This whole mess is worrying me something fierce. I know," he said, wry smirk once again showing itself, "you know. But did you know that I knew that you know?" a soft chuckle escaped her dappled friend at the awkwardly placed jest.

"The Aethercrown is dangerous, you say?" he asked, glad to have someone who knew more than most on the newly-changed subject. "Power in the wrong hands always is, most certainly. Or do you speak of something else?" he further queried, a loaded question surely.

[Mekare Taryn]

She continued to pace the room.

That he was perturbed, even somewhat chafed, by the manner in which she had chosen to speak was evident... yet she did not apologize. Though she loved Ogabe dearly, absolution was not a kindness she would ask of him this brightening. She had neither the time nor the patience for such things. Far more important -- and much more pressing -- were the matters he had chosen to discuss. He had asked for an opinion; she had given it to him. Still he pried further. So be it. An otherwise inscrutable creature had shown him far more of her true nature than was customary... but the end was not yet. He had asked for it. Again, so be it. There were certain things he had to understand... and it was now up to Mekare to ensure that he did. Thus did the Lady stand her ground. Whatever it took, no matter the personal cost to herself, the Katta would be made to see that her motivation for speaking so harshly was sound. Reticence and impassivity be damned. For the first time in an age, the immortal would give another sentient being what for. The easy, graceful steps of the half-blood stopped, and she met his gaze yet again, verdant eyes more fierce than he had ever seen them.

"Do you believe, even for a single moment, that if I thought I might get away with it that I would not do so?"

An habitual stranglehold upon her emotions had already begun to slip... and the crimson shirt he bore rustled ever so slightly.

"Do you truly think that if it were possible, that if I could convince all whom I love that doing so would be best for them... do you honestly imagine that I would not? Aye, I am a selfish woman. If I thought for one moment -- just one! -- that we could simply watch from afar and not be found... ah, damn it Ogabe! What would you have me say? We are not made to stand silent sentinel... I know. We do what we can, when we can, because it is the right thing to do... but against this, there is naught that we can do. The gods will have their way. What do we do when all our best efforts are little more than useless?"

The futility of it all was nigh to maddening. That this particular topic of conversation was one which elicited far more in the way of emotion than would otherwise be expected of the Enamorian beauty was readily apparent. That she had been subjected to it for the second time in so many brightenings, he could not know... and for that, she could not blame him. His heart was in the right place. He was as worried for the Empire -- and those he loved who yet remained in it -- as she was. So was his apology met with the barest of smiles. His shirt had stopped its fluttering, at least, the rare display of temper gone... for now.

She ignored the ill-timed lark.

Instead, the Lady resumed her pacing, even as one lithe hand reached of its own accord to pass through those crimson locks.

Was it frustration... or fear?

"I speak of something else. Do not ask me to tell the tale, Ogabe... I know that there are few yet within this plane who can. Still, I dare not. For me the grief is all too near. Know only that the Rite of Succession is exceedingly treacherous, more so than anyone realizes..."

[Ogabe K'tinga]

"Divine will is like a river. We can, and will, be borne ceaselessly downstream, but there yet remains a choice before us. Are we to be grains of sand tossed to and fro within the turbulent currents, or the fish that live, love and thrive in the flow? The only way we can strive to ensure the end of the Game is something we can live with is to become active participants thereof. Sitting on the sidelines, we forfeit any right to share in the victory or stave off defeat." he stated philosopically. Hopefully, the Pale Lady would understand him, know who he was enough to see, and love, him for what he was.

For his part, Ogabe could see the worry, feel the concern radiating from the ancient halfbreed like steam from a lathered horse, and loved her in return. Far better to leave such things unspoken, however, muddling such an interaction with imperfect and, ultimately, inadequate words would be a crime far blacker than any seen in the Halls of Justice. "Mekare, my friend, I do not ask you these questions to do you harm, or open old wounds. I merely ask your counsel. I do not press you for answers you are unwilling or unable to give, nor do I hold your silence against you. You do as you must do, just as I." he stated softly, greatly conflicted and pained by the topic at hand.

"All I can tell you is that there are decisions before me, ones that sorely need all the facts straight before they are made. I will, eventually, make my choices, based on all the facts I have available. I do not, however, have the luxury of time on my side. If all I have is my gut instinct to go on, then so be it. I'd rather not." he affirmed softly, rising from his seat and padding gently to his friend's side. A cream-furred hand found its smoothskinned mate, squeezing gently as golden gaze met viridian. "You are my friend, always and forever, Mekare. I accept your choice, and hold nothing against you." he said with finality, bringing her fingers ever so gently to his lips as furred eyelids closed in reverence towards the moment.

[Mekare Taryn]

"Something we can live with... "

The derisive mutterings of one far too long-lived for any semblance of optimism could only barely be heard. How could she even hope to convince her friend of those truths discovered within the span of an endless lifetime? How could she tell him that all he believed in, hoped for, sought with every ounce of his being... was a fallacy? That the Game was nothing more than the Gods doing as they chose without regard to anything they mortals did or said? There was no Choice... she had seen it for herself. Whether they sat on the sidelines, as he had said, or fought as if there were nothing left to lose... it did not matter. There was no victory... and defeat, whether they hindered it or not, was -- quite simply -- inevitable. Yes, she understood the reasoning behind what he said. She knew who he was, what was in his heart of hearts, and loved him for all of it. Still she could not bring herself to share in the hope he held. That he could love her in return, in spite of the despair which plagued her own eternally troubled soul, was remarkable in itself. No, he did not need to say it. As was always the case, Mekare simply felt it, knew it without so much as a solitary word of confirmation.

Yet of any of it, she said nothing, if only for the fact that he seemed as divided as she had ever been...

...but by what? Was it the admittedly volatile discussion concerning the Rite that caused him such pain? She could feel it as if it were her own, this conflict that waged a mighty war within him... yet she could not discern its source. She could not have imagined that the words he spoke now were borne of a genuine wish to spare the heart of an immortal. Truly, how could such a thing not be the furthest notion from her mind? That any should see that Mekare still possessed a heart to break was unfathomable, and thus dismissed... alongside even the possibility that Ogabe had already seen it. Whatever the case regarding carefully chosen words, whether he had hoped to spare the soul of an oddly matched friend or not... he had failed miserably. Love, compassion and an awareness of what now lay between them they had aplenty... but as the far-reaching verdigris of the forests met the amber rosin of its trees, guilt there was also.

The prickling kiss of a furred maw upon one lithe hand had as much as confirmed it.

Ogabe had requested her presence this brightening because he sought answers he did not possess, information that few yet living within this plane could provide. She alone had stood the test of time, had passed from the last age into the present (seemingly) unscathed, while all others perished in one manner or another. Ah, she loved him. How, then, could she deny him the counsel he sought so fervently? As has been said before, there were certain facts that he needed to understand... no matter the pain it caused either of them.

A much-wearied sigh escaped her throat once more as she withdrew -- albeit reluctantly -- from his grasp.

"I know... yet should I leave you now with nothing to aid you in whatever decision it is you must make, I will regret it... now and evermore. Were you any other, I would not... "

Once more did the Lady traverse the room, this time in an attempt to conceal the tears that had been all but exhausted the brightening before.

"I do not pretend to know what determination you contemplate... but if it is what I suspect... do not seek the Crown, Ogabe, I beg you. No matter the guilt, no matter the burden you carry for the citizens of the Empire, do not ask for this. It is folly. Only thrice in our history has this ritual been performed... feared above all else, and justifiably so. The Aethercrown is more than capable of claiming the lives of those it deems unworthy... yes, it has done so before. Even those few who survive it are often driven to madness. Emperor Constantius was said to have been a possessed man after the Rite, taken by the soul of Constantine himself before he vanished only eight eras past his crowning. And Rothchild... "

A deep, shuddering breath emanated from a creature of seeming stone.

"Rothchild was my friend. I truly thought he knew better than to even attempt the Rite of Succession... but I was utterly, terribly wrong. Ah, James... my dear, reckless, irrepressible James. He did not do it because he sought the Throne, no... his attempt was grounded in a desire to help a friend, one whom I loved and to whom I was devoted. A mission had been set upon my paramour by the Goddess herself -- yes, one of those same creatures I have since denounced -- and they two sought to fulfill it... but rather than accomplish it, the Crown nigh killed Rothchild instead, and sent my dear one to the Umblat."

She was more fragile than a furred friend had ever seen her. Crystalline tears flowed freely now, but she was not ashamed. The pale angel of Stillwater Keep crossed the room yet again, this time to take up the great clawed digits of the highest-ranking lawbearer in the Empire, and there to kneel before him in what was to be an appeal from her very soul.

Never within these last fifteen eras had any other seen such emotion from one more dispassionate.

"Do not seek the Crown. Even should you dare to trust it, even if all our fears concerning it are entirely unfounded, there is one more thing you do not know. Insula Coronae is a danger in itself... and I can prove it. Search my mind and know that I speak the truth. My dear Ogabe... in the name of blessed Materna, I am begging you now... do not offer yourself such a willing sacrifice to the Gods."

[Ogabe K'tinga]

The cessation of contact was forgiven Mekare, though it truly pained Ogabe to see her like this. She was his friend, above all, and knowing the depth of torment his questioning had caused, though not the reason for it, was almost too much to bear. All he could hope for was forgiveness in return, that his friendship, and love, for her were refelected back upon him. Her sorrow washed over him, ever so faintly like a breeze stirring sheer curtains, and he knew then that he could push no farther now. She would give him what she could, and he would ask for nothing more, lest he damage irreparably their friendship.

He listened intently, knowing that such words would never reach his ears again, had he anything to say on the matter. The danger inherent in the Rite was at least refreshing for the fact that it at least kept the lackadaisical and the selfish from seeking the Crown. That just left the egomaniacs and the congenitally insane to muddle the field of true seekers. Ogabe refrained from inner dialogue as yet, lest he miss one vital tidbit of information gleaned at all too high a price from within his friend's past. The depth of her knowledge, most of it personal, was just another question added to the pile that concerned her past, or, more precisely, her heritage. The woman was certainly no elf, despite the mannerisms that most tended to adopt, for which the lithe wilderkatta was ever thankful. He didn't need that particular brand of sanctimony right now.

Again dragging himself kicking and screaming into the now, a small, detached part of his consciousness flickered to life in the tiniest fit of jealousy before the rest of his mind told it to shut up and pay attention. It was a good thing he did, for finding Mekare on her knees before him without seeing her drop thereto would have stunned the dappled Judicator to dumbfounded silence. As it was, he stood stock still, regarding her hands about his in somewhat subdued shock as she spoke, the glistening trails of tears tearing at his heart. The familiar, yet still very unnerving, sensation of reality warping into what the ancient telepath saw fit washed over him, the emotional undertow accompanying it threatening to drag him under before he found his feet, so to speak.

He watched, uncomprehending, yet noting every detail, every nuance of speech, every spoken word as best he could. The conduct of seeming Gods was so enigmatic, so irrational that he had trouble wrapping his brain around it. Perhaps there were answers there, but it would take a long time to ferret them out, to be sure. Research to be done and questions to be asked, both lay ahead, but there was something far more important to deal with at the moment. Wordlessly did katta crouch as far as he could, leg muscles rippling as if poised to pounce rather than offer a far more profound gesture. Silently was the pale flower of Enamoria's grasp relinquished, slender arms wrapping tenderly about Mekare's shoulders and squeezing gently. Once again words failed him, and thankfully so, for they would have been unneeded, vulgar and crude to the purpose they would have been uttered. A long moment was spent thusly, far more communication accomplished with a simple gesture than could be had with a candlemark of conversation between oddly matched friends.