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Well, after spending a lot of time mulling over ideas and such, this is what I came up with. I actually wrote the majority of it five or so months ago when I had my huge spurt of creativity, and I've just completed it about...five or six minutes ago. So, hopefully it won't disappoint.

Attached File ( Number of downloads: 30 )
 Prologue_to_All_the_King__s_Men.doc

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It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

Here's the actual chapter. Still haven't got my computer fixed, so if someone could copy and paste it in here, I'd be much obliged.

Attached File ( Number of downloads: 20 )
 Chapter_I___Inauguration.doc

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It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

Dang, yo, I can't believe I missed this. Or, uh, that everybody did. Regardless, I always support Tactics fics.

Prologue to All the King's Men
By Shotgunnova

Quote

Like the advancement of sciences, contemporary history also comes into being by building on the past; or, more specifically, the mistakes of the past. In my lifetime, it was made known that the sovereign Delita Hyral had used others as a stepping stone to the throne, and the intrigue stirred a maelstrom of energy within me. Manipulation was a postulate for the times Delita lived in, but what poured salt in the wound on his legacy where the memoirs and collections of two men who were stifled by fate and downtrodden by the king himself.

Extensive research found the man crossed paths with many famous names of his time, including the esteemed Olan Durai and the heretic Ramza Beoulve, who is now confirmed to have been a classmate of Hyral’s. But, even as important as they are to the history of Ivalice, they fail have much relevance in this instance. Why you ask?

Delita was a poor ruler. He survived on instinct and intuition, never knowing the power one could have with an adequate education. He graduated from a military academy, but he never would have gained the mental apparatuses to govern a nation from there. So, how did he do so well in his reign? He had help. Not the kind that just consulted, but the kind that ruled for him.

Record books make little mention of Hollister Chamberlain, Soren Tartar, P.R. Antirine, and Kleff Survane, but Delita’s lengthy stay in power--nearly all aspects of it--can be attributed to the contributions of the four men. Together the four men formed a political machine whose roots took hold of Ivalice and united it; Delita’s role as a figurehead gets all the credit, but without these four, he would be mentioned as little as Olan or Ramza.

In the progression of history, each person is recognized at least once it seems. Now, the four who swept Ivalice up in an irrefutable golden age will surface again.

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Some ghost of me might greet my son
the day he is delivered.


Eternal Sleep, Track 1-1: The Blue Planet

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Chapter I - Inauguration

Zeltennia’s splendor was already a sight to behold on a regular day, but in the face of ceremonies and festivities the city’s occupants became joyful and effervescent. Bustling through the town’s arches and columns were peasants and nobles alike, all anticipating the event which was to take place. This time, it was Delita’s ascension to the Ivalician throne.

The town’s atmosphere was overjoyed, but not all for the same reason. Some were thankful that the Lion War had finally been ended and some happy that Goltana’s grasp on the local economy had been loosened by his death. Whatever the motivation for their friend’s opinions, no one cared; celebrations were in order, and that took precedent.

The city smelled wonderful. Breezy smells of freshly-baked bread, outside flower displays, fruit and vegetable bazaars, and restaurant items saturated everyone’s minds until they could almost taste them. Not a soul roamed the town with a frown on their face.

But arrival of a stern-faced knight, carried by a black chocobo with a penchant for the same emotion, quickly became the lone exception. He rode erect in his saddle like a military man, his vision focused straight ahead despite the colorful world around him. His placid face was marked with a bushy black mustache, and the helmet he wore concealed hair of similar color. A few onlookers pointed at him and his steed, talking amongst themselves about the dark knight who had just arrived. He motioned the chocobo down a left-hand street with an imperceptible motion of the reigns.

This man dwelled in a world foreign to others, one of constant pessimism and blackness, always seeing things as how they make to occur rather than how they end up. A present tense world did not interest him, for he was a visionary of sorts, never allowing the world around him to overwhelm him with talk of revolution and ‘change for the better’. He had made up his mind to never be satisfied.

Through the cobbled passageways leading between buildings, the chocobo carried its master on towards the citadel where the gala for King Delita was to take place. “Everyone has sovereign syndrome,” he mocked in a breathless whisper. The knight’s steady eyes followed two peasants carrying smoked hams and baguettes down the street ahead of him. “Do you think life will be better, you foolish herd-members? You must be happy that a king of your sort has pulled himself from the mud and into the king’s seat.” The chocobo perceived its master’s body shake with internal laughter and it bobbed its head as if to confirm its agreement, snickering in coarse kwehs.

Past the thatched-roof houses and brick-layered residences, the skyline opened up. The chocobo walked ahead a bit, stopping on top of a lumpy knoll. The man--known to some as Antirine--gazed sullenly ahead, barely interested in the structural bravado of the castle before him. “Walled in, like a tomb.” He reflected the sight over a cigarette, before setting the chocobo down the road like a gust of wind.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Much obliged, my good man,” said the professor to the coachman as he exited his carriage. “If you could bring my packages and luggage to my quarters within a half-hour that would be most kindly of you.” The coachman bowed with an obedient “yessir” and disappeared into the castle. The professor followed suit, savoring the nature and architectural design of the entrance’s columns on his way up the stairs. “Hmm, a little outdated, but very nice...”

Inside, the professor was blown away by the detailed interior of the palace. He had expected it, of course, but it was still a nice experience to familiarize oneself. For one as observant as he, it was mental anesthesia. He quickly ran over to all the nearest works of art, cradling his hefty face with a plump hand as he analyzed the layering of the paintings, their painters, the overall techniques used. At the opposite end of the room, his pudgy fingers traced and groped the wonderful statuettes, then tested for dust and age of the material like a venerable connoisseur of art. “I wonder what kind of chisel was used to do this,” he remarked, rubbing his thumb across a pedestal’s surface. “Maybe a delicate rasping tool?”

“Sir, your bags are in your room.”

The professor turned around, startled, finding a pale-faced butler staring at him. “Has it been a half an hour already?” He wiped his balding forehead with his sleeve.

“It has been two half-hours, actually, sir. This way.” The butler started off, a trailing hand beckoning for the professor to follow. He did.

On the third floor, the butler pushed open a door, standing back to let the professor take his first step inside. “It’s glorious!” he barked, seeing the bare space. “Two adjoining rooms!” He didn’t even have to close his eyes to imagine the places the bookshelves, tables, and alchemist’s tools would go. Sure that the professor was satisfied, the butler sidled out the door.

Like a vulture, the man strode around his wrapped up items, inspecting them all to see if the content labels had fallen off. “Nope!,” he intoned, wandering to the drawn curtains. They opened with a quick lug of the side cord, the sunlight illuminating all the dust floating around. “Thankfully, I have no allergies,” he commented. “Soon the room will smell like a real place of working.”

Professor Hollister Chamberlain had grown up in Lesalia and had accumulated a pleasant work ethic and a dedicated disposition towards all things relating to academia. The pleasantries of the West now seemed to pale in comparison to the lofty structures and blue-collar societies of the East, and the stay--however long its length--would probably be chockfull of solemn characters bustling about with their heads elsewhere, he assumed. “I’ll scrutinize and adapt, yes, that’s just what I’ll do.”

“Book boxes, how could I forget you,” he silently scolded, maneuvering around his other cargo to them. The pleasant face lit up as he unfastened the first’s twine, unearthing a plaque beneath a load of perfectly stacked literature. “Awarded to Professor H. Chamberlain,” he recited, emulating the presenter’s voice he had heard at the dedication ceremony long ago, “for achieved excellence in the business and the sciences”. Greeting the gilded plaque with a kiss, he gently laid it back in the box and hurried out of the room to inspect the castle’s other neglected treasures.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kleff Survane sat on a wooden stool in the kitchen, conversing with maids passing by. In the week since he had arrived, he had taken up root there, expressing his refusal to explore the castle’s stateliness. “It’s a waste, I tell you,” said he to the head cook, who had started to make a habit of stopping by to chat. “I’m not that interested in the castle’s grandeur or refined things. In fact, I’d much like to have my room on the first floor so I could see little of them as possible. I might as well pack a lunch and live under the stairs to get a head start.” The cooking personnel he talked to could not tell whether he was low maintenance or lazy, so they agreed that he was both.

In fact, if you had known Survane in his earlier years, you would have found someone who diligently walked from location to location, attending meetings and conferences with an up-and-comer’s charisma. A disaster had practically stripped his ambition away and he now scratched out a living as an accountant--a damn good one. While he stopped climbing the business ladder, he had not thrown away his schooling. Dissociating himself from non-mandatory living had given him time to sit in his third-floor room and pore over books to help his business knowledge grow firmer. Survane didn’t want to gain more obligations and responsibility, but he didn’t really know what he wanted, so he studied anyway.

Tired of Survane’s incessant appearance in the kitchen, the staff finally decided to domesticate him into the castle’s other activities. When he appeared the next day, they blocked way to his stool and cast him out. The sense of abandonment made its impression in the young man. He didn’t know where anything was, save the meeting rooms and his residence, and he spent enough time in those already.

His legs moved residualyl up the grand staircase. A disheartened face glanced at the lively clerks and attendances moving by him with a second glance. “Is this how it’s going to be,” he wondered, heading towards his room in a huff. He didn’t want to be preoccupied all day long and he didn’t want to have nothing to do. “How can I be so damned indecisive about everything?”

“Oh, blast,” shouted someone from a room nearby.

Survane lost interest for a moment; he didn’t want to help anyone with their boring work, but there was nothing to do anyway. Sighing heavily, Survane forced himself to open the door where the voice came from. A sulfurous draft snaked into his nostrils, and he saw before him a lavish room full of boiling chemicals and mechanical contraptions.

“What is...”

A well-dressed man appeared from the next-door room, carrying an array of equipment in his arms. Kleff’s interest was piqued. He had trained as an engineer before he came to Zeltennia, and was quite good at what he did. He immediately knew every tool the man held in his hands, and he wanted to use them for some odd reason. Survane watched as the man disappeared behind a curtain subdividing the room, reappeared, and then left into the other room. Each billow of the curtains wafted chemical aromas to him. “Interesting indeed. I can’t believe I didn’t notice this man before,” Survane muttered, his eyes still going over the apparatuses and flasks. He shut the door and began inspecting them, greatly interested in what the scholarly man was making. As he approached the curtain, the man ran out from the bordering room and slid in front of him, arms outstretched.

“I’m sorry, my good man, but you can’t go back there.”

Survane figured this was some restricted area, but the curiosity got the better of him. “What’s back there?” he inquired, craning his neck to see through the curtains. The man craned in front of his so he couldn’t see.

“I’m sorry, but this is for professionals only. Not to be rude, my good man, but you could get seriously injured in here. You should leave if you value your own well-being.”

“I have a degree in engineering. You know, from Goug.”

The man’s eyebrows rose peculiarly. “Goug, you say? I never expected someone from so far away to make their way here. I’m rather inclined to let you in here, but I feel I must to have proof just the same. Do you have your degree on hand?”

Survane ran to get it.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anyone looking for Soren Tartar at a particular moment could usually find him in the throne room having lively discussions with the soon-to-be king. Delita would give his vindications the best he could, but Tartar’s virtuoso know-how was a massive, overpowering force. The young Hyral  never felt quaint around Tartar, for he always visualized him as a man whose professionalism was well-brought, but he never liked having his ideas rebutted either. “Do you know why the farmers have rioted,” he would ask Tartar, getting the logical reply of “they’re dissatisfied because they don’t make the rules”.

Tartar was the man of the hour in Castle Zeltennia, and had the knowledge of what was going on nearly everywhere. In most matters he was akin to a military general, coordinating menial and crucial tasks alike. Delita felt he was a most trusted advisor and the rest of the castle regarded him in the way. He might not have had the supremacy in all matters of state, but he was a head council on the war board just the same. He was a gentleman in the very sense of the word, and when he was furious over something, he was furious. He grasped the sense of obligation and branched it out, but even his hands were full when the inauguration ceremonies had to be sifted through.

“Come in,” he said insipidly when the secretary dropped papers on his desk. He thanked her in the same tone when she left. Normally he would have initiated a conversation, but the work at hand needed to be completed and he could permit a few hurt feelings.

He sat back in his chair, turning pages in front of his face. “Absentees, expected attendance outcome, catering, music ensembles.” He wrote his replies in long-strung shorthand, pushing them across his desk for when his secretary came back in.

Fifteen minutes later, Tartar was exhaling cigar smoke when the door opened. The secretary’s face popped through the door, looked to him, looked to the desk. “Are you done, Soren?” He had requested she drop the formalities.

“Yes, they’re all there. If you’d check over, I’d be much appreciative.” Inhale.

She smiled and carried the papers away, gently shutting the oak door behind her. Tartar took the time to relax, knowing that another stack of papers was being made down on the bottom floor and they’d be arriving in the next fifteen minutes. He scooted the ash tray towards him and threw the cigar in it. “Ahh, sweet, sweet silence.” His feet found their way to the desktop, and he leant back.

Fifteen minutes later, another batch of papers came. “Let’s see here,” he said aloud, underlining the words with his quill as to catch every word. “Acceptance speech, ready and sent. Heretic list, updated and filed. Catering schedule, handed out already. Paychecks...unsigned.” The next ten minutes were reduced to writing signatures; he pushed the papers to their waiting spot, then walked to the window.

The view from above showed the cliffs and crags above the North Loe Sea, the salty waters battling it out with the moonlight. Little campfires were placed along the cliffs but they didn’t compare to the two lighthouses embanked on the minute peninsulas jutting out from either side of the castle. They illuminated the humid air and were a great way to deter invasions in the area.

“Tomorrow is the inauguration and the king will be out in public. Hopefully any dissenters will make the right decision and stay at home. I’m glad I didn’t send out invitations.” Chuckling, he closed the window blinds and walked to the door. With his methodical thinking patterns, how could things go wrong anyway?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Delita called Tartar, Hollister, and Antirine to a board meeting to planning for the day’s events. Delita arrived first, sitting at the head of the table, then Tartar, sitting at the opposite end, back to the door. Antirine arrived soon after, stone-faced and quiet; he took a chair on Tartar’s left side. Hollister arrived next, tagging another man along behind him.

Delita jumped to his feet like he had been sitting on a spring, pointing to the uninvited guest. “He does not belong here. Get him out at once!”

Hollister stopped. “Your majesty, this man has been helping me with my work and I can assure you that he is a very trustworthy individual. He’s actually quite useful to my work.”

“But does he have use here,” Delita said sardonically.

Hollister looked at Survane so he could speak for himself. “I...I...I’m a very good diplomat, sir.” Though it seemed like a lie, the truth was down below his nervous, stammering voice. He had acted as a diplomat for six years, the job taking him from Limberry to Igros to Warjilis. He smiled as best he could under the circumstances.

Delita cocked his head. “Diplomat? Diplomat. Can you confirm this, Chamberlain?” Hollister nodded his agreement, and both sat down beside each other at the table. Delita eyed the newcomer suspiciously, but the annoyance he felt soon subsided.

“Now gentlemen,” he began, “how are things going to be run today? You first, Tartar.”

Tartar stood up, dressed in a black suit and very poised. “Your Majesty, I have, myself, read over the speech and I can say it seems like it will hook the people very nicely. The plan is for you to walk to the podium when the band--which is extraordinary, might I add--finishes playing “Farewell to Yesterday”. At that point, you are to give your welcome speech. There is a copy on the podium and here is also a copy.” Delita took the pages, and began to read over them.

Tartar began again. “When you speak, make sure to emphasize the bolded words, and make sure to use eye contact at regular intervals. The crowd will be pleased with that. Afterwards, the band will start playing and you have the choice to stay and talk to the audience, shake their hands, that sort of thing, you know. Or, you can exit the platform and attend the party afterwards. It’s all up to you.”

Delita fingered and shaped his growing mustache as Tartar talked, tossing around the choices in his mind. The other three sitting at the table watched his mouth fidget over the suggestions. “Well,” he finally began, “I want to gain even more favor with the crowd, but the security reasons are still large. I trust there will be guards patrolling the outskirts?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Tartar, “I’ve entrusted Mr. Antirine sitting over there with controlling the crowd. I’ve looked over his record and I can personally say it is very sufficient for the task.”

Delita looked to Antirine, sitting in full armor with his arms crossed. “Well, Antirine, are you up to the task?” All faces turned to the dark knight.

“Sure,” he muttered. “I’ve yet to fail.” His eyes flew to Delita who seemed to be reassured by the knight’s gruff accent and buoyancy.

”Well, now that the crowd issues are covered, it comes down to the miscellaneous things. Did you whip up some of those fireworks, Chamberlain?”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty, I made quite a lot of them yesterday. There should be a nice nighttime display when the time comes, and I made some for daytime use as well, just in case. In summary, it will be a very colorful event.” Hollister sat content in his chair. If he was asked for an exact number, he was ready to give it.

“Good, good! I have confidence in your abilities, so all that’s left is...” His face gained an inquisitive look when it fell on Survane. He looked at the perspiring man and saw him avoiding eye contact with him. “You there, what’s your name?”

“K-k-kleff Survane,” he spattered,  adding in a quick “Your Majesty” to avoid a misstep with the people he had just met. Delita didn’t seemt o notice.

“Kleff, since you’re a diplomat, I’ll give you an important job. Rally some support in town for the event. I’m sure the turnout will be just fine, but see if you can get them even more excited. Hollister made some of fireworks for the occasion, so supply them to the people as presents from me.  As a matter of fact, you could get started right now.” He purposely made the job important-sounding because he knew the poor man didn’t want to sit in the room any longer.

Survane scooted his chair back, thanked Delita, and scurried away.

“Now then, gentlemen, is there any other matters of state to discuss? We might as well save ourselves a trip here later on.”

Tartar arose once more, brushed a few wrinkles out of his suit and began: “It has come to my knowledge that acts of piracy have been committed on the coastal cities of Ivalice. Mostly around the areas of Yardow, Riovanes, and Goug, but they are being suppressed by knights of the respective towns. Not likely to happen in Zeltennia, but we do have spheres of influence in those three cities, so I thought you might want to know in case your hold on said areas were to be broken.”

“What are ‘spheres of influence’ for the first part, and what industries to we have in those cities?” Delita asked, scratching his head. Antirine coughed at the question, hiding a chuckle, but Delita failed to catch the relevance.

Tartar smiled at the question. “Spheres of influence are regions were control is exerted over another nation or kingdom. In this case, Zeltennia has a grip on industries in Yardow, Riovanes, and Goug. As for what industries we control and where: metal refining in Yardow and Goug; Wheat and corn in Riovanes.”

“Oh, I see” was the only reply Delita gave.

Tartar did not sit down. “Back on subject, did you want to do anything in those areas? Things like aid, soldiers, or money could all be of use and they would help us keep an upper hand on our economies in that area.”

Delita looked nonplussed and indecisive. Tartar, having kept tabs on Delita’s past, knew of his upbringing and let the question slide. “Perhaps another time, Your Majesty,” he said, sitting down. Delita’s expression changed to a relieved one.

Antirine, showing the thin wisps of a smile, looked across the table to Hollister, who glared back, obviously not impressed with his showing moments before. An unfazed Delita stood, looking at all of his retainers.  “Well, since all the issues seem to have been resolved, you can all get back to your routines. See you at the inauguration, gentlemen.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

An anxious gathering simmered with static energy outside the castle gates, waiting for the sun to finally disappear out over the Finath. Instinctively, a few people had brought shawls and umbrellas, claiming to their friends that the reddening sky meant that a thunderhead was approaching. Most were dressed in their most luxurious evening attire--silk and satin for the richer persons and burlap for the destitute. Most intermingled as if the foreshadow to celebrations had broken the barricades of upper- and lower-class citizenry. “When’s this gonna start here,” bellowed one gentleman who appeared to have gotten drunk in anticipation for the night ahead. A few laughs came up, and the man was shoved aside to make room for others. The hum died down to a whisper when the town’s church bells sounded in the city, marking the beginning of the night. When the ninth and last peal faded, the crowds’ voices erupted, turning into a booming chain reaction. The gates shivered with life and slowly began opening, but the throngs of bodies sprung through in a deluge before the metal bars could come to a stop.

“The coronation ceremony will begin shortly and the attendance is probably the biggest these walls have ever held, I’d imagine. They come to see a ruler born before their eyes.” Tartar, clad in a white breastplate and robe, leant on the stone railing, looking down upon the platform Delita would occupy in the coming minutes.

“They come like moths to a torch,” remarked Antirine, biting into his third cigar. He was dressed in his same outfit, black on black, looking away with the same cold demeanor he had in the war room. “Perhaps the turnout would be half as high if there were no food being cooked for the occasion?”

“Always the cynic, aren’t we? The night is young; the king will soon take the step into manhood; the festivities are just getting started. You can even hear the snap-crackers and fizzlers that our friend Survane passed out to the crowd earlier. Lighten up and everything will be as smooth as it was planned out.”

“I’ll lighten up once I get some liquor in my system, Soren.”

“Nonsense, you have the easiest task out of them all. I can tell you with a bit of exactitude that the need to crack skulls and break arms won’t arise. I should hope you would enjoy the fragrance of the location and attempt to stay sober until sunup.”

Antirine laughed gruffly, flicking the remark aside. “Why waste the night divining meaning? If you have an itch, you scratch it. I know you have the sensible drink now and then, so don’t try to deny it.”

“Oh, I won’t deny it. Even so, sometimes a person has to have a drink to stay sane. I think I’ll go get one myself before I’m assigned to do any further work and, on that note, I part in good company. Farewell for now.”  His white cape eddied as he turned and a moment later the fleeting crackles of his footsteps were dying away in the stairwell.

“There’s a sobering thought,” the dark knight mused, crushing the remains of his cigar into the hewn stone. He looked off to the castle grounds where, from the gate to the grandstand, campfires were springing up. The scent of roasted meat on spits drifted to the castle walls. It hooked in Antirine’s nostrils, and he started walking down the stairwell, popping his crystalline sword out of its sheath on the way. Maybe he could grab some food and drink while he greeted his crowd.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Delita paced around his lavish room, the ceremonial red robe and crown already atop his head. His hand clenched and unclenched in fidgety motions, like he was grasping a thought and losing it again. Even though he hadn’t taken ascended to his kingdom yet, he maintained the air of one ready to step up to the responsibility, one who desired change. Tartar watched him out of the corner of his eye from his seat across the room, sipping on some brandy he had scored from the kitchen awhile before.

A mammoth crowd was amassing below the room’s decorated balcony, celebratory cries and exclamations rocketing upwards and through the curtains. Delita stopped his pacing, listened, and began again.

“The time has almost arrived, Your Highness,” Tartar chimed, standing from his chair. “The band is ready, your subjects are ready. All you need to do is take that first step towards your people. This is the moment of a lifetime, so please, make sure you’re composed.”

“I know what you mean, but...” Delita trailed off, leaving the rest of the excuse in his throat. This was the time to rise to the occasion; this was the time to leave behind his former image and gain a new one. He breathed deeply, as if to hold his breath, and exhaled his worry. “This is it, Soren. I’m going.”

Delita flashed his boyish smile and slowly walked to the balcony. It amazed Tartar at how young this man was, who would take the reins of the kingdom he knew barely anything about. This would be the liege he would serve until his death, and he would do his duty to ensure that it was as free of hassle as possible. “...this is my vow,” he murmured, walking over to the curtain and listening. To think, a minute ago he was standing next to a friend and now...now, he was a king. “Foolishly sentimental,” he chuckled. “Must be the brandy talking.”

Bolstered on its own satisfaction and bliss, the crowd swelled, dashing itself against the castle walls in one, single motion. Delita walked to the edge and threw his hands upward, feeling the complements and praises warm his entire being. “There is no feeling like this,” he spoke silently through his grin, closing his eyes to absorb every minute of it.  His elevated arms slowly fell, and with them, the decibel level of the crowd. The listeners were on the fringe of another cheer.

“I welcome all of you to this very special day!” The sea of people burst into cheer, even louder than the previous showing. Delita quieted them once again. “For it is not only you who are opening up your arms to me, but I am opening up my arms to you, Zeltennia!” The crowd erupted again, applauding at the very mention of the kingdom’s name. Inside, Soren laughed with for the sheer momentum of the moment, almost choking on his liquor in doing so.

“My people,” Delita began once again, now the crowd had settled into a thin ripple of voices, “It is my utmost honor to be here this day. Though I suffered halfway across the land, I suffered with you! My  broken spirit mended with yours! Your hunger, disease, war...I have felt it all”--Delita pounded his hand over his heart--“and, now, I will nurture this kingdom the best I know how, and I hope you will stand alongside me; for, this day begins not only the celebration of a new era in Ivalice, but in a new way of life for everyone!”

If the people were happy before, they exploded. Antirine had taken a seat on the western castle wall, forced to retreat as the crowd expanded and stamped in place, empowered by their new ruler and ready to take whatever action they were bidded. Delita saw this and was pleased, evidently catching the feverish excitement the crowd was making.

“With the coming of dawn, this land will be born anew. No longer will the people be forgotten, no longer shall the people be mistreated. The framework is already in place. Will you help me finish it?!” The crowd let loose a guttural roar, knocking Antirine and his bottle held out of their seat. Another spontaneous roar superseded the last as Delita threw his arms up once more. The crowd was ablaze.

Hollister and Kleff walked into Delita’s bedroom just as Soren was reaching for a new decanter. “How goes it, my good fellows” he asked jovially, pouring himself a refill. “I should hope you’re each having a pleasant time as a new era of Ivalice commences.”

The professor nodded, taking the decanter in hand. “Of course, my friend! There’s nothing more invigorating than seeing a new king and kingdom uniting as one. The two make a great couple, as I’m sure you’ve been hearing outside. A brilliant display, if I may say so. And that reminds me! The fireworks I made should start when the speech ends.” The professor chortled as he filled himself a glass. “Would you like one, too, Kleff?”

The timid man shrugged, eyeing both of the men present. “Sure...I guess.” He took the glass from Chamberlain’s outstretched hand. A few yards away, Delita continued to rouse the crowd’s interest, and the room seemed to shake with each favorable reaction.

“I’ve never heard a gathering this loud before,” spoke Soren, “and I hope I’ll never have to hear another. I’m afraid my ears can’t take much more of the king’s lively fans. And you can sit, gentlemen! No need to stand around like statues.”

Kleff sat on the chair by the door, and turned to staring at his glass’ contents. Suddenly, he spoke with a newly-found vigor. “A toast to the people and their new king. May they never be forgotten.” Soren nodded and raised his glass high; Chamberlain followed suit, although his was half-empty. The three clinked their glasses from across the room.

The crowd shouted their agreement, as if they had been listening in.

This post has been edited by L. Cully on 14th August 2005 09:55

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Some ghost of me might greet my son
the day he is delivered.


Eternal Sleep, Track 1-1: The Blue Planet

This story really seems to transcend general ideas of fanfic. Firstly the prose itself is rich and deeply textured with stark attention to details of geography and knowledge of the world of Ivalice. The characters are intriguing and alive. I also like how you paint Delita as slightly uncomfortable with real power, inept, like a George W. Bush sort of figure; (does that make Soren Tartar like Karl Rove?) charismatically igniting the people whilst unable to make any real decisions. Overall it's enthralling stuff and I hope to read more soon.

Oh, and Kleff reminds me of my flatmate for some reason.

Keep up the good work.

This post has been edited by GooseKnight on 14th August 2005 14:21

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"You broke my f***ing sitar, mother f***er."
-Anton A. Newcombe

"Yet another 'use your sword to magically deliver death from above' character comes in somewhere between the Living Cabbage and Milkmaid character options." -red_beard_neo

Thanks for the feedback, you guys. I'll see if I can get another chapter laid out soon.

[EDIT] - And thanks for copy and pasting that, L.

This post has been edited by Shotgunnova on 14th August 2005 18:19

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It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

That was awesome. I really like your writing style

Got done with the second chapter last night.

Attached File ( Number of downloads: 20 )
 Chapter_2a_Frontwards_and_Upwards.doc

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It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

Wow, yet again great stuff. The characters that have been built around Delita are amazing. They are life-like, absorbing and very believable in the world of Ivalice. Your writing is always true to the characters and their distinct personalities never seem to shut off. I like the idea of bringing

Possible spoilers: highlight to view

airships back to Ivalice

and am excited to read how that effects Zeltennia and Delita etc.

--------------------

"You broke my f***ing sitar, mother f***er."
-Anton A. Newcombe

"Yet another 'use your sword to magically deliver death from above' character comes in somewhere between the Living Cabbage and Milkmaid character options." -red_beard_neo

I enjoyed both chapters quite a bit. A few grumblings, though...

Kleff is never given an age, or described as being young or old. The way he is written, he sounds rather young to me. Possibly 25 or 26? Anyway, at that age, life experiences are still rather slim wouldn't you think? Particularly educational opportunities, considering the turmoil that the nation had been engulfed in over the past several years. Yet, Kleff seems to earn a degree or have a hidden academic knowledge or ability seemingly every time a situation that requires such knowledge presents itself. I found that to be just a tad unbelievable. He has a degree from Goug... is an accomplished accountant... worked as an accomplished machinist for a while... also worked as a diplomat for some time... is there anything this fellow hasn't done or isn't good at?

Also, the competency of Soren is amazing. Why, then, would he so willingly follow Delita, who knows exactly jack about the inner workings of a nation, when Soren himself could run it with ease? Soren seems to have an elitist ego, so I don't think it's out of the question to ask why he would follow someone that he most likely considers inferior to him.

Same situation with Antirine. He is introduced as someone who clearly has a distaste for government and rulership, as well as the "herd mentality" of the masses. Why, then, would he go on to serve Delita so faithfully? He also has a penchant for suddenly possesing unexpected skills and knowledge like Kleff does, as we see in the pilot room of the downed airship, but I can undersand that a bit more due to his (i'm guessing here) age and experience.

These are all minor things overall. Aside from them, I found the story to be very engaging and well written thus far. You asked for my opinion in PM on how I personally would like to see the story progress from here, so here goes...

I would like to see Ovelia mentioned. Such an integral part of the game, she hasn't been brought up even once thus far. Not that you have to rewrite her death scene again, as about a million other Tactics fanfics do.... but I would definitely like to see her mentioned. Maybe Delita sends her away for a month on a good will ambassador mission to Romanda, to get her out of his hair while he focuses on the airships?

I would like to see Ramza mentioned.... or, better yet, have him make an appearance.

I would love, Love, LOVE to see Besrodio in this. He seems to be a near perfect fit for this storyline, as he is most likely considered one of the foremost experts on machinery in the city of Goug, and most likely, in the whole of the continent.

I think a link from the past between Gafgarion and Antirine would make a good side story. Antirine may have even been Gaff's protege, before a young man named Ramza came along and stole the old mans time and attention from Antirine....

I think any quest for the airships should inevitably lead to a quest for at least a few of the holy stones. This could introduce Elidibs to Tactics fanfics in a really unique way.

I would like to see a small portion of the story mention the death of Olan, though this probably would have needed to have been done in the first two chapters, as Delita would have taken care of that bit of business fairly early in his rulership, most likely.

That's all for now. Great job here, Shotgun. Now that my attention has been turned to this, I'm very much looking forward to reading more of it.



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Join the Army, see the world, meet interesting people - and kill them.

~Pacifist Badge, 1978

Chapter is also brilliant. Without a doubt yours is the best FFT fanfic I've read. Hopefully more is on the way

I'll try to indulge you without giving anything away.

Quote (Hamedo @ 5th October 2005 06:21)

I enjoyed both chapters quite a bit.  A few grumblings, though...

Kleff is never given an age, or described as being young or old.  The way he is written, he sounds rather young to me.  Possibly 25 or 26?  Anyway, at that age, life experiences are still rather slim wouldn't you think?  Particularly educational opportunities, considering the turmoil that the nation had been engulfed in over the past several years.  Yet, Kleff seems to earn a degree or have a hidden academic  knowledge or ability seemingly every time a situation that requires such knowledge presents itself.  I found that to be just a tad unbelievable.  He has a degree from Goug... is an accomplished accountant... worked as an accomplished machinist  for a while... also worked as a diplomat for some time...  is there anything this fellow hasn't done or isn't good at?

When I had first started this undertaking back in February, I had a completely different story than it is now (and much less interesting). All four of the main players had their backstories, but I only completed Antirine and Tartar's; Kleff's was in the making when I kind of abandoned that vein and tried to work everything into the story.

Later on, a member of Kleff's family may show up, and give a little detail to his past--he's in his mid to late twenties, but he grew up in Goug, so he's quite efficient at chemistry, diplomacy...the like. So, as it is, his manual skills are up to or above par, but his drive is highly connected to his so far unrevealed past. He also has a few psychological/emotional problems that the more accomplished people don't have, but perhaps I haven't fleshed those out as much yet. In later chapters, perhaps!

Also, his work experience also ties heavily into a decade or so past, so if he seems really out of place now, that will be cleared up eventually.

Quote

Also, the competency of Soren is amazing.  Why, then, would he so willingly follow Delita, who knows exactly jack about the inner workings of a nation, when Soren himself could run it with ease?  Soren seems to have an elitist ego, so I don't think it's out of the question to ask why he would follow someone that he most likely considers inferior to him.

This is also for later chapters (to which I've got a bare-bones outline already finished), but Soren is cemented to his principles and while he could probably stage a coup with relative ease, his conscience and "the rules" prevent him from doing so. And I wouldn't say he's elitist, but when you've in a position of power as he is, poorly-planned dealings and, well, anything is grounds to undermine you. Like Kleff, he's efficient, but gets by without being held back by anything.

More revelations about him later on? That's about all I can say to whet your appetite. ;p

Quote

Same situation with Antirine.  He is introduced as someone who clearly has a distaste for government and rulership, as well as the "herd mentality" of the masses.  Why, then, would he go on to serve Delita so faithfully?  He also has a penchant for suddenly possesing unexpected skills and knowledge like Kleff does, as we see in the pilot room of the downed airship, but I can undersand that a bit more due to his (i'm guessing here) age and experience.

It seems like he's suddenly "learning" things out of the blue, but he's more well-traveled than most of the others (save Tartar). This would have been explained a bit more in his "entrance prologue". I don't want to cast an unwanted light on him, but it's likely that everyone has ulterior motives outside of serving the king...if you get where I'm going.

So, I'll just say that he didn't advance to where he was by simply sticking around one place.

Quote

These are all minor things overall.  Aside from them, I found the story to be very engaging and well written thus far.  You asked for my opinion in PM on how I personally would like to see the story progress from here, so here goes...

I would like to see Ovelia mentioned.  Such an integral part of the game, she hasn't been brought up even once thus far.  Not that you have to rewrite her death scene again, as about a million other Tactics fanfics do.... but I would definitely like to see her mentioned.  Maybe Delita sends her away for a month on a good will ambassador mission to Romanda, to get her out of his hair while he focuses on the airships?

There are a few ways to take Ovelia in this:

I. She's dead and no one really speaks of her very often, especially in the presence of the king. It would be a touchy subject, and as I haven't really focused on the townspeople's opinions--who would probably have more compassion towards her than "the four"--it's probably not encouraged in the castle either. The festivities might just erase those notions for awhile, but you're right, if she's dead, it seems like a writer's flaw to leave her out.

II. She's alive and I've just been an idiot and haven't written her in yet. Naturally, there's an agenda going on to which she has no part in/needs to know about, so her presence wouldn't be detailed as much. There are no intimate details about Delita or anything (as of yet?), so that could cover my back a bit.

III. She's dead and Delita's not looking...yet.

A mix of the latter and the first is probably what's going on as of now, but her absence in the story is notable, so I'll try to make her "appear" at some point.

Quote

I would like to see Ramza mentioned.... or, better yet, have him make an appearance.

This was already a possibility I harbored in my mind, so don't give up hope on this one.

Quote

I would love, Love, LOVE to see Besrodio in this.  He seems to be a near perfect fit for this storyline, as he is most likely considered one of the foremost experts on machinery in the city of Goug, and most likely, in the whole of the continent.

This was also already a possibility I had written down, and since Goug is the prime center of mechanical knowledge--which both Antirine and Kleff have, even moreso than the professor--I wouldn't write him out of the picture just yet.

I've often drawn to the Tartar and Antirine's backstories (those unreleased documents I wrote) to get a feel of their character when I pick up writing, but since Kleff's is only half-completed, I'll definately have to finish that up. It's fairly sad as I remember it, so hopefully it will explain things later (yes, I know I've said that forty-five times ).

Quote

I think a link from the past between Gafgarion and Antirine would make a good side story.  Antirine may have even been Gaff's protege, before a young man named Ramza came along and stole the old mans time and attention from Antirine....

The character of Antirine is loosely based off of a person I roleplayed as a few years ago. Dark Knight, kind of shady but reserved, a bit more complex than the usual "white-haired hack-and-slasher"-type. His backstory could actually touch base on Kleff's later on, so I'll probably go with that.

'Sides, I can't see Gaffy being generous enough to take anyone under his wing.

Quote

I think any quest for the airships should inevitably lead to a quest for at least a few of the holy stones.  This could introduce Elidibs to Tactics fanfics in a really unique way.

Relatively early into the reign, finding holy stones might just sway the story towards the other 23409234 fanfics of the same nature. They're definately "there" on a worldwide scale, but I'm not sure on if they'll be used for Lucavi and all that. Hmm...they might come up at some time, but I'm not sure if they're going to be integral to any chapter(s). Don't rule 'em out though.

Quote

I would like to see a small portion of the story mention the death of Olan, though this probably would have needed to have been done in the first two chapters, as Delita would have taken care of that bit of business fairly early in his rulership, most likely.

Olan died a few (five?) years into Delita's reign, so that's the reason why I haven't really danced to that issue. It's also one of those events that would be a gaping hole in a story (and has already been explained in the game), so it would only be my fault to leave it out. It'll be there, don't worry.

Remember, the first two chapters don't even cover a month in the game, so I'll see about speeding up the pace. Not in a "Three years later..." kind of sense, since that's not really my thing, but I'll try to slip it in there.

Quote

That's all for now.  Great job here, Shotgun.  Now that my attention has been turned to this, I'm very much looking forward to reading more of it.

Quote

Chapter is also brilliant. Without a doubt yours is the best FFT fanfic I've read. Hopefully more is on the way

Thanks you two, I'll definately be getting some more out. I'm getting a new laptop and that's been my dominant excuse for not continuing during college. I definately don't want to let this thing die, though, as it's been kind of my brainchild for months. Plus, where's the point in leading people on and then discontinuing?

So, I'll keep these things in mind, meld them with the ones I already have, and we'll make that final result well worth it.

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It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

Chapter 3 -- Into the Ether

I made a deadline with myself that I'd get something done by the turn of the new year, but better late than never, I guess. It's fun to get things rolling again. So, tell me what you think of this, and I'll work on getting the chapter four framework down.

Also, sorry for taking so much time, both in real life and in the story. Again, I can't bring myself to do dramatic flash-forwards into the future, so apologies in advance if you want a gigantic invasion or a death of some sort.

P.S.: If someone could copy and paste this, I'd be grateful. I'm vacationing back home, so
I'm on my ol' junker again.

--------------------

It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck can change

Quote

Chapter 3 -- Into the Ether

The rock face tapered off, angled itself downward, and resentfully slipped
beneath the waves. The crags and water pools below breathed in the sea water,
exhaling foam before catching it back in the tide, giving it another try a
moment later. Angular rocks jutted out from within walking distance of the thin
beach and multiplied: a solemn reminder that this was no ship's friend. This was
a minor excerpt of the Barrens, a soured stretch of skeletal hills and primeval
quarries that brushed up against the seaboard before rolling west to the
Finath. Rotting plants and weak topsoil made the site unsettling, and even the
few monsters were skin and bones; needless to say, the lack of agriculture only
provided an easy excuse for townspeople to stay away. This was also an
invitation for other characters to move in. Antirine, tucked away in his dark
metal shell, propped himself up against a vertical splinter of granite, his hand
dragging a tobacco cigarette in the dusty breeze.

Out and below, three flat-topped barges floated in tandem, slowly trawling
through the midday shadow cast by the barrens above.  A few of the castle's
soldiers sat lazily around the rims of the boats, talking amongst each other.
One strapping man even noticed his commander on the skyline and waved; Antirine
threw up a hand to show that he was also being attentive. The men laughed and
turned back to guarding the freight. Each oar-stroke lapped at the unusually
calm surface, propelling the wooden behemoths to the miniscule bay where the
docking and unloading would begin.

"You're a regular ship's mate today," Tartar mocked as he approached from behind
the dark knight, having just made the climb up from the makeshift pier below.
He was dressed in his usual white armor and had a lightweight duster on as well,
fragranced with sea spray. "How are your men doing?" he queried, fishing out
his cigarette from his pocket-sized case.

Antirine spit over the ledge. "Slow as hell, but that's how it's going to be. If
any of those relics falls overboard, I'll have a falling out of my own, if you
get my drift. Happen to remember the completion time offhand?"

Tartar peeked over the cliff, watching the first ship maneuver itself between
the towering entrance. It brushed the cliffside but managed to pop out the
otherside without damage. "Two weeks and some change, maybe...It depends on the
weather and the waves."

"Saw the last of the assembly compartments being made awhile ago...gouged right
out of that bedrock. Tomorrow the woodwork'll be set up, doors and the like. We
just need to get the haul down there and seal the place off as quick as
possible."

"Precisely," said Tartar, shooting gray wisps outward. "If we get thunder
showers and gales, the crafts may sink. Those bits and pieces of that airship
floating around down there...it's making me nervous already, if you can believe
it. Who knows if any of those components can be replaced? Our professor's got it
under wraps -- and I do mean under wraps -- but things can still go awry
as it stands."

The second ship had just turned to enter, and they both stopped talking a moment
to watch it sail through. Judging by the bulging under the burlap tarps, they
were pipes and machinery that could not be assembled. "The professor knows those
bits and pieces. Did you see his inventory list?"

"I did. Enough paper to float these parts themselves."

Antirine let out his bark-laugh and the crew of the second ship picked up their
pace, thinking they were the brunt of a funny joke. "Did you hear how he got the
ships in the first place?"

Soren shook his head, but he had an idea. "Waving his diplomacy around, was it?"

"Nearly. Right after we found the ship, he takes a trip to Goug with only a few
soldiers and a carriage...Delita's request. He gets down to the machine city,
meets with the men in charge and asks for some barges. They ask why and he tells
'em that -- get this -- there was a plague up in Ordalia and that they were
buring the dead at sea...a good will gesture by the new King. Do you remember
the inauguration and some of the diplomats who came to congratulate Delita?"

Tartar scratched his chin. "Representives from Goug weren't there."

"Exactly. Had an explosion of sorts down in one of their metal refining
factories and they wouldn't let anyone leave town...feared it was an inside job,
to say the least. The higher-ups still feel guilty for not being able to go pay
their respects to the new King and when Professor, in service of Delita, asks
for some ships to ferry the dead, they give him four barges. I'm talking major
cargo transport here, the type they use for their salvage operations in the
Bugross. Chamberlain asks how much, they don't name a price -- it's a present to
the new ruler. So, he effectively guilted them into giving him the ships. So,
he rides up through Larner Channel with all of these ships in tow, and they go
to the little pier east of the castle...I forget its name..."

"Land's End."

"That's the one. Now, awhile before, the carraige driver arrives back in
Zeltennia after doing doubletime with his chobobos. He notifies Delita that the
professor's coming back, the King goes down there. This is around the time they
finally got that metal skeleton out of the field and brought it down to the
castle."

"That all?"

"Can't say it is. Hollister pulls into Land's End with these giant floaters,
standing at the foredeck like he's the figurehead. He lands and Delita asks him
how he managed to procure them all. Get this: he says he used his bargaining
tricks and acute sense of wit."

"Falsehood?"

"Of course! You've seen the guy in action. His pull only goes so far as
attendants and engineers. I mean, not to speak badly of our upstanding
Professor, but I think any of us could top his attempt. From what I've heard
about that Survane kid, he probably could have gotten them to pay us for the
trouble."

"Kleff's the diplomat of the group, so I wouldn't be surprised. Where is he,
anyway? I haven't seen him around the grounds lately. And how did you know that
Hollister was just puffing out his chest?"

Antirine chuckled again. "The soldiers work under me, so of course, they'll
shoot the breeze during training. I was quite amused to find Hollister had taken
advantage of the Gougians embarrassment, but what needs to be done needs to be
done. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing, although..."

"...and about Survane?"

"Ahh. Yes, young Survane. Have you wondered why there aren't any boats out and
about like usual?"

Tartar turned to face the sea and he finally noticed that it was just water and
wind out there. Not a single vessel plunked around, aiming for their day's
catch. "So, where are they?"

"Our fine young diplomat is keeping the fishermen at bay, down at the local
saloon hangout. They all go there when they can't fish."

"But they can."

"Oh, but they can't. You see, he went down there on Delita's orders to keep them
out of the way -- can't have them snooping around, stopping to say hello,
loosening their tongues with gossip. One chilly morning, he arrives at the docks
and tells them that the early frost has spooked the haddock to Romanda, where
the current's warmer. Now, haddock make a bundle at the farmer's market in town,
but cold-water fish don't. I don't know why, I'm not a fisherman. So, they all
walk into town and he entertains them with stories of his alleged travels. He's
got them wrapped around his finger, and they believe he's the greatest thing
since fishing nets. I swear, I thought he had his work cut out for him, but he's
doing just fine. Of course, the promises of government funds'll take the swagger
out of any fisherman's step. Times have been tough in the past for these
guys...they probably want to ride it out instead of wasting their time."

"Fine job, then. I was hoping he wouldn't amount to a firework-fetcher."

"I'm kind of surprised that you didn't know all of these stories."

"Yes, well...You seem to have gotten the upper hand on the news lately. Let me
just say that for the last few days, my priorities have been redirected to
something else of equal importance."

"If it's a new project, feel free to indulge me."

"In good time, in good time..." The third and last boat had just traveled into
the bay and was already dropping anchor. The soldiers' whistles were all
directed upwards at the two. Antirine shrugged and started walking back, tossing
his long-dead cigarette over the side. It had burnt itself out while he was
talking.

                                    *******

The ceramic clouds thinned to the horizon and back, the lofty sprawl baked
orange in the post-midday. Wreathes of sunshine poked out above Zeltennia, but
it was soon patched up in messy slurs by the wind. The last few days had been
frigid and below-temperature at points, but the warm stillness made it seem
like the winter winds were taking a break before they would cover the town in
one fell swoop.


Kleff exited the saloon, listening to his former company's jubilant beer-cries
ring out for a moment before the ironwork door slammed shut. The dirt streets
were appropriately empty, as the husbands who had been at work were rubbing
their hands together as they anticipated their supper. The young man set out,
trudging past the wagons and haycarts that marked the end of town and the
beginning of the road to the castle.

On the outskirts, a man in a heavy shawl and cloak caught up with Kleff, resting
a hand on his shoulder as he caught his breath. "Sorry I missed your work..."
The voice was unmistakable: Delita was out and about.

"Sire, you shouldn't be out so late! You'll catch cold!"

"I'll be fine, Kleff."

The two began walking side by side en route to the castle gates, which were
still a good half mile away. Zeltennia Castle looked inviting as it rested fat
on its haunches, some of the windows shining white-light reflections. "You know,
sire," Kleff began, stuffing his hands into his overcoat's deep pockets,
"things are going off without a hitch at the fisherman's club. They haven't
exercised any protests since a few days ago."

"I'm glad to hear of success. Those seafaring types are stubborn -- you must
really have been in top form to keep them from their livelihoods."

"I can't take all the credit, Your Majesty. It was your suggestion in the first
place."

Delita chuckled close-mouthed, pulling his loose garb in a bit. "Well, the part
I have is much different from the part you all have. Thinking and doing just
aren't the same thing. I'd love to be out there and fraternize with everyone,
but my role in this picture doesn't allow for it."

"Oh, don't say that, sire. Your involvement is as important as mine or anyone's.
This is your brainchild, after all. You knew where to find an airship when no
one else had an inkling. That alone is worth its weight in the matter."

"Perhaps you are right. I just have this notion where I'm not being worthwhile
unless I'm at the forefront of the thing. Antirine and Tartar are out inspecting
the transport, you've just gotten back from your day out on the town, Hollister
is working for me in his laboratory...Just inventing ideas doesn't convince
myself I'm part of the action."

"I understand," said Kleff, his eyes on the nearby gate. "...but don't be too
discouraged. Your legacy's in the making, and it's sure to be a long one. There
will be plenty of opportunities to take advantage of."

The two approached the gate, waiting for the gate guard to notice them on the
bridgework above the large swing gate. Delita looked at his companion who said
nothing while he waited, and dug in his coat pocket. "I'll meet up with you all
later for a late dinner," said the King, grasping at the flowers in his hands.
"I have some business to take care of elsewhere."


Kleff took his eyes off the gate to look at the flowers in the his liege's hand.
"Little blue clusters...they're beautiful. How did you manage to get them this
late into the cold season?"


"A vendor had some of them, don't ask me how."

"Where are you going, then, if I may ask?"

"There's a cemetary nearby. I need to pay my respects."

Kleff felt as if the subject was drawing to a steady close, so he didn't bother
to ask if it was his family or friends. He just nodded and saw the King a ways
down the path to the graveyard. The remants of a broken-down church, minus the
steeple, were visible from the bend of the road. Before he could ponder the
significance long, he heard a gruff voice reach out and grab him in the dull
light.

"Hey, you!"

Survane whirled around to see the guard leaning on the railing, staring at him
with dinner-plate eyes from under his open helm. "Kleff, you coming in or what?
Who knows when a squidlarkin'll attack you!!"

Kleff waved him off as he walks into the castle environs. Delita shouldn't be
long.

                                      *******

The banquet table was piled high and long, with roast duck and pheasant as the
night's main course. Since his four friends' arrival, Delita had requested that,
rather than eating alone, he dine with the company of those who he surrounded
himself with. This was opposed lightly, with tradition and security cited as the
main reasons, but in the end Delita's wishes could not be refused.

"Very delectable," said the professor as he applied his handkerchief to his
pudgy face. "My compliments to the chef...no, the entire staff! I haven't had
fowl like this since I was in Lesalia!"

"Lesalia? You should drop down to Limberry sometime. Everyone seems to get spend
their time feeding the birds down there. Bird feeders, handouts...After seeing
the amount of corn and bread they toss away over there, you'd think the game was
the reason they were hit so hard in that drought a few years back. Mighty tasty
pheasant, though." Antirine shook a bit with glee as he cut himself another
sizeable slab of wing off his plate.

Tartar sniffed his wine and took a sip, shaking his glass goblet as he felt the
age. "Well, Limberry is an agricultural nation, and they often get surplus grain
to store away. If you don't use it, it molds and rots. Can't say I'm surprised
they feed their feathered friends as much as they do."

Antirine rested his elbow on the table, pointing his fork. "I have nothing
against any of those folks fattening up their birds, but when you know the
drought may be coming, a guy'll need all he can horde. It's one of those
perennial things...they should know by now."

"So," said Kleff as he rolled a piece of meat in some gravy, "you're saying you
don't care so long as they don't feed the birds in a drought year? Kind of odd,
if you ask me..."

Antirine gazed around the table, cutting what was left of his meal as he did.
"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying a man has to look out for himself, and
by tossing food to the birds whenever they come a-knocking, it's a waste of the
harvest. Don't get me wrong, now. I don't mind if a Limberrian wastes a harvest
on food that I eventually eat, but it's the general principle that's stupid."

The king himself sat comfortably at the head of the table, his back to the
north window. He was enjoying himself, listening to his subordinates bicker over
these meaningless things. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he enjoyed them
so much. It was sure doing wonders to lifting his move after getting back to the
castle.

"Gentlemen," he began, "could we discuss our project at hand? I'd like to be
updated, if possible. I may attend the scene tomorrow and a briefing right now
would give me time to digest. Soren?"

Tartar cleared his throat with the rest of his wine, commanding everyone's
attention when the knives and plates stopped rattling. "Well, Your Majesty, the
transportation of the airship pieces is going smoothly. The ships from Goug are
sturdy and they are getting the job done, needless to say. There are only three
ships out there right now, but there is a fourth if we need to speed up the
movement. Three days and they should all be moved, provided the skeleton can
be disassembled without any delays. That's the last piece to go."

Delita rubbed his nose. "If you're saving the fourth ship as a backup, don't
bother. We can spare it, even if it only knocks a few hours off of the overall
completion time. I'm sure your men would appreciate the rest they get before the
bay area's sealed off, Antirine?"

Antirine swallowed his bite and nodded. "Unloading barrels and moving metal
parts is light work compared to the normal routine. I'm sure you could speed up
the process by a few days if you just yelled at 'em a couple times." Again, he
found amusement in his own words, taking a draught of his ale as a toast to his
own wit.

"Nevertheless, getting the area sealed off is the point of no return. Hollister,
if you would."

The professor sat up straight and set down his greasy knife. "I have thought
about many methods for sealing the area off, Your Majesty. The first and most
difficult manner would probably sealing the bay off from the sea and displacing
the water somehow. There are no large-scale engines that could pump water out,
at least that I know of, and I cannot complete one in accordance with the
schedule, even if Kleff gave me a hand. The second one is that, after the cargo
has been delivered and the assembly begins, the area is sealed off like normal,
but the entire area gets padded."

"'Padded?' Delita interrupted. He wasn't sure if the professor had just made up
the term for lack of a better definition, of if he was just in the dark again.

"It means that the area will still have water in it, but the ship will float
mostly on structured pads...sort of like pillows. Well, that's a bad analogy...
Since the assembly area is level with the bay, it wouldn't be extremely hard to
place these iron 'pillars' at intervals that allowed for easy floating."

"And just what is the airship going to be floating on" Tartar inquired. "The
wood around these parts waterlogs easily and they sink like rocks after awhile.
I don't see any other options, unless you can make solid stone float."

The professor sat silent for a moment. "Well, the entire area wouldn't have to
float. Like I said, at select intervals, the floatation pieces would be
reinforced to hold everything up...to carry the weight of the finished product.
Since the area will be sealed off from the sea, the weather should not factor
in as much..."

"But how do you know it will hold?" Antirine asked between bites.

"The bay was formed by the sea out of the cliffside by the repetative motion
of the sea. If you've been down there, you'll notice there is no beach. There
never was a beach -- it was carved out of the stone. The stone doesn't just end
where the eye can't see. I have confidence that my plan would work."

The professor looked to Delita, his eyes asking for a reply. "Well," said the
King, "if you can place the trust in the iron workers or masons or whoever will
be making these structures, and the schedule can proceed as planned, by all
means do it. Of course, don't get too creative with it...I don't think the tiny
bay will be the permanent housing place for the airship."

"So it's settled," Kleff said with finality. "The birth of an airship is almost
at hand."

"With the gate being closed off in the same fashion as a sluice, I imagine that
the hard part is over," said Tartar. "Not having a roof might be inconvenient,
what with the winds bringing signs of snow soon. But, if the timing is held, I
do believe that we will be flying for the first time since the end of the old
technological era." Soren spoke with such reverence and proudness that everyone
sat for a moment without realizing the silence. Antirine broke it by stabbing a
piece of meat on his plate.

"Well," said Delita, as he pulled his roomy chair back, "we've got a busy day
ahead of us tomorrow. I trust you'll all be in top shape, because the first step
to doing any of enacting our plans is sticking a gate on the bay entrance."

Kleff put down his silverware and wiped his mouth with the embroidered napkin
near his right hand. "Soon, we'll all be in the ether, just like the days of old
and no one can say we didn't work for it."

It was agreed that he was most correct.

This post has been edited by L. Cully on 10th January 2006 16:33

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Some ghost of me might greet my son
the day he is delivered.


Eternal Sleep, Track 1-1: The Blue Planet