Hello everyone. This here is a repost of The Reclimation of Firas. This set features improved background and a better chance of having few typos. Once again, this story will be violent, it will be controversial, and it will involve some pretty pretty mansex, and if I feel nice, I may ask a friend of mine to help me write some femsex. Whatever. Any flames are more than welcome to me. However, I don't want to hear a single compaint about the content of this story. I prefer critical looks at my syntax, diction, or mechanics of language. Also, I f you are interested in the world of Relistance, or the ideas that spawned, please don't hesitate to drop me a line.

As always, please Read and Review. It makes glad to know that my works are enjoyed.

Much love to my readers and respect to my reviewers,
Jay

War. Such an action was not an uncommon occurrence on Relistance. Countries and kingdoms clash over religions, over economies, over land, over alliances. Yet nothing the collection of continents known as the Relistance Archipelago had ever seen could compare to the present war: the War of the Angelines.

The political structure of Relistance before the invasion was rather tense. With 50 some odd countries crammed onto a small continent and 500 some odd islands, not to mention 74 islands suspended in mid-air, things easily get nasty at…well…shall we say a rather heightened pace. Even then, with all these countries in such a relatively confined space, one would expect some balance. There was…at least…before them.

Ten years ago, from the High Continents, those little floating islands that sit above the center of the Archipelago, the Church of the Highborn swept down. Claiming to be of a higher breed, no pun intended, they dominated the lands directly around them and swept outward. Within a matter of months, entire sections of the richest fields on the large landmass were under their dominion. Anyone who did not submit was sent to Hell: their foundry city below ground where the proud city of Carnac once stood.

The former owner of these lands, the kingdom of Averian, stood against the might of the Church…but they too were swept aside: crushed beneath the swords and spears of the winged knights of the Church. The fall of this last barrier spurred the creation of The Sacred Alliance. Giant walls and fortified keeps spread across the borders of the fallen kingdoms. The High Wall stretched now, separating families and friends from each other. The remaining kingdoms hid behind their walls and magic barriers as the beating of wings echoed all around. The occupation of the Angels had begun.

Yet to the islands that surround the continent, there was little danger. Only those closest to the High Continents were attacked. But now that the Church had conquered the fertile mainland, they have turned their eyes upon these smaller landmasses, especially Solace. The small group of islands, located behind a reef and a barrier of torrential storms, was the only place besides the Church’s domain where there is a floating island: a Highland. So they have begun moving against the small island nation…intent on capturing that last bit of ground for themselves…

I’ll never forget that day: the first time the Church came to Solace. Their mighty airships breeched the Tempest Wall easily, almost as if they had been made solely to break through such powerful winds. The cross shaped ships floated silently on the wind, the sunlight causing the gold to glisten in respect to the white hulls. Such a terribly amazing sight I have never beheld since. They sailed towards the Spire, our docking assembly on the Highland. They stayed there only one night. The next morning, the city of Spire was leveled; the King and Queen of Solace, along with thousands of people were killed. People fled the cities. One by one…city by city, those butchers moved in the name of Salvation. Cyprus, Arcaneia, Severance, Tours…they all were eliminated. Only the city of Penitence, a city with a Highborn cathedral within the walls, escaped the onslaught.

I was staying at a temple during that time. I’m an orphan you see. The walls offered support to those that needed it: I was one such case. My parents…well…I never knew them. They died before I had any conscious memory of them. So I ended up at the Firas Enclave with two other children, both girls a year or two older than me. We became known as the Firas Triplets. An odd name, seeing as we look nothing alike, but comforting just the same. I don’t know what I would have done without Brimstone and Flare by my side.

But I digress. With the invasion, and the following destruction of our islands, the brothers and sisters of the Enclave took us and fled north, towards Vulcan. It was there that I earned my name in the eyes of the Enclave. I became known as Firefly…the youngest of the Firas Triplets. Of course my happy world never made it all the way to Vulcan. Our airship, the Sacred Torch, was shot down within sight of the city gates. My sisters and I were the only survivors. We picked ourselves from the wreckage of the ship and staggered into Vulcan: bloodied, bruised, and beaten—but alive. We swore from that day on that we would make the Church pay. Salvation be damned. We were born of Fire, we would live by Fire, and we would end by Fire.

This is our story.

This is the Reclamation of the Firas.