Destiny's Child

Tarot 0- Fool

With all his worldly possessions in one small pack, the Fool travels he knows not where. So filled with visions and daydreams is he, that he doesn't see the cliff he is likely to fall over.

Imperial Year 24

The Tor lay shrouded in mist emanating from the highest cliffs down to the shores. Few men could say for sure whether the island was positioned in such a way as to be so affected year round or if its owner had placed a curse upon it to scare off intruders, but in a land where magic had once thrived and dragons roamed the latter seemed a more likely possibility. Without the orange lights that now emanated from both the cliff-bound castle and the boats slowly approaching it, no ship would ever find the ageing citadel atop the isle that the Sage Warren Moon had claimed as his own, nor the denizens of his court. They had learned to live with the ever-present cloud and even took comfort in it, for as the old Sage was fond of saying, 'any place can be a home'.

Indeed, for many of the refugees and outcasts he had taken in over the course of twenty years Castle Volzak was the only home. Possessing as varied appearances and conditions as the circumstances that had brought them here, they subsisted on his hospitality, eventually forming small townships of their own across the island. Even on the odd occasion when a combat-capable man came to the strange sanctuary, none had ever questioned the Sage's authority here. They learned to tolerate one another's eccentricities, put aside stubborn pride and pull their own weight, or were sent back to Zenobia proper with nothing, not even the clothes on their backs they had come in with. The choice to sail here could not be made lightly, but the collection of spherical lights out on the water tonight showed that they were about to have a great many guests here at Volzak, at least ten boatloads by the young warrior's estimation.

Destin Neb had not been summoned by Warren to cook food, clear tables or care for Ruclomb and Pheles during dinner, however. From the very beginning he had sensed a different purpose in the way his ward treated him and his deficenies, though he could not for the life of him guess why. A handsome young man by Volzak's standards, he bore great lengths of pale yellow hair over a round face, and small eyes that might have looked sinister under his brow had they not radiated an unnaturally bright blue pigment normally reserved for natural-born wizards.

Aside from that, his other little peculiarity was generally never even noticed by others until they spent a good amount of time around him; Destin's body showed a healthy thirty summers of age, but he carried himself like one a dozen younger. The sight of the lights outside remained a cause for excitement rather than resignation to him, and at once he longed to leave the room Warren had sent him to and go down to greet the newcomers.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait much longer for his ward to step out from behind the wooden entry door, locking it behind him before raising his dusty brown hood. No one here knew Warren Moon's age; the face and beard his dusty grey robes normally obscured could have been sixty or eighty or even a hundred. The old Sage never seemed to change in appearance or habits, even now regarding his pupil with a blank gaze, expecting him to know, figure out, and make the first move. It was simply his way.

"A fire would be nice, boy", he offered once Destin stared at him without a clue for ten seconds. "What we do tonight has consequences reaching beyond even Zenobia. We musn't allow a single mistake."

"Of course, master", Destin acknowledged, fetching the pumice at once. As he'd been taught, striking the two small, brittle-seeming rocks hard enough together created a spark that became a flame when it struck wood in the fireplace, casting the room's single table and bookshelves into long shadows. Meanwhile, Warren had produced his own little fire from a tiny metal dish he'd produced from his robes, the heat scattering some kind of filmy substance within the dish into a rising cloud of particles. With both men seated at opposite ends of the table, he opened the pouch at his hip again, reaching deeper inward this time.

What he produced would not have been familiar in most regions of the continent, but Destin, gasping in recognition, knew the stack of identical paper slips to be a Tarot Deck; the only one he'd ever seen. "I have performed readings many times with and without you, of course", the sage murmured as he shuffled and organized the cards by routine. "But tonight is a special night, boy, in fact one brought about by such a reading I performed 20 years ago to the day."

Destin looked about, watching the Sage stack the Tarot into piles in an order no one but he fully understood. "I can take a guess. I know you like that. It's the Empire, isn't it? You've finally decided to do something about them."

Warren did not scowl, did not give any verbal indication of irritation, but his pupil felt it all the same when he paused in dealing the cards. "Me, boy? Me, do something about the Zeteginean Empire?" He laughed mockingly, arching one crinkled eyebrow. "Oh, yes. Would you prefer I sink their capital into the ocean or turn the Black Queen into a pygmy? Tarot reading is a delicate, impractical, and often imprecise branch of magic, you foolish child. It is also a dying art- I may be the last practitioner of it left alive today. In fact, that may be our advantage."

Destin fell silent, raising one palm to his chest as an unconscious habit when chatsied. His heart was still just fine. "Alright, what are we here for then?"

Warren sighed in abandon, picking up the top card of the first pile. "Impatient as ever. You'll need to curb that somewhere along the road, or it will spell your doom. The ways of Tarot do not accomplish anything in the physical realm, child. Rather, they offer a brief window into the ever-shifting tides of the future. Through the mists of time all outcomes are possible, but it is through this that we may discern which are most likely and act upon them, steering towards the desirable one like a hidden oasis. I don't expect you to fully understand."

Having settled his pupil down some, he rearranged each pile with spindly hands, talking all the while as he sorted them further. "Now then. Twenty summers ago, I was tasked by King Gran Zenobia's old retinue to perform Tarot readings in search of an outcome in which the lost kingdoms of Zenobia- and by association, the vassal nations Deneuve and Malano- might be freed of their Zeteginean occupiers. A last-ditch effort by them for certain, but for a time that seemed impossible. No such outcome appeared in the cards, and so no actions taken by anyone could ever make it happen. Then... You appeared in my readings, child."

Not grasping completely, but able to follow the gist of the goal, he nodded. The Zetegineans. The Highlanders. They were the enemy, invaders from a far-off land in the north who had murdered the rightful king of Zenobia, and by extension the two lands which had been vassals to it. Destin had never seen a Zeteginean. Between his dreams and the tales brought to them from the outside world he pictured them to be bloodthirsty monsters like the Ogres of legend, warped and cruel human offshoots seven feet tall who only lived to punish and kill those not of their kind. "You saved me."

"We did", Warren acknowledged noncommittally. "Because in every reading I made with Empress Endora's defeat as the eventual outcome, you were there. Your role in this tale varied from vision to vision, but one thing was clear: Without destiny's child, the Empire would never fall. It was actually quite astounding", he confessed, at once humble. "Normally Tarot readings are nowhere near that certain. Now twenty summers have gone by, and the tides of fate have shifted about in ways no man can ever know for sure. Twenty summers, and you have grown into a strong warrior- if dense."

Destin didn't balk at the insult. It was simply Warren's way, and the rare compliment before it was more noticeable. "You can thank Lancelot", he told the Sage calmly. "The first time we started training I thought I was going to die, but it worked out in the end."

Warren smiled, not in pleasure but his usual wry amusement at the mistakes of a disciple. "If you had really bonded with him so close, you'd know he hates being called Lancelot. captain Lans Hamilton was the one who asked me to perform the readings back then. Trust me when I say he is more invested in this fate than any other man on the island. Now, then." Without further delays, he passed one of the top cards across to Destin without looking at it. "Let us begin."

Destin was only momentarily thrown- Warren was not adhering to the usual customs for such a reading, usually managing three piles by himself without a partner. Well, he did say tonight was special. He carefully lifted the card, quickly recognizing it from all the readings he had been present for; the ones that had nothing to do with him. "Number seventeen, The Star arcana. Represents insight and intuition when right-side up."

"Well practised", Warren remarked, gesturing out the window not to the orange lights, but to the far dimmer ones far above them. "There is a lucky star scheduled to come by tonight, you know. What would you wish for?"

Destin thought hard. A Tarot reading did not normally include questions, but in this case he could consider it a hypothetical exercise. "I wish for victory in our attempt to rid this land of the Zeteginean scourge." It had to be what their guests were here for, despite the Sage's protests to the contrary.

"I see...", Warren noted, palming and passing another facedown card down the way. "Try this one then."

"Number ten, The Wheel of Fortune", the man identified the new card by its strange artwork. "Represents luck, change, karma... The eternally-changing ways of fortune."

"Indeed it is, and so you ask for your fortunes to point to victory this night.", Warren consoled him, hand massaging his beard in thought. "Yes, it is sometimes said that victory is really nothing but luck... What do you think luck is?"

This was not so simple to answer, and Destin knew from experience that Warren disliked impulsive solutions. What is luck? Certainly we know of mystical factors that can alter probability in one's favor, but what harnesses this elusive factor? "Luck decides the outcome of a trivial footrace or drinking contest", he decided with confidence, "Destiny decides the outcome of battles."

The third card gave him pause as well; a tall, skeletal figure wielding a wicked scythe taller than it was. His heart dropped. "The Death arcana", he whispered bleakly. "Number Thirteen." Is that the outcome? Will this be my death?

Seeing his face falling, Warren waved the grim omen away petulantly. "The Death Tarot is representative of Change, Passage, or Transformation, child. It does not necessarily mean there will be Death in your future, though I fail to see how you'll proceed without causing a great deal of it." Taking a deep breath, he stared into the card. "But on the other hand, there are no easy voyages here. Anything could happen. Who would you be willing to lose to see this through? Would you accept Lans' death for the cause? Your own? Mine?"

"My own life is a fair payment", the young man claimed after only a moment's indecision. "Warren... When you found me I had nothing. No clothes, no language, nothing. I could not even remember my own name- you had to give me one. If my death could free our people, then I can offer it with a whole heart. My life here is already more than I might have had otherwise."

"Well spoken", Warren observed neutrally, revealing nothing about what he considered to be the right choice... If there was a 'right' choice. "Have another, martyr."

"Number six", Destin spoke, raising the fourth card in deep thoughts of his own. "The Lovers. Affection, communication, decisions. Does this mean... What I think it means?"

"All outcomes are possible in time", Warren admonished him. "This may occur during the campaign, or long afterwards. Were it so, I am curious; what trait would you most desire in a life partner?"

He stared into the Tarot as if probing it for answers. While he'd certainly noticed strange reactions to some of the less deformed women on Warren's isle as they became a routine part of his body and mind, he had yet to encounter the powerful urges older men spoke of in stories about their dearest lovers or wives. In those same stories however, a warning was usually carried about the danger of women who possessed beauty the Gods could scarcely dream of, yet held the minds and souls of demons within. "Purity", he replied at last. "A loyal one who will never betray or mislead me."

"Quaint, and common enough", was all Warren could think of to say to that, feeling the solemnity of his pledge too much to insult it as he normally did. "Just one more, then."

This one actually took a moment to recognize, but when it clicked Destin's heart sank for a second time. "The Fool? You slipped this one in, didn't you?"

The old Sage laughed before assuming a completely serious visage towards the last card, which depicted a capering jester in saggy purples. "Never. To rig the last reading would render all of it meaningless. Although, that truly is the card most fitting for you right now. Arcana Number Zero. Infinite possibilities. A new beginning... And a bark of warning."

Not sure whether to be insulted or not, Destin frowned at the card. "A warning?"

"Yes, Destin", Warren confirmed, his use of his pupil's name a clear indication to him of just how seriously he was taking this. "A warning. This venture is a massive rock dropped in an ocean of possibilities, which will change the lives of every person in Zeteginea and Zenobia for better or worse. It will change you, face you and others with choices and prospects never dreamed of before... And not all of the victorious outcomes are pleasant ones."

He blinked. "What do you mean? Do we all die saving Zenobia?"

The seer shook his head, remembering the child's naivete. "A possibility amongst thousands of others. But there are worse outcomes than that in the cards, child, far worse. The mists of the future are thickest here; I cannot give you any prediction without changing the outcome. All I can ask of you is that you stay true to yourself, and always remember why we convened here tonight."

Taking up the five cards and examining each in turn, destiny's child slid the hand back towards the seer. "You shall have that and more."

"Truly? Do you mean it?"

He nodded, setting his mouth in a firm line. "I shan't disappoint you. I am not afraid."

Back to his usual self, Warren did not smile at the bravado, only pulled his hood back up to conceal everything but the grim, grey eyes which saw all possibilities. "Not yet."

All through the night, the men and women gathered in the modest foyer of Warren's castle. Three long tables had been prepared and arranged with a mighty feast like none Volzak had ever seen, but as more guests arrived it soon became apparent that even this measure would not be enough to hold all of them. The excess visitors settled themselves up on the second floor's walkways, not caring when they spilled food or wine upon others below them. At the far end of the hall lay a broad stone dais that had once held a throne, and from that dais the lord of Volzak surveyed his guests and friends.

"Ninety-six", the Sage finished counting, turning to face a man entirely covered in armour. It was old armour, to be sure, with all but small patches of the silver shine it had once bore faded to dismal grey. Captain Lancelot ap Hamilton wore the suit religously, the same way he shaved his beard every morning and, as some rumors spoke, several other regions as well. That he was alive after so long indicated him to be either a coward or uncommonly skilled. Warren, however, had long since ceased to be impressed by the tin-plated zealot standing beside him. "You brought ninety six people, Lans. Some of these idiots don't look like they could kill a drunken pig, nevermind a soldier."

"I didn't wish to leave anyone out of it. They all deserve to be a part of history in the making.", the knight replied stiffly, again reminding his friends just how devoted he was to restoring the kingdom he had once served. For some of the men sucking down mead and grapes before them, the Empire had always been. The days when Zenobia had had a royal family were firmly encsonced in myth, and scarcely something worth laying down one's life for.

Not for Lans. Over twenty four years of setbacks and betrayals he'd led the remnants of the kingdom's old guard, holding them together through force of will. A few ragged veterans of his small group were amongst the crowd, for once able to leave their armor and relax, soothing their growing ages with comfort and camaraderie as their leader never could until his liege was avenged.

"Fair enough", Warren gave in, throwing up his hands. "At least Fubuki and Blaine's bands came. For a time I thought you'd turned them away."

Making sure neither of the aforementioned mercenary leaders saw him, Lans spat off to one side of the dais to avert evil. "Only by your insistence, I assure you. Such riffraff have only one loyalty."

"We need them, Lans", his friend pressed, watching as the white-haired Blaine ap Diwrnach ripped into a pork chop in a manner that made one forget that he was a magician by trade. "Mayhap the idiots will learn a thing or two from them before they die." At the next table over, Selec Fubuki contented himself with a collection of turnip shavings and beans, nearly unrecognizable without the sunset red samurai armor and mask that was his more famous 'face'.

Despite Fubuki's loud reluctance to get involved in something so deeply personal, Warren did not need a Tarot reading to tell that these skilled mercenaries and the veteran killers they oversaw would be badly needed in the days ahead. Moreover, if they didn't get them the Empire eventually would once things got hot enough. Lans was much too picky to be much of an effective recruiter, though he certainly had the energy to bombard someone with lectures about loyalty and honour until they give in just to shut him up.

"And here we have a group from the Order of Roshian", Lans changed the subject, pointing to the far left table where a handful of petite young women in identical blue and white robes were justified in keeping themselves apart from the rest of the gathering. Many still bearing freckles, all of them showed some degree of nervousness or even giggling excitement at being here, but Lans personally knew the stern old cleric who was supervising them. So long as Sister Yenda was conscious, they would not get into any trouble.

"A good decision", Warren acknowledged grudgingly. He'd never seen much use in the Roshian sect, personally. "They may be forbidden by their order to kill, but their talents will be helpful regardless", he sighed. "I just wish they were a little older, but with most of the real priests convened on Avalon I guess that's not happening. What about the Wind Rider?"

Lans visibly sagged. "No sightings. Perhaps he's dead."

"Nonsense. No dragon or griffin could catch him. Ah, well", the Sage clasped his hands in hope. "I suppose this sorry rabble will have to do. Make yourself useful and go fetch Destin, will you?"

With the captain gone, Warren stood on the upraised portion of the dais and cleared his throat. When no one paid him any attention, he threw an old lantern to the floor, the noise of its shattering finally quieting the ruckus.

"Better", the castle's lord remarked snidely, speaking now to the entire assemblage. "Well. I believe we all know why we're here... Because Lancelot forced you."

Peals of laughter rose up to him. As expected, the rare food and drink had gotten everyone comfortable and ready to listen to a withered old man for at least ten minutes. "But of course, anyone who knows him knows our purpose here tonight. You've all been called here to answer the call and form the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army. To liberate your homeland, Zenobia, from the rule of the Empire. Many of you may be wondering... Why?"

Certain he'd caught the skeptics now, he paced about and changed direction with each postulation, a ridiculous-seeming figure in his dusty robes. "Is it not too late for such action? What do the Empire's abuses of its citizenry have to do with independent warriors such as yourselves? With the Royal family all dead, would a revolution not plunge this kingdom into anarchy? So much death for such little gain! Is it really all worth it? Do we mean it? Do we truly mean it? Why do I follow you?"

Silence from his audience. With Lans here he would never have been able to ask these questions without making him angry. After a long pause, Warren rapped his walking stick on the masonry for each counterpoint.

"Yes. Yes, I say it is. For one, the Empire is currently tied up with the invasion of another realm to their north. Their standing armies are weaker than they have been in decades, as any of you fools have been paying attention could tell. For two, I can see in the eyes of quite a few of you thugs that the years have been long, with the pickings growing slimmer and slimmer as resistance breaks down. A new war can satisfy both your lusts, for we will most certainly not be expecting you to fight for free. For three, even the blind among you know the way the Empire runs its districts. Repression. Poverty. Crime. Disease. These things keep the people of Zenobia in line and alive, but I must ask you, is that truly all there is to living?"

No response, but they hadn't tuned him out yet. A good sign. Fingering his beard, Warren turned serious. "Before I start sounding too much like Lans, let me say that we do not fight this rebellion out of loyalty to a long-deceased king- though for some of us that may be a worthy goal- but for the welfare of our lands and our children as they are today. Today, when a long-oppressed kingdom lies before you and destiny at your backs. So I ask you: Will you fight?"

They didn't seem to catch on what to do next until a young squire of Volzak stood in the back row and gave an emphatic nod to his lord. Several others not of Volzak followed suit, and gradually entire tablefuls rose in indechipherable murmuring. Still seated amidst a dozen or more supporters, Selec Fubuki raised his sharp, impudent voice: "And just who shall be leading us into this battle, Warren of Moon? You? Lancelot?"

More laughter answered him, this time much of it the mocking kind. Warren, however, didn't miss a beat. He'd known from the start that the mercenary leaders would be the hardest to get on board. "I'm glad you asked, sir Fubuki. I present to you the warrior who is prophecied to lead this rebellion to victory. Destiny's child! But you may simply call him Destin."

With a flourish he hobbled off, leaving Lans to escort a startled Destin onto the dais' upraised section, wearing his customary lightweight red and white armor and helmet. The sight of two hundred expectant eyes nearly turned the young man to jelly right off, but somehow he held, simply waving to the assembly. "Um. Hello."

Not one of them was impressed, and Fubuki rose from his seat in ire. "A child? You expect a child to lead us? I was told this was a serious matter Sage, not a comedy." His retinue murmured their agreement.

Standing off to one side, Warren was unmoved. "By all means, then", he offered, extending his staff towards Destin. "If any of you feel this man lacks the skills or the experience to lead us, then put him to the test. Better yet, if anyone is able to defeat him, then they shall be named leader. Well, Fubuki?"

It was a low blow, for the grand majority of their guests had not brought their weapons or armour in with them, and many of those who had were too drunk to fight a duel. Everyone knew this, and while the Samurai mercenary leader looked as though he was about to challenge Destin to combat without his armour or even a blade, he grudgingly stepped down as well. Behind his head, Warren clasped both hands on his staff and chanted a handful of arcane words beyond most men's ability to pronounce. Pointing the staff towards Destin, he shocked everyone in the great hall by unleashing a blast of fire the size of a man's head towards him, sizzling the air as it went.

Destin ap Neb watched the glowing sphere of flame approach in calm, thinking at once of the boat lights. In the final moment, he raised the sword Lans had been training him with before him, taking the fire on its steel edge and struggling for only a moment before he pushed the sword forward with both gloved hands, turning the fireball into nothing but a lingering sense of heat in the air.

"There are many things I've yet to learn about the World", he admitted solemnly to the crowd, which had regained its suspension of disbelief at his trick with Warren's fireball. "But the same holds true for all men. What I do know is that our homeland of Zenobia has suffered for twenty-four summers under Zeteginean rule, its many customs and religions and magic slowly digested by the Empire's regimen, even as it molds our children into its obedient slaves. That is twenty four summers too long, in my opinion. And so tomorrow, we shall set out on the boats and strike at the shores of the Sharom District, the weakest link in the Empire's hold on our kingdom. What say you, my friends?"

Again, the change in stance towards what Fubuki had taken as a joke took some time to be felt. The squires and other natives of Volzak held themselves apart, waiting as intructed by their lord for some of the others to make the first steps. Finally, Blaine ap Diwrnach stood, and his men stood with him. "At the very least, we owe you for dinner", he claimed with an impish grin that belied his true age. "Count us in."

That was the start of it, and others soon rose to follow him. The Roshian delegation strode down the tables towards him bearing their staffs. Servants of the warriors he'd wooed accompanied their masters to the dais bearing weapons and armor.

Until each and every one of them, Fubuki's band included, stood with their leader.

Volzak lacked the space to bed the rebel army and Destin, wishing to set a selfless example, offered his bed to Blaine Diwrnach while he camped out under the stars in a grassy field just outside. In some ways this was better, as the lingering noises of the party would not reach him here. Lans, along with his unit of veterans, made the same offer afterwards, and found their leader lying face-up in the field with both arms folded behind his head, beholding the night with a child's innocence.

"What is it like, Lancelot?", he asked the captain once he'd detected them walking up.

Devoid of his face-concealing helmet for once, Lans frowned. "Don't call me Lancelot. What is what like, lad?"

"Zenobia. Saying those things about it is all well and good, but it reminded me that I've never actually been there. I don't remember anything before this island."

"Aye", the knight captain's loyal second-in-command, Bors, admitted regretfully, looking down on the man's splayed form and remembering when they'd met. The knight had lost his right ear to an enemy's blade some years past, but his remaining one remained acute as ever. "Can't blame ye for that. T'was not a kind day when we found ye."

Lans knelt down in the grass beside him, leg joints clanking. "Warren would label us all sentimental fools", he remarked absently. "For Zenobia is the only land that we have ever known. Is it beautiful compared to Malano? Is it vast compared to Deneuve? Is it rich compared to the Highlands? For those born to this land, it is all of that and more; it is home. There are grasslands, Destin, far as the eye can see. There are mighty mountains stretched to the skies where exotic beasts dwell, and river systems coursing with life's blood. Every region has a castle built by my liege from which to govern it, and not even the Empire was heartless enough to tear those fine works down, for they make good fortresses."

He paused, debating on whether he should continue. "There is magic here too, founts and ley lines of magic that has disappeared from much of the rest of the world over time. Outside of Zenobia, Warren would not have been able to create a fireball even half the size of the one he conjured for you tonight, and he has practiced those skills for the duration of his long life, from back when every man and woman knew magic and obeyed its natural laws. It's all fading, Destin, and I'd bet my helmet that the thrice-damned Empire has something to do with it. But then the sword, not sorcery, is my place to understand... If you want definitive proof, ask the Sage."

Not moving his head, the newly-minted rebel leader watched a comet streak by, trying with all his might to picture the kingdom they'd be assailing tomorrow. "It sounds impossible to describe with any justice."

"T'is", the old knight assured him piously. "There is only one Zenobia, and there was only one ruler who ever did it proper in living memory. King Gran. So the Empire killed him. Executed his entire family, down to the youngest child, to eliminate any possible heirs." He rapped one arm against his metal-clad chest for emphasis, and only after he spoke did Destin realize he was tapping his heart. "For twenty four years, my men and I have only lived to see these crimes avenged, even if the rest of the kingdom has forgotten. You are our best chance. Our only chance. Ten years more down that wretched new calendar they've created and all the young men will have grown up indoctrinated under Imperial rule, unaware that any better government ever existed." He shuddered and spat at the horrible vision. "We must not fail this time."

Rolling over, Destin clasped the mesh gauntlet sternly, eyes locked as he'd been taught to do when speaking from the heart. People who couldn't look you in the eye when they spoke were hiding something. "We shan't. We will win, no matter the cost. Zenobia will be freed, and no Zeteginean will ever lay eyes upon its beauty again. I promise."

Sensing the honesty in that promise only a child could manage, Lans smiled. "Good man. But for now, we must rest. There's a big day ahead of us."

Maybe the biggest one ever.

"So it begins then", Warren Moon considered from the window of his study, a wide space that nevertheless had more in the way of scrolls than books. Seeing the glimmering stars above, he gave a soft chuckle at how pretentious it all seemed, even if it was the truth. "That this pitiful gathering of lowlifes and vagabond might become Zenobia's last hope... Hard to believe. How often in life are we made witness to such a critical juncture?"

For that was one thing Lans had been correct about. If action was not taken soon, nothing short of a cataclysm sent by the Gods could undo the effects of twenty four years under the Empire. Imperial indoctrination, he noted wryly, as opposed to the Monarchist indoctrination we had before, that the king is our land's only true conduit to the Gods and thus must be obeyed, as must all those of his bloodline. In a way, we are fortunate to have had a benevolent martyr such as Gran at that time. Another King Marcus would make this even harder to sell, he considered to himself, wincing at the memory of Gran's anemic precessor, who he himself had helped unseat in favor of his younger cousin more than fifty years ago.

Even so, some might yet make the case that the Zetegian government was more efficient and fair than Gran or Marcus in many better-off places such as Antioch or Kasolat. Warren, however, needed only compare his memories of old Zenobia with the current one to know in his heart which side he favoured. On a purely aesthetic view the people of Zenobia and the Zeteginian Highlanders were really not so different from another. The Highlanders being perhaps a touch more spartan and better adjusted to colder climates and inhospitable regions, while the Zenobians more prone to close-knit communities and farming villages in isolated flats divided by mountain ranges and rivers.

From the very moment that King Gran's family had been killed however, a gaping rift had been torn between them, so that only governors of Zenobian blood could retain control of a district for more than a week without being assassinated. For twelve years the people would simply not accept any level of Zeteginean authority, necessitating the violent purges and riot suppression that had followed. The grudges were deepened further but the lessons were learned: To cross the Empire was to court death. Worse yet, many of the powerful warriors it summoned to exact these suppressions had come to enjoy the slaughter.

Of particular ill-repute had been the Empress Endora's own son and only heir, Prince Gares, who took to wearing the foreboding armour of the ancient order of Black Knights that concealed his winsome features underneath a metal visage that revealed no emotion. No Imperial had more Zenobian blood on his hands, and no Zeteginean had demonstrated less remorse for the killings that had occurred in those days. Idly, Warren wondered for a moment what the Black Knight was doing right now. Training, perhaps? Hunting wild game in the Highlands, so far from where a whole new war was about to break out? Or perhaps he'd gone to join the invasion force to the north, no longer content with slaying helpless prey?

Remembering that handsome youth he'd seen butchering Zenobian soldiers at the capital, Warren tightened his grip on his staff and forced himself not to hate the man. Gares Endora was, after all, only following the edicts of his nation. That he turned out to enjoy it was an unhappy coincidence. No, it was his fellow Sage Rashidi who was truly responsible for the greatest bloodshed, though hardly ever directly. Who would have suspected one of the legendary heroes of the 5 Kingdoms war of such treachery? Who would have doubted his word when he had served under the equally legendary Gran for ten years without any sign? And, who would have disregarded his word over the prophecies of a far less-accomplished Sage, who had chosen to make the most obscure and finicky branch of magic his main focus?

The answer to all of these was 'no one', and the results lay before him. The old Moon Sage did not blame Gran or anyone else for not believing what he'd seen coming back then. Rashidi. It was all Rashidi's doing. The legendary Sage of Light had a greater hand in creating the Empire than any other, betraying his oaths and scattering the rest of his order with military power.

Bah. Enough reminiscing on the past. His past was dead and his future, as ever, was uncertain. He would bide his time, let events unfold as fortune willed. It was simply his way. The path of the Sage was not meant to be one of war, but of guidance. No one else could plot out the many roads that now lay open to the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, and he owed it to them to steer their inexperienced leader away from those paths which led to disaster.

"Nothing is certain in this yet", he reminded himself at the card table, shuffling, looking over each portent and card. Going back over the countless Tarot readings he'd performed in regards to the rebellion, he sorted through it absently, his mind elsewhere. "Zenobia's future- and by extension the future of the rest of this world- remains remains clouded, and destiny's child but a dim guiding light."

"And yet still... The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed. So let the games begin."