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Video: Act 2 Scene 5, Blood Under the Rug

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Lissandra Rorik

It seems I was wrong, indeed. That strength Lissandra had - it was special, but not by virtue of its nature; it was special simply because she held it.

Now it is gone, and so is the last fragment of my brother's dream.

My father used to tell us a short tale when we were young which I believe he'd penned himself(I still believe he was a better blacksmith than he was a writer, however). He told us there was some kind of a lesson in it. I think it went something like this:

The sheep are scattered, each by its lonesome.
The sheep have no dreams or wishes or troubles.
The sheep find a shepherd to take their burdens.
He thinks for them, and bears their stresses.
The sheep are bright and mirthful and radiant,
Their lives know less grief, but instead companionship.
The sheep stand together, those once many now called one.
But time is a cruel mistress and no fruit stays ripe forever.
She comes and she claims, and even the best are not spared.
The sheep lose their shepherd.
The flock is now free.

I had never known what the message behind the story was.

I am unsure if I ever will.

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Jezero fon Huric

Dreams are not tokens handed down easily. The passing of belief from one person to another is a process that has no formula and which leaves little tangible evidence in its wake. I do not believe that it is a skill that can be taught, or an ability that can be learned. It is simply something that happens. Or in the case of Jezero, something that doesn't.

I cannot blame the man for not taking up the mantle - it is one that has been made heavy by the blood it has been steeped in, but that does not make his decision weigh any less upon my heart. After all, his dream was one of the last few things Cyrus left behind.

As much as I am inclined on attempting to convince Jezero to reconsider his decision, I know it would be hypocritical of me if I did not first do the same; until I can convince myself that I can fight for my brother's cause, how am I to convince anyone else?

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Amadea Invidius

She is broken. She had the chance to make up for all those years of hate towards Lissandra and she spurned it. I know she would have patched things up with her, if she could. After I spoke to her about Invidius, I could tell - a pressure had been lifted, a weight been eased; she'd taken the first step.

Which makes it all the worse that she didn't have the chance to finish the journey, and she knows it too.

Ever since, I've watched her walk around and seen how her gaze has become weighted. Her posture's bent, her steps ever so heavier. This is a kind of grief that is inconsolable. It is a loss coated with a tenacious remorse that allows it to endure, that inoculates it from healing words or soothing touch.

But she is in a better place than she was before.

Before, her heart had been hidden behind fiery thorns of contempt and icy bulwarks of resentment - those fortifications, time cannot touch, only fuel. Now, her heart is steeped in a kind of loss and grief that the waters of time will dilute. She might feel its suffocating grip more acutely than before and I doubt it will ever truly go away, but she will learn to overcome it.

In the meantime, however, I must stand by her side for I know how frigidly the lance of loneliness strikes in times like this.

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Leventhos Merimbus

I would not consider myself a man in possession of intense astuteness, but neither would I say that I am deeply lacking in thoughtful consideration. I will, however, admit that Leventhos' suggestion to give his son a Mascherine has not been something that I'd ever given thought to. Much like the Ombrians that lived in the days of the First Canticle, Leventhos has always been of the notion that Mascherines bring more trouble than they're worth. For the most part I am inclined to agree - if one was inclined to preserve one's life, staying out of the dance of politics might possibly be the wisest thing one could do in the Citte, save leaving it. But now he seems to have changed his mind and instead, wishes that I take his son under my wing, specifically so that he can learn to manoeuvre within the Citte.

How great of an idea that might be, I have yet to come to an opinion on, but what I can say for certain is how much I admire Leventhos' concern for his family. It is difficult enough for the heart in this world, what with the challenges of surviving in the Citte; to find the energy to care so deeply about another is a true feat. Love - familial or otherwise - is not something that survives easily in the streets of the Citte, and is often construed as a weakness that might be exploited. But as I've established before, Leventhos is not a man I'd call 'oft met'. His romantic inclinations might perhaps be better seen in no other example than that of his wedding - that he even bothered to hold a ceremony is already atypical in Ombre, but he is sentimental and traditional, and he insisted that I be involved.

Deeply.

"This is ridiculous, Ven," I said, looking down at the garments that hung from my shoulders. "I'm nineteen years old, not a Rhunic priest; I don't know how these things work."

"Firstly, most of our priests complete their training at the age of eighteen. Secondly, you don't have to know anything," he said as he adjusted his attire in the mirror - a beautifully embroidered vest over a silk white shirt. "You just have to-"

I held up the paper. "These are my instructions. It's twenty three pages. It's got more pages than I have years of age."

"-You just have to be able to read, is what I was going to say."

"There must be someone else that can do this."

"Yes, there is," he replied as he turned away from the mirror to face me with all the seriousness he could muster. "There are a couple of men that I know that had once been priests. One of them lives in the Golden Canvas, in fact."

"Now I'm confused," I replied. If there was someone else - a priest even! - what was the point in me reading the rites?

Leventhos moved to the side of his room - tiny quarters in the attic of the Leaping Lion, which was on this fine day flooded by sunlight that poured through the room's single window - and took a loose sheet of paper that sat on a table beside the window. He held it out to me.

"It's a list of people who were invited," he said. "Livia wrote it all down so that we could make seating arrangements downstairs."

I took the paper and looked at it. There were ten people on that list - four if Leventhos, Livia and the members of my family were discounted. "Fine, it's a small wedding. It's still a wedding and I don't want to mess it up. Ven, this is your special day, I-"

With startling firmness, he clasped my shoulders in his hands and looked me in the eyes. "Precisely, Cicero," he said. I had no idea a man could be at once so gentle and yet so firm. "Trust me when I say the importance of this day doesn't escape me. I've spent my entire life dreaming of the day when I would seal my love with the woman of my dreams! I can scarcely believe it's all worked out so well - Livia is everything that I've ever wanted and more, and the Leaping Lion is prospering - and now that it has, I feel like I'm unprepared, like I'm a mess! I know you might not feel it under those robes, but my hands are so clammy they're almost disgusting. I feel like I'm on the verge of crying and laughing and dying and screaming in joy all at the same time; I am aware of how special today is, Cicero!" And then his voice dropped and he spoke with a tenderness I don't believe I've ever heard since. "And that's exactly why I want to share this moment with the people in my life who I treasure, not some scarce acquaintance dressed in robes."

He dropped his hands from my shoulder and walked to the window. Though he looked out the open frame, I sensed his gaze was reaching for something far beyond what lay outside. "I'll be honest with you, Cicero," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "That day that I offered you a job here, I hadn't done it purely because I wanted an assistant."

I frowned. He'd never told me this before. In fact, we didn't often speak of that day when I'd almost been killed by the vipertail he'd been ferrying as cargo.

"I did need help getting this place up and running, yes, but I was barely twenty years old. I was alone in a new world. I had no one, and I wanted... Ages, does it sound pathetic, but I wanted a friend."

"And so you thought the boy that tried to steal from you would make a good candidate?" I replied, attempting to ease the atmosphere.

He chuckled and shook his head, breaking his gaze. He turned to me. "Please, Cicero, I want you to be a part of this. It would mean the world to me. It is difficult enough to find sweet moments in this city and now we have the opportunity to make one, today. Let's not put it to waste, hmm? What do you say? It's just twenty three pages."

I looked down at the colourful robes that hung from my shoulders and sighed. I looked back up at him. "When I get married in the future, I want that vest, do you understand?"

His laugh was hearty, full of relief and sheer joy. "I promise, when you get married, I will tailor you so much more!"

He rushed over and embraced me. "Thank you, Cicero! Now, I must confess," he said as he pulled back and opened a drawer from the table, pulling out a sheaf of papers. "There were a few pages that I accidentally left out."

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It has been but two days since my arrival in the Citte and the world that I thought I'd returned to is already unrecognisable. But I must put it all down before it slips my mind.

After we'd fallen into the abyss beneath the Pindrop, we came upon a set of ancient ruins in which we stumbled upon a detailed ritual of cleansing that the prisoners of the Dimenticate underwent before they were turned into Mascherines. Ages, I feel so foolish scribing those words, but I know they are true - Mascherines had once been people. It was written all over the door in the final chamber of the ruins, and it cements the notion I had earlier that the artefacts that we're in search of are somehow involved. Amadea had been translating the writings on the wall when one line stood out to me: "Through the father's heart, you will be redeemed." I have no doubt that the choice of words was intentional - the heart that is spoken of in the ritual must be referring to the Heart, one of the pieces of the Trehroir.

I cannot believe how serendipitous our encounter of these ruins had been. There were no pieces of evidence that led us to the Pindrop specifically, yet without the knowledge that we gleaned from the ruins beneath it... I risk sounding like Corvus in saying this, but it feels like there's something greater than simple coincidence at work here. It's a silly thought, I know, but staring at the statue of Bre-Ag there in the ruins...

I must shake this foolishness and return to the task at hand.

Jezero has told us that we must go to the Golden Canvas to find the Dactites' hideout. As for Lissandra... When the day comes, Liss, I shall ensure that a song be sung in your name.

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Damien Merimbus

The boy is lucky to belong to such a family. With a father who cares so deeply for him and a mother who has nothing but love for him. I will not say that my family was insufficient in warmth, but what this boy has is something else altogether.

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Seiho's Sojourn

The coming of the Theralds to Ombre was a significant event in Ombre's history, and even more so for those of Rhunic ancestry that currently live in Ombre. To commemorate the great impact and significance that the Theralds brought to society, a principally Rhunic festival is held every year called Seiho's Sojourn, that's celebrated in memory of the head of the Therald family.

In keeping in line with the Rhunic tradition's emphasis on trade and commerce, Seiho's Sojourn is often celebrated with the setting up of bazaars and the selling of antiques and trinkets that aren't often sold.

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Artigiani and Meseniare

The artists known as Artigiani are practitioners of Meseniare, a Media which involves the painting or dyeing of symbols and patterns over the equipment of Masquerada. The piece of equipment's physical structure is never altered, and the patterns painted are far easier to remove than the engravings involved in Meliare. These patterns, always beautiful in design and colour, improve the Masquerada's connection with their element slightly, but combined with the etchings of Meliare, can drastically alter the proficiency of a Masquerada in battle.

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Dieci Sovrani: Origins

It is hard to write of the Dieci Sovrani without first recounting the entire history of the Therald family, though I will try to, here.

The Dieci Sovrani is considered the most 'foreign' of Ombre's guilds, for they consist principally of people from Rhune, who had come to Ombre in the Fourth Canticle, lured by wonderment and awe. These Rhunic people were a part of the upper echelons of their society and had an intense fascination with art in its various forms. Hearing about the wonders of the lands of Ombre, they thirsted to experiment with the powers of the land to find new ways of working them into their arts.

Ombre benefitted greatly from their presence, of course, and a great many of the breakthroughs in the Media can be attributed directly to the most influential of these Rhunic families - the Therald family. But the Media weren't the only things that benefitted from their presence - the great works of art that were created using the powers of the Mascherines cemented Ombre as the apogee of artistic achievement in the region. The merchants of the Fourth Canticle had thought they'd seen good days, but if they'd seen the ports of Ombre during the Fifth Canticle, they would have sung to a different tune.

At that time, however, the name of the Dieci Sovrani was still not present in the mindscape of the Citte. Everyone knew who the Theralds were(though by the Fifth Canticle, the original Therald family had long passed) but they were part of no guild. Though they contributed greatly to Ombre's flourishing, they were no exception to the Maskrunner rule when it had been implemented and so, adopting the lingua franca of the region, the Dieci Sovrani was created(some in the Dieci, however, still refer to the guild by its name in their native language: Kynshae).

The flourishing of art and the flood of wealth that brought in were trademark influences of the legacy of the Dieci. As time went by, however, the members of the Dieci began priding themselves more on the latter, and soon wealth and influence overtook art and its integrity on their list of priorities. It is in that state of avarice that we find the Dieci Sovrani today.

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Fabbra and Meliare

Craftsmen who practice Meliare are called Fabbra, and they specialise in engraving and etching symbols and patterns into the weapons and equipment of Masquerada. Meliare works through the physical alteration of the equipment itself, and requires great precision and fastidiousness in order to have any effect. Though a typical engraving(approximately half the size of a palm) only marginally affects the abilities of a Masquerada, a collection of these alterations, when combined with the painted works of Meseniare, can produce quite a significant improvement.

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The Golden Canvas

The Golden Canvas may not be the Principal Ward of the Dieci Sovrani, but it is among its most prominent. The legacy of the Therald family lives on most evidently in this ward, with its high, colorful glasshouses and beautiful vistas.

Making most of their revenue from trading artisanal goods, the Dieci have the most skilled and creative of Artigiani and Fabbra and it is under the marvelous drapery of the Golden Canvas and between its billowing clouds of coloured smoke that they are found practicing their crafts.

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The Theralds

The Theralds were not the first Rhunic people to arrive on the shores of Ombre, but they were, without a doubt, the most influential. The Theralds were a large clan of Rhunic people that had grown tired of the ideals and the artistry of their home country. They were among the upper echelons of their society - they were Zahos, among Ashans - but they sought more than what life in Rhune could offer.

When word of Mascherines and powers beyond their knowing surfaced, the Theralds were quick to venture across the Midnight Belt onto the shores of Ombre. Once there, they began assimilating into society, learning the ways of Ombre quickly. They learnt how to use Mascherines, and were the first to think of ways to use them for art. Their education and upbringing in Rhuneallowed them to view the Mascherines from a completely new perspective; until that point, Mascherines had been viewed as weapons rather than tools of art, but the Theralds, with their worldview, saw the potential that the Mascherines had for creating artistic wonders.

And so the Theralds experimented with the Mascherines, learning to use them to paint, to produce great works of glass, to play multiple wind instruments at a time. Many modern Vegilus regard this blossom of culture as one of the primary causes of the Miscela; these inventions and discoveries brought many things - wealth, from the sudden increase in trade brought about by these works of art that had never before been seen, among them. People from the Randagia began to be lured by the extravagant lifestyle and those from across the Midnight Belt were not immune to the enticing glamour of life in the blossoming Citte.

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Kalden Azrus

I don't deserve this.

There's a part of me that wishes he would stop - I've never before said that I wished someone would stop having so warm a heart, but here it is. He gives me tokens of friendship when all I've done is tell him to remain in the shadows.

But how can I tell him otherwise? To encourage anything other than remaining in the shadows is ill wisdom; the investigation is already venturing across thin ice - we needn't anything else that might complicate matters here.

I suppose the best I can do now is get Razitof back to him.

Yes. That'll have to do.

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Tiziana de Felici

Finally, a crack in the armor of the golden warrior. The Judge Zane Rious was her father - a brilliant man and an excellent fighter from what I've heard. I'd never met the man in person, but from the stories that drift through the streets, I understand that he was a notable Judge in the Luca, though perhaps for slightly more unorthodox reasons - Zane Rious was kind.

Make no mistake, kindness is not frowned upon within the ranks of the Luca. It is, however, scarcely ever prioritised. If a man or woman has been judged by the Judges of the Luca to have offended, then punishment is to be meted out swiftly and brutally - it matters not how many mouths she has to feed, or how broken a family he'll leave behind. Justice is justice, and it is not to be tempered and weakened by considerations of its consequence. The Luca's almost religious view of the perfectibility and incontrovertibility of what they believed to be justice was, from what I've heard, not something Zane Rious subscribed to.

Supposedly, the man didn't believe in the absolute nature of justice - it wasn't this untouchable, unalloyed concept that was impervious to change or deliberation. Instead, it was a product of society, and so, like the variegated society that birthed it, was susceptible to discussion and amendment depending on circumstance. For obvious reasons, he wasn't the most popular Judge among the other Judges, though he did perform the rest of his duties well.

I am unclear about the details surrounding his death - all I know is that it's been ten years since his passing, and still his Legacy is popular with the less conservative members of the Luca, though they are few and far in between.

Having said all that, I return to the idea of his daughter, and I must confess that the first thing that comes to mind is how disparate their personalities are. Here she stands, telling me how much her father means to her, and yet her actions align so strongly with the ideas of those that mocked him - the indubitable obeisance to hierarchy and duty, the sheer deference to the will of the Superior.

There is something I am missing. Some reason for this dissonance between her actions and what she proclaims to be her motivations.

It seems the glowing armour she wears hides a heart more faceted than I'd first suspected.

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Amadea Invidius

The magics in this world are capable of many a great feat - the mending of bones, the closing of wounds. Still there has yet to be found, a magic capable of restoring a heart. To my knowledge, only one force in our world has such a capacity, and it works slowly.

I remember how the process was like for me. The moment I heard about my brother's demise, I lost the ability to stand, as though the muscles in my body had all but atrophied. I could not eat, as though I'd been overcome by a deathly sickness that robbed me of my appetite. I found it hard to breathe, as though my lungs were slowly filling up with a pneumonic liquid. I was overcome by a host of ailments no magic could purge.

But slowly, as the days turned to nights turned to days, the strength began to find its way back into my limbs, bit by bit. I began to eat more and could breathe without the looming threat of weeping. I began to enjoy again, the presence of Kaizer, our mutt, who before could only remind me of my brother and the fact that he was no longer around. Time had begun repairing my spirit. Granted, I don't believe I ever allowed it to truly finish the job, but I had allowed it to at least pull me away from the cold edge.

And so that process has begun to work on Amadea. It has made much progress with her in what little time has passed since we lost Lissandra, and I'm finally beginning to see the light of her heart. It is a far gentler one that I'd first anticipated; it is... a good light, and I will say that despite what it's taken for her to get here, I am happy for her.

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The Bloodless

I suppose it wouldn't be fair to say that it wasn't difficult figuring out the identity of the Bloodless; Vasco didn't seem too bothered about me already knowing when he told me about it, so he mustn't have taken that many precautions to hide it from me. I do hope, however, that for all our sakes he's done a better job concealing it from the rest of the Citte. I can imagine this causing us a little bit more of a hassle should the information be made public.

I cannot help but wonder about his intentions in revealing this fact to me, however. It seemed that there was something else he wanted to say, but I suppose he'll tell me when the time is right. I don't think it would have been right for me to prod. He seems like a decent enough person, anyway; if it's something I needed to know I'm certain he would've informed me by now.

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Stone Salt

Made from the crystallisation of certain minerals within Ombrite, Stone Salt has been part of Ombrian culture since the Fourth Canticle, but reliance on the drug only became widespread in the Seventh Canticle, when the lives of the Contadani took a turn for the worse and suffering became far more widespread. Nowadays, Salt users are nearly ubiquitous, and can be found in any area densely populated by Contadani.

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Maskrunners: Origins

In the wake of the March of Broken Songs in the Fourth Canticle, the Registry witnessed an inundation of citizens that clamored, and acquired, Mascherines, and the astute players in the Citte were cognizant of the fact that if that continued unrestricted, the balance of power would shift radically out of the hands of the Registry.

Though the Registry wasn't as power-hungry as it might be considered to be currently, the threat of the consolidation of power beyond the Registry was very real. At the time, notions of unions or factions had begun spreading, and people with similar interests began banding together, though there was no official recognition of an entity the Citte would eventually come to call a guild.

The Vaorone of the time, Elarmia Morea, saw an opportunity in these phenomena: she created a system in which groups of individuals could form a Registry-approved collective that was known as a guild which would receive support from the Registry in its activities if they paid the Registry in Mascherines, which were considerably more abundant at the time(simply giving someone else a Mascherine wasn't unheard of; try that in this day and you'd be lucky to survive). The support at the time took various forms, including Registry-sanctioned port-ownerships and near-full jurisdiction over certain, small sections of the Citte the Registry called wards. These wards were often simply undeveloped areas in the Citte that the Registry had no use for and could easily spare.

The toll the Registry exacted on the guilds was proportionally insubstantial in its early stages and the initiative was startlingly well received. Dozens upon dozens of guilds began sprouting, and Mascherines flowed steadily into the hands of the Registry. Furthermore, the jurisdiction that the Registry gave the guilds over the undeveloped wards seemed to provide fertile soil for a pride that they'd take in them; the guilds began taking it upon themselves to develope the infrastructure of the wards and in remarkable time, the Citte's framework was greatly improved. Trade was bolstered substantially as well, in part due to the rumours that had begun to travel across the Midnight Belt since their magical victory over Altimire in the March of Broken Songs and in part due to the support that the Registry gave to the guilds who owned ports.

This mutually beneficial relationship between the guilds and the Registry lasted for a time, but only a time. By the Sixth Canticle, the size of the guild-owned wards had blossomed and began encroaching upon the Registry's own territory, sparking conflicts between them. Furthermore, there were guilds that refused to pay the toll that the Registry demanded - as the years progressed, the number of Mascherines that the Registry demanded increased, and though this did not displace the larger guilds too much(for they too had been hoarding Mascherines away in their own collections), the nascent ones could hardly afford it, especially considering the growing scarcity of the irreplaceable Mascherines.

To discourage evasion of the law, and strengthen their control over the flow of power in the Citte, the Registry created the notion of a Maskrunner in the Sixth Canticle, and made official the regulation that any person in possession of a Mascherine who did not belong to an official Registry-approved guild would be branded an outlaw. They would be hunted down by the Portieri and they would be severely dealt with. Therefore, if one were to find a Mascherine, one had two options: turn the Mascherine in to the Registry before even binding with it, or request to join one of the larger guilds which acted in accordance with the Registry's demands.

Over the years, as other factors came into play and the divide between the Masquerada and the Contadani widened, some of the Maskrunner factions began to be seen as embodiments of the Citte's anti-establishment sentiments, fighting for the benefit of the Contadani. Unfortunately, a large number of Maskrunners continued fighting simply for themselves, and the notion that Maskrunners were petty criminals persisted for a long time.

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Growing Stone Salt

The production of Stone Salt is a procedure more difficult than most suspect. Not only is the equipment required for the process bulky and difficult to procure, but it is far from enough to simply distil and crystalise the constituents of the Salt - the ratios and proportions of its components not only determine the efficacy of the drug but its lethality as well. There are few Salt dealers that remain in the business after poisoning clients with impure product.