Lure of Omnipotence on the Edges of the Wyld [LEA]

ooc: horray for rp between old friends :3

ic: In a city where the word forest does not begin to capture the density and enormity of the trees, a small hand was leafing deftly through text in a library where some of the books, particularly those on the ceiling and floor, were still part of the tree. The other hand, fully enveloped by a sleeve twice to thrice it’s arm’s length, was draped over his head in the inadvertent habit it had acquired over the years of hiding the boy. Before the small one, a stern, fur browed wolf blood slapped down a ruler on the cedar wood desk.


“Correct your posture! Hands!” The wolf blood barked at the boy, and the little one quickly righted his rounded back and returned his idle hand to its proper rest position on his lap.



“Affirmation!” again barked the wolf blood, and the boy answered:


“A priori species have the right
To existence in their respective, consummate beings.
To separate body and thought from soul,
Is to creation a desecration wholly demeaning.



“The madness of Wyld untamed by natural law,
Rends the essence of existence by temptation, a lie
That one can attain all and exceed all they are,
Leaving soul to slavery and body to die-



“An unnatural death, a forced immortality,
The body rent to dreams
And fodder for the Fair Folk’s fantasies.
The Fair One’s eternal play thing.”



“Amendment!” the wolf blood ordered in his far reaching voice, and in that same moment, he felt the ruler being taken from its firm press upon the table and brought across the back of his head in a resounding thwack.

“Proffessor Romonov! You’re a man of descent memory; we shouldn’t have to tell you time and again that this is a library,” reprimanded, with a quirked and twitching smile, the circulations clerk. The professor grunted a bit in acknowledgment, but still awaiting a response, he continued to stare the boy down.

Thick, brunette bangs often hid the youth’s eyes from both scrutiny and admiration, but they weren’t quite long enough to hide his cheeks from the deep flush that had overtaken them since he realized people were listening to him. The other library patrons quickly resumed their act of flipping through pages and skimming across shelves, but they kept their ears perked to hear that rare, sweet voice again. It was a treat for some, and a great misfortune for others, to have heard the young boy’s voice. In all situations besides those with his professor, he was mute.

The boy continued to hesitate, and the professor could see that no more words were coming forth from him today. “Enough, Emory. Pack up and let’s go home.”
Just as deftly as Emory had turned the pages, he quickly stacked his books, slipped them in his sling, and gave the clerk a bow in passing as he and his professor, his mentor, and his keeper left the library. Forgoing the ladders, bridges, walkways and all the trappings of convenience the forest haven of Chanta had installed to make it more outsider accessible, the professor and his pupil bounded from limb to limbs as big as trunks themselves. Professor Romonov was determined to make Emory reconcile his disobedience with physical labor; some of those books where as big as the boy, and the professor wasn’t offering a hand in the least.

No sooner had they reached their “door,” or more properly put, a livable hollow several floors above the library within the same tree, they were greeted by a kneeling wolf blood and a snake blood, messengers from the royal court.

The snake blood slithered, “Chanta has called for you.”
“The empress has need of your expertise,” finished the wolf blood servant.

The professor may play the teaching role for the boy, but he was well aware who the superior was in sheer mental fortitude and power. Although well known and respected, the professor’s presence never warranted such reverence from anyone but Emory. Ever since Emory’s triumph over the Wyld, the boy of ten had been venerated to an esteem comparable to the Chantian knights. He was a knight, in a sense; the Empress seemed to favor dispatching him for ventures otherworldly in nature, and this time seemed no different.

The Empress’s palace was the heart of the city within the most grandiose tree, “One that caresses the Heavens.” From trunk to tops yet seen by even the Empress, the great cedar was hollowed and sectioned for the various departments in service to the city-state: from military barracks in the bottommost sections, to the royal academy, to the royal court itself in the most accessible level, followed by a miscellany of other divisions each important as a limb to the crown. But so vital was the tree that it continued to grow rapidly, despite from it’s base to thousands of meters up being hollowed for palatial expenditures. It wasn’t uncommon to have a neglected dinner plate lifted up from the table and tipped over onto the floor by a stray sprouting branch.

Human, snake, and wolf bloods milled about the court in their official fashion. Given the manner that the royal court was as public as the gaping hollow made it open, Emroy, accompanied by his professor, walked in without announcement. The mingling current of people changed flow most naturally to accommodate the visitors. They lead the pair to the royal chamber.

“Eoerothe, Romonov, Chanta is pleased to have you.” The empress of course meant, ‘I’m glad to see you,’ but while not one to be stricken by formality, she did have the eccentricity of calling diplomats, figure heads and the like by the country in which they hold power. This included herself, even in the awkward third person.

“Chanta is fighting an infestation problem in it’s upper regions. Normally, I wouldn’t call you for something so menial, but when even our armed forces are having difficulty combating them, we are lead to believe that these are no ordinary pest. Arachnoid creatures thrice the size of mature Chantians are advancing towards our beloved city. Given their current vector, we believe their source is located in the canopy of The One that Caresses the Heavens, this very tree. The academy, even being the spearhead of biological dichotomy, has no information on these overgrown bugs. As far as we know, there is no other species like it on creation, no derivative species from which it may have mutated or anything.

“Which leads us to believe that someone may be abusing the spontaneous creation and destruction of the Wyld’s star ward reaches, but that’s only speculation.

“Chanta wants you to investigate. It’s a more or less a straight forward route to the top, just try not to stray too far from the trunk to avoid getting lost in its maze of branches. No one in this court has reached the crown of this tree, but we’re estimating that it’s a three day journey with proper rest, granted that you run into minimal trouble.You have one wolf blood and one snake blood regiment of ten men to aid you, as well as the Lady by the door being briefed.”

Emory took a quick glance behind him and quickly reverted his gaze. The boy felt his blush coming back, and the professor gave a quite audible whistle.

“Behave yourself, Romonov; she is also royalty. Emory, I trust, will oblige me as always. Colfenaria, what is your word?”