Young Writers Society

The Unthinking and the Unknowing

It is the year 673 AU (After Unknowing), and the continent of Iyar thrives under the watchful gaze of the Order of the Certain Ongoing. Cities prosper and trade has reached an all-time high. People are happy.

Without the use of magic, goes the declaration of the Order's Grand Administrator in 573, there is less chaos, less certainty about what is to come. We have stamped out this scourge for the good of the people, and the people shall flourish!

The people have flourished. The poverty rate has sunk considerably in the past hundred years. However, there is a darkness that spreads over the land.

Recently, there have been sightings of creatures resembling those exiled by the Witchcraft Act of 573, and attacks by human magic-users have been reported by members of the Order's militia. It seems rebellion is stirring, and at the center is a mysterious figure known only as The Heretic by the Order and as the Advocate by the rebellion itself.

It is strange that fate should find our two protagonists approached by first the Rebellion and then the Order with opportunities just after the pair has lost something so very dear to them. With whom will they ally?

@InuYosha
So basically all RP Rules apply here; I'm sure i'll have more rules as they come to me, but for now my only addition is that both our characters be human magic-users.

I do have a request rather than a rule, just a guideline to help us move the story along: Could we try to make each post at least four sentences?

Code: Select all

Name:
Age:
Appearance:
Pronouns:
Sexuality:
Major Powers (nothing OP, please):
What is it they lost?

Once we have both our characters in the OOC, we can go ahead and both make an introductory post before I set the plot running.

The OOC: The Unthinking and the Unknowing OOC

The crops were dying.

It was appropriate, Naia felt. Almost poetic. Even so, she'd been reluctant to leave Erwin and Marik behind. Erwin was a creative--soft-handed and thin of limb. He helped around the farm, of course, but he was not by any stretch a plower of fields. That was Naia's job, and she carried the mantle proudly, passing on small tidbits of knowledge to her son of six.

Erwin and Marik were still grieving, though, as was she. Ina had been the light of everyone's life for the few short months she was with them, and her loss had poisoned the little family's joy quick as a viper's strike. Even now Naia's heart ached impossibly for that little pulse against her chest, fading slowly, slowly out of being until all she held against her was a gray-faced weight.

She'd become restless after that, tending the crops even when they'd been watered three times that day. Wandering out into the woods where no one would see her and making saplings grow to three times their original size until she nearly passed out from the effort. It was nearly a blessing when the Open Palms came with their blood-red masks and dark coats, offering her an escort to Order's Roost on behalf of the Grand Administrator himself. That was, of course, a curse as well. There was no way the Order could possibly know about her--Naia knew that. But somehow they knew, and they had come for her.

The Open Palms took care of magic-users, or Pandemonists, as the Order called them, with extreme prejudice. It was a highly publicized affair, now more than ever, though Naia didn't know why. These Open Palms, however, seemed set on keeping their interaction a secret.

She set out with the four who had come to fetch her at dawn the day after their arrival, with only a few words of goodbye to her husband and son. Then they were off on the nearly week-long trip to Order's Roost, where Naia was now staying.

Naia had been surprised to be offered a very generous suite near the Rising Finger, which was the Order's headquarters. She was given warm meals daily and clothed in the finest silks while she waited on the Grand Administrator to call on her--which had yet to happen, a week later.

Naia had taken to wandering the streets of Order's Roost in the evenings, breathing in the cool air and watching the sun scrape over the obsidian black buildings of the District of the Righteous. This particular night she was making her way down toward the Brim, or the very outskirts of the city where the poor made their homes in squat, sand-colored tenements and huts. Overhead there was the light whoosh of someone's cloak, and Naia had to fight not to turn her head. She'd heard this every night she'd gone out, and she suspected the Order was having her followed. That made sense; they were hardly as open as they pretended--hells, they covered their faces with masks!--but it still unnerved her to think of those featureless disks peering over the buildings at her as she walked.

Kyra is not scared.

Despite the faraway vibrations of three people on horseback, Kyra knows it would be worse if she got scared.

There was no doubt about who those three horsemen were.

Open Palms.

Very few people came to this spot in the Aryol Mountains, but these horsemen were coming straight for her location. Precisely speaking, there were three horses coming for her location, following a very straight course. The humans riding on them was mostly inferred.

However, on the day the Open Palms come, there is no doubt that these were not riderless horses coming straight for her, but trained horse riders ready to detain her.

Since she can't exactly tell them to go away, Kyra narrows her eyes and attempts the most threatening look possible . . . while holding nothing but a fruit knife.

She is quickly disarmed and tied up on a horse. The three riders don't speak at all during this process. Maybe they can't speak either. Or maybe they don't want to talk to me.

She's brought to the Order's Roost. The Open Palms place her in a minimum security prison, but Kyra has no drive nor intention to even attempt an escape. She highly suspects that there is at least one person watching her at all times.

Maybe I shouldn't have resisted. They probably treat the less rebellious ones nicer.

Food is brought to her twice a day, while water is brought thrice. After three days, it gets quite boring, and the only thing Kyra can do is scratch violent images of the Open Palms on the walls with a nail she had found.

The people who bring her food pay no attention to the vulgar art, so she has no one to show her masterpiece to.

I hope something happens soon, thinks Kyra as she falls asleep.

"Be still," said a shrill voice behind her as she came to the dock. Naia stopped, fixing her gaze straight ahead of her. There was a vast amount of water in front of her; she could see it lit by the snapdragon glow of the Brim's lanterns and behind those, the radiance of the District of the Righteous. She could feel it, too, if she reached out with her mind. There was a pull in her veins like the feeling you get just before a chill runs down your spine; just a little more and the waves would be hers to command for a moment.

That being said, to practice magic this close to the Order's place of operation would be a death sentence, even with their interest in her. A public spectacle would be extremely unwise.

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "Who are you?"

"Someone with a proposition."

~

A pebble dropped from the high window above Kyra's cell onto her head. "Psst, hey. Magic girl!" The voice was small, but not high. It sounded almost distant.