OOC: After deliberating for a few seconds, I realized that you all can do no worse than ban me from Kupopolis. So I decided to post the unfinished, unpolished stuff I’ve done. Hopefully, I can get comments and insults so I know what to do to actually finish it or if I’m such crap that I don’t need to bother. :)

 

-Something-

By Denning Chow

--Jasmina du Cire belongs to Scen--

 

Dramatis Personae

Jasmina - Daughter of Marquis Séven du Cire, noble lady of the Greater Loriman Imperea.

Asaralim - Mysterious young nobleman. A foreigner.

Daphnea - Sister of Jasmina. Younger by a year.

Marquis Séven du Cire – The aging Marquis of the Cire March, a territory on the border with Eisia.

Sir Bianse Firenen – Aged war friend of Séven, lower nobility in the Cire March.

Aristide - Son of Bianse, soon expected to join the armies of Lorima.

Chloé - Daughter of Bianse.

Zephyranthes - Devoted servant of Asaralim.

Norris – Loriman slayer.

Duke Challia de Gédise - Duke of Gédise.

Prince Esdras - Son, of the Duke of Gédise. Mentally ill.

General - A General at the Front in the Rouran March.

Official - An official flunky representing the Marquis of Rouran at The Front.

Figure, Voice, and Visage - Three voices of the Council. Their identity is unknown.

Beast Warriors - Warriors of the Eisian race – elves with tanned skin, tattoos, and muscles with strength enhanced by training from early childhood, and by drugs.

Loriman Soldiers - Soldiers of Lorima, bearing light guns, magical sabers, and armour.

Narrator - Ye narrator.

 

Act I – Scene I: The Front along the Rouran March

It is dawn. The sun rises over a barren field stacked high with the rotting corpses of Eisian beast warriors and a few Loriman soldiers. The baked earth is cratered and what trees still remain are mere charred, jagged stumps. Loriman soldiers stand wearily at attention in a trench, their weapons ready and pointed east. A few need kicks and nudges from their comrades to remain awake.

 

NARRATOR: This is the place known among Lorimans, only as “the Front”, a place where all men not of high nobility or government position must serve at age twenty, but where none wish to be. Here, the warring armies of Lorima and the beastmen race of Eisia have been locked in stalemate for six hundred years. For every inch of soil, a soul is paid, and the old trenches have changed hands countless times. The cause of the war has long been forgotten. But there can be no peace.

 

The GENERAL stands scowling in an observation post behind the trenches, from which he scans across No Man’s Land to the enemy side with his telescope. There is no roof in this little pit, and the worn table with maps and charts on it stands on bare dirt.

 

An OFFICIAL rides up, wearing the device of the Marquis of Rouran prominently on his expensive clothes. The GENERAL turns to greet him. The OFFICIAL is helped off his horse by a soldier. He ignores the soldiers, taking off his big hat and accepting a water skin from another soldier, which he gulps down and then tosses back carelessly.

 

OFFICIAL: General, I’m here on behalf of his Excellency, the Marquis of Rouran. I believe you said something was urgent? Or at least important anyway.

 

GENERAL: The Eisians are massing. Troops and supplies being brought up, weapons, slave formations, all of it beyond the reach of my artillery.

 

OFFICIAL: Well, the Eisians are always massing aren’t they now, General? The animals can’t win unless they mass.

 

GENERAL: Their new siege guns will tip the balance this time. Sharply. When they start shelling us, everything you see here will be dust inside of a week.

 

OFFICIAL: Okay then, General. What exactly are you suggesting? Retreat?

 

GENERAL: We have some buffer to do that into. Even more if we evacuate the border towns and villages. If we fall back now, I’ll have the men to-

 

OFFICIAL: With all due respect, General, you are not paid to retreat. You aren’t supplied with all the best expensive toys the sages can come up with so you can lose Artena’s holy soil to barbarians. We put soldiers like you in charge of twenty three million sons of Lorima because you’re supposed to move forward! To crush Eisia, and at last, win the war with the wild lands!

 

GENERAL: I’m well aware of what we’ve been trying to do for six hundred fucking years! But I am also paid to give his Excellency my professional opinion of what the hell is going on and I’m saying that if we do not fall back, we will end up losing far more!

 

The OFFICAL turns away coldly, returning to his horse, which begins whinnying nervously.

 

OFFICIAL: Very well, General. I will inform his Excellency of your opinions. However, as of right now, your orders have not changed. Not one inch, do you hear, General? (He gets up onto his horse, ignoring the soldier who offers to help.) Unless I’m told to return, which I highly doubt, you will fight to the last man before the first inch is given!

 

GENERAL: …

 

Just as the conversation ends, thundering booms can be heard in the distance, and the bright glare of the rising sun is joined by little supernovas, bright flares of flashing artillery muzzles. Massive beams of light scour the earth, tearing molten gashes into the dirt as they skim the surface. Soon, a shrieking is heard as the shells shoot through the air at the trenches, taking seconds to arrive as the OFFICIAL spurs his horse into a hasty gallop. The General dives for cover. Huge explosions of magical flame erupt everywhere. Soldiers are alternately screaming, ducking and covering in trenches, or thrown into the air in charred, bloody pieces. The OFFICIAL is vapourized as a shell hits him, tearing him and his mount apart instantly. The General gets up slowly, and cautiously as do all the soldiers.

 

GENERAL: Bloody hell, they’ve started!

 

SOLDIER: Artena help us! Deliver us from this death!

 

The shelling moves on, sweeping slowly down the line, inundating everything with flame. With a roar of rage, the General smashes the map table, breaking it in half, and sits down, hands holding his head, to think.

 

<><><>

 

Act I – Scene II: Du Cire’s Garden

Marquis SÉVEN du Cire is here, under a covered, raised walkway with two servants standing quietly behind him, when a third servant arrives, escorting Sir BIANSE Firenen. The two greet each other with a light embrace. Then, SÉVEN puts an arm around his friend’s shoulders and leads him into the garden, a myriad of pillars, arches and fountains, all in white stone, with all kinds of plants growing around and atop them.

 

SÉVEN: Well now, I see you’ve managed to get off your damned ass and visit me before I did you. So what’ve you been up to lately?

 

BIANSE: Oh, this and that. Reading, writing, playing chess with my daughter, losing.

 

SÉVEN: I have got to meet that girl of yours someday. She sounds a lot like my own Daphnea. To think of all the things she could do for our holy nation if she’d been born a boy.

 

BIANSE: I rather enjoy a daughter being intelligent. It’s interesting. To business however, my visit today unfortunately, is not thgroughly a social one. It’s business…a favour…

 

SÉVEN pauses for a moment before replying.

 

SÉVEN: My friend, we fought together at the blasted Front. I was a Marshal, yes, and you were a lieutenant, but you saved my life! Twice! If there’s a favour you need, just ask dammit.

 

BIANSE: I won’t hide it, Séven. I’m asking a lot. But this is important. A life is honestly at stake, and I wouldn’t come to you if I could think of any other way.

 

SÉVEN: Well that sounds awfully ominous. So what is it? Don’t tell me you lost your house at the card table. Again.

 

BIANSE: Oh come on, you know I cut that vice the second time it happened. (mirth fades suddenly) I want my son, you know Aristide, (deep breath) to marry your daughter Jasmina.

 

SÉVEN’s smile also fades and he goes abruptly silent as BIANSE finishes.

 

SÉVEN: You were…right when you said you were about to ask a lot…

 

BIANSE: Gods, Séven, I wouldn’t ask this unless I knew some other way. But if it doesn’t happen, he’ll be sent to the Front. If you had a son, would you want him there? It’d be different if he had the patience to go into the priesthood, or at least the wit to be a general, but you know him!

 

The marquis forces out a chuckle.

 

SÉVEN: Oh yes, I remember him. He was convinced he could run my gardener’s boy through with his bare hands, though he had to have been thrice his size!

 

BIANSE: Please, Séven. You are my only hope. I’m a wizened little old man now, and I’d gladly just die if it would help.

 

SÉVEN: Bianse, I would die for my daughters’ futures too. Many fathers would, for their children. You aren’t the only one who would die to raise their child up the ranks.

 

BIANSE: Séven, I know full well, I’m not a Duke. I know how much this sounds like me just wanting to get above the ranks. If there’s anything I could do, I lay my life in your hands. Just please! I just don’t want him to go through what we’ve been through!

 

BIANSE starts to get down on the ground to beg. SÉVEN screws his eyes shut as if thinking hard, takes a deep breath and sighs, keeping an even expression as he wrenches Bianse back up.

 

SÉVEN: Oh stop this Bianse, do you think the Front is so far behind us that I’d deny you this because I want to marry my daughters off higher? (deep breath) Okay, I’ll be honest with my answer. I can’t promise. I won’t. But not because of station. I want Jasmina to be happy, so how about this? You know the Duke of Gédise has a birthday coming up. I’ll put in a few words and get you and your son in. Then, we’ll have a meeting between them two and see how that goes. Sound fair?

 

BIANSE sighs in disappointment and nods.

 

BIANSE: I don’t doubt your motives, Séven. And I can’t rightly care about my son and expect you not to care about your own children.

 

SÉVEN: Come on then, friend. Enough of this depressing crap, and let’s you and I have some breakfast together. I don’t remember the last time we’ve eaten together.

 

SÉVEN leads him back towards the manor as BIANSE smiles weakly.

 

BIANSE: So what ever did happen to your gardener’s boy?

 

SÉVEN casts a glance at BIANSE momentarily.

 

SÉVEN: Came of age, got sent up, never came back.

 

<><><>

 

Act I – Scene III: A Sitting Room in the Du Cire Estate

SÉVEN, JASMINA are seated here on couches, in a well furnished room. The chamber is lined with full bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and various other rich furnishings, much of it magitech, although it is often done in an old style. DAPHNEA stands, leaning on the back of the couch behind JASMINA. A servant brings in drinks for everyone.

 

SÉVEN: Have you two picked dresses for the ball yet? Make sure they’re one of the pretty, cutthroat-expensive ones. And make sure you leave at least two hours for your hair, so you both look as stunning as possible.

 

DAPHNEA: I still don’t want to go.

 

SÉVEN sighs as the servant leaves. He picks up his glass and takes a sip with his eyes closed. Daphne leans forward and puts her arms around her sister.

 

SÉVEN: Now, Jasmina. (He pauses, still recovering from the frustration of DAPHNEA.) I promised a friend that you’d meet his son. His name is Aristide, but to be perfectly honest, while fairly good looking, he is impulsive, stupid, and also below your station. I’d much rather you met Prince Estras and hopefully marry him next year.

 

JASMINA blinks.

 

JASMINA: Father, isn’t Prince Estras supposed to be a madman?

 

SÉVEN: Not intolerably so, no. He’s just a bit… (He pauses and gestures, looking for a way to make it sound as good as possible.) …strange and eccentric, that’s all. It’s not like he’s a complete, raving lunatic or I wouldn’t dream of a match like that.

 

JASMINA: Well what if I do end up liking someone else? Like this Aristide?

 

SÉVEN: Oh, I’m sure you won’t.

 

JASMINA: But what if I do? You promised us before, that you wouldn’t force us to marry someone we didn’t want to.

 

SÉVEN pauses, eyes shutting again to think of a response. He ponders like this for several moments, rubbing his temples.

 

SÉVEN: Listen. I had to fight in a place so terrible and bloody that I have never described it to either of you two no matter how much you asked because I was afraid you might end up imagining it. Now don’t you think this is, comparatively, a free ride up? Prince Estras is in low demand because everyone thinks him a complete loony, which he isn’t. But even if he were, think of what that means. Eventually, you will become the Duchess, and you would be the one in charge.

 

DAPHNEA looks doubtful and quirks her eyebrows in her trademark way.

 

DAPHNEA: Dad, wouldn’t the Duke have some sort of protection scheme in his will to prevent that sort of thing? Because that sounds like a very, very old trick.

 

SÉVEN: Yes yes, bright one, but the Duke will die and so will those totally loyal to him. But your children will be the daughters of a duchess rather than a countess and so, the family gains prominence. That’s how it’s worked for hundreds of years.

 

DAPHNEA: If sister has children with a mad prince, then chances are, the kids will be crazy too. That’s how babies’ve worked since forever.

 

SÉVEN: Oh how should I… (He quickly takes a big gulp from his drink.) …alright… You see, sometimes, children don’t necessarily have the blood of their parents…

 

SÉVEN halts, unable to think of a way to proceed. Jasmina blinks in confusion and Daphne lets out a loud sigh of exasperation.

 

DAPHNEA: Of all the people I’d expect to hear that idea from, the last one would have been the lady’s own father. Gods, if that’s actually how it works, I think I would be happier as a sage.

 

The Marquis looks very grave at that comment. He finishes his drink and gets up, ready to walk out.

 

SÉVEN: Daphnea, I would have you be a lady single and virgin for your whole life before I’d have you in a sage’s robes.

 

<><><>

 

Act I – Scene IV: Ballroom in Duke Challia’s Castle

The ballroom in Duke Challia’s castle is massive, lit by the soft glow of blue chemical crystals and hung with moving, holographic tapestries. A large group of musicians are playing at one end, the food and drink are on tables along the sides of the room, and most of the many guests are dancing at the center. Soon, the current piece ends, there is the requisite applause, and then a short break. The guests depart from the center for food.

 

JASMINA and DAPHNEA stand to one side, near the tables. The former looks around with interest, peering at any passing, good looking man. The latter looks relatively bored, rather more interested in a bit of the food than any person. They are soon approached by ARISTIDE, who looks gentleman enough, but nevertheless, slightly out of place among all the other guests.

 

DAPHNEA nudges JASMINA as ARISTIDE enters from the other end of the chamber.

 

DAPHNEA: Hey. There he is.

 

JASMINA glances at the approaching ARISTIDE, who spots them and smiles and walks directly towards them.

 

JASMINA: Well, at least he doesn’t look bad.

 

DAPHNEA: Well, (snickers) you have fun then. I’m gonna wander a bit and leave you two alone.

 

JASMINA: Where’re you going?

 

DAPHNEA: I dunno. Exploring? I’m bored.

 

DAPHNEA begins walking offstage, exiting out a different doorway.

 

JASMINA: Come on! Stay around and talk to people.

 

DAPHNEA: Phhbt! Who is there to talk to here?

 

DAPHNEA disappears out the doorway and ARISTIDE arrives in front of JASMINA, who turns to regard him with a smile. ARISTIDE bows, uncomfortable, but determined to not show it.

 

ARISTIDE: It’s a great pleasure making your acquaintance, my lady. I am Aristide Firenen. Who might’ve been the other lady who was with you just now?

 

JASMINA curtsies, graceful and practiced. Her smiling face attracts the attention of several others, who gaze longingly from afar. ASARALIM has also noticed JASMINA’s uncommon beauty and stands alone in one corner, observing quietly with a shadowed smile.

 

JASMINA: I am Jasmina du Cire. You may call me Jazz. The other lady just now was Daphnea, my sister. (pauses and smiles) You don’t have to be so formal, you know. It might be easier if you just relaxed.

 

ARISTIDE seems relieved, but remains fairly stiff and unnatural. The musicians pick up their instruments once more, and again, people fill the dance floor as a new tune begins, proving to be an easy one. JASMINA waits expectantly and after an almost uncomfortable pause, ARISTIDE speaks officially.

 

ARISTIDE: May I have this dance?

 

JASMINA extends her hand, which ARISTIDE takes and the two dance. ARISTIDE is competent enough, but makes a few minor errors, clearly unaccustomed. He grits his teeth, concentrating. JASMINA seems to find all of it more amusing than annoying. Soon, the piece ends.

 

ARISTIDE: It has been a great pleasure, and a great honor.

 

JASMINA: And mine.

 

ARISTIDE: Please excuse me, but I must find my father and speak with him. Perhaps we can meet again later?

 

JASMINA nods with a smile and ARISTIDE leaves, walking off, still stiff. Unable to help herself, JASMINA shakes her head and giggles. ASARALIM approaches quietly from behind, a deathly pale, foreign gentleman. JASMINA does not detect him until his hands fall on her shoulders, startling her. ASARALIM leans over her shoulder and speaks quietly.

 

ASARALIM: Shall we dance?

 

ASARALIM’s hands lift off and he backs off a step as JASMINA whirls around angrily, recovering from the surprise. But as she turns, her eyes seem to lock onto ASARALIM’s glittering eyes and her expression becomes one of startled surprise once more.

 

JASMINA: …

 

ASARALIM grins at her, dark and mischievous, but her eyes hold fast onto hers.

 

ASARALIM: Shall we?

 

Wordlessly, JASMINA’s hand extends, and ASARALIM swiftly takes it and guides her through the complex dance, without hesitation, and almost indecently bold when he can get away with it, impressing everyone in the chamber and absorbing the applause when the song is done. JASMINA’s eyes are glazed over, and only seem to clear in the end. ASARALIM nods politely at everyone, JASMINA now attached to his arm.

 

JASMINA: W-Who are you?

 

ASARALIM: My name, is Asaralim. A dynast from the far southern continent. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jasmina du Cire. I would be honoured if you would accompany me for the night.

 

JASMINA: How did-

 

JASMINA is interrupted as ASARALIM suddenly kisses her, deeply and passionately and she finds herself unable to resist the aura about him.

 

<><><>

 

Act I – Scene V: Esdras’s Chamber

This chamber is also well decorated, like the ballroom, but with a different taste. All manners of strange objects top every piece of furniture. There are books everywhere, along with a multitude of paintings, many instruments, and weapons and armour, powered and unpowered. ESDRAS stands here, a slight, thin, young man playing a string instrument similar to magical violin, the sound resonating beautifully along the stone masonry of the castle.

 

DAPHNEA enters through the open, arched doorway, standing and listening for a moment, unnoticed by the prince, until he is done his current piece.

 

DAPHNEA: That was pretty good.

 

ESDRAS: Why thank you. Though, who might I be speaking to?

 

DAPHNEA: I’m Daphnea. Daphnea du Cire.

 

ESDRAS: A pleasure meeting you. He puts down his instrument carefully on a table and bows gracefully. I am Prince Esdras, the Duke of Gédise is my father.

 

DAPHNEA: Ah…aha…pleased to meet you.

 

ESDRAS looks at DAPHNEA, his gaze falling over her uncomfortable face, boring into her eyes.

 

ESDRAS: You’ve heard that I’m an insane, crazy loony no doubt? I’m used to that. They all say I’m crazy.

 

DAPHNEA: Yes, well-

 

ESDRAS: But of course, throw your average Loriman into Eisia, and all of the Eisians would think him crazy too, now wouldn’t they?

 

DAPHNEA blinks and considers.

 

DAPHNEA: Hrmph. I suppose they would, yes.

 

ESDRAS: Well then, (he shrugs) you can decide if I’m really insane. Do I seem insane?

 

(unfinished)

 

<><><>

 

Act I – Scene VIII: A Dark Room

There is nothing on the stage but darkness, and only some voices can be heard conversing. At intervals, the murmurings of hushed discussion can be heard.

 

FIGURE: Well ladies and gentlemen, this is what we have. The Eisians have brought out their new heavy siege guns six months ahead of schedule in twice their expected numbers and have no deployed them along the Front. Their push has overwhelmed the borders and Lorima’s armies are in full retreat.

 

The hushed murmuring intensifies significantly before it quiets down for the next speaker.

 

VOICE: And how far have they pushed in this offensive?

 

FIGURE: At the point of their furthest advance in Rouran, nine miles.

 

There is some more hushed whispering, sounding shocked at the number.

 

VOICE: Nine miles! Before the Council was formed, it took Lorima half a year to break so deep!

 

FIGURE: They’ve broken past the lines cleanly and are rolling them up northwards. They will be at the borders of Cire in days.

 

VISAGE: And we have no way of rebalancing power in short notice. Is it possible that we have miscalculated…?

 

Act II – Scene I: City Square in Sameille

The City Square in Sameille is crowded with people, performers, and street merchants plying their wares or food. The central fountain is lit this night by shifting spotlights. There are are great number of soldiers out and about, but only they seem to be at all nervous. There are notices of the approaching Eisian army, but there seems to be no fear or panic. ESDRAS arrives to meet DAPHNEA, who is already standing in a quieter corner, in an area sheltered by tended plants. Both are disguised as commoners.

 

DAPHNEA: Esdras. Usually it’s the ladies that are late.

 

ESDRAS: Sorry, Daphnea. But it was difficult getting out of the castle and from the castle to here. Almost all the trains were reserved for the soldiers.

 

DAPHNEA: You still haven’t told me, who is this guy you were talking about?

 

ESDRAS: Well, he’s the sort of person who deals with things like vampires, and now that at long last, someone has seen with her own eyes the truth of my so-called delusions, I’ll finally be able to find him. Look for the tall man with a long pack over his back and a heavy cloak.

 

As if on cue, a very tall and large man matching ESDRAS’s description enters, weaving through the crowd, walking unerringly towards them, clearly having spotted them from afar already. He takes off his wide hat.

 

ESDRAS: Well met, Norris. I am Prince Esdras and this is Lady Daphnea du Cire.

 

NORRIS nods simply at both of them.

 

DAPHNEA: Norris…you are the vampire hunter?

 

NORRIS: Not just vampires, lady. I slay all manner of evil, equally and without favouritism.

 

NORRIS’s movement now reveals the inside of his heavy cloak. It hangs with a variety of different weapons, all seeming to have different tasks, like tools in a toolbox. The inside of the fabric is layered by plates of armour, glittering in the lights with the rainbow iridescence of dragon scale.

 

DAPHNEA: Then Esdras, explain to Norris here, the details.

 

ESDRAS speaks and soon moves into a full ranting tone. NORRIS listens but clearly looks doubtful and even DAPHNEA is surprised at the new details being thrown in.

 

ESDRAS: For many years now, Lorima has been in the grip of evil! A ring of vampires controls every movement of the Imperea. The ferret away the sages of Lorima, advancing the magic and the technology. They control the war and the wealth! They hold power over the nobility, including my father! To stay in power, they control the war. Whenever either side gains an advantage, they release the sage’s knowledge to even things out. And their leader, is Asaralim!!

 

ESDRAS stops suddenly, as if the bottle of his speech had run out. He breathes hard for a few moments, and silence reigns.

 

ESDRAS: I’m sorry…but it’s true. Every word I say is truth!

 

NORRIS: …Of course…

 

ESDRAS: I’m sorry…if I remain outside any longer, I’m afraid I will be missed back at the castle. Shall I escort you home on my way, Daphnea?

 

DAPHNEA: No, it’s okay. Home isn’t far, and I can take care of myself.

 

ESDRAS: Very well then, (nods) good night to both of you. Norris, believe me. Lady Daphnea can confirm the truth of my words. Help me to free Lorima and anything I can grant you is yours.

 

ESDRAS departs and NORRIS turns to DAPHNEA.

 

NORRIS: You’ll forgive me if I don’t immediately believe everything the prince says. I’ve heard of that man’s reputation. I came only because he claimed he had proof.

 

DAPHNEA: I don’t know about a lot of what he just said. But I believe him. Even if I didn’t though, I know for a fact, a vampire is here. I saw him drinking my sister’s blood with my own eyes!

 

(unfinished)

Act III – Scene I: Firenen Manor, Sameille

The city of Sameille is in flames, the smoke easily visible from within the Manor walls as Eisian beast warriors advance through the streets. What Loriman soldiers remain are fighting a hopeless battle. A small group has sheltered inside the Manor as the Eisians approach in assault waves. Beams of light slash through the air from both sides, and the artillery of the opposing armies fill the air with whistling shells and devastate the city. Huge, armoured, Eisian juggernaughts are grinding entire buildings to rubble in the passage of their treads.

 

BIANSE, CHLOÉ and ARISTIDE are standing among many surviving soldiers and refugees here. BIANSE’s servants have their hastily packed bags on their backs. All the available horses have been taken to drag wagons of wounded and supplies as everyone runs westwards or tries to. Despair and cries of the wounded are everywhere. The GENERAL from the Front is here, clutching a beam pistol in shaking hands.

 

GENERAL: We’re doomed. None of us will make it out alive. Better now than be captured alive!

 

The GENERAL raises his pistol and shoots himself in the head. Many of the troops save a few of the most steadfast have thrown down their weapons and are running already.

 

BIANSE: Aristide, you’ve fought enough! We are leaving!

 

ARISTIDE: Yes father, you are leaving, and you too, Chloé. (He kisses his sister on the forehead and embraces his father tightly.) You will live.

 

CHLOÉ: You’re going to die here. For once swallow that stupid pride and just retreat already! Why are you so eager to die?!

 

ARISTIDE: Because that is my duty. My duty as a soldier of Lorima! If I have to die, then I’ll do it here and gladly. I will turn back the tide while you escape.

 

CHLOÉ: Argh! You’re an idiot! You have less than two hundred sabers. All you’ll be is a speedbump!

 

ARISTIDE: Bah! I don’t care. (He draws his saber, the metal glowing and humming with energy, and walks confidently to the head of the small number of troops left that have gathered in the Manor.) If that’s how many true sons of Lorima remain, then two hundred sabers will have to do.

 

BIANSE takes a deep breath but puts a hand on CHLOɒs shoulder and gives a firm nod to his son.

 

BIANSE: Very well! You are a brave son of Lorima. And my son. If that is your decision, then so be it. You will fight a delaying action while the rest of the survivors escape. Go with my blessing, and that of Artena.

 

ARISTIDE: Thank you, father! I will make our two hundred sabers worth a million!

 

BIANSE: Everyone else, we need to move, now! Help the wounded and the old. Everyone, let’s go!

 

Together, the refugees and survivors pick up their belongings and escape, as quickly as they can, fearful, but orderly. Moments later, a horde of Eisian beast warriors break into the manor and attack. ARISTIDE and his two hundred men roar and fight ferociously, cutting and shooting a bloody swath through the tide, before they are overwhelmed and all wiped out to the last man.

 

<><><>

 

Act III – Scene II: A Dark Room

It is again, a darkened room, this time lightened again by a bit more, occupied by many holographic projectors about a large round table. The dark lighting and angles again makes most of the faces fuzzy and indistinct, but the one that can be clearly seen is Duke CHALLIA. There is murmuring.

 

FIGURE: Where is Séven today?

 

CHALLIA: I don’t imagine Séven will be in the mood for meetings for a while. He’s lost his land, his holdings, his estate, most of his wealth, and at least one daughter.

 

VISAGE: Marquis Garsa of Rouran has lost his entire March as well. A number more of us are likely to lose territory. Damn us for letting such a drastic imbalance sneak up on us like this.

 

VOICE: And Séven’s other daughter…she is on her way here with that foreigner. No doubt she now also knows. She will attempt to pry open the doors of the Vault!

 

CHALLIA: Then we will stop her. Inform the guard of the Vault to be ready. And once this is resolved, we shall set about fixing the results of this mistake of ours.

 

VISAGE: Do we have something for that?

 

CHALLIA: Of course we do. We always did.

<><><>

 

Act III – Scene III: The Vault’s Mountain

It is a mountain path on the edge of sunset, the glaring orange light shining over everything; gnarled trees, rocks, shrubs, and the lone figure who stands here in wait – NORRIS. ASARALIM arrives, carrying the coffin, and NORRIS turns to regard him.

 

NORRIS: I was hoping I would see you,…Asaralim?

 

ASARALIM: Ah, you. The slayer. How exactly do you know my name and how did you know to appear here at this admittedly dramatic setting?

 

NORRIS: Is that really your name? Remarkable. Prince Esdras may not be the soundest of mind, but his precognitive dreams are so remarkably accurate. He definitely as a talent in that area.

 

ASARALIM quirks an eyebrow in amusement, and then puts the coffin carefully on the ground, crouching to set it down lightly. Then, he stands back up to face the slayer.

 

ASARALIM: Did his dream also inform you of what you were dealing with?

 

NORRIS: Well obviously, a vampire.

 

Without taking his eyes off his opponent, NORRIS reaches into his cloak and pulls something out. It is a crystal ring clouded with age, a violet stone glittering on it. The ring from Zephyranthes’s finger. He tosses it at ASARALIM, who catches it and turns it to ash.

 

ASARALIM: I’m not just any vampire you know. I’m a High Progenitor from the Lost Continent, not little hundred year old girl like Zeph-

 

He is interrupted by a sudden movement by NORRIS, who attacks. A flurry of silver daggers flash through the air, clattering across rocks before returning to their owner’s cloak. A blast from a gun smashes through the trunk of a thick tree, the gaping hole frothing with foam and quicksilver. ASARALIM moves faster than the eye can follow, and the two stop, more weapons already in NORRIS’s hand as he stands back to back with ASARALIM.

 

ASARALIM: I sense that if we really fight, one of us will die.

 

NORRIS: My guess, is that person will be you.

 

ASARALIM: You’re forgetting that only one of us here is still alive enough to die.

 

At that moment, the sun sets. NORRIS swings around, a huge blade of pure light, fully four feet long and a hand’s breadth wide extending from a solid hilt in his hands. IT cuts through ASARALIM, whose body has turned to mist. It halts in midair to the surprise of the slayer, as it reaches the other side, grabbed by ASARALIM’s smouldering left hand. The next moment, NORRIS explodes into a wave of flesh and blood as ASARALIM shoves the hilt, NORRIS’s arms and hands (still holding the hilt), the blade of light, and his own hand through the body. What remains falls to the ground. The wounded hand sizzles and heals and the bloodstains on ASARALIM’s clothes shrink and disappear, as if sucked clean from the inside.

 

The coffin opens and JASMINA steps into the twilight.

 

JASMINA: What happened?

 

ASARALIM: Nothing much.

 

JASMINA spots the remains of NORRIS on the ground, and instead of recoiling in horror, stares in fascination.

 

ASARALIM: Later, Jazz. After we get this Vault of yours over with.

 

(probably unfinished)