#usurpation

Anniversary of the Usurpation

Arabic translation: On the 31st anniversary of the usurpation (The Nakba) May 15th

We renew our vow to continue on the path of popular armed struggle until liberation

Artist: Yusuf Al Nasser

❍ Castorice did wish that things had been a little warmer. The boardwalk in Golden still got some traffic even despite the snow. Fishermen, skaters, etc. But it was still getting dark a little earlier and despite it only being around 6pm on Valentine's Day, almost everyone had cleared off the docks.

Bundled in a jacket and scarf, the woman had been crouched down with her hands bare and cold, fiddling with several upright tubes that had a fuse chain linked between them. "Okay... I think that should do it!"

"Rufus, my dear," Tallulah approaches a man standing under a tree by their large castle. His brown hair dances in the wind as it blows against them. "You have been out here for some time. Come, it is cold out." Not that either one of them could feel the cold with Rufus's body temperature running hotter than a normal person for being a werewolf, and Tallulah's own being even warmer.

Kronya knows her limits as she only assssinating anyone. Knows if one person smells bloodshed or not, perhaps she's not going to create an open wound on this one. Who knows? Might be a so called 'slave' or maybe not.

Lorene had traveled the Multiverse before. Falling asleep in one place and waking up in another? Well...that particular experience was more unique to other multiverse Travellers that he had met, but...it wasn't fully alien.

Waking up on the edge of a giant city-spanning bottomless pit, however...well, that was definitely a new one for the Prince.

"Gods and Spirits--!"

The tall, lithe young warrior was on his feet and skittering back from the hole within seconds, heart hammering. Where was he supposed to go? The platform was too narrow--where was his way out--wait, maybe with his ice climbing gear, he could swing off of the platform and land on solid ground--wait.

Wait.

Where was his gear? The pouches on the belt around his waist that usually held his equipment were empty. His scabbards were gone, too--his swords! Fuck, his weapons! Lorene frantically patted over his hips and patted his ankle--both his swords and his Hestianite dagger were missing. He patted his chest--his armor was gone too: the chain shirt he wore under his clothes, his leather bracers, his greaves, everything.

At least he still had clothes on, damn. And his cloak--the fine blue fabric, the painstakingly embroidered thread-of-silver--it had been a Naming Day gift from his mother. He'd be as loathe to lose it as he was his dagger. Fuck, his dagger! Hestianite was rare and expensive; it had been a pain for his father--even well-connected as his father was in Norelas--to acquire it for him! Another Naming Day gift he would miss terribly. Damnit!

None of these realizations, however, hit as hard as the next one.

The silence.

Lorene went rigid. He reached inside himself, prodded at the space that normally was occupied by his self-made Psionic shielding. His telepathy was pretty low-level, compared to most Psions in Norelas, his father's home country (but especially compared to his father, Dair, himself)--but still. Every Psion needed shields. It wasn't just necessary to keep other people's thoughts out of one's own head, it was necessary to keep one's own thoughts out of other people's heads. Shielding was the first thing every budding young Psionic mage learned. A young mage trained shielding until the looped (continuously renewed) majyk became a passive casting.

But there was nothing. No shields. No noise. No thoughts coming in or going out. Nothing. It was like he had no majyk at all.

Lorene's majyk first manifested as a young adolescent, like most mages. He was eleven when he first started hearing others' thoughts. He was twenty-one, now. For the first time in ten years, in half his life, there was silence.

It was unnerving. It sent him reeling.

And it was at that moment the car pulled up. Dazed, Lorene clambered into the back seat without question. Normally, he was mistrustful and suspicious at best, but there was just nothing for it. He slid into the back seat and sat enveloped in the silence.

Gods, he'd never thought...he didn't think it took that much energy to keep himself shielded at all times. But it was like holding up a weight that he'd always carried, and suddenly that weight was gone. Suddenly, he was so tired.

On the seat next to him were a phone, a pamphlet, a key, and a wooden sword. The Prince was too disoriented and weary to be offended by the mockery of his precious weapons. The car dropped him off, he grabbed the stuff, and walked into the condominium complex. He searched out and found Number 422. He shoved the phone and pamphlet into his belt pouches, jammed the wooden sword into his scabbard-less belt, and turned the key in the lock.

Inside the condo, a silver-haired beauty stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. Lorene glanced at her, but didn't truly notice her. He had much more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the little short-haired black cat that trotted up to him, demanding pets.

"Oh my goodness a kitty!!"

The Elf dropped to his knees and immediately began petting Maya. Maybe this day wasn't a total disaster after all.