172 Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Two – In the Center of Power (1/2)
Like most big cities, the capital of the Empire was built along a river, the Crowned, and the great lake called The Throned, flowing through a broad river valley. The fields around here were the best in the Empire, if not the world, and upon the combined bounty of river, lake, and fields, the foundation of the Empire had been laid.
Mines upstream had yielded a wealth of iron and copper, and upon those two metals the city of Zynozure, the Center of the Rose and the Cross, had risen, and the Rosencrux Empire had begun, over a thousand years ago.
The high walls of gray stone looked impressive from the distance, the circles of the city rising slowly, each level built up higher than the ones below, until the Imperial Palace towered on the highest point of the city, none able to match it. By Imperial Fiat, no building in the city could rise higher than the walls of the level above.
Raising the levels and adding a new one was an expression of the might of the Empire. The stone was literally heaved forth and upwards out of the ground by a massive Ritual, displaying the magical might of the entire Empire as it did so. Each level lifted the ground of the new Circle a hundred feet, and this had been done nine times. With its elegant spires and towers reaching up to nearly four hundred paces, the pale red Imperial Palace of the Rose was a thousand feet in the sky, forever the tallest structure in the city, with its foundation reaching down who knew how far into the risen depths.
A rose atop a mountain, flowering cold, alone, and mighty, someone had described, and Errant found the description apt.
It had been centuries since another Circle had been raised, and the city sprawled for miles along the shores of the lake and river. The Rose had been built upon an island at the mouth of the Crowned, and as the Circles rose, they expanded out and past the shores of the river to either side, basically forming a mountain across the mouth of the great river. Great arched channels flowed underneath the Circles, taller than the greatest of ships, not impeding the flow of the river, extending higher than the Ninth Ring, halfway into the eighth, and thus separating the classes yet further, as the River cut the Ninth Ring apart.
The primary means of crossing the Crowned was the Soaring, the great bridge that crossed underneath the Rose, and formed the Cross with the Crowning that supported the Empire.
From here flowed the power of the empire, out to the four Marches, the Kingdoms founded by Zynosure, the Center, to ward it from all sides. Wealth flowed into the center of the cross, and power flowed out from the rose.
So it had been for a thousand years.
But now, the roots of the rose were dying, the soil was bad, and the sun was no longer shining upon the center. Bad things were coming, he could hear the ominous notes behind the whispers at his ear.
It was the perfect place for a Heavenbound to be.
Errant smiled to himself and continued walking forwards. His eyes would mark him, of course, there was no magic that could hide the Sign once it manifested, so he didn't bother to do so. If trouble happened... well, that's what Heavenbound were there to do, attract trouble, so other people didn't have to.
Not that most people would be stupid enough to mess with a Heavenbound directly. While some of his kind served relatively passive roles, those duties were generally left to clerics or the like. Warlocks were bound to the Heavenly Hosts, not the gods, and the job of the Hosts was to fight.
So... he was going to find some other folk who liked to fight...
A smile on his face, and ignoring the many curious gazes of passers-by as he stepped on his path, Errant continued on.
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The Tenth Circle (frequently addended 'of Hell') was naturally where the poorest members of the capital's society lived, along with most of its traders and factories... especially the smelly and loud ones that might annoy the wealthy.
There were no walls around the landbound portion of the capital, so technically the residents here weren't natives of Zynozure at all. Of course, that didn't stop them from claiming so, as they were obviously blessed to live at the heart of the great Empire, and what did a mere outlander know?
Errant found their pride a little funny, as they seemed to think that being a Zynozure native meant they could lord it over a rube, meaning anyone NOT from the capital... except maybe a noble who could slaughter them on the spot for something.
However, anyone seeing his silver eyes tended to clamp up quick when he met their eyes, as you just didn't mess around with anyone showing Sign, Good or Bad or Whatever. So, asking directions wasn't all that hard, people found their good manners after only a second or two of inbuilt arrogance, and he proceeded down the tiled roads, looking around and painting the streets and city into his Visual File casually, looking like a rubbernecking tourist and encouraging those following him to act upon their motivations.
There was a run at his Disk, a little diversion to hide an attack from behind, multiple people collapsing from multiple directions... and then a wall of fire swallowed them all and burned them into ash rather quickly.
He kept walking on, letting their less flammable belongings fall to the street behind him, and the beggar children pounced on them quickly. He motioned one of them over, and whispered in his ear. The ragged boy grinned and took off.
He was attacked twice more within fifteen minutes by street gangs who thought he was an easy mark, and the boy and his friends collected more goodies and got rid of some bullies at the same time. Win-win all around.
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The Tenth Circle sprawled out for miles, hardly a circle, more a bunch of neighborhoods, towns, and villages that had grown together over centuries, and integrated only under the relentless pressure of populations that wanted to move ever onwards and upwards. Different races and ethnicities staked out their own locations in the lower city, sometimes mixing, sometimes not, giving it both energy and drive... and depression and a sense of ancient sloth, bred into the bones, as if nothing had changed while they lived, and wouldn't change for all their lives.
Such an atmosphere was naturally fertile ground for all sorts of things. However, things like innovation, invention, empathy, and brotherhood were naturally preyed upon by those mercilessly seeking any means of getting ahead in life, or maintaining their grip on power by any means against the cruel hands clawing at them from below. So, what grew here tended to be in the Grey... and the most ambitious and relentless of those naturally got darker still.
He had the Eyes of Heaven up at Five, easily piercing most minor divination Wards, and every Evil aura within forty paces and not behind walls was coming up very clearly, giving him a pretty detailed view of who his potential opponents were. At Five, he could maintain it without concentration, and was actually sensitive to Sin itself, not just the Evil it left behind. Feeling those who thought about killing him as soon as they saw him was very useful, after all.
Just about everyone was wondering how to take advantage of him, except those who knew what Silver Sign actually meant, and either kept a low profile or directly or discretely got out of his line of sight when they saw it. He marked faces in passing, knowing they'd be whispering and word would be passing.