Ilithyia sat on her bunk, quietly contemplating her socks. They were well high enough to protect her foot from the coarse interior of her boots, however they were far too small at the toes. Her poor little appendages were squeezed all day, and during cold spats, all night. It wan an unpleasant sensation to think of walking with, especially since today was her first day officially 'on the job.' She would meet her superiors, be placed, or receive her rounds. If she was posted to a patrol, she would get her Chrove. It was no day for lack of protocol, and yet, not a day she wanted to remember by pinched toes and an awkward limp. If only she had requested men’s stockings instead of relying on the women’s sizes…

Smiling ruefully, she slipped on her boots and ignored the uncomfortable pinch. Eh, it wasn’t any worse than trying to shove her huge feet into the awkward heels and button-boots that her mother had sent during school. And her uniform was so much more flattering and far less revealing than the dresses they had prompted her with; height, when it comes to hemlines, is a very tricky thing. No, no, trousers were the way to go!

Finally pulling herself up from her bunk (bottom one, of course, being as low on the spice-pack here as common salt), Ilithyia smoothed her belted sash and walked to the main door, eyes lingering on the clock.

“Eh, I’m a bit early, but better show myself as over-eager than a laze-about.” Ignoring the small mirror above the wash basin, she walked through to the busy station hall, and strutted in proper fashion to the on-duty clerk.

“Ilithyia Lutgardis reporting, sir.”

Billy barely looked up; he was deeply entrenched in the newest edition of the Kingsway Post. By the lamplight shining through the paper, she could see he was reading the new installment of Lusts Ensnared.

When he did glance up, however, he snapped to attention.

"Morning, cadet," he said, giving her a quick salute and setting down his paper. His cheeks turned a little red. He looked very young, possibly no older than she was.

"The new recruits are to meet in the Commons Theatre at eleven sharp. All the regiments. Commander's orders."

Ilithyia nodded curtly at him, and was about to leave. But before she stepped away, she turned to the clerk with an absent sort of smile.

"Thank you most kindly." Her mother had never noticed the humans that milled about her life, they were as meaningless to her as the pidgeons she shooed off the shutters. Ilithyia didn't share that dissmissal, and had always tried to treat each and every person, galdor, human, and even to her own belittlement, wick, with courtesy demanded by all living things.

These thoughts startled her; why was she suddenly reminded of her cool, delicately cynic peers? Because they're your bosses, you silly twit, and you have to watch yourself. And shaking off her odd mood, Ilithyia left, in search of the "Commons Theatre." Luckily, she saw a few other recruits heading in that direction, and follwed them. However, she soon decided she could't have been more lost if she tried. As things looked their bleakest (for a first day), she suddenly came across what could only be the Commons Theatre. With a sigh, Ilithyia sank down, relieved to have made it, with time to spare.

Scuro had taken leave of the estate at sunrise. She was beginning to grow restless at the estate; if it weren't for the spellwork (which was going very well) she would have gone mad. She had deemed a good, long ride the best treatment and ridden off on Chevron, her moa. The creature's deep brown plumage provided backdrop to its gold markings which glinted in the sun. She had simply ridden to Vienda from the estate, and, still unsatisfied with the ride, decided to continue in and about town. It wasn't long before she found herself at the Commons Theatre where there seemed to be some sort of hubbub. As she came closer she saw a gathering of seventen initiates. Indeed, it hadn't been long since she and her sister were initiated, and she recognized the setup.

She brought the moa to a stop and looked around, gauging the initiates. She flexed her field, which crackled in her senses as one's back might when stretched just so. She felt a reasonably strong field and felt it back to its source. She looked at the tallest girl in the crowd. Indeed, she stood a head above many, even seated as she was, and her sensibly bunned auburn hair tickled at Scuro's brain. It was like a taste or scent one couldn't quite place, and it aggravated her.

Had the girl been standing nearby she would have ridden over to speak to her, but seated as she was she would have to dismount. Scuro knew, however, that her tiny frame would be diminished by this taller girl's, for which she would not stand. And so she flexed her field again, more directly this time, to get the girl to pay attention to her.

Like a quick smack to the back of her head, Ilithyia felt someone flex their field. It was almost as disconcerting as it was surprising; she hadn't felt a wallop like that take her off guard since she was small.

Looking around for the sourse of the distictly odd sensation, Ilithyia saw over to one side of the Theatre was a delicately beautiful woman on a moa, who held herself like the very queen of law-keepers, and from the feeling of the field, had every right to. Deciding that the call must be a summons, Ilithyia stood, and after a glance to her comrades (who were deeple entrenched in their own affairs), walked towards her superior officer.

Closing the distance in long-legged steps, she stopped just short of the moa and saluted smartly, relying on being overly formal than not giving the proper respect. Upon closer inspection, Ilithyia saw that the woman would have come to just above her shoulder if she had been standing. The shame of her height, once again, plagued her around other women. Better to hide in propriety and not even think on it at all.

"Ilithyia Lutgardis, Initiate, reporting ma'am."

Scuro arched an eyebrow and let out a scoff, "Calm down, initiate, at ease. I'm neither on duty nor your superior in rank." She did, however, revel in the respect she was shown. Particularly as she wasn't in uniform (it would have been frowned upon, as she was still on unpaid leave), she found the recognition flattering.

"You look familiar. Who are you?" she asked sharply, still on her high horse.

"I was second pick of the Brunnhold graduates in my year, and ranked high in interrogation techniques in training." Ilithyia stood loosely at ease, still keeping her stance in the correct posture. After a moment of though, though, she elaborated. "I'm from Muffey, or at least my family is." She was tempted to go into greater detail, but how do you fully express that the place you think of as home is also the place you hope to never see again? Well, you don't, in polite conversation.

Looking a little closer at the seated woman, Ilithyia felt a sinking sensation. Oh, Alioe, this is one of the Vivertis... They had been very cutthoat in school. Ilithyia remembered being in one or two classes with one or the other, and had wanted to sink to the floor. Swallowing the old feelings of shame and smallness, she kept her expression clear. Years of hiding all weakness proved well in this work.

Something clicked in Scuro's head. "Ilithyia Lutgardis. Muffey. Brunnhold," as if she was reading a library card, placing the girl just so into a mental category, "I recall you. Two years younger than my sister or I. Did rather well."

She showed little expression, "You entered training in Our last year. Exemplary performance from the get-go. Though not as well as myself or my sister." Despite her sharp phraseology, it was as close to complimenting another as she would likely get. Though she didn't go into detail, she recalled the girl from her youth in Muffey. She and her sister had never seen any need to play with the other children, as they never understood either as well as their counterpart did.

Confident that a pecking order had been established, she dismounted. She, being petite to begin with, was dwarfed by Ilithyia, who was tall to begin with. But she flexed her field again, a reminder that even with her stature she was dangerous.

The Viverti (Scuro, Ilithyia thought) once again flexed her field, and Ilithyia managed not to do the same. For all that Scuro was a prodigy, there were things to be learned from hard physical labor that Ilithyia wouldn't have given up for the extra .7 points on the test. She controlled herself, and nodded politely.

"Yes, I do remember. You and your sister did make quite a stir, academically. I don't think there was a teacher there who abstained from using you as the crop to urge the rest of us students onward to better grades."

Scuro's mouth twitched halfway to a self-satisfied grin, her brow arched. It wasn't the kind of grin that killed puppies, but it certainly kicked them.

"Excellent," she replied simply. While not immune to flattery, she felt too much of it was suspicious. "Back in Brunnhold, seemed like you always had a thing for the Seventen. Is it everything you'd dreamed?" She asked, a sardonic tone at the edges of her voice.

Ilithyia paused, wondering at how to word things. The Seventen had been her childhood heroes; after seeing them on parade days in muffey she had been in awe of them, and after getting lost and then being rescued by a wonderful Seventen officer who brought her to the station and got her sweets before returning her home has cemented the ideal.

But days now were harder. "The Seventen have greater challenges now than when we were at school. Theres a lot more... resitance. I'm still proud of my choice to become an officer." After another moment, she turned to look down at the shorter woman.

"And you? Are you as pleased with chooing the Seventen?" Scuro's questions were like harpoons; one wrong word and death is imminent. Ilythia's tone was more pleasant, respectful even, but below the words was a similar intent.

She weighs her words carefully, Scuro thought.



"Indeed," she responded, "though current circumstances are not to my liking." She referred mainly to her and her sister's leave.

"And, yes, there's more resistance. The writhing masses are boiling beneath our feet, and we do nothing but talk, or slap their wrists. We need a more offensive front if we are to keep the populace from rebellion," she glanced at Ilithyia from under an arched brow, "not to criticize our superiors, but it's true. The hanging a few weeks back and so on, they're all well and good, but we're making no headway."

Locking eyes with Ilithyia, she lowered her tone, "They think they are successful with each capture and execution, but I think it's not making a difference. You can stomp an anthill and you're bound to kill a few ants, but beneath the surface there are thousands more to bite you. The only way to kill all the ants is to fuel it up and burn the hill." She leaned back, adopting a normal tone, "and we're just stomping away..."

Thank Alioe that Ilithyia could hide emotion, because the words coming from Scuro's mouth make her paralyzingly chilled. Memory bubbled to the surface, of mother, of father and her brothers, and all had that same look as they talked of the 'scum of the earth.' They're pests, meant at first to be usable to us but now they just clot the veins of the world like the fatty, useless masses they are.

Ilithyia smiled gently, hiding the horror. Oh I knew the Seventen was full of wackoes but this is not what I expected! "I see your point. While we are so flanked there can be very little done. Perhaps the solution lies in the new blood of our law." She motioned to the assembled recruits and hoped deep within her heart that some of them saw living, breathing humans, wicks and passives as more than mere creatures destined for slaughter... but something told Ilithiya that her view was the minority, like in school. Yet now she was more than am ugly, scared little girl. A backbone and steel lurked behind the unlovely exterior.

But back to Scuro's forced leave. "I'd heard something of you and your sister while traveling here. If I may be so bold, what happened? All I could gather was thet there was an overly brutal punishment for a relitively small mistake." Ilithyia knew most of the story, of course, but something of her fainess demanded she hear the other side of things.

As Ilithyia began to speak, Scuro noticed a tentativeness to her words. Practically imperceptible, but there. She wondered momentarily at the girl's convictions until she was asked,



Scuro scoffed lightly. "Ridiculous, in all honesty. To my shame, I drank that night. I hadn't before, and did not know my limitations. While I was... in that state, I was attacked unprovoked by a cocky garmon of a girl. In my defense a duel began, and Chiaro's auditory assault spell was more powerful than anticipated. It developed an area affect, and Her Majesty fainted. She was fine, but they have punished us nevertheless. It's been over a week, and there's no sign of them letting up," her brows knitted in disapproval.

Nodding sympathetically, Ilithyia was very thankful she'd heard from Scuro herself. Some of the travelers from Vienda said that a pair of Seventen had bodily attacked the queen! Leastwise they aren't as crazy as that, I suppose. Absentmindedly playing with the snap at her sash, she gave her honest opinion.

"That seems... unduly harsh. I can understand their reasoning, but the girl ought to have been equally dealt with, since she was the immediate cause of all of this." Ilithyia didn't mention the drinking; she herself had never once sipped anything more potent than wine (she hadn't even wanted to attend her own mother's Chan ceremony and begged off). She gently chastised herself for judging too harshly, at least in this aspect. Scuro (and Chairo) had been upstanding students, wo wile terrorizing the staff of Brunnhold with their fervor, had never seemed the type to physically challenge authority. But Ilithyia's guard was still up.

"I have not heard either way," Scuro replied bluntly. Her attention was caught by movement on the stage of the theater, "Looks like you're starting up. I'll leave you to them, then, initiate Ilithyia."

She nodded dismissively then proceeded to mount her moa.

Up on the stage, a balding galdor approached the podium cautiously, as though it might bite him. He coughed nervously and then spoke, his voice artificially enhanced by a spell.

"Attention, initiates," he said, in a thin and reedy voice that hinted at a history of smoking. "If you'd please assemble, your Commander will be here shortly to address you..."

Some whispers went up among the already seated Seventen - Hanz Morde himself?

Scuro stopped, half-in and half-out of the saddle. Chevron bucked a few steps back, and she settled in the saddle. Hanz Morde, she thought, best of luck for me and worst of luck for Chiaro! She settled her moa and sat upright in the saddle, eyes wide and full attention on the stage. She wasn't fresh enough to be required to be at the meeting, but she wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this.

Ilithyia nodded at the dismissal, and after a truncated salute, dashed back to her seat. Attempting to force her larger frame back through the aisles, she got more than one derisive comment from those whose knees ang legs she jostled. It was all out of momentary discomfort, and after short apologies she was soon on her way and seated.


"Hanz will be here? Now?" She heard scattered through the crowd. But Ilithyia herself would never allow herself to lose control so. As soon as she had realized that something bugger was happening, she put on her mirror-mask; it reflected what emotion was held by the crowd, but she internalized anything real.

Yet she was shocked. Hanz Morde... here? What could a bundle of untested cadets hold any interest for him? arefully smoothing her sash and fingering the snap, she couldn't come up with an answer. So, like so many times she had been wary but curious, she tried to ready herself for anything.

There was a sudden hush from the crowd as Hanz Morde approached the podium.

He was impressive, to say the least - a mighty chrove of a man, broad-shouldered and taller than most; his face was streamlined and intelligent, which somehow only added to the sense of barely restrained brutality. But what drew the most attention was his leg.

Where his left leg should have been was a clanking, wheezing machine, composed of wheels and pneumatic tubes grinding together as he walked. It was a hideous-looking contraption, seeming more organic than man-made, and the sounds it made were like the last breaths of a strangled man, groaning and hissing in agony.

The crowd of initiates, some barely a day older than twenty, were awestruck at the sight of him.

Morde gazed out on the crowd, and bared his teeth before speaking.

"Today, you are men and women of the Seventen," he said, without any introduction. His voice was odd, scratchy to the point of crackling like an old phonograph. "But tomorrow, you will become beasts."

There were some confused looks.

"The training facility in which you were kept for the last six months is Paradise compared to the streets of this city," he growled, looking around as though daring anyone to disagree. "You have no doubt been told to retain your honor and dignity at all times. I am here to tell you that this is impossible. You will be animals, clawing and biting desperately against the unclean masses who seek to flout your authority. We are wolves."

"Hear, hear!" Scuro called from her moa. She wasn't the only one, but she would have expressed her sentiments even if she were. Her eyes were wide and wild with anticipation.

Ilithyia sat as one welded to her chair, eyes completely focused on Hanz. Her knuckles and fingers were red with the force it took to hold onto the seat.


Something good and clean died just then. Ilithyia's heart felt like it ought to explode with the betrayal and guilt that slowed her mind. She barely fought back the urge to hug her knees like a child. What in all the world could pull me from my honor? Alioe... She sat in silence.

"The filthy masses, huddled together under the weight of their collective sin, stand opposed to everything we fight for. They loathe knowledge, they loathe order; they loathe the safety we bring to them. They would rather wallow in their own putrescence, ignorant and heathenish."

This rhetoric was a little strong even for the Seventen, and a few looked uncomfortable; others nodded in approval.

"You will hear much about the resistance in these coming years," said Morde. "We will have a briefing with the rest of the Seventen when the time comes. For now, do not speak of it, but be wary for signs of subterfuge and rebellion.

"And as always, be on your guard."

With those final words, he stalked off the stage, his leg clinking and hissing loudly. The Seventen recruits stood as he left, and pounded their feet on the ground; the sound was akin to a marching army, and it was loud and intimidating.

The words came to Ilithyia's ear, but she didn't understand them. or rather she did and didn't want to. Releasing the seat with effort, she forced herself to nod politely, like this was the most reasonable speech for brutality she had ever heard.


As one, all rose. Even Ilithyia felt the pull, and she stomped and saluted, the fire of the unity thrumming in her blood. The power of being with her comrades in arms, the last defence against the teeming hordes... Cold sweat broke on her arms as she came to see how easy it would be to become swept up in the hatred, the violence.

Alstair always punctual had watched Hanz with a mingled look of disgust and admiration. He couldn't help but to feel that the great figure before thought he was in the right. And for that no one could actually blame him. However, he had opened the gates to attack now with those last bitter words. It gave Alstair a chill at the thought.
With a dignified air he proceeded to stand from his seat and begin to make to make his way towards the exit. As he looked to and fro however he stopped. One cadet her face filled with Hanz's careful words struck him as odd. It may have been in the way she stood or the fact that she seemed to devoted to the cause. She would be a better target to gain the trust of than that fool old man Dom Leon.