Eli Poppele Piece for 4/15/17

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Eli Poppele Piece for 4/15/17

Post by Keeper of the Histories on Mon Apr 24, 2017 2:11 am

Chapter 1
It was a sleepy afternoon in the warmer part of the year. The vendors were already setting up all along Red Street, awaiting the fifth strike of the bell when the streets would be flooded with the scholars, their coins eager to burn holes in the pockets of their yellow robes. A figure at the end of the avenue was beginning to attract attention.
It wasn’t unusual to see a blue robe out at this time, beating the rush to get some supplies for a monastery, but this one seemed to have a radiating calm that was almost unnerving to the shopkeepers used to the chaos of market life. The robes were a perfect hue, the deepest shade of blue, yet not adorned in the manner that the Teachers should have. A hushed stillness swept across the lanes of stall as the enigmatic robes swept softly across the ancient red brick.
It never turned its head to meet the stares from across the lane. As it reached the end of the avenue the bustle returned and everyone went back to their work, raising their tents and laying out their goods. No one made any comment about the stranger. It was nothing unusual, just a blue going about business in some other sector of the city. The figure was too ordinary to warrant conversation, and the silence too uneasy.
It strode up the marble steps up of the capital and through the grand double doors, easing them shut behind itself, acutely aware that the merchants were already erasing its presence from their minds. The entrance hall was empty save for a few of various colors of robes scattered about the edges in hushed conversation. The blue robe continued on its way silently, up ornate staircases and through a labyrinth of hallways, slowly descending to a set of gilded doors. The air was chilly but dry; the blue figure judged that the chamber had sunk a few inches further underground in the time it had been away. The city had only begun to sink after the war.
The doors swung open with a slight creak, revealing an individual in a yellow robe sitting at a large wooden desk. The once-spacious room was piled high with papers, books, scrolls, and bits of trash. Bookshelves lined half the walls, buried in papers spilling off their shelves. The figure at the desk didn’t bother to look up, but continued its work of writing with each hand on several papers simultaneously.
The blue one took a seat in an unusually clean chair that sat at an angle to the desk, the doors closing behind it.
“You were expecting me?” Its voice was low and gentle.
“No.” The yellow one replied, setting down one pen and letting go of another of watch it float over to a clean paper to transcribe the conversation. “But I could sense the approach your condescending judgement.”
“I’m not condescending.”
“I notice you don’t deny the judgement part.” They both gave a small laugh, or in the case of the yellow one, a sort of breathy ha, followed by a short silence. “It’s been a long time.”
“A very long time, Yellow.” The other figure seemed to cringe at hearing its own name.
“Please, it’s Fla--” It started.
“It’s the same word. But it’s time you stop hiding your name behind that ancient language.” Yellow would not meet its gaze. “Time to start being honest with the people.”
“Well, if I recall correctly, the last time we tried that, a lot of the people died.”
“There will be balance this time.” Blue stated. Yellow looked dubious, or at least as dubious as one can look with a face completely shrouded in the darkness of one’s hood. “I’ve found Green.”
“You’ve been in the Prism again?”
“Yes. But I mean here, in the physical realm.”
Yellow looked up. “But that’s impossible. By the Laws of the Secondaries, Green can’t exist.”
“Well, with enough willpower, it seems, anything can happen. But of course you’d be quite familiar with the Secondaries by now, wouldn’t you?”
Blue suddenly seemed much closer to Yellow now, an almost overbearing presence. Yellow pushed its chair slightly back and turned away. “Well, I’m quite familiar with everything these days.”
“But particularly familiar with those poor souls chained in the dungeon.”
Yellow turned back around. It wouldn’t let Blue play the guilt game, not this time. “It’s not a dungeon, and the one that has a soul isn’t chained or bound by any means. It would be free to go if it would ever be able to find its way out of an empty room. I’ve observed them everyday, Blue. They’re broken, extreme, dysfunctional. Completely lacking a Primary characteristic. How could Green exist? It would have no form.”
“No; it doesn't.” A short silence followed.
“If you’ve come here to do nothing but reprimand me and speak in paradoxes, I have no business with you. I am quite occupied trying to run the world that you abandoned.”
“We used to run the world together.” Blue stood to leave. “What you’re doing now is ruling it.”
Blue left, the doors swinging shut behind it. The levitating pen dropped out of the air without recording Blue’s last words. Yellow stood up, clenching its fists. It breathed deeply. Everything was still going fine; it didn’t need Blue. The natural way isn’t always the proper way.
Yellow turned to the back of the room, a bookshelf sliding away at a flick from its fingers. It strode down the passage behind the shelf, its breathing steadying as descended into the cooler air. After several more turns and flights of stairs, it reached a concealed observation room that looked out into a small chamber with two doors. A black door on the left was closed. The white door on the right was open. Yellow stopped dead in its tracks. Purple had escaped.
Perhaps it was not quite as familiar with the Laws as it thought it was.
Keeper of the Histories

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