Chapter 764 – The Grand Imperianna
There are some thinkers who would reduce the conflict of Arda against Tartarus to mere biology. That, it is much like a bear running into wolfpack in the forest and fighting over a hunted deer. Those who are braver will state that is the natural instincts of germs to compete and try to swallow the other. Some would be offended by it, nevertheless, one has to respect the metaphor.
For ultimately, there is a certain fragment of truth there. What Arda does is natural to Arda, what Tartarus does is natural to Tartarus, yet our two natures are not compatible. The Tartarians treat life like a plague, it is visible in their sheer lack of self-preservation in the realms of grand strategy. The product of a combination between Arda and Tartarus would never even surpass the sum of its parts, for one of us would have to manage the other. Whereas an agreement of peace, and the mutual self-exploitation would be just as bad for them as for us. They have no Kassandora, nor Fortia, nor myself. Helenna and Malam singlehandedly created the SIS and the IBI and wiped out their intelligence operations, and that was with the handicap that these organisations were new.
Either we would be made into their slaves to sate whatever demands come from an endless population, or we would become their masters to wield that endless population in our own conquests.
Nevertheless, the original issue, raised by these thinkers that the conflict is mere biology is a criticism to be taken to heart for the kernel of truth that exists within it does sting. This notion must be defeated. The Empire and Arda as a whole cannot be in such a state of low spiritually that such a problem is even conceivable.
Thus, the world must be in harmony, and it must be beautiful, and it must be grand. Arda must have a spirit, and that noble spirit should be so grand that it exists for itself. That when the question is raised the next time, it is answered immediately. We fight because are of this world, and because the continued existence of this world is so definite that it would be a step back to even bother explaining it.
- Excerpts from the private writings of God Arascus, of Pride.
Paida opened the doors to the palace that had been built entirely by the Bureau of Culture. They had talked with Rancais architects and artists of course, but for every word her men had a say in, the BoC had a hundred. When the complaining had started, official letters of complaint to Paida, she decided this was not a hill worth dying on. The Imperianna Palace was already promised to Rancais, as soon as the ball itself was finished. So let them build and, more importantly, let them pay for it. Rancais already enough of its own problems to pay for.
“It is with the utmost pride that I Paida, and the nation of Rancais, welcome all from the Empire for the first Imperianna.” Paida said, then twirled so that her dress would flutter and flower out. It was a deep purple, Rancais’ official colour of course, with flowers fashioned onto it in pure white. Silver at the hems, Helenna had wanted to make it at first, although how could that be acceptable? No. The Goddess of Rancais needed to have clothes made by Rancais hands, with Rancais expertise, else it would be scandal.
So the dukes and bureaucrats, oligarchs and generals, the heroes of the war and their families, filtered into the great ballroom, a feast already prepared. Supposedly, Arascus’ entire family would attend. The less time Paida spent around Malam and Helenna, the more blessed she was. She spun and guided the march of hordes and dresses into her ballroom.
And what a ballroom it was, all grand, with warm orange lamps and fireplaces that bore open flames. With tables arranged to the sides, already set with food and drink. The other national Goddesses had started sending entire storehouses worth of drink for the Imperianna. Allia had supplies the whiskey, Lubska the vodka, Doschia the beer, Rilia had tried to compete on the wine but Paida had made sure Agrita would find competition when faced with the famed Rancais Purple.
An orchestra was already on the stage, playing a slow, quiet song. The more bombastic tunes would come later, there was a drone show prepared, fireworks, flyby’s. The gardens were huge and groomed to perfection. Paida could not keep the smile off her face.
Maybe she wasn’t an ancient Goddess, but she still had some eight hundred years on her. She still remembered the past, when the kings and queens of Rancais would host their own balls and when she would be a guest. She remembered the first republic, the end to that era of high-royalty. The second kingdom, the second republic, the third and third. Then the fourth and fifth.
And now, Rancais Imperial. Paida couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she lifted her hands up into the air and directed the flowing crowds past her. Enough colours to make a rainbow jealous, enough fine cashmeres and linens and silks that it would bankrupt a small city. Enough oooh’s and aaah’s that she almost felt as if she had overdone it.
But that was only an almost. The ballroom, an art resurrected from the past. Besmirched by talks of decadence, but Paida did not care.
She felt young again.
Tull begins the culminations of its festival with a fleet showing. The Kassandora-class superheavy battleship fires a show salvo.
“Hehehe.” Olonia stood next to Saksma as the pair watched what could only be described as a face-off between Paida, Agrita and Aliana. “I’m glad you went black though.” Olonia said, she herself knew little about dresses, but she knew a lot about Lubska. Naturally, the solution had been to go with the pure white of snow. Olephia had been disappointed by how little creativity she actually had. It was small enough to not be a wedding gown and short enough to end at her knees and reveal the black boots underneath. Marked with red, obviously, to complete the Lubskan flag. Olephia’s additions had been the patterned buttons, the hems of fine sewing and the neckline that went further south than Olonia would have suggested herself. She had no issue with it, but she didn’t think it was right to try and compete in that department.
“I knew you’d go white.” Saksma said, sipping her own drink. “So it makes sense to match.” Neither of them had even bothered to entertain the unofficial competition. With Helenna and Malam and Arascus’ daughters in play, it was a lost cause from the onset. May as well enjoy themselves. Saksma had gone almost entirely black, although her dress was far longer than Olonia’s. “I knew they’d do this.”
“It’s good though.” Olonia said. “Entertainment before the entertainment arrives.” Saksma hid her smirk in a glass of whiskey. Of Doschia was a far better sport at the drinking than Olonia was, the former was at least trying everything the Imperianna had to offer. Olonia had found the vodkas, then found the vodkas she had sent over, and not changed since. On a nearby table, a duke, his wife, a pair of soldiers, and two representatives from the Bureau of Manufacturing had embarrassed themselves by trying to keep up with the Divine. They weren’t trouble, but one of the men had a wife or girlfriend that was shooting looks at Olonia.
“Who do you think will crack first?” Saksma asked. “I’m betting it will be Aliana.” Near the centre of the room, enjoying the attention before the larger Divines came in, was Aliana, in a dress of crimson that was adorned with ribbons of blue and roses of white that then had their own roses of red inside them. She somehow managed to make the vibrant contrast of colours not spill over into itself.
By her side, forcing a smile that Olonia only saw come out the last time that they had been called Mascot-Goddesses by mortals, was Agrita. Green and orange and yellow and skin, a combination that should have never worked. Olonia didn’t even know how anyone could imagine skirts and dresses spilling over each other like that. Agrita held a glass of wine, nodded, and swayed from side to side. Saksma chuckled into her glass of whiskey and held it to the side, a signal for the waiters to pick it up. “Who are we counting by?”
“Do you see the gaggle on the other side?” It had to be soldiers, they sat up straight and they were one of the few who pretended not to stare at the trio of Divines in the centre of the room.
“Where? Oh yeah.”
“Agrita’s won then.”
Saksma chuckled. “Well you can’t lose when it goes down that low.” A waiter in a black suit came over to her side. “What are you having Olonia?”
“Potocki black.”
“Potocki black then next, dear.” Saksma said to the waiter and gave him her glass. “Paida doesn’t like she’s forcing it though.”
“Oh she’s forcing it alright.” Olonia said. It was obvious the willowy movements that were far too graceful to be natural. Some people managed to flow, that was true, but no one managed to slither like that. That sort of movement was done in battle, not at a ballroom. Paida talked, a smile on her face, eyes sharp, as she stared Agrita and Aliana down in the centre of the room. That dress of purple and white was a deadly combination, although that had been expected. Paida would not attend a show like this without trying to look her best.
“Oh!” Saksma said. “Look! You said you’d introduce the lot of us.”
“Whe-“ Olonia trailed off when she saw Tanit step into the doorway, flanked by her own delegation of men from Ibya. All tanned and bronze, with suits and dresses in warm colours to match their skin. With enough diamonds on them to fill an entire jewellery, but not enough to be gaudy. The Goddess of Ibya had come in orange and blue, another deadly combination that Olonia would have never thought of. But where the colours intercepted was a seam of white crystals. Her yellow eyes stared around at the massive ballroom in awe, the orchestra swelled with another tune to indicate a new Divine appearing. And the three in the centre turned to look.
Olonia raised her hand before she got dragged into that brawl of fashion. “Over here Tanit! Look! It’s Saksma!”
Kaczaw drone show replays the most famous battles of the war against Tartarus.
“Oh look!” Tanit pointed up to the ceiling of the room as Olonia and Paida were arguing about horses. Supposedly everyone knew that the purebred stallions of Rancais were the best, and supposedly everyone knew that competition was the natural facilitator of excellence, and thus the Lubskans were the winners. Saksma was nursing a glass of warm brandy, rosy cheeked already, and Agrita had to deal with the interruption when Tanit pointed. Of Rilia had been talking about opening a coast-to-coast resort between Ibya and Rilia, with a designated ferry route.
Tanit had not known whatsoever what to expect when she got the invitation to this ball, but it was fun. She could say that with full certainty. The dress had been fun to conceptualize, the yellow were the sands of the Sassara, the blue was its skies. The diamonds had been hastily stitched on, as Ibya was now covered in them. A curtain of clear, reflecting glass that separated the two. There had been dances already, and there was drinking, and there was getting to know Olonia’s friends. And it had been a great deal of fun indeed. But now, there was another show.
A butterfly, so delicate and opaque that it looked like a drawing brought to life, was gently flapping its wings as it crossed the ceiling. “Oh.” Aliana said. “I know what that is.”
“Do you now?” Paida asked.
“Do you not?”
The butterfly became two. Then four. The eight. They grew to be a cloud. Olonia burst out in laughter. “I told you!” She almost shouted it, too much vodka for her. “I told you! Oh no! Of course they won’t attend!” Olonia pulled a serious, tone. “Of course they will! It’s the Imperianna! Don’t think so low of yourself Pai.” Paida turned red.
“I didn’t think they would.” Tanit didn’t turn to look at her new friends. Her eyes were entirely focused on that cloud of crimson that looked like art brought to life. She had seen Ibya, in its still, silent beauty, but now… A butterfly peeled off and fell to the floor of fine wood, transforming into a waltzing snowflake. A bright red see—through curtain fell from the ground.
The curtain was a dress. The dress fell the entire way of the distance. The distance was swallowed by a Goddess larger than Tanit or Saksma or Aliana or any of them. A creature that bore a smile so delighted as a cup of the fine purple wine they served here took off from a nearby plate, held up by a serving hand that seemed. With black hair and crimson eyes, Anassa settled down on the ground, turning the spot without moving, carried by her own sorceries. The dress clung and twisted around her, revealing a shoulder here, hiding it a moment later. Growing long along her arms before snipping itself, the silk burning up in heatless, crimson flames.
“That is how you make an entrance.” Agrita looked down at herself. “We’re underdressed.”
Hallin begins its firework display, not launched by dropped from the sky by a squadron of Doschian jets.
“Ahh…” Saksma said, bumping Paida on the elbow. Anassa had arrived some ten minutes ago and Aliana won the bet on who would be the first daughter to turn up to the show. And immediately, the Goddess had taken to ingratiating herself with the elite aristocracy of the Empire as if this was her natural environment. She had made a passing introduction to the national Divines, then to the other minor Divines that had turned up. The weapons had got here. It was odd to see Labrys in a skirt, only Aslana had taken to fashion.
And she took to it mightily, Saksma had to admit, with silver and white and all the gleaming colours of metal. Frankly, Saksma was jealous. The older Divines did know how to be creative, here they had expected them to all come in like stubborn fools who would glare. “Oh no.” Paida said when saw where Saksma was pointing. Her cheeks went pale, Olonia looked up too, as did Tanit. The crowd turned, spotting the light that was dimming immediately.
“That’s not a problem.” Aliana said, putting her hand on Paida’s shoulder. “Look, it’s spreading.” She was correct, from the corner, the entire ceiling was starting to dim. Not just the lights, but the texture finely painted and carved material itself. Anassa looked up, a smirk on her face. She stood twice the height of the humans around her and finally, for just this moment, her dress stopped shifting, ending with one arm exposed and a neckline that Saksma didn’t think Divines had permission to show.
The hall went silent as everyone stared up at the ceiling, it began to lose colour, then its greyness started to darken further until it became an endless black void that Saksma could picture herself falling into. The void coalesced, light flooded back into the room as Anassa waved her arms, sorcery gently pushed away the people from the centre of the room, pulling them to make space for the latest arrival.
“That gave me a heart attack.” Paida said. “I thought the electricity was going out.” The darkness became a sphere everyone stared at, and it plunged into the space Anassa had made like a column dropping from the air. The column spilled away, as if it was melting. The miasmic oil simply falling through the ground to reveal yet another of Arascus’ daughters.
Irinika stood there for a moment of silence, her black dress much like Anassa’s red was a weaving mixture of some fabric that Saksma couldn’t even place, but it clung and shifted to her, simply refusing to give the proper dimensions of the Goddess that it hid. And she was tall, almost as tall as Arascus, clearly taller than Anassa. She lifted up her arms into the air, drawing the attention of everyone were they stood. “Greetings, citizens of the Empire! I have arrived!”
Someone broke the stunned silence with a clap.
Orsk’s festival ends with a release of wooden ships into the ocean, set aflame to burn away in the ocean.
Anassa’s ingratiation with the elites ended almost the moment that Irinika made her entrance. Olonia shot them another look, they had effectively segregated each other, and their own attention, from the rest of the ball. It was one thing for people to talk to Anassa when the Goddess of Sorcery approached you. It was another entirely when you had to approach the Goddess.
So those two talked and shared their wine. Every few minutes, Irinika would burst out in a laughter that made Paida sigh. Another one rung out through the room, a haughty hah-hah-hah that seemed to pronounce the very act of laughing. “How does she laugh like that?” Paida asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” Aslana said, in that dress of silver and white. It was true! There were thin chains of metal in there. Saksma was had been amazed at the craftsmanship. “She’s always like that, for as long as I can remember.”
Agrita had taken Saksma and Tanit to refill, and to try and shill her own wine. Olonia had been nervous for her friend at first, but the alcohol was poured here far faster than the night went on. Everyone was beginning to warm up. “That’s a great laugh though.” Paida said. “I wasn’t saying it’s bad.”
Aslana narrowed her eyes and made a mischievous little smile. “I’ll tell her that.”
Paida went red in the cheeks. “Please don’t.”
“Oh I will.” The Goddess of the Sword said, she suddenly leaned to the side just as Labrys almost smashed a table with the sheer amount of energy she put into putting her mug down. “And the next ones are here.”
“That’s one thing.” Olonia said, turning to the door. She could hear the sound of the next guests, or rather the lack of it. The songs playing from outside had gone quiet, it was just the whimsical play of violins in concert. “I thought they would arrive together.”
“I’ve never seen the nine of them turn up together.” Aslana said. “Each one likes to make scene. Anassa and Irinika are always first though.”
“Nine?” Paida asked.
“Well eight add Arascus?” Aslana took her fingers out and began counting. “There’s eight of them, isn’t there?”
“There is.” Olonia practically whispered the words as her eyes went wide when she saw Olephia and Neneria ascend the stairs together and walk in together. Irinika and Anassa, there was no competition with. Those weren’t clothes, they were manifestations of their demesnes. Paida had not even been depressed when she saw them. They were something else.
But Olephia, in a dress of purple, tinged with red and orange and yellow as if it was set alight, wore clothes. Suddenly, Olonia understood why the Goddess of Chaos had been so adamant on adding more to the dress. It trailed on the floor behind her, each step and knee kicked forward brought about a new pattern on that precious purple silk.
But it was Neneria, almost a full head taller, just as tall as Irinika, that stole the show. Olonia had heard of Death’s dress of raven feathers, but she had assumed it would be a decoration. Maybe a shawl around the neck. Not for the entire dress to be woven out of them. It gleamed in the light, reflecting and shining with every moment, glinting like a mirror. And around her neck, the feathers opened up. “What the fuck.” Paida said, patting her sides down. “I thought I was being gaudy.”
Aslana chuckled, taking a sip of her wine in satisfaction. “You girls don’t think highly enough of yourselves.” She said. “No, this is old Divinity, you can’t overdo this.” Olephia seemed to bask in the attention, taking two glasses of wine from a nearby table immediately, never speaking or saying a word. She carried one, sipped the other, and handed it to Neneria.
“I’m not old Divinity.” Paida whispered.
“How old are you?” Aslana asked.
“Eight hundred.”
“Well I’m only twelve hundred.” Aslana said. “So we’re basically the same generation.”
Ilan’s buildings light up, as projectors display the pictures that were submitted by their own artists on its skyscrapers.
Olonia stood shaking her head from side to side, a huge smile on her face, as she bounced her foot to the music. She had taken to the Lubskan vodka that Olonia had sent over, and Olonia was beginning to fear that there was real chance of them running out of alcohol. Whenever someone shuffled out to sleep in the gardens or attempt to walk home, their space was filled by yet another Imperial soul coming in through the door. “I have to say thank you for the dress.” Olonia said. “I’ll listen more to you next time.”
Olephia patted Olonia on the back and shook her head, then brought out a notebook and a pen from a pocket on her dress. Olonia had not even noticed the stitching, it was hidden by the colours so well that the moment Olephia’s hand left her pocket, it faded away into invisibility again: Do not mention it Olonia. Olephia wrote. You look great.
Olonia shook her head. “I…” Olonia stared at the writing. “Thank you.”
“And don’t even mention the dress. I’m an artist, it’s fun.” Olephia wrote, then ripped the paper off and handed it to Olonia. “Remember that, I like doing this. There’s Helenna and there’s me, and we like making clothes.” Olonia almost struggled to believe it, but she wouldn’t argue with the Goddess of Chaos here. And especially not about this. “I made my own dress. Do you like?”
“It’s something else.” Olonia said. “I didn’t even know it was possible to mix colours like that.” When Olephia had come close, Olonia had realised there were greens and blues in there, faint weaves that were invisible at a distance, but up close, they stood out in the contrast.
“Do you want to know a secret?” Olephia made a devilish grin.
“I do?” Olonia said it against her better judgement.
“Get Neneria drunk and she’ll sing. She always sings when she drinks, but she needs to drink for it.” Olephia leaned over to a table and got a cup of red wine as she somehow managed to hold the notebook with two fingers on one hand and write in smaller letters with two others. “She likes wine. Tell her its from me. She won’t deny you.” Olonia stared down at the golden cup of wine, then at Neneria who was hiding behind Anassa and Irinika.
And she managed only one step before she saw the next set of arrivals. Iniri and Baalka, the two masterminds behind the FPN-1 that had ended the war. Iniri had come in a dress that was a forest, a field, a jungle, and somehow managed to fit on her. Flowers and leaves covered her, lilies fashioned over oak leaves, decorated with roses, with a crown of flora in her hair. It was everything that Olonia had thought the Goddess of Nature should wear, and it was something she could never even imagine putting herself into.
And Baalka, by her side, came in the colour that even Paida had said was too risky to attempt: orange. Why orange? Olonia didn’t even know. The rest of the Divines at least had kept something thematic to their demesne. How was there any way to even associate orange with disease? But it was a beautiful dress, it trailed on the floor behind Baalka, falling in patterns that looked like waves crashing onto a beach.
Ordeux marks the celebrations with the breaking of collapse of a wooden tower that had been built and stuffed with feathers and balloons that fell over its cheering crowd like a flood.
Paida watched Aliana tap her and Saksma on the arms to get them to turn around when the newest set of guests turned up. They had to come eventually, they were at least partly responsible for the Imperianna, even if it was Paida’s idea originally. All the national Divines had settled down, their competition long forgotten. The rumours that the older Divines used these balls to stun and compete had been true, and they had not realised just how seriously these balls were taken. Baalka was dominating the middle of the dance floor, her orange dress trailing around her as Neneria, now drunk, bounced from side in side in her corner and clapped her hands to the beat.
Paida’s hand tightened around her glass when she saw Malam and Helenna stroll in like two harbingers of Empire. “Now that is cheating.” Paida said. Aliana chuckled, she didn’t understand how the rest of them missed it. Where every Divine had taken to displaying themselves and their demesnes, these two fucks had organised and schemed together.
Black dresses on the pair of them, Malam with her hair naturally pristine and white, Helenna with hers a proud golden. They weren’t the large weaves that took up space, that seemed to be an unspoken rule. Baalka had only barely broken it with her trails of orange, but the sheer artistry in the weaves was something else. Paida knew that that Helenna could sew, she had seen Of Love’s expert fingers at work, but she had not witnessed a finished product.
Their dresses were tapestries of red and white. Patterns of roses and bones, skulls and thorns, hearts and pouring wine. The only difference change were the flipped colours, where Malam’s was red, Helenna’s was white. Where Helenna’s was white, Malam’s was red. And on both, even though they were mirrors of each other, the eyes found different details. “That is showing off.” Saksma said.
And to top it off, both had turned up obviously drunk. Neneria burst out with a squee of glee and Irinika and Anassa leaned into each other and exchanged some words that definitely weren’t nice from their faces together. Baalka turned and called them in. Olephia had somehow already secured a paint set for herself. The unspeaking Goddess of Chaos claimed a corner and was painting the scene. Labrys of the Axe and Aslana of the Sword had gone outside to duel, Pridwen of the Shield had gone with them. Tanit had disappeared outside to apparently make sandstone sculptures. Iniri was the worst, she had taken the flower pots and was stunning an audience with what flowers she could grow. Baalka by her side, making awed faces.
And the two arrivals stopped, they stared smugly at the turned gazes. Malam and Helenna’s eyes settled on Paida. And both made twirls to show off. “Well…” Aliana said. “I think that settles the competition, I’m not beating that.”
Paida didn’t think anyone was.
Not this year, but next?
Arcadia continues its magical show by moving a mountain to make a movie play in the stone of a cliff.
To think they were getting a lecture. To think that it was from Malam and Helenna. To think that of all times, it was right now. And worst of all, it was information so correct that Paida didn’t even know how to argue with it. “Another thing is arrogance, isn’t it?” Helenna said, she had helped herself to serving after serving of wine so quickly that in thirty minutes, she had managed to catch up to the amount Paida drank all evening.
“They say arrogance is poor form but what is arrogance really?” Malam spoke from her bench, she had almost crashed onto it and was quite in love with the Lubskan vodka. Olonia had not sent anywhere near enough and from Malam’s form and how straight she was sitting, she could still drink double what she had already drank. “Confidence unashamed? Look at Iri.”
“What about me?” Irinika asked, rising in the span of a second out of Paida’s shadow. And suddenly, the Goddess of Rancais felt like a dwarf again. Arascus, even Fer and Fortia and Maisara, were just huge. And they were quite wide. Irinika herself was far too thin. Maybe it was just the darkness around her that was so lightless it was difficult to place even the semblance of an edge to the woman.
“I was just saying.” Malam said from her desk. “That arrogance is just confidence unashamed. What else is really? Look at how arrogant Hela’s stitching is. What a seamstress.” Helenna smiled smugly and Irinika made that haughty laugh again.
“Well well well.” Irinika said. “I do indeed declare you correct. Fools shall besmirch superiority as arrogance to pull greatness down to the depths of the pits they find themselves stuck in.” Paida blinked as she manually replayed the words in her head.
Malam burst out in laughter, the table laughed with her, unsure of the joke. Helenna did not react, she just leaned towards Irinika’s stomach. “What is this?”
“Darkness manifest.” Every word from Irinika was declaration. “No sewing required.”
“Waaa.” Helenna said and stuck a finger out. Her hair turned yellow, she looked up at Irinika with a raised eyebrow. “Can I?”
“Asking questions is beneath the Divine.” Irinika said. “Go, take what you want.” She spread her arms out in a theatrical manner. From the other side of the room, there Neneria was slowly beginning to sing. Baalka had taken it upon herself to bring her sister an endless amount of wine. Even the general populace, the noble ladies that were in love with the idea of a dress fashioned of feathers, were coming closer.
Helenna poke Irinika somewhere in the general region of the stomach and Irinika burst out in laughter, almost doubling over. Of Darkness actually took a step back and almost knocked a gaggle of people over. “She’s ticklish.” Malam said and Paida’s eyes went wide. Since when were Divines ticklish?
“That’s so sweet!” Helenna squealed. That was sweet? Since when? “That’s so nice Iri!”
“It is a fashionable characteristic, I do think.” Irinika said proudly and Paida once again had to take a moment to understand what was being said. Surely this was a joke? She had heard that Irinika talked in this archaic… fashion from Aliana but here? “But nevertheless, continue your talk. You were talking of seamstressing to our gracious host here, were you not?”
“Paida should have gone further, shouldn’t she?”
Irinika suddenly looked up, her eyes going sharp. “Paida here will take another lesson, another Anassa’s precious is arriving.” Excuse? What?
Suddenly, snow streamed in through the door. Snow real and literal and yet without a chill of air, yet it melted when it touched the ground leaving puddles that Paida was sure people would slip in. Elassa came in like a whirlwind. And there it was, the farcical idea that Paida had originally thought of, yet didn’t think anyone would be able to pull off.
Elassa come in a dress of diamonds, finely woven together, yet very obviously diamonds. And rubies, and emeralds, and amethysts, and all the other precious gems, they sparkled whenever her hand shifted, and then they began to glow when she reached forwards. Her dress began to shine, not in a blinding manner but rather as if there was a flame in each individual gem. A cup of wine lifted from one of the nearby tables, floated through the air, and then settled within Elassa’s grip as the Goddess of Magic smugly looked around the room. “Arrogance.” Malam declared. “Is precisely what people would call that, and arrogance is precisely what we must wield. Because people want to see Gods and Goddesses and not just pretty nobles.” She scoffed. “Do you know what a Divine that humans can relate to is called Paida?”
“I don’t.”
“A weak one.”
Camford launches lets loose flaming lights into the air, to illuminate the starlit sky with orange.
“And then she told that a relatable Divine is a weak one.” Saksma nodded along as Paida explained the evening to her. “And what am I supposed to do with that? What are you supposed to do with that? What is anyone supposed to do with that? What? Am I just supposed to be what? A giant? Just crazy? What if I don’t try then?”
“Paida.” Saksma said, nursing her glass of gin like a sweet child. She had drank too much, maybe it was all the mixing. She should have followed Olonia’s advice and stuck to one drink. When was Kavaa arriving? She better heal the headache that was starting. “I have no clue how to give you advice.”
“Is this too much or not enough is what I’m asking.” Paida tugged at her own purple dress adorned with white. “Because right now, I don’t know either. It’s obviously good but with that? Baalka came in a single colour and I don’t have the powers to pull off anything like the darkness manifest around Irinika.” Paida was drunk. Paida never stressed about fashion, and if she was stressing, then she was drunk. It was as simple as that. Saksma hiccupped and Paida stopped talking. “Are you fine?”
“I am terribly fine.” Saksma said. “And I will not throw up, but I need a little longer to get through this glass.”
“How much have you drank?”
“I’ve tasted everything.” Saksma said and Paida blinked.
“Everything?” Saksma nodded. She shouldn’t have done that. Any sort of movement was dangerous right now. “I’ll get you some water.” Paida took a step, stopped, and then Saksma felt herself almost sober up when she saw the Empire’s strongest trio arrive.
Gold, silver and bronze. Plain dresses, even too plain for an event like this. But when the gold sat on Fer, the silver on Maisara, the bronze of Fortia, they looked like three moving statues. Saksma blinked when she saw the short sleeves and how the silks were pinned to reveal legs. How long the necklines went. That was three Goddesses alright. The sultry noblewoman who dressed to impress like that wore red or some other colour that was sultry as them.
No frills, no decorations, even the hems weren’t highlighted. Saksma stared at those three, she had been amazed by Aslana’s dress and its tiny metal chains. But now, she could only stop and stare at the sheer energy that came from those three. Irinika and Anassa had made statements with their entrances, these three merely carried a presence that demanded attention. There was not a hint of shame at the exposed legs or the sleeves, nor the tightness of the fabric. It was… Saksma silently made a note on how she should dress for next year.
Fer’s tail whisked from side to side as the three marched without stopping, immediately going to Anassa and Irinika. “Sisters!” Fer shouted. “Guess you can’t organise as well as we can! Can you?!”
Luntz lay in the middle of its festivities, holding a parade of men on horseback as they rode through the city square that had been filled with benches and tables for people to eat and drink at.
Agrita overheard Malam’s and Helenna’s conversation when the crowd went silent as the latest pair joined the festivities. Kassandora and Kavaa, who had come together, although everyone had expected that. What people did not expect where their dresses though. “I told you she wouldn’t wear the pink.” Helenna said.
“I knew she wouldn’t.” Malam said. “Who do you think she got it off?” Helenna leaned in to stare at Kassandora’s red dress.
“The weave looks Rilian.” Agrita’s eyes went wide. The weave looked Rilian? What in the…? What did that even mean. Her cheeks turned red as Helenna and Malam both fixed her with a gaze. “I know you’re listening in sweetheart.” Helenna said. “Did you do it?”
“No.” Agrita said.
“Then a human maybe?” Helenna asked as Malam slapped her knee and stood up. “Where are you going?”
“The bottle of gin I brought, because Kavaa just did the impossible.” She said proudly. “Look at them. How cute is that?” Kassandora’s dress was modest, it revealed almost nothing, it had enough spare fabric to not cling anywhere save for a cinch at the waist. Kavaa’s was almost a mirror, save for the fact that hers was a brighter shade of green. Fashion wise, those two had not pulled off anything exceptional, Agrita was sure her own dress was better than either of theirs.
But where the rest of them had concentrated almost entirely on the fashion, Kassandora and Kavaa, although it was probably Kassandora’s idea, had taken a whole difference side to what they should dress with. An attack from the flank, and an unguarded one at that. The hair.
Both Of Health and Of War had styled their hairs to be fine, curling waves, with locks of crimson and locks of grey that fell down their backs in long waves that sprawled out behind them. Kassandora had come in with a scowl. Frankly, it suited her. Kavaa seemed to be enjoying herself though as Malam took a step forward. And before she could take another, Fer was already closing the distance. “Kassie!” She shouted. “You dressed up!”
Smoke rises from Nanbasa, onto the beach, where the party is ongoing in the waves and in the sands irrelevant of the fact that the stars had come out.
Arascus stood at the start of the military convoy as the crowd in the gardens turned to him. The barrels were pointed upwards, away from the building, better not to hit that by accident. That had happened once in the past and it was a disaster. Inside, Neneria was singing already, the moon shone high in the sky. Drones were dancing in the distance, forming planes and demons and soldiers that heroically battled each other. Arascus smiled held his hand up.
Here Paida had thought she knew what an Imperial ball was like. Here she had been afraid that she overdid it. There was no overdoing it in the Empire. What were they supposed to do? Just drink and dance? There was that, but these things always had to be shows. An Imperial ball wasn’t a ball unless it lasted for an entire two days. Hopefully three.
Arascus dropped his hand and the tanks fired fireworks.
Time to get this party started.