Albrecht
This is what you came for. This is what you get.
House of VintariThis is what you came for. This is what you get.
52.5200° N, 13.4050° E
Mors Desert, Soltera
Attn: Luther
Dear Mr. [XXXX],
We are under a short-term contract that expires in the event your unit fails to perform or intermittently fails. Due to circumstances of why your previous unit failed, we must end this contract and dissolve any future interests you may wish to invest in through the Vintari House. While this letter is reaching you a few days early of your next expected arrival we agreed upon prior to this notice, we felt a grace period was only courteous. You will not be receiving another unit per your request.
According to our current contract-agreement, should we terminate. However, you still owe us for your consultation.
Please send the remainder of our deposit via wings to the Denoctian Aerie. I know that this is short notice, but we didn’t have much notice ourselves regarding this situation. If you have any questions, keep them. Your peaceful separation of this service is a requirement, not a choice.
Sincerely,
Albrecht B. Vintari
Meanwhile snow storms are wrecking hell on the outer edges of Solterra. Fires are ravenously tearing through Delumine. Storm and sea together (and alone) ravage the rustic countrylands of Denocte and terrorize their skies. Giant monsters pockmark the sunrise with their descent into the country. They eat the clouds, shit out terror onto the people beneath them. Two casualties so far from falling sky debris, word on the street is that a few countryfolk have been eaten. Others are being swept away by rogue tides, raging waves, lightning striking twice to the same heart, even gored by the antlers of uncontrollable desert beasts. The hospital in Terrastella is at maximum capacity. Many have started to gather together like they often do in all those prophetic nightmare movies.
Everybody is in shock.
They start to pray.
They start to beg for forgiveness.
They start to wonder if this is the end.
And,
Albrecht hasn't left his compound since yesterday afternoon and remains unaware of the dangers his business(es) are facing. His toilers in the desert are already beginning to suffer from hypothermia having been sent when it was sunny and hot before the winterstorm blew in. Unless they can bribe whatever hoarfrost king that invoked it with Albrecht's jewelry, tobacco, sweet wine - nothing- it is likely they will not survive it without proper gear. The only supplies he sends his slaves with is enough water (just enough) - the rest of their bodies is for the goods they must carry back and forth - back and forth -- to the market and from it with little to no delay.
While the world is ending, Albrecht is resting in his study, priming a termination of contract for Luther and staring at all the blackbirds that gather in the window sill. He writes and rewrites his words, the quill pen eagerly scribing out his best attempts at diplomacy. Little does he know that Luther has already been smote by the fires in Delumine, suffocated by his own smoke because his wife refused to wake him when their house caught fire. She must have been just as upset as Albrecht is about the mare brought home, only her anger is because she didn't get what she wanted. Albrecht is mad because he believes she deserves nothing at all after destroying his prized mare for the sake of fashion.
Distasteful.
Odd, he wonders to himself. Since when do grackles hunker down in the middle of the desert?
As the workers get lost in the blizzard that is slowly encroaching upon Solterran soil, Albrecht wonders why he hasn't gotten his breakfast yet. York is his fastest slave being both young and spry at three years of age. Albrecht made sure to train the kid hard to make him well-suited for long distance desert races. The more product he moves the more money he can make. The more money he makes, the bigger his tower will grow. The bigger his tower grows, well ..
You get the idea.
"York!" He yells. York is the first one he sent out yesterday morning to go to Denocte. To take Albrecht's packages with him to the marketplace, get the money, and come home just in time to prepare whatever it is that Albrecht ordered for breakfast ahead of time. His desk is clear, so is the doorway when he beckons for 'York' again, a beautiful black and white pinto boy he picked up last year begging for gold in Caligo's marketplace. Up until now, he has always been reliable. What gives?
"YORK!"
Shapiro, Albrecht's adopted sister and endentured servant, appears at his doorway covered in snow.
"Something is happening." Is all she has to say before he is up and out the door, just in time to see the thing that is - what most civilians would consider - an apocalypse taking the desert asunder ..
"That is no dust storm." Being a highly reactive man, it is no surprise when he simply takes off, wide hooves plugging through the sand and strong shoulders and haunches propelling him forward as if he is spinning the earth effortlessly beneath his feet to get enough air beneath his wings. Nothing here in this mortal world can stop him for he is Great. The large stallion leaps up into the air and it holds him like a leaf. The horizon is slashed in half by the impressive span of his limitless wings and he is up-up-and away,
Into the clouds,
The world beneath his feet grows smaller and smaller yet.
But what a surprise, he comes looking for answers to the mystery unfolding across the desert - and he finds sunshine high up above the disastrous storm clouds.
"Ezra Phillip Fontaine!"
Albrecht's attention shifts - let the slaves toil longer in the element for they are replaceable should they perish. He hasn't seen his friend for a week (has it been a week? he really need to keep up on these things) -- "Just the man I was looking for."
His companion is a glittering, golden-glory to behold and Albrecht cannot help but drink in the simmering richness of Ezra's gilded everything, what a sight for sore eyes. Speaking of gold - "Oh --" he is reminded of something else entirely opposite of the tragedy that has fallen upon him (his accounts). "There is a thing tonight - you will be there won't you? Bexley Briar is throwing a bash, we are on the top of her list." Albrecht nips at Ezra's tail somewhat playfully (assertively?) before diving down. He has always been an agile, mercurious kind of flier.
Albrecht soars just beneath Ezra, the air streams upward and lifts his friend with ease and carries his voice well enough so he can be heard. Together they ride through clouds of considerable chill compared to the warmth they usually hold within them. "I met Solis, did I tell you that yet? He made it a point to see me after his awakening."
And there isn't enough pride left in the world to compare it to Albrecht's own.
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