Our men have fallen to the ground,
Our farmland has been reaped by our enemies,
And our children have been taken away.
I laugh, because they have lost also”
- Musoki, Il Trajedio
Hizam took a short break from the annual meeting to grab a drink and step outside for a second. There stood Bolkari cocktails and Ilverians on the table. The Ilverian would have to do. He still reminisced sometimes about the Cilios he had enjoyed on the Ymveri “diplomatic convention” he had attended. The conventions had always made him laugh. He attended them more often because of said beverages that would assist that laugh then any discussions that could be held there.
He went to retrieve the suhzar packet that would make the drink more palatable. His comrades had always joked that the conventions had made him posh in that manner. No matter, the packets were cheaper anyways. The perk of having local planetary sugar production. Fortunately, the Ymveri people were yet to develop a taste for it. They preferred their fancy synthetic ones. And his friends called him posh.
As his fingers almost grasped it they were slapped away however. Hizam was amused, a small child had been using the packets as some sort of game tokens. Her little fingers seemed to be controlling them with quite a bit of agility, muttering something the man could not quite hear. He would have to suffice with the drink by itself. Do a bit of engaging in his own culture. A slight grimace escaped his mind.
As he removed himself from the crowded air of bureaucracy for a moment, the winds of the street flew past him. Holding the cup to his lips he began to drink from it, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings. He remained tired from his recent return from the last convention, his eyes teetering on the edge of closing.
Deciding to focus his attention on something to avoid falling asleep so close to the night outside of his home he began to look at the cofero shop on the bordering street. He had visited that place often as a child, when it had been owned by his classmate’s aunt and uncle. Then it was one of his city’s crown jewels, had one found that crown in the gutter. The Ymveri corporations had recently begun to partake in the planet of Hisoad’s businesses as well. Apparent by the logo of a bright man in an Ymvon hat, this seemed to be from the Otheliano company.
Hizam had always found the Ymvon hat amusing. Not quite tall enough to be audacious, not quite wide enough to be useful. It operated in the liminal space between absurdist humor and poshness of the utmost Ymveri variety. Perhaps it was the one taking notes from those conventions. Finally that hat would become a resident of one of the planets said convention was trying to target. Perhaps as the prime demographic for their grandiose speeches they would be directly spoken too. That would be their greatest dream as a hat. To be reintroduced into Ymveri society after thinking they had been abandoned on that Celuvos planet. Hizam was beginning to think that dream wasn’t as rare as one might think.
A slender finger tapped Hizam’s shoulder. As his mind snapped back to the reality before him, he slowly began to smile as he recognized the face looking straight at him. Bazal had been his comrade since they had met at the Naveti College in the City of Palesi .
“And what brings you here to this fine evening, Bazal? I realize the Hisoad sunset has its allure, but surely you would not come all this way simply to see Nuyos leave us again. Perhaps when you were here earlier under Kh. Veno you had never looked up from that notepad of yours. Pardon me for that underestimation.”
“Ah, you are coming so close and yet so far from the answer. Veno never would give that credit though, what with that stubborn pen of his marking. I have come for a facet of Hisoad’s beauty though. Eh, perhaps I could give you a hint of sorts.” Bazal wryly smiled while pulling down the neck of his garment to reveal the Hisoadi engagement necklace.
As he looked at the necklace and then past Bazal, he saw Chalveni winking at him. Hizam had met her at many occasions as she was his local representative. At times they would wink at each other during those diplomatic conventions, sharing a laugh after over the audacity of Ymveri governors.
Hizam and Bazal spent a few hours after reminiscing over their glory days at Naveti. To Hizam’s joy Bazal had brought over a box of Cilios meant to be used for the celebration. After seeing how his eyes thirsted for the drinks, more than they had desired those glory days themselves he slid him over a bottle.
“Once the skies gave us blessings
The universe pouring down on us,
Its rain, its light, its heat”
- Hisoad Folklore
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The Kyser had begun that particular evening aboard the cruiser contemplating his visit to the Celuvos. Perhaps he should bring one of his advisors along. He looked over to Zikkro and mentally repeated that query. Laughter could not be contained within his throat about what he figured would happen had Zikkero visited one of the Celuvos. He realized he that Zikkeros encyclopedic knowledge of their terrain did not translate whatsoever into knowing their social terrain. One of what he would assume to be unremarkable remarks would likely send waves of sentiments of ill-will throughout their cities faster than he could shut his tongue.
Molto could work perhaps. If he didn’t hold a very what some would call flavored opinion of the Celuvos people. A portion of rationality stops being present in the face of people one hates. Moltos rationality on Bolikar for instance would lead him to assume he had developd wings and could single handedly make the journey between there and Hisoad alone. Perhaps a bit of his rationality would stay with him. No, he wouldn’t make the journey alone. He would find a winged rat to aid him in the journey.
Of course if none of his subordinates coul accomplish the task he would have to go himself. Not completely alone however, he would have used the Ymveri entourage to the maximum of it’s ahility. Perhaps he would invite Yuhen to join that too. Or maybe it was Cuhen. That would be an annoyance while writing up the documents allowing him to remain on the cruiser. He would have to figure out which it was before they landed. By Molto’s luck one of the two would have been found to be an utmost Bolikari slur. There was alwayss a chance that both the names held a somewhat foul connotation. To be named innocently at birth is perhaps taken for granted by those who were not neglected. Perhaps that neglect wrotethose beautiful chords.
Like a small Ymveri child Mazih commended the elaborate court ritual of visualizing what his generational return to the Celuvos could look like. A feat only for for the Kyser, as the feeble minds of others could allegedly not handle it without crashing, allegedly. Even Zikkero, handling already hundreds of regiments at once, could not meet this mental requirement. In part because the mental requirement required a clause that said visualization would be respected by their mind.
Zikkero did not have time for such what he regarded as tomfooleries. He was fond of the tunes however, soothed by their patterns. The waves traveling into his ears he perceived as gentle passerby, merely greeting his mind as they traveled into their great beyond into memory. He felt a certain degree of honor while hearing them go by. Their passage into his ears were the only funerals he had been permitted to witness. For now.
Mazih had considered riding on a lesser vessel to visit, as a show of humility. Not on any colt. As far as Javenyord had progressed, they were yet to find a solution for interstellar horse travel unfortunately. And though artificial purifiers existed on the cruisers that could ameliorate its scent Mazih had never been fond of that air. For a child growing up on such a picturesque palais coast anything but the sweet salty air was an insult to his very upbringing. And an insult to his upbringing in the palais would be an insult to the Madra. That chain of thought was quickly shunned away.
Zikkero watched the Kyser’s eyes glaze over as his thoughts began to pass into sleep. He felt an affinity for the Kyser in a sense, tired leaders of the Ymvero. Mazih himself had advocated for Zikkero to assume high command while he had still been Duechi of Beorazzo. Perhaps the Duechi had seen something in that quiet man. If he could see the beauty in the movements of the stars, governed by the waves of time, did Mazih see it also in his own mental machinations? Zikkero’s eyes twitched again with a yearning to join the Kyser’s in dormancy, and yet as they looked over to his Ymveri regalia his stomach panged with a possibility. Could his own thoughts in anyway compare to the vastness of the galaxy. Such a foolish proposition, to think they were greater than even one thousandth of his tokens. That chain of thought was also quickly shunned away.
Yuhen’s voice however had an ability to somewhat lasso these chains onto his voice, freeing the thoughts with waves of sound. The Kyser remained asleep, but Zikkero held internal pride that for once he was the sole receiver of an imperial amenity.
“Humanity is what distinguishes scientific inventions from magic. And the humanity is in the science.”
- Maseo Veli
On a particular morning the Kyser chose to lend his gaze on Hisoad as charity. It did not have the beauty of Bilosos or Kulosos, as the existence of his subjects guaranteed that. He saw the little specks of civilization that he had reign over as simply unflattering. The planet had never been endearing to him, and neither him to it. One of the few great equalities of the Kyser to the Celuvos.
Suddenly however that circular silhouette began to come ever closer. Perhaps the Kyser had finally accomplished his duty and the planet was coming to embrace him. Millions seemed to somehow discovered the technology to direct their movement within space just to touch the Kyser, imbue within him a bit of that cosmic glory. Even the air of their skies could not wait to have a chance at touching his skin, banging at the windows like ravenous lovers. The ground, however, had been saved for last, the one true supporter when all other fans had shown their true colors of believing to be above him just because of their physical state.
Zikkero’s current token began to rumble, for once in its existence showing what could have been a sign of life, a sign that he had long forgotten how to comprehend. For a moment he thought it might become to dance, escaping his thin fingers by rolling away across the map. A spin on Kulosos, a jump above Yalisos, a landing on Vorosos, and finally a split on Bilosos. Perhaps it had been watching its overlord’s movements, hoping it would not cause harm to one of its own.
The map itself would fall onto his lap. Perhaps he had finally succeeded, won the Ymvero its domination. Yalisos had come down to his knees, and Bolikar had went the journey to praise him at his feet. Praise was a concept he had yet to grow fond of. Yet as the tokens began dropping to his ankles and rustling against them he had begun to feel more fond of that.
Yuhen began singing as he could feel the cruiser going down. There was a particular song he had wanted to vocalize, perhaps surprise the Kyser with at a later time. He had begun rehearsing it at that very moment, a song in which he illustrated his native town of Zuzis on Beorazzo. His notes seemed to be the only thing not conforming to the new law appointed by the cruiser that gravity was the successor of the dynasty that led their flight. The notes were revolutionary pretender rebels still fighting for the heir of the throne of their father’s movement as their rebellion filled the kingdom of the cruiser.