EPISODE 142: TROUBLING NEWS 1
— THEOCRACY OF JHAN, YEAR: 7291. SEASON: COLOR FADING.
Imperius Academy is on track to develop multifaceted classes. No longer will a class solely be restricted to one architect type. Types, such as [Alchemist] , [Golemancer] , [Scholar] , are nearing the stage where they can be joined within one class. They have achieved the level of [Imperius XXX Researcher] , but they do not fully understand the values of these classes yet. Should they make a few choice selections, they can immediately advance to [Imperius XXX Scientist] and obtain a substantial boost in development in all fields of expertise. I’ve done my best to halt this progress, but I can only advise those in the warrior profession. It is impossible for me to take more direct actions, as regular updates are sent to Camilla Romus and the vice-principals.
Fortunately, their over-reliance on magic is partially stifling the advancement of their combative-based classes. Attached is a record of the starting Imperius Classes and their skills. A second attachment of the first-class advancement is also included. This information should prove useful and should be spread to the surrounding nations in the Low Kingdoms to halt the magi’s advance once their [Chosen] begins his war.
One final note… the [Chosen of Madris] is attempting to start a [Golden Age] . I am in a position to negate such effects by causing a substantial strike to the next generation of Edryan leaders. A majority of those who will lead the Great Houses are in attendance. I hesitate only due to the consequences that would arise should one strike against Edryan before the next game officially begins. I know not if the consequences are worth angering the Gods and causing a {Penalty} to be applied in the first tens of years. Should I strike, then I will surely die—yet perhaps it would open the eye of the Elder. How unfortunate I was that I never met my sister.
— Elder Eye report officially delivered to Elysium. Sent by their contact in Imperius Academy.
----------------------------------------
Izon Jhan cooly watched the red blood spill and begin its absorption into the legs of the Goddess. Next to him, Ìmólè, his sister, did the same. Only this time, her face mimicked her younger twins. Izon turned to leave, calling to his sister, who stayed watching.
“Let’s go—the senate will meet soon—the Divine Conclave begins. It is time for them to understand who is responsible for the Theocracy,” Izon stated cooly.
Ìmólè glanced at the severed head, the beastman’s features were frozen in a state of despair and hopelessness. She kept cool and turned finally to follow her brother, her face an emotionless mask.
Everyday… everyday a life was sacrificed to keep hers. Those who once captured the humans of the Theocracy and forced them into a life of subservience in a foreign land, now found themselves the ones captured. Now, they found themselves as the ones living in a foreign land and working until either their soul or body gave out—whichever came first. For they were not just captured in body, but soul, as they would be reborn into a human as the Great Rebirth began. Goddess Jhan never took prisoners, only she added to her growing collective.
A capture by the forces of Goddess Jhan meant certain death for those who once used humans as slaves, and now they fell into that position themselves. Her twin’s back seemed broader and his height taller. Today was the start of the Divine Conclave. Nearly a month ago, Izon Jhan called for the Divine Conclave. It was an event to get every member of the senate and those who helped control the Theocracy of Jhan present.
For this occasion, they wore their best gowns. Izon was dressed in a purple and golden toga that represented the pinnacle of power in the nation of Jhan. A floral wreath made of pristinely carved, gold-dipped, trifoliate leaves rested on his crown. Underneath the toga was a simple white tunic with more golden accents. Ìmólè was dressed similarly in coloration to her younger brother, but her hair was fully covered with a shawl-like hijab. Her dress was long and covered most of her body, only her hands and face revealed skin to the world. On her face, underneath her left eye, were two sky-blue, teardrop-shaped gems that rested one after another. It gave the illusion that Ìmólè was mourning the death of someone. The only other revealed piece of jewelry was the hawk-eye necklace that she wore outside of her clothes.
The twins traveled quickly through the halls, and they made their way out of the large gates of the massive pyramid. Izon led them forward, his steps fast-paced—Ìmólè nearly jogged to keep up. The pair found themselves onboarding a small raft connected to the edge of the pyramid peak—before the start of its massive base. Once settled, the driver pushed off, the wind currents immediately picking the raft up and shooting through the air. Several other rafts that were docked midair set off and surrounded the smaller raft in a protective embrace.
They traveled for nearly an hour, the hot sun above beating down on what seemed like an endless city. Tall towers, in hues of white and gold, shone against the magnificence of the sun. Flat-top buildings with large green gardens placed upon them absorbed the radiance provided to them. Fresh air made its way into the lungs of the twins as they traveled above the white-marbled city. Hundreds of other vehicles flew through the air as the citizens of the state ran their errands.
“Our city is beautiful—is it not,” Izon spoke—this broke Ìmólè from her concentration on the city beneath them.
“Very,” she responded. “It is clean, the sun radiates its light upon us—far from the darkness and dirt it once held, except the muck that emerges from the senate.”
“You have done a magnificent job in reorganizing Roma into the exemplar it is to the rest of our nation. The city is clean, with fresh water provided to individual households—the children of the freemen roam the streets happily and strive to be our next soldiers. You have turned a city of darkness and hardships into a city of life and white—all in a matter of ten years. The Senate will learn, and they have been learning—the change is just rapid to them. We are not yet seventeen—we have barely experienced two decades of life—yet, we oversee the lives of millions.” Ìmólè gestured around as if emphasizing her points.
Izon sighed, like Ìmólè, his gaze was on the views below. What rebuilt the city of Roma from its once barren state were the harsh consequences of Izon’s advice to the five cardinals. He’d been able to turn the raids upon humanity’s territory into an opportunity to secure and advance their state several times. Once he produced one result, then another, and another, the cardinals slowly began to refer to his advice for every subject until Izon now sat at their head. The points his twin made were valid, but there was much, much more Izon was concerned with.
“Yes, and outside these walls, outside this great city of Roma, our people starve. Do not let Roma veil your eyes to the rest of the Theocracy—it is the Senate’s lack of drive that pulls people into this city to prevent themselves from starving outside of it. It is the slowness in decision—whether passing laws or acting in the capacity they can, that drove our nation into the darkness it once was in. I can know no satisfaction until all of Jhan looks like here and not just one city,” Izon stated—his gaze on the large circular building that stood polar opposite to the pyramid in which the cardinals and he governed.
The building was far from the height and grandeur of its opposite, but here represented the second seat of power in their country. A power, Izon wanted under his full authority and not that of its… willful senators.
Their boat and its entourage slowly lowered toward the docking station of The Curia. Izon stepped off first, before turning and offering a hand to his sister. She promptly accepted and next to them, several figures, the Cardinals, emerged from the aircraft of the entourage.
Izon looked at his sister and spoke a few final words before they made their way within.
“The Senate has protested against me nearly since I began to lead our Theocracy more directly. They protest because they believe I’ve infringed upon what little power they wield,” he chuckled. “They are right, but I am the [Chosen of Jhan]—what right do they have to stop me?”
Izon smirked and began to walk forward, the confidence he showed made Ìmólè’s shoulders straighten as she followed him. The five cardinals of the church fell in step behind them.
The Curia was a large building with a circular dome-shaped rooftop. The building was massive, mostly open, but in the style of a colosseum in which the many factions of the Senate split themselves within. Just like the rest of Roma, the Curia was a building of white and gold. The color came from natural stone found within the nearby ground used to build the city. Yet, the growing legend was that it was the blood of those who died in its construction—purified by the magic of Goddess Jhan and Her [Chosen].
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Izon walked through the open corridor, the volume of the voices growing increasingly louder as he approached. He paused before entering the bustling room and gestured to his left, and Ìmólè pulled up next to him.
“ Let me show you what it means to wield Power. ”
Together, as one, they entered the brightly lit room.
“We must prepare more Loden grain, Caesar, my district suffers from a lack of produce for the lower caste,” one voice stated.
“Grain? Since when do slaves eat Loden grain—not even the cattle enjoy such pleasures,” another voice guffawed.
“A new statue of Goddess Jhan must be built in the Flaminia district to allow her divine radiance to bless those of the less fortunate,” a haughty voice said.
“My Flaminia district is far from missing the grace of fortune. Perhaps it is your Trajan district that lacks the blessing from Her,” another countered.
“This raid against the orcs of the Jehda Plains is madness. We should send a petition at once to put a halt to it. We should use this winter to consolidate our new gains and hold on to the Rolling Hillflats and other minor territories we’ve reclaimed,” a powerful voice stated.
“Where is the food for this raid coming from? My Mars district holds no extra grain to provide. We barely hold enough for the winter to come,” another agreed.
Hundreds of voices with similar and far-ranging conversations continued as the [Chosen of Jhan] and his twin entered the Curia. The building was packed, but that word was nearly an understatement, as every senator found themselves present.
Izon had yet to be noticed, but it only took another second or two for that to change. His aura, after all, was unmistakable. Like a hawk tracking its prey, his aura encompassed the room, allowing those within to feel like talons were centimeters away from piercing their flesh.
He took another step forward and the loud voices of the Curia quieted—those near him were the first to break from their conversations as the stifling aura was the closest. His sister followed in step, but her presence was diminished by the one who shone next to her. As eyes turned, they merely glanced over her before focusing on Izon, whose descent never halted. The senators stood in respect as they noticed him.
Although Izon did not grow, the five cardinals behind him increased in width and height. Their stature as one who achieved the impossible was available for all to see.
What grew was the (Aura of the Chosen) and the increasingly close presence of Goddess Jhan. She watched, they could feel it. How could they not, when they shared the same eyes?
The Curia was completely open, only the seats where the senators sat held anything of decoration—brought by the senators to show off their family’s prestige and wealth. The internals were built like large steps that slowly descended onto a platform in the center of the building. It was there, those who held the most weight and whose voices could speak the loudest sat. A dozen men and women all stood at the approach of their [Chosen], their heights and stature similar to that of the cardinals behind Izon.
One, the largest of the bunch, a fiercely scarred, balding man with a single glass eye, took the lead in welcoming the [Chosen of Jhan].
“How wonderful for our victorious [Chosen] to join us. Allow me, Viken Maximus, to be the first to welcome you to the Curia Julia,” his deep voice rumbled.
The Curia was built to amplify sound and Viken’s voice shot toward Izon and his entourage like a sound attack.
Izon sneered, and Cardinal Lionheart stepped forward. He let out a soft, hmph, and the effects of Viken's amplified voice dispersed like pollen in the wind.
Now, the Curia held deadly silence as a senator already offered their [Chosen] greetings. It was no one’s place to speak but his.
“ Have a seat. ”
As if practiced, hundreds of senators sat. Looks of shock and astonishment appeared on their faces only after they realized what they’d done—others, those who’d been able to resist the voice of the [Chosen of Jhan], continued to stand, their eyes on the dozen senators all at the center of Curia Julia. Several mixed expressions showed throughout the hall. Those who’d been forced to sit held ugly expressions, their Intent unable to resist that of a boy who’d only just gained access to the system. Those who still stood, some with evident strain on their faces, swallowed heavily. The youngest senator present was in his mid-forties yet, a boy was able to place this much pressure on them?
“ Lord Izon, it is illegal to use any sort of representation of power in the Curia. Please refrain from doing such actions, as this is a place of law and order ,” a female senator on the platform stated.
Izon’s hawk-like, yellowish-brown eyes, with hints of gold, locked in on the woman who spoke. She had seductive eyes with long braided black hair. Unflinchingly, her similar, but different eyes met his—not backing down from the challenge.
Izon… smiled .
His smile was wide, each tooth shining a perfect white, and made Izon appear as a beautiful young man—which, undoubtedly, he was. That beauty and smile were… not present in his eyes.
Izon kept his focus on the woman and calmly, he walked forward, leaving his sister behind. There was no hesitation to pass Viken or the others next to him. He was looking to make an example and the example presented itself to him.
He walked up to the Prestige senator, those before him moving out of the way. Usually, they would be competitors to one another, but the Senate united as a strong whole when it came to any outside force. So it came as no surprise when right before he reached the woman, another stepped forward.
"Lord Izon, the Curia is a sanctuary where law prevails over force. Your presence here is tolerated only by adherence to our codes. Any attempt to intimidate or overpower will be met with unified resistance. Leave this place if you cannot respect its sanctity."
“You are Mors Nascitur, yes? A fitting name, one that your son should not inherit, least he follows in your steps.”
The Prestige man’s eyes widen at the blatant provocation the words of the [Chosen] held. He stepped forward, hands clenched into fists, as Izon’s smile grew even wider. His eyes remained calm, and he stepped into the man’s personal space—the words he said next were barely above a whisper, yet amplified by the Curia’s effects.
“ Born to Vitus and Amara Nascitur at the height of seven thousand three during the summer solstice—an honorable day to breathe one’s first breath. Died on the eve of seven thousand, two hundred, ninety-one, during the Divine Conclave leaving a son and wife behind, as he becomes the first known Prestige to suffer from a Mortal Effect—a {Heart Attack} . Oh, the heavens are not just. ”
Mors Nascitur clutched his chest at the words of Izon Jhan. A terrified fear gripped his heart as it began to beat irregularly. Before, he stood tall above Izon—towering like a giant amongst men. Now, as he slowly fell to his knees, his eyes pleading for mercy, Izon stood above him—a man amongst giants.
Izon’s gaze never left that of Mors as his life began to fade. He watched him die calmly, like another monogamous day was only passing by. His eyes didn’t shift until the voice of a woman spoke, pleading for mercy.
“Grand… Grand Purifier… have mercy,” she said, kneeling. “The Edryans have revealed several demigoddess and Prestige classes and his strength will be needed for what is to come. Mors may have spoken out of line, but his strength is still necessary.”
Izon’s head snapped to the dark-haired woman, his eyes taking on more and more gold as the power of Jhan flooded through his veins. “ What did you say? ”
The woman hesitated, still kneeling, as were others around her. Eventually, as Mors’s choked cry continued to echo around the Curia, she spoke out once more. “Grand Purifier, have mercy. The Edryans have revealed several demigoddesses. Their current queen and a few members of her closest allies have managed to achieve demigodhood and Prestige. We should not fight amongst ourselves when all our strength will be needed to face the might of the magi. Allow Mors Nascitur his life and I, Octavia Dominia, will be the first to swear my eternal loyalty.”