Exodus

[Meija]

The blood rushed through her body so quick that it thundered in her ears. Her heart felt like it was going to beat itself out of her chest at any moment, and her stomach felt as if something was trying to gnaw its way out. A sheen of sweat covered her muscley frame with a light film under the heavy cotton robes.

She was impassive though. Her hands clasped lightly at her waist, and her face was stone. Fire light flickered infront of her, making the shadows play off her smooth shaven scalp. Twelve others encirled the flames, each as emotionless as she. At least, to the passive eye. She could feel their emotions on her, almost as opressive as the jungle's night air. Each raged from terrified to fervent. The worst was the neucromancer standing next to her, clad in signiture black. The emotions wafting from the...creature wanted to make her run. She was always the worst, with emotions that boardered on bloodlust. A shiver started to crawl up her spine and went all the way to the base of her skull.

The neucromancer always did this to her. The control of her talents were almost always lost when these ceremonies took place because of the close proximity of something not quite human. It was always a challange for her, to stand next to Shakina, but she suspected thats why the placement was set so.

The man in white robes stood in the center of the circle, so close to the flames Meija thought she could almost smell the robe singeing. She rechecked her emotions. If she let them wander much further, then they'd morph into someone elses. A common mistake for an empath.

The chanting started, the head of each order binding themselves once again to the man in white. The druid in her green robes first, then the healer in her yellow, followed by the fire mage in red. Bile rose to the top of Meija's throat, knowing that soon she'd succeed or die.

Either option was preferable to the life she was living, with her center assulted daily.

Shakina chanted next to her, and Meija could see the thick black cord extending from her to the man thickening further. Then it was her turn.

She almost backed out at the last moment, but she couldn't live another 5 years in the Circle of Nueker. She chanted steadily, following the words they all knew by heart, and prepared herself for a trick she wasn't sure she could accomplish. At a key moment in the chant she left a word out. This would terminate the spell and the remains of the light blue cord would fade that night.

Normally it would be dangerous, and all members would know what she'd done and execute her on the spot. At the moment she left to word out, she projected feelings to the people around her, so strong that it would make them fade their conciousness. Each emotion was tailored to what they were feeling at the moment. This is why it was so difficult. Thirteen differant emotions projected at the same time and only one for each person.

Any empath could project strong emotions to large groups but only the most talented could do more then three.

As she projected, she could see all pairs of eyes glaze for a moment, including the man in the white robe. She also placed a feeling in him, that the ceremoney had been compleated, and all were once again tied to his overbearing hand.

All this would fade....the emotions and the feeling of satisfaction she gave the man. No one could permenantly change the feelings of another, but by morning she would be far from where she was.

By morning she would be free.

[Meija]

Meija slid her hands into the folds of her light blue robe and watched with a stone face as the ceremony ended. The twelve each had their own emotions that had faded into a subtle control. The man in white gazed at them all, and gave her a particularly nasty sneer. He felt satisfied though, and she knew for awhile at least, that she wouldn't have to worry about him knowing that she had not infact renewed her bond.

He hated empaths.

With most of the orders someone could lean towards good or evil. It was the morals, not the talents that had brought them to Nueker. With the empaths though...

The emotions that this place gathered steered all empaths away unless they were forced into servitude as Meija had been. Anger, hatred, biterness, all that coursed through the valley were all things that made an empath physically sick. Not one could feel any of these emotions without also feeling the remorse.

The ceremony broke, and each member trod down the trail that led them to their section. Meija follwed hers, sending a net out with her mind to catch awareness of anyone nearby. She could feel the snakes slithering up the treetrunks, scales sliding smoothly, and the birds nervous dreams as the rested in the trees. Her talents were not limited to the humans.

A hundred yards from the clearing Meija broke from the path and plunged into the jungle habitat. The thick perfume of night flowers lay heavy on the air, and the distict sound of a cat on the hunt echoed on the vines.

She pulled her cowl up over her hairless head to protect the skin. Locating the emotion she was looking for, Meija made her way North, slipping past vegitation as if she had been born in it.

Soft candlelight caressed the trees as she neared. It was Rolf, holding the bridle of a chestnut geldling. Rolf was her assistant in a way; he took care of paperwork, and the day to day buisness that needed to be taken care of in the empaths wing. He was more her friend though.

There were three ways an empath could find their talents. Being born, as Meija had, with the inate ability to feel everything around her. It was the rarest of the three ways, and the most powerful. Children born this way, grasp the understanding of how to control their talents quickly, while others spent their time struggling.

Mostly the empathetic power slowly lodged in a soul and grew. They'd be vaugely aware of things they shouldn't know, or have intuitions when people were lying. It was never strong, and people could spend their whole lives not knowing they were any differant.

Then there was the last. Deep in an empath who's talents grow there is the full talents of the inborn. Occasionally when great tragedy hits, the block that protects the person from being overwhelmed by their feelings and those of others is blown apart. Many die from the sheer shock of having so much occuring in their head, but a few survived.

Rolf was one such, but as most with his case, he never learned to control the empathy. He had spent most of his young life with the empaths in Nueker, they could control their emotions and sheild them from other empaths. This gave Rolfs mind some peace.

He jumped slightly as Meija emerged from the trees. He rarely left the protection of the wing, but this night was special. Shifting nervously he handed the reigns to Meija and she smiled and projected a feeling of comfort onto him.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, they won't know 'til morning."

He sighed in relief.

"Rolf, as soon as I leave run back to the wing and get the rest out. Slowly as we discussed so the rest of Nueker doesn't panic."

"Yes ma'am. You should leave quickly."

Meija hesitated, hating to leave her charges.

"Meija...you know what happens if Sett find out what you did and captures you. The rest of us are connected to you, and will have no choice but to stay if you do."

"I know Rolf..."

"Go. Nueker will find itself short of the 13th order in the morning."

Meija leaned to hug the young man and ruffled his hair in a familiar manner.

"I'll miss you Rolf. Remember to stay close to Trey. He'll keep you from being overwhelmed."

"God speed Meija, and may the sun shine brightly in this life."

Meija mounted the geldling quickly and compelled it further North, and out of Nuekers valley.

Free. She was free.

Free, but not safe.

[Voice Caile]

Intriguing, and I like the concepts. Keep up the good work, I'm looking forward to reading more.

[Meija]

The Chestnut plodded forward, each step increasingly difficult. The thick foliage of the jungle shielded the blinding rays of the tropical sun from Meija, but it also increased the stickiness of the air around her.

Each breath made her feel as if she was drowning.

She guessed it was late afternoon, and exhaustion should have claimed her awareness long ago, but she was reluctent to stop. They were still too close for comfort.

Meija camped for days in the jungle, tentifully making her way north. She could feel life around her and emotions, but mostly she unconciously filtered out everything unimportant.

Entities could easily get past her. There were creatures Meija, or any empath for that matter, just couldn't detect. The dead for one, or other creatures of a dubious nature. If one didn't have a soul, one couldn't feel emotions.

Any mage could shield their thoughts and emotions, so Meija couldn't fully lean on her talent to keep her from being captured.

A week went by without any sign of persuit. This should have eased her worries, but it only seemed to stoke them. Had she over estimated her value? Were they waiting for her to think she was safe before recapturing her?

The jungle's line faded slowly, giving way to farmlands. The locals were wary of anything that emerged from the jungle, so Meija steered clear. It was a well known fact to the farmers that there were demons that haunted the trees.

Slowly the land changed to civilized country, and Meija dared to spend her nights holed up at inns. Each night was the same. She'd enter the Inn, and pull off her hood, and instantly the eyes were drawn to Meija. Her hair was slowly starting to grow back, but it was still only a slight stubble. The women gazed at her in shock, and the men in suspicion. All who lived close to the jungles boundries knew of the legends of a city that lurked inside. Superstitions and strange rituals had risen to protect the locals from the evils, and most of them would never have done any good if Neuker had turned it's eye on them, but strangly each one was based on a little bit of truth.

She had tried to keep her hood up, but this seemed to only draw more attention, so Meija sighed and grudgingly accepted the stares.

Meija had little money to her name, so she mostly invoked pitty on the inn keepers to allow her a meal and a room. She lothed to do so, but it rarely hurt them. She sat in the common room of an unmemeroble inn, she believed was called the Red Lion one night, trying to be as unobtrusive as she possibly could.

She probed the room, out of habit, feeling around for threatening emotions. As Meija proded she noticed someone was intensly interested in her.

Meija was fasted to her seat, unable to make the disiscion to bolt to her room, or out of the inn compleatly.

Fear slithered its way up her spine as she cautiosly looked over the room, and spotted a figure, that was obscured by the bad lighting.

[Pillar]

A figure sat alone in the dark corner of the Red Lion's common room, still in full plate mail, minus the helmet sitting on the table. He was mostly hidden beneath a full-length, pitch-black cloak. One guantleted hand, sticking out from underneath the cloak, holding on to a mug of some foul-looking, brownish liquid, made a soft clinking sound against the thick glass mug.

His face was masked in the shadows of the large hood, but his focus was obviously upon the glass in his hand. He made a slow circular motion with it, gently swishing the fluid, as if trying to decide whether or not to drink it. Then suddenly the clinking sound started to gain in pitch. It was still quiet, just higher in pitch. The sound started to turn into a type of music as the glass started to gain a slight purplish glow. Then suddenly the glass shattered, splashing liquid all over the table. Yet oddly none got on the figure or his helmet.

The armored man looked up as the shattered glass drew some attention from a couple people near him. A very perceptive person might barely have noticed a purplish glow--the same color that had previously shone in the glass--fading quickly from his eyes. The same perceptiveness might also notice the scar that ran from the edge of his hairline vertically down to his right eyebrow, and the fact that that right eye was paler in color than the left.

"Sorry, dropped my cup...." he explained in a deep melodic voice with an apologetic tone to it.

One of the folk turning away from the scene muttered with disgust, but a little sympathy in his voice "Curséd psyonics......"

The figure in the corner dropped his gaze again, and wondered if he would be served another glass of ale.

Probably not, he thought. Seeing as how this was his second one tonight.

[Pillar]

The armored man thought back to the streak of rotten luck that had brought him here.

He had once been powerful. He had been in charge of a whole Wing of the Allerian Royal Air Force. His had been the Pegasus. The only wing that outranked his was the Dragons. He had been offered that position, but turned it down; no sane person would want a wing of dragons, they were... temperamental and tended to like the taste of their handlers. Pegasae on the other hand were noble, majestic creatures. They were typically gentle except when riding to war. And their waste products were not toxic, as dragon's are.

His post had given him power over most of the realm, and almost all of the sky. No one could ride better than he. He could ride anything that flew, but he was most comfortable with a pegasus, especially his pegasus. She had been gorgeous. A most magnificent beast. She was white as snow and strong as magick itself.

He had once been rich. His family had gifted him with money beyond his wildest dreams, and his post had brought even more. Anything he had wanted that money could buy was his. He had had a sprawling mansion in the country, a comfortable townhouse in the city. He had even had his own airship, Not a large one mind, he wasn't greedy, just comfortable.

He had once had love. His wife had been beautiful, still was he reflected sadly. He had been the envy of all of his men for just her. And she had given him the most beautiful son.

Then all had come crashing down. He had shown signs of psionic ability. The scourge of Alleria. Almost a millenium ago the realm had barely survived the threat of the warlocks of Elyssi'llc. They had brought Alleria to its knees in a matter of a few months. They had barely won the war. They had made a pact with the wizards of Norhs. All the history books read it differently of course. Only the high-ranking knew what had really happened.

But all viewed psionics as a bane. The surviving warlocks had interbred with Allerians and the results were viewed as abominations. Children who showed signs of this ability were put to death. Adults were blinded so they couldn't focus and exiled. Sometimes the ability stayed latent until late into a person's life.

In Pillar's case, the results had been abrupt. One day he was A Lord Commander. The next, he was here, in a filthy bar leagues away from his homeland. He had shown signs, and therefore must go. But his family had wanted to keep it quiet so he didn't shame them. So, they had forgone the public blinding and banishment. He had been forced to leave with the bare necessities. They had left him his armor, his blade, some rations, and his pegasus.

That was what made him feel the worst though. It was what brought him more shame than actually being a warlock; they had clipped her wings. The worse dishonor that could come to an Airborne Soldier was to have their wings cut. They had made his beautiful pegasus a mere horse.

As he thought of his bad luck his attention wavered and wandered around the bar. A few people were talking and laughing over their drinks. A couple were like himself, trying to drink away their cares. One such patron caught his attention. She had a small stubble growing over her otherwise bald head.

Curious, he thought. She seemed to be afraid of something. Or maybe she's just afraid.... Regardless, it's no business of mine.

He went back to feeling sorry for himself, and wishing he had drank more of the disgusting, vile liquid before he had broken it.