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Post by Felypsa on May 17, 2012 20:28:44 GMT -6
The weather was starting to get warmer, the sun shining dappled rays across the river. Standing in one of the Hatsuhi Towers, a blind albino she-wolf seemed to be gazing out at the spring warmth descending upon the land. But it was impossible for her to actually see what was happening out there…let alone admire the blossoming beauty of the world?
More than likely, it was just a pose. Blindness aside, Amnesia was the last person you would expect to care about the beauty of nature. Indeed, while she seemed to be looking out, she was actually lost in deep reflection and contemplation.
Things were going well here in Giaku. Aside from the brief flare of drama when Requj, of all people, had come stumbling back, Amnesia felt comfortable, in control. Lacrimosa and Ammon were guiding the Empire fairly well in peace, keeping their enemies at bay. It was necessary to endure this time of peace, because Amnesia needed Giaku to be fully rested and at its full strength when her plans came to fruition again.
But she was a very, very patient creature who was willing to wait a long, long time for that to happen.
Life was—dare she admit it—relaxing here. She was accepted, and better yet, was able to work on the malleable young minds of her great-grandchildren. Or she would, at least. Dirge was easy, a delight even, in how simple it was to mold her will. The small thorn in Amnesia’s paw now was Ammunae, her great-grandson, who had taken an initial dislike of her that Amnesia strove to uproot.
That was why she had invited him to this private session in the tower, luring him with the prospect of studying his favorite histories. Amnesia could not read, of course, not with her blindness, but she knew the tales in the books backwards and forwards. She stood by the window in her false pose, immobile, rigid with thought. When Ammunae’s young pawsteps could be heard, her ears flickered in acknowledgment.
“Come in, young one. Welcome,” she said in as gentle a voice as she could manage. She turned her head away from the sunny window and trained it in his direction, her sightless eyes landing on his form. “It is so good of you to give up such a nice day to frolick outside to spend it indoors with these dusty tomes and your old mentor…” She paused. “But you are the kind of young male who prefers to sharpen his mind, rather than his claws, are you not?” she asked with deceptive sweetness.
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Post by demin on May 20, 2012 5:09:53 GMT -6
 As much as the young prince enjoyed seeking out knowledge, he would rather have sought it on his own instead of from his ‘mentor.’ To him, the word was hardly fitting to the elderly wolf that also happened to be his great-grandmother. There was too much about her that unsettled him: Those blind eyes that still saw straight through you, his sister’s haste to fawn over and love her, and how almost no one knew anything about the mysterious Amnesia, even great-Uncle Charon. Unfortunately, Ammunae’s mother had deemed it necessary Amnesia tutor him and his sister, though she always seemed a bit off whenever the subject was brought up, as if her thoughts were not her own. The pup chalked it up to the stresses of ruling an empire taking its toll on his mother, and had since stayed silent, as she had enough to deal with already.
Ammunae steadily made his way up the spiral staircase of the tower to the room Amnesia had seen fit to hold their private lesson for the day. The young pup walked with a certain grace, his lithe body moving with an almost serpentine quality to it with each step, his white-tufted and long tail moving with each step as it helped him keep his balance. His fur was a stark white, as were the scales which covered his neck and belly. Black spikes adorned his back, starting out as minuscule protrusions at his neck and elongating the further they went down his spine, reaching their apex in the middle of his back and returning to their nub-like state as they reached his tail. Slit eyes the color of blood caught the braziers and their flames which lined the staircase, admiring their primal dance as they licked at their metal housing. He sighed to himself, disappointed he could not fully appreciate the flames, as he could not see their colorful glow, seeing the world in nothing but black, white, and, strangely, red, though there wasn’t much red to the hewn stone that made up the Royal Tower.
It did not take long before Ammunae reached the doorway to the room his lessons would take place in today. It was slightly ajar, a soft light pouring out through the opening. A familiar voice beckoned him inside, his long ears twitching in response. He obediently stepped through the portal and beheld his great-grandmother facing toward the window, though she quickly turned and set her blind gaze on him. The soul-staring quality to them had not diminished since he last saw her, and he quickly tore his own gaze away from them and surveyed the room, seeing various old ledgers, grimoires, and tomes and catching their distinctive warm scent that was oddly satisfying. Some of the books even had red covers and spines, adding some variety to his otherwise bland eyesight.
The pup was drawn out of his curiosity-induced stupor at the sound of Amnesia’s voice, oddly sweet and welcoming now, when in previous days it had been cold and precise. However, he still found it difficult to speak in her presence, though he managed to find it easier as time went on.
”Momma says the sun will hurt me if I’m out too long,” he said matter-of-factly. ”Because something’s wrong with my skin and eyes.”
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Post by Felypsa on May 20, 2012 13:56:34 GMT -6
Amnesia’s ears flickered forward slightly when Ammunae’s voice responded, flat and intelligent. Perhaps that was why she sensed he did not trust her. He was like her—even down to that albinism gene that she could not see, of course, but knew about. His mind was intelligent, not emotional. He was young, very young, but already proving to be resistant to her usual effortless manipulation.
She needed to get him on her side now, before that mind of his grew up and became a formidable force against her.
“There is no shame in that,” Amnesia said in a low murmur. “Your mother is correct. A wise Empress, she is. And more importantly, a caring mother.” Those words might sound foreign and strange coming from her. Amnesia was not exactly the kind of person to comment on motherhood, but then again, she had been through it herself. Perhaps there was a small respect, deep down, for mothers. Perhaps.
She sat down then, getting comfortable, appearing completely relaxed and even slightly regal. As usual, there was nothing warm in her expression; it was simply cold, hard business. “I am glad you have agreed to these private sessions. We are conducting them for one reason only: to learn more about what you want to learn.” She paused. “Of course you are more than capable to educate yourself, but on certain topics, I may be able to enlighten you more than you think.”
Amnesia wanted to get to know what really intrigued this sharp young mind. The more she knew about what hooked him, the better she would be able to play to that. “Remember, you can be completely honest. There is no need to fear the judgment of others.” Like his sister, who was prone to slight bullying, mocking him.
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Post by demin on May 20, 2012 21:48:44 GMT -6
No sorrow was felt over the disability to be outside for long periods of time. Amnesia had correctly guessed that he much preferred the company of dusty tomes and ancient volumes to the company of others, a rare exception being his Empress mother, whom he was incredibly fond of, and even though most every word Amnesia uttered caused him to be uneasy, her praise of his mother made him glow with pride. This somewhat put the young Druin at ease, even slightly emboldening him.
The young prince sat when Amnesia sat, a habit he had developed during his lessons in Court etiquette; lessons thankfully not given by his great-grandmother. When his elderly tutor spoke, he noticed her voice had returned to its cold, calculating demeanor, though what she had to say did please him somewhat.
'What I want to learn?' he thought to himself. He had never been allowed to choose his topic of study when being learned by a tutor. This was a very strange occurrence to him, though this too pleased him. Even though he had discovered much about Giaku's history, its origins still eluded him. What few tomes he had found on the matter were either written in a language he could not yet understand, or had very little to say on the matter. But there was something else that itched at the back of his mind: Emperor Tartarus' death was shrouded in mystery. The only account of his fall was given by General Zerxes, probably the only creature he mistrusted more than Amnesia, if only for his disturbing appearance and necromantic abilities. However, there had yet to be tomes and histories written on the subject, having happened so recently in Giaku's history. His red slit eyes came to rest on Amnesia, forcing himself to gaze into the she-wolf's blind eyes.
"Who killed Emperor Tartarus, grandmother?"
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Post by Felypsa on May 21, 2012 11:47:13 GMT -6
The question hung in the air, and for a moment the atmosphere seemed to drop several degrees. It was not what Amnesia had wanted to hear. If anything, the very fact that he had asked this, of all questions, merely emphasized the fact that she needed to curb that overly curious mind of his. He would never understand the truth. He was too young to know why Tartarus needed to go…
Luckily, there was a widely accepted explanation for the former emperor’s death, and the one who was blamed was so far away that Amnesia didn’t feel the slightest concern that he would return. Even if he was the only one, aside from her and Zerxes, who knew what really happened that night. Amnesia had attempted to modify DeathBlood’s memories, but the matter had been too close to his heart to be so easily changed.
“Your great-grandfather Tartarus was killed by a cruel, vengeful wolf,” she told Ammunae. “His name was DeathBlood. He hated Tartarus because Tartarus had killed his father.” She paused and let that sink in. None of this was anything that a child should have to hear, but Ammunae obviously had a more resilient mind than most. “DeathBlood’s father was also Tartarus’s brother,” she added quietly.
It was a grisly explanation, but that much was true at least. “I do not know what you know of your great-grandfather,” Amnesia went on. No, whatever they knew of Tartarus was no doubt passed on by Lacri, whose own knowledge of the previous emperor was very limited. “But he was not a kind emperor. He was not like your mother is. He was cruel and selfish and did not care for the lives of others. Killing came very natural to him.”
Her dead stare rested on him again. “That is not to say he deserved what he received. I am only telling you this to understand that he was hated by many people whose lives he had wronged, like the assassin DeathBlood. It was wrong of DeathBlood to take his revenge and leave the empire without a ruler—for a little while, anyway. But anger…can be very persuasive.”
In truth, anger had had nothing to do with Tartarus’s death. It was simply time for him to go; his purpose on this world had long been fulfilled, and the more he lingered, the more he stalled the necessary events that had to come. It was about as emotionless a decision as they came.
“Is there anything else you would like to know?” she asked, her voice neutral as before—though Amnesia did hope that she had quelled his desire to know about Tartarus.
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Post by demin on May 23, 2012 15:16:33 GMT -6
The Prince had heard little of his great-grandfather. What he had heard, however, mostly from Uncle Charon, was that Emperor Tartarus had started out as a great leader but fell into corruption and cruelty near the time of his assassination. While he could not blame someone for wanting to eliminate such a leader, he felt sorry for his uncle for losing his father in such a way. There was one more thing the young albino was curious about, though he was not entirely sure if the wizened old wolf in front of him would have a definitive answer.
"Do you know what became of DeathBlood, grandmother?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
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Post by Felypsa on May 24, 2012 7:47:11 GMT -6
Amnesia was somewhat disappointed that Ammunae still had more to ask on this matter, but at least it was concerning DeathBlood. Again, the truth was impossible for him to guess. “He ran,” she stated flatly. “General Zerxes arrived to witness the murder and raised his skeleton soldiers. They surrounded the assassin and, like a coward, DeathBlood fled. The great wide world around us has swallowed him up.”
She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to someone invisible standing beside her. “From what I learned of him, he was part of a former elite group of warriors who would no doubt not look kindly on his transgression. There is a high chance that they have been hunting the traitor on their own. In any case—he will not dare to bother Giaku again. If he comes anywhere near us, he will be recognized and feel the full wrath of the empire.”
Her voice was strangely dispassionate, speaking without any ferocity that someone truly loyal might. “There is no reason to fear his return. Losing Tartarus was a personal tragedy, but the empire has moved on to be steadier than ever. And you, Ammunae,” she added in a slightly hoarse whisper, “are its heir. I will be frank with you, it is best not to look to your great-grandfather as a role model.”
She had held back long enough. As she spoke, she extended a small tendril of power. Not a hard probe, but simply a delicate feather-stroke across Ammunae’s mind. She sought to glean his surface thoughts, the initial reaction he held to hearing this story. If he was swallowing these lies properly, or if there was any lingering suspicion. This was the kind of thing that she wanted to nip in the bud.
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Post by demin on May 26, 2012 2:25:51 GMT -6
Everything his great-grandmother said had made sense, though there was still something holding him back from fully believing the version of events in Emperor Tartarus' assassination which she had been imparting to him. Her attitude toward the blatant murder of an Emperor, especially when she was supposedly a loyal citizen and confidant, seemed unsettling in its casualness and lack of passion.
She spoke to him again, reminding him of his role in the Empire's future. Some day, he would its emperor, though this future was not an enticing one to him. Still, he hardly looked upon the fallen Emperor Tartarus as a prime example of the station. His chest heaved with a sigh, the young prince now growing bored of discussing his great-grandfather and decided to bury his uneasiness with Amnesia's cold, emotionless regard for Tartarus' murder for now. What else could he do? He was the Crown Prince, but he was still a pup and had not the means to go against the wishes of his tutor.
His gaze turned toward the various ledgers and tomes in the room, eyes immediately locking onto one of the old books which had a scarlet red cover, though he could not read the title from where he sat.
"Do any of these books go over the Empire's founding, grandmother?"
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Post by Felypsa on May 28, 2012 19:58:08 GMT -6
The tendril of power that sneaked through Ammunae’s mind sensed wariness toward her, but no solid suspicions. Her young descendant did not understand her, but that did not mean that he believed her to be capable of the cruelty that was the truth. As much as Amnesia was tempted to wipe this entire session from his mind, that would be a difficult procedure, and one that was surely painful. There was no need for that, and at worst, it was cause a deep, lurking subconscious distaste for Amnesia.
Nevertheless, either thanks to her nudging or to the pup’s own youthful wandering attention span, Ammunae asked a different question. Still concerned with the history of the Empire, this time he was concerned with its very foundation. Since Amnesia was unfamiliar with the books, she simply bowed her head. “Those events took place so long ago, that no doubt the oral tellings of them have been twisted far beyond recognition by the time they make it to any books,” she commented. “Even if there are written records, they would not be particularly helpful in learning the truth.”
She paused. “Why are you so concerned with the past, Ammunae?” she asked softly, keeping that thin wisp of mental power firmly inside his mind. She wanted to feel his visceral response to this. “Distant history is so far gone and mangled by misinterpretations that it cannot help you understand the world today. Why do you care so much about what your ancestors did? Why do you not care about what you can do, in the future?”
It was a simple enough question to answer. Amnesia was no fool to disregard the importance of history. But did Ammunae? Or did he just like hearing the stories? Did he take them seriously, or was it just another form of entertainment for him?
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Post by demin on Aug 10, 2012 1:32:59 GMT -6
The young wolf began to feel an itch on the back of his head. While his great-grandmother oddly spoke against possessing knowledge of the past, a trait very out of place, at least to him, of an ancient and wise wolf, he reached up with a hind leg and scratched at the back of his head, making him look every bit the pup rather than a prince. The itch, though, was incessant and seemed to be coming from inside his head now. He gave up, shaking his head from side to side as a last ditch effort to rid himself of the strange phenomenon. Failing in this, he gave a mental shrug and continued listening to his tutor. Realizing what he had said, he cocked his head quizzically, keeping his red, slit eyes on Amnesia for a few seconds as if he were studying her.
"Even... if they're messed up now," he began slowly, trying to think on his words before he spoke, " wouldn't bits of the real thing still be around?" His eyes remained on the strange white female, futilely searching her dead eyes for answers. "Wouldn't you want to know how others messed up so you wouldn't do it, too?"
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Post by Felypsa on Aug 12, 2012 14:16:32 GMT -6
If the youngling were not so frustratingly stubborn, Amnesia would have to admire his simple logic. She did value reason over emotion, but the problem with Ammunae’s question was simply that he did not “belong” to her yet. It was based in compassion that caused his loyalty to adhere to misplaced morality. Someday, perhaps, when he was older, his mind better honed, he would understand the necessity of the assassination of Tartarus, and the lie that Amnesia and Zerxes used to cover it up. Someday he would perceive—and appreciate—that logic.
Even Amnesia recognized that he was too young for such a lesson in complex ethics, however. She bowed her head, conceding him the victory, for now. “Of course, Ammunae, but it is difficult to learn when everything is so broken and disjointed. It would be like trying to read a book with every other page missing, and learning from that.” Surely that was an analogy he could understand.
“Here is all you need to know to keep from making mistakes in the future,” she said quietly, her blind eyes training on him again. “Never make a decision only for yourself. Everything you choose to do will have consequences on others, and it is them you must think of when you are at a crossroads. Only by listening to the people will you become a wise ruler.”
It sounded like surprisingly good advice, coming from one of the most selfish manipulators in the world. But if Ammunae became the kind of bleeding-heart ruler who tried to please everybody, well, that would make him weak. Malleable. Perhaps even paralyzed, when he came to a tough decision that would hurt someone no matter what. The kind of ruler who would need an advisor in a situation like that, to make those grueling choices for him.
Ammunae might be smart, prone to asking questions, but he was still young enough to internalize these deeper lessons, to shape his character for the future.
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