Our Crimson Iterations of Purpose (Vos Draemar Book 3)

Book summary

In Our Crimson Iterations of Purpose, House Vigilance embarks on a perilous journey to reclaim their homeland and challenge the tyrannical rule of Opulus. Amid the chaos of the Third Rabbit-Lupine War, the feline warriors confront a world steeped in bloodshed and brutality, determined to thwart their enemies and restore justice.

Excerpt from Our Crimson Iterations of Purpose (Vos Draemar Book 3)

Thornvallis Attronieux had never seen the Land of the Sun and Moon’s capital thrown into such disarray before.

As the carriage trundled along the paved streets, the world beyond raged and screamed. Crowds of protestors, mostly peasants and humble merchant peddlers, waved signs and banners sporting statements dissenting the war written in bright red paint. They yelled and chanted in front of the doors to parlours, they packed themselves inside the cramped entrance halls of banks, and they occupied many establishments in the hopes of spreading their message far and wide. People climbed the street’s lantern posts, dangling their banners from the necks of the illuminating spires. The pavements were packed with protestors on either side, fenced in by the tens of Saint Luxzancque Guard who fought to keep the carriageway clear. Their gleaming white armour and shields had been covered in dirt, dented in by bricks, and splashed in red paint. Some cheers interceded the manic anger as the carriage passed but it was hardly noticeable; a mere flash of hope in the hearts of a people who had been betrayed far too often to let it linger.

“Well then,” a voice mused. “The crowds are still fond of someone, First Minister.”

Thornvallis turned their attention back to the interior of the carriage. They sat close to the single swinging door at the back, having to stoop down somewhat to avoid their head bumping the ceiling. Inside there were no screaming protestors and no crowds of angered peasants. Instead, there were two rows of cherry leather benches pressed into the walls facing one another, plenty of room for six yet only seating three. Beside them sat Dashim Jintao. The ram, despite their smaller stature, possessed the lean physique of a nimble warrior. A flowing white gown rested against their frame, a body they had endlessly bragged about bearing many a scar. A white woollen plume rose from beneath the high collar of the green-accented garment, the top combed back to keep their fringe from covering their hazel eyes.

Across them, one leg crossed over the other with a ledger open on her thigh, sat a grey rabbit. First Minister Isabella Bromchaurd’s eyes perused the page’s contents with great care, shifting her thin-framed spectacles on her small nose. Her purple parliamentary blouse, devoid of frill and plume, was an immediate sign of her allegiance. Upon her left shoulder, she bore the insignia of the First Minister, a four-pointed yellow star sitting within the circular white border of the moon that denoted the party’s leader. Stern-faced and resolute, she sat focused on her work yet could not help to frown at the cacophony beyond.

“It is a shame it came to this,” she sighed, flipping the page. “In such a short amount of time, our most vulnerable feel abandoned and unheard. The Avantiers didn’t listen to us when we spoke about conscription.”

“Their premier hasn’t exactly dealt with matters well, have they?” Dash said.

“Not at all. One issue after the other in this damnable age of idiots.”

“They’ll be baying for blood in the amphitheatre.”

“If it was only the Avantiers party that would have to suffer for the world to fix itself, I’d be rather shocked.”

Thornvallis said nothing. Navigating the labyrinthian mess of social appearances, rhetoric, facades and fickle public favour was an endeavour of gargantuan undertaking. At least those they had faced down in combat had the decency to not sheathe their intention to kill them in empty platitudes and brazen lies.

“So, the plan,” the First Minister said, shutting her ledger. “I deliver my speech in front of the Guild Union this evening. Afterwards, you go to your rendezvous and you speak your piece.”

“You seem confident you’ll land the votes,” Dash said.

“Because I know I’ll land them. My whips have made sure the representatives of the Macheillons party remember their dedication to the working people of the parabular republic. The houses comprising the Nedatic League shall get their say. You have my guarantee on that.”

A team of guards waved the carriage through. It took a sharp left, followed a bend, and came to a stop in front of the towering political arena. Teams of weary guards stood ready on the steps, some filing groups of protestors into the backs of constabulary wagons. One guard rushed to the First Minister’s carriage and opened the back door.

“First Minister,” they said in Eposian, almost relieved. “The Guild Union is waiting.”

They disembarked from the carriage. The front of the crowds cheered at the sight of the First Minister. She waved, offered a smile of acknowledgement, before she made her way towards the steps. Thornvallis and Dash followed.

“You seem nonchalant about stepping out your carriage with two wanted revolutionaries,” Dash said.

“You two prove to be better company than all of the sly cowards that frequent these halls,” she said. “At least you believe in what you say.”

Dash shot Thornvallis a look accompanied by a small grin. Thornvallis knew that expression. Confidence nearing complacence. A signal that told them all was looking great, packaged with Dash’s characteristic slick manner.

The group walked past the front of the carriage. Thornvallis stopped beside the adeuns. The four-legged beasts of streaked purple and blue muscle heaved and huffed from the stress of the commotion. Red flashed across their manes that bristled with unease. Their four long ears twitched and flicked, two on each side of their head. They scratched the stone ground with their three-pointed feet, two claws forward while one pointed backwards. Thornvallis felt for them, beasts of no allegiance to anything other than desire for contented life, and patted one of their flanks as they passed. Their manes displayed a steady green for only a moment.

First Minister Bromchaurd led the duo up the steps, past the lingering glares of the Saint Luxzancque Guard, and through the large doors into the gilded halls of the House of Sun. Thornvallis hated how it dazzled them, how they felt like a wide-eyed naïve lamb, yet they could not ignore the splendour of it all. Chiselled white stone slabs formed the floor, perfect to the most minute of measurements, and bright yellow covered the areas of the wall that were not adorned in political regalia and trophies. More steps led to more examples of gratuitous decoration, confined to chambers and rooms Thornvallis peered into as they walked by. Bromchaurd rolled her eyes at the whole charade. Gaggles of politicians, snakes and bulls and sheep and rabbits, gathered like schoolyard cliques to consult one another. The Avantiers ministers shot the First Minister wary glances as she passed, clad in golden doublets of brocades depicting religious murals. Upon their left shoulder sat their hallowed insignia; a white sun, its circumference lined with evenly -spaced triangles, that carried a purple star at its centre.

Thornvallis met their glare with a hardened gaze of their own.

The trio split ways. Bromchaurd was waved through a pair of doors under guard by a team of four Saint Luxzancque Guard who warded off the pair with stern expressions. Dash led Thornvallis up a set of stairs to the right, following a congregation of sheep parliamentarians into an upper gallery. Thornvallis and Dash waved, recognising familiar faces of supporters amidst their ranks, before filing in after them.

The House of Sun’s Guild Union chamber was a relic of a far -bygone era that brought the Land of the Sun and Moon into existence. Evidence of extensive renovation and modernisation were was obvious:; new upholstery, more contemporary paintings, load-supporting beams and integral structures reinforced and replaced; yet, Thornvallis could still see the lingering presence of its original iteration. Sections of the white stone were somewhat faded down in the centre of the political arena, in the aisle dividing the congregating parties. Some of the decorative statues predated the Attronieux bloodline itself. Most noteworthy, however, was the preserved black leatherbound book sitting atop a stone podium in the aisle. A glass case, not a trace of dirt or print upon it, guarded the artefact with unrelenting dedication.

The Tome of Celestial Truth, a few-thousand- page scripture written by the three founding parabular saints.

The first established religion of Vos Draemar.

Thornvallis turned his attention to the Guild Union chamber once more. It had been split into two galleries, upper and lower. Political parties and entities, ones considered too peripheral or small to be granted prominent positions, arranged themselves in the grey cushioned benches that formed the U-shaped balcony. The lower gallery was longer and split into two distinct sides separated by the central aisle. On the left side, shifting along purple cushions, sat the Macheillons parliamentarians. First Minister Bromchaurd sat at the front bench, conferring with her closest subordinates.

“I actually feel confident with her,” Dash said as they both sat down, taking a seat at the back of the upper gallery. “There’s a venom to how she regards everything about this place. Shows she’s sane.”

“Maybe we should invite her to the tavern afterwards,” Thornvallis said, shifting in the bench section that was too small for them. “A couple of glasses of carrot wine and she’d be advocating for us to burn this all to the ground.”

“Let’s not push our luck,” Dash chuckled. “This arena is foreign to us both.”

Thornvallis turned their attention back to the lower gallery. More and more parliamentarians packed themselves in, cramming into the aisle steps. Elderly rabbits, dressed in white gowns and cassocks with golden trimmings, shuffled up onto the stage at the end of the aisle and took seats behind their raised wooden desks. The one in the middle, swathed in enough religious paraphernalia to double as a trinkets merchant, rang a small bell. The murmurs ceased, the tumult ended, and First Minister Bromchaurd took to her side of the aisle podium.

So did the figure opposite.

Sporting the egregious fanciful uniform of the Avantiers party – a political coalition of greedy racists, duplicitous morons and parasitic entrepreneurial types all wrapped up in the ignorant warmth of religious fundamentalism – was Guild Premier Benjamin Le Ferantidunnuf. The grey hare, coat splotched with the occasional white and brown, almost glided over to the podium with how his gown hid his hind paws. His face was slim and expressionless, animation reserved only for gleeful delight in the misery he inflicted on others. Thornvallis struggled to decipher where his poisoned ideals and beliefs originated from – idiocy conflated with enlightenment or malice masquerading as rationality – but regarded the figure with contempt either way. An individual of such a nature, of such a history, made even something as innocuous as the way they walked seem like a calculated political stunt. Thornvallis felt compelled to dive for the snivelling coward from all the way at the top of the chamber.