no slate Is clean
"The envy of people is what makes a councilman coveted, but if you ask me, politics are annoying. All of these councilmen hold pedigrees above my head and suggest everything wrong with the place is because I don't listen to them. There is a reason for that. Every move a politician makes has a second purpose—to line their pockets. Under their control, there would be suffering. That's what all politicians are: suffering incarnate and chaos incarnate. All politicians are corrupt. There is no such world where one politician has no corruption; there is always a speck of corruption. No slate is clean."
(The Furzen Monarch Book: Lushin Fuerzin's Rule, the King of Wrath; Journal Entry 109)
The council is forever corrupted, but Jereese swears by his name that he will do good. He is not done with this council.
Jereese enters the room where six other figures sit at a modular wooden table shaped like an oval. The seats are excessively cushioned, the walls pristine white, and the air carries a sharp lemon scent. The tension in the room is bitter-sweet. This is the council—six people plus the chairman, Jereese himself. Taking his throne-esque seat, he declares, "So, I see my son has betrayed me again. Why does he do such a thing? I am filing a restraining order against you all for my son's sake."
The first councilman, Lyrique, speaks up, "You cannot do that. You are restricting information from the council this way."
Jereese motions for him to sit. "You said I'm undermining your information network. How is that? Is your entire network dependent on that kid of mine? No, it is not. So do not talk out of line. I'm glad that Hurishe, your actual information broker and councilman, is here. You don't need my son," he finishes bitterly. "This meeting is over. Your prejudices against magic have no place in Munishider's private school. Meeting dismissed. Find your own way to cope with your loss of power because I am drawing the line. You do not toy with people's lives. That is final. Understood?"
A resounding "yes" echoes from all but one council member, who lets out a reluctant yelp. "The restraining order has also been filed," Jereese concludes.
Everyone files out of the room. Under his breath, Jereese sighs, "They are trouble, I swear. I don't know why my predecessor appointed them to the council." He exits the room as well.
"What the actual fuck!" Lyrique exclaims loudly. His servant, Inshider, watches as his master's face contorts with primal anger and disgust. Inshider dares not ask, but it is nearing the appointed time for tea. He gathers the courage to speak, "Hey sir, m-m-may I ask w-w-what's troubling you to p-p-put you in this m-m-mood, sir?" he stammers weakly. Inshider has been a servant. that has comes from the sad truth of oppression his master held which is why his master picked him because it upped his ego and pride he always admired his masters magic which is why it was ironic he was killed by such a method. Which was why it was sad that Inshider wouldn't see the light of day again. Shortly after , he is incinerated in a painful fire, a deep emerald hue, showcasing Lyrique's disdain written into his personality by himself. Lyrique, too prideful to admit to killing out of anger, instead channels his rage into plotting the assassination of the high councilman through brutal methods.
Lyrique's planning room has a dark tone with highlights of brown and a disgusting gray color. In the middle of the room sits a comfy chair and a wooden desk. Lyrique sits there, jotting down ideas and plans for his assassination attempt. His house, massive as it is, he would find time to renovate. but all the walls were in a blank slate most people would say until he puts his hand on that slate it will remain clean. But, If asked why he bought this house, he would reply, "Because it's the only house that can house my pride," and from his point of view, that would be correct. For now, he stays here, jotting down plans and hatching schemes, while the world remains oblivious.
3 days later
"The people come first. This has been true and should always be true and will always be true; the power lies with the people never to forget that. That is why I am here for the people and the corrupt, or the convicts and the traumatized . the king must always be with his people or else there is no connection between the noble faction and the poor mid class faction"(Lushin Fuerzin; the righteous king; journal entry : 75).
This was the final quote Lushin Fuerzin left for the year—a reminder to the people of what a king's duty is, what he can be, and what he should be. Polshner liked analyzing quotes like these, but this one brought his thoughts back to the council's golden child, Fierrur.
People were generally nice, Polshner mused. They weren't like Fierrur. He was a different breed—hate incarnate, a product of the council itself. But perhaps the best kind of bliss was ignorant bliss, to remain unaware of the life-altering decisions the council made. With the headmaster's assurance that he wouldn't be expelled, Polshner decided he might as well get the books required for his magic studies, along with some history books to read over the summer.
He made his way to the grand library, a vast, four-story-high building filled with runic tablets that assisted in sorting the flying books. The room's flavor wasn't off-putting; rather, it felt like an architectural ruin of a library, with neutral colors clashing for dominance, an old scent—not musty, just old—and the presence of the kind librarian.
When she asked what books he wanted, Polshner answered politely, "I'd like *The Beginnings of Illusion Magic and Etching* and a copy of the journal entry from Roudge Rodguigez, the first in the Rodguigez line."
The librarian smiled warmly and replied, "All good choices for history books as always. And good luck with your illusion affinity. Have fun with it."