Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

The Ithatyne Empire...

Something of a marvel and something of a disgrace, all at the same time.

It all started with King Yonith and his precious wife Hinu. Yonith started as a mere lord in the halls of the Ithatyne courts when it was a proud and honourable kingdom in the plains of gracious land of Tyines. This lord was had unmatched ambition, and eyed the throne of the old king as a hawk eyed dinner. The old king, Fropile, was murdered in his sleep, and Lord Yonith proclaimed himself King, and had his supporters eliminate what royal family hadn't fled from the original Ithatyne borders.

Those were peaceful times, when the kingdoms had a mutual and beneficial relationship mounted in trust and respect that had been built within a few centuries. This trust and respect would be ruined within the first decade of Yonith's rule, when these kingdoms that once were settled within various spots of the kingdom were now either in blackened ruins, or became engulfed by the gluttonous borders of King Yonith and his desperate need for power, glory, and wealth.

Yonith had to keep his absolute power over all of Tyine with a fist of iron, one that showed no mercy to those who threated with rebellion and broke the set rules of the kingdom, now so big that calling it a kingdom would be an understatement: this was an empire!

At the age of sixty-five, and thirty years after he stole the soul of land for his own need, he had died in his sleep. No one was sure how the man had died, whether natural causes or poison.

His wife, Hinu, with all the spoils that her husband gave her, was equally cruel, being the best supporter of Yonith, and being a sadist that watched with glee the torture of the people that did not bow to Yonith or the queen, herself. It would seem like a dream come true for the woman to take her husbands kingdom for her own, but the woman, whom was also ravaged by the numerous attempts by Yonith to make her bare a son, would a week later be found dangling over the main castle gate, hanging by the neck, very dead. Most people would see it as a suicided, many celebrated their deaths, but it did not mean that the empire would dissolve just yet.

The only child of Yonith and Hinu was eighteen year old Mytorane, whom was almost shattered by the deaths of her parents, and now, to prevent Anarchy to settle into the land, would become the leader of the Ithatyne empire, a banner that gave her everything...

Everything she didn't really want. This she decided standing on the balcony in the master bedroom, the room that her parents once shared now was her room. She was overlooking the courtyard from where she stood on the onyx castle, with some activity from the odd gardener that tidy the place up. Her eyes glared in their blue sapphires, the only feature that reflected her true nature, one that would separate her from her parents, and how they couldn't understand why she cried when someone was tortured to death: an enemy of the empire. She never became accustomed to those type of sights, making her parents think that she could never rule the kingdom, and her father trying extra hard to get Hinu pregnant again.

The bedroom itself was a pleasant stone room with the trappings of a very wealthy person: rugs with gold trimmings, blankets made of the finest silks, beading along the four posts of the bed, and a few paintings and trophies hung on the wall, some of which Mytorare had put away or out of sight, for they were too much of a reminder of her parents, all dead.

It had been three years since her parents had died. She did her best to rule as they would have ruled. It was rough on her heart to do so, which her parents had failed to harden enough so it wouldn't break everytime she had to make a order that would cause horrible pain and grief to another.

She stared out and onto the scene of beautiful flowers in the Ithatyne castle. The finest flowers in a garden that she would hope was the finest. During the reign of her father, Yonith, the garden had become neglected and full of weeds, a part of the castle he stole that he showed no care for, and Hinu, the queen, was more amazed when someone was having their fingernails ripped out than to stare at flowers. One of the first things Mytorare had done when she ascended to the throne was double the gardening staff, to get a garden going and maintained. She loved to see beautiful things, and the drabness of parts of the castle made her more depressed then she already was.

A small breeze blew across her silk black dress, an outfit that hugged her bosom build: with a plunging neckline to showcase her nicely shaped bustline, a waistline that was just tight enough around to exaggerate her waist, and was loose around the hips to make her waist and hips look even more perfect. Her long black hair, veiled with fine darkened mesh, was loose and down past the shoulders, and it waved past her body. The black was such a contrast to her abnormally pale skin, almost as if she had no pigmentation, but her eyes were proof that she wasn't albino.

Black was a colour that her parents wore, and it was pressed onto her. Her mother, whom was considered to be a beautiful woman on the outside, was also so pale. Mytorare's nature could only refuse so much of her parents' trash of souls. Mytorare had their power under her thumb, and she hated every moment of it. It meant that they were dead, and she would have to do some of the most horrid things as the title of Queen would make her do, to keep an empire together and from the jaws of Anarchy, a fate worst than the totalitarian rule established by Lord Yonith of the former Ithatyne.

Mytorare would be forced to live up to that, even if it means her own death, from the inside out.

Link to the OOC

__________________
[br]Feed Me!

Feed it!

__________________

"Oi! Vikas!" The surly voice of a dungeon guard croaked at him as he lay in a state of half-conscious. He rolled over, now fully awake, he shielded his eyes from the sun that came in through the gaps between the bars of his little cell.

Vikas Tyr, a man who spent most of his time in dungeon, particularly the cell he was in. He'd often joke about posting a doorman there for his regular visits. It was usually every second or third night he was thrown in. But, luckily for him, he was a friend of the kingdom and he had drank with many of the guards.

His cell creaked open and he got up, rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. "You were bloody rolling drunk last night, Vikas."
Vikas snorted and laughed, "Now, now Crumley, I'm often rolling drunk."
"Right you are there, right you are."
Vikas spoke in a sharp tone, his words formed perfectly and never slurred, unless he was as drunk as he usually liked to get.
Such an odd man he was, a finely spoken gentleman, an accomplished swordsman and bard and a highly sought after lover. It was he who loved the Queen behind the King's back.
It was he who loved her gently so as to keep it in her mind of what a real man was like. The King never discovered their annual liaisons and as it turned out, he never would.

He was taken to a small room outside of the dungeon, where his personals were handed back to him.
One long-sword attached to a belt, which Vikas Tyr promptly placed around his waist in very belt-like fashion.
One necklace - a simple chain with a pendant from the Queen dangling from it. He'd received it shortly before she hung herself. He'd never cried for her, his type never did.
Whenever questioned on the subject he would launch into a tale of his trip to the Nine Isles. Of course, this was true, his thirty years of life had seen him many places.

"I suppose I'll see you some other night, eh, Crumley?"
"Right you are."

Vikas Tyr strode through corridors, looking for the bathing room. His hair was horribly matted and he spied some vomit in a cluster of strands.
He eventually found what he was looking for. An alluring young Maiden came to his side to fulfill her duties, helping him out of his white, vomit-stained tunic, then his tight - oddly not stained pants - from his legs, until he was bereft of clothing.
He climbed slowly into the water, it was a deep bath. Like that of a lake, he dunked his head underneath and lingered for a moment, before coming back up.
"Will ye be needin' any other services?" The same alluring young maiden asked, her voice as voluptuous as her figure.
Vikas Tyr leaned against the wall of the bath, a smirk crossing his face as he knew what these services were.
"Not today. For this particular morning, I'll do with the water and the sun. Though, your regular services will be required."
"Very well, then."

Within a half-hour, Vikas Tyr was cleaned, dried and dressed once more, this time in clean, fresh clothes. A white-tunic tucked into a pair of tight black leather pants, his feet fitting snuggly into a pair of black boots.
His long-hair tied back into a tight pony-tail with a strip of leather that dangled down with his hair.
He was quite a handsome man, you either loved him or hated him.

He strode leisurely through the castle halls, wondering in vain if he'd be summoned today.
The young Queen, he had never loved her and was sure she had no interest in him or any of his talents. But he couldn't be sure and he wasn't sure.
But he loved the idea of the challenge. Perhaps he'd accept it, his mind and other regions of his body all told him to, but as a lover to many, self-control was too easy.

He pushed open too large wooden doors, coming into a waiting room of sorts, looking over each man who looked as he did, each finely cleaned and pampered.
Vikas Tyr was an age ahead of them. None of these men had ever loved the Queen, let alone any Queen of any kingdom. They hadn't loved a woman from each of the Nine Isles. They were the hopefuls, but Vikas could tell, by looking at each one, that they were hopeless.
Except the seated young lad. He seemed different...out of place with it all. As if plucked from another realm. The rest reeked of Nobility, he however exuded a simpler aura.
Vikas Tyr spent longer moments sizing him up before he took a spot over by the wall opposite the young man, every now and then casting a glance over his way.

__________________

Ballog stared up at the sky through the window, watching the clouds slowly make their way across the blue sky. Looking down he saw the garden, which the new Queen, Mytorare, daughter of the late King Yonith and Queen Hinu, had ordered to be more maintained now that she was Queen. He had to agree that it made things look lively but that didn't help things at all, not even the slightest bit. All it showed was that she was capable of giving orders, not that she used that power the right way.

Mytorare was too soft-hearted, plain and simple. Even if she ruled the country the way she wanted to, she would still have to do things she wouldn't want to do such as sentencing prisoners and criminals to death if needed. That was the problem with being the boss of anything, especially something as large as an empire. Rule too strictly and there'll be an uprising to overthrow the current ruler and place a more suitable ruler at the throne. And if the ruler was too soft then there'll still be an uprising to put a more suitable ruler in place.

Ballog sighed heavily for the umpteenth time that day and it wasn't even noon. He was one of the many advisers of the previous King, having been in the position since he was 24. He wasn't the smartest one at that time but neither was he the most stupid of the bunch. But over the many years of service he had learned many things and now he was the third, probably the second most intelligent. But even then he couldn't think of a plan to help remedy the situation.

How do you teach an eight-year old the right way to rule an empire? The answer, you couldn't. The late Queen Hinu had probably learned how to take over by watching her husband rule the empire. Ballog didn't know where the King learned but he most likely learned from his predecessor. There was no way to teach someone how to rule. They either knew how to do it, learned by watching and/or learning from other rulers, or they didn't know altogether. And if an eight year old couldn't be taught by someone who had no experience as a ruler, what more an eighteen year old like the present Queen, someone whose beliefs and mentality could no longer be moulded so easily?

"Unless a miracle happens this may very well be the end of this empire," he muttered quietly, not that anyone could hear him while he was in his private quarters. He could just imagine the many possible scenarios playing out in his mind.

The people of the empire, dissatisfied by the poor leadership of Queen Mytorare, could rise up to overthrow her to put someone who would actually rule the kingdom on the throne. Another was the opposite. The people would prefer the way Queen Mytorare rules, as opposed to her late parents, but then those in the empire would see this as a sign of weakness and would move to take the throne for their own. Or even worse, both at the same time.

If just one or the other would try take the throne, then it would be over the moment the Queen surrendered, stepped down, or was killed. But if both sides were to fight for the throne, then the entire empire would be thrown into an internal war, further destroying the empire until a winner was decided. And with the size of Ithatyne's army against all the people of the empire willing to fight, that war could last for years.

Ballog sighed again, running a hand through his raven black locks. "Even the previous Queen was better than this, but not by much. At least with her on the throne only the first scenario would have played out. But now there are three major possibilities with countless other threats. I wouldn't be surprised if one of the other officials decided to take the throne for himself. Zoran is certainly ambitious enough to try if he actually wanted to be the ruler of... this... empire..." he finished very slowly, his eyes widening with the last few words.

Ballog suddenly shot up from his seat by the window, quickly walked out of his room and walked away, a maniacal grin clearly visible on his face as he walked towards his destination. 'This may very well be my greatest idea yet,' he thought, obviously quite smug about his idea. 'But I'm sure I could think of something better if I had more time. Now then, where could Zoran be?'

__________________

"You've been staring there for quite some time now, my lady. Perhaps you should commission a statue, before you become one yourself?"

It had all started back when King Yonith came to the throne through blood and majesty, declaring himself Kind and sacrificing the world around him to feed the fire of his dark empire. It was well known that, while the king himself was by no means defenseless, more fearsome was the guard dog that he kept chained to his shadow, a swordsman of puissant skill and a professional skulk who stalked the shadows of the castle nigh-invisibly, protecting his majesty with a deft hand and dagger when necessary. He was known as Drail, and whether or not that was his name or his title was not known, and the mystery of his position lent much of the power that came with it-he was a shadow, a ghost, a phantom haunting the castle and guarding the king's interests, and he was much feared as the King's right hand.

But ultimately, he had failed. What had become of him few could say, but all knew that when the young Mytorare ascended the throne, there was a new Drail behind her while she did it. Where the first had been massively muscled, wielded a greatsword with all the skill of a master soldier and stood behind the king and queen silently, this new Drail was lithe, elegant and rail thin. The only thing that remained the same between them was the mask they both wore, one of steel and marked, not with the features of a man, but of a carved demon, with a wicked smile set beneath two rows of eyes. That it was the same mask was clear, for there was a scratch where a blade had cut it that was maintained throughout.

It was rumored now that this new Drail was no man but a mystical creation, for his skin was never shown--black gloves adorned his hands, running beneath the cuffs of his shirt, and a gorget covered his throat up running up beneath the mask. and long black hair hung to cover the rest of his head. He wore a color that complimented the queen's attire when in public, and at the moment indeed he wore an elegant tunic engraved with silver thread atop a slightly ruffled black shirt. Where the first Drail had been a behemoth in a black cloak, this one was a wraith of social grace and poise, the only hint of danger visible a long, thin wrought silver rapier at his side.

And now he stood at the door of her room, no clasp of the door heard to echo his entrance and no footsteps heard to mark his passing, as per usual. He looked to her from behind the mask, the occasional hint of bright, vibrant blue in one of the eyes sockets when she looked at him properly the only hint of humanity in him besides the cool humor and elegant speech projected through the mask.

"Is there something wrong, my lady, that I might help you with? It's a shame, to eyes such as yours cast down with sorrow."

__________________

A cloaked shape stepped out of the shadows, seeming to seep out from nowhere into the doorway right before Ballog. Thaddeus Radiant, grand cardinal of the celestial pantheon, as well as a respected advisor of the old king - arguably the one with the most influence outside the castle walls, thanks to the power of religion. As he came to a halt in front of the other man, it looked almost as if Ballog had been intercepted by a flying grin - the only thing visible beneath the priest's cowl. Thaddeus liked to keep an air of mystique around him - it impressed the bourgeois, after all. Stopping with a jerk, as if he'd only just noticed the marching intellectual, he turned, put his hands together and bowed.

"Gods' peace, my friend", said Thaddeus, just as it was expected of him. Whether the two were actually friends was a different story. Thaddeus was not about to underestimate Ballog any time soon - he respected the man, much in the same way one maintains a healthy respect for, say, fire. He couldn't let him on to that, though, now could he? Thaddeus raised his head, and his cowl was drawn back far enough that a pair of gleaming green eyes could be glimpsed inside. It was an ancient routine.

"You're rather happy this day, I notice", he continued. He'd noticed the other's grin, obviously, and would not let him try to glide away. "Praise be the heavens, that keep spirits high even in these troubled times. Our monarch falls, as per the will of the divine, but let not our mirth fall with him! Pray tell, brother, what boon hath the gods granted, that lights your darkness?". Thaddeus spoke loudly and with a flourish, before turning to Ballog with a perfectly earnest smile. Few of his peers were still fooled by his act, but acting was part of a life of intrigue. Thaddeus paused, looked over his shoulder, and looked back at Ballog. In that direction lay... Thaddeus could guess.

Thaddeus feared little for his position. He was well-known and respected, an icon of faith to those loyal to the king. Through secret connections, he was also very much capable of sticking his fingers into the affairs of dissidents, and did much to keep the clergy clear of them - endurance, not rebellion, was preached in the streets. Even a prominent figure such as Thaddeus, however, had to keep his relations relatively friction-free - stepping on the wrong toes at the wrong time meant the stake, and staying neutral was not always enough. Hence, now that the king was dead, he was eagerly awaiting a coupe of some sort, and awaited even more eagerly a chance to support it, spying constantly on anyone with enough ambition. He'd come to think of Ballog by accident - staying on top was the priest's job. Sneaking up on people was only a hobby. Now, he could not know exactly what Ballog was grinning about - the man might as well have found a new favourite concubine, for all the priest knew. This would require a small amount of... crypticism.

Ballog suddenly came to a stop when someone suddenly stepped in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere but Ballog knew better than that. 'What a time for him to show up,' he thought with a grimace but kept the grin on his face just the same. Thaddeus Radiant, most definitely one of the most powerful people of the Empire due to his influence over the people outside the castle. If he wanted to he could rally the people together for a coup, one of the many ways to start one of the three scenarios in his mind.

His plan though would not allow for outside interference and he was somewhat glad to meet the man now as it served as a reminder to plan for any possible moves he may make. He had not studied politics and war strategy for years on end for nothing after all.

"It's nothing," he replied calmly but allowing a small bit of excitement to leak into his voice. "I've just received word that an old friend of mine will be arriving soon. I'm on my way to greet him right now. With all that has been happening recently it's quite a relief to be able to meet with a friend."

It wasn't the best excuse, he knew it, but it was the best chance he had at losing the man. He would have to make it seem interesting enough but not interesting enough for the man to want to accompany him. And with people like him it was best not to lie, at least not outright. Zoran was in the area and, seeing as he had been transfered to one of the outlying border camps years ago, not many people would know him or the fact that he and Ballog were quite close, not that the two normally reserved men showed it.

"Would you like to join us?" he asked Thaddeus, gesturing with his hand towards the hallway to his right which would lead towards the main gate. "I'm sure General Zoran wouldn't mind," he mentioned, grinning inwardly. Zoran was known to be quite a heavy drinker and was also known to frequent bars and the like. With that bit of information the cardinal would certainly decline. "He has been away for quite a few years now."

__________________

Standing downstairs in the kitchen, Kaelyn was talking to one of the cooks while she waited for new orders. While most of the ladies in waiting sat and sewed or gossiped during their free minutes, Kaelyn preferred to go down and talk to people of her own social class. She had been born a village girl to a family which by no means had any sound income. Her father worked odd jobs and her mother stayed home taking care of her numerous brothers and sisters. When Kaelyn was 10, her father had decided it was time she contributed to the family income and sent her to work as a maid in the Butcher's household. However, discovering that she was more or less sold in slavery to a strict mistress and a drunken master, she ran away and somehow ended up being found by a gentle old woman who cleaned her, fed her, and took her back to the castle. The old woman, Lady Isolde, had worked in the castle as a nursemaid and subsequently took care of all the young babes in the castle until they reached the age of schooling. It was she who took young Kaelyn under her wing and somehow worked her up the ranks until she was an educated young lady working for the queen herself.

However, no matter how graceful her walk, how poised her posture, and how dainty her speech, she could not help but feel more comfortable with the women who worked hard and got their hands dirty rather than the ladies upstairs who had lived a life of privilege and worked for the queen, not as a source of income, but as a way of bringing power to their families. That is why she was down in the kitchen chatting up a storm with Gretchen, the red haired fireball who would take your words and spit 'em right back at you before you even realized what had happened. Kaelyn was nibbling at her apple and the conversation followed.

"Gretchen, do you think it's true what they are saying?" Kaelyn spoke softly, not particularly wanting to be heard by anyone else who might be listening in.

"What, that there's some kinda rebel rousers movin' out there tryin' tah break the peace? Afer our poor queenie? Nah, cannah be true," said Gretchen, with full confidence in her words.

With some relief Kaelyn replied, "I do hope you are right. I love the Queen ever so much and I pray to the Gods every day for her safety and health. I know sometimes she can be cruel like her father and mother, but I think she goes against her heart to do it. She always has a sad look in her eye, unless she's in the garden which looks absolutely beautiful now! Personally, I think she is one of the most kindest, gentlest women that ever lived."

"Thas cuz yur a good girl there Kaelyn, a fine miss. Yur heart is made o' gold. Yah ought to be gettin' yurself married one o' these days too, mind you."

Kaelyn laughed, "I think not. This kingdom is full of drunken fools and warriors and some of them mixed. I would much rather remain here in the castle for all of my days waiting on Queen Mytorane." She smiled. Not a smile of sarcasm but a smile as if she was truly dreaming about living in the castle for the rest of her life, growing old, and never having a man tell her what to do. No, she wasn't like most women. She didn't dream of getting married and having children but rather of being free to make her own decisions and living a life that was fully hers. Unlike most of the other girls, she hadn't given up her virginity for a bit of fun or a new pearl necklace; she had remained chaste and her thoughts pure. But this was not something she and Gretchen talked about because it was a very touchy subject with the middle-aged cook who had been through some hard times in her life and at one point had to resort to some very despicable things in order to feed herself and her young children.

Finishing her apple, she decided it was probably time to go back up to the Queen's chambers and see if she was needed. Although there were about 20 other girls just waiting around for orders, sometimes the Queen requested a specific person to do a specific job and Kaelyn wanted to make sure she didn't get in trouble for being down in the kitchen again. Young ladies of the court were not supposed to be down in the working area.

"Well, I have to go. It was lovely talking with you, Gretchen. Perhaps I will come around after dinner and I can tell you some of the gossip about the other girls!" Laughing, Kaelyn went out the door and heard Gretchen yell after her, "Oh, get on with you then!"

With a light heart and a skip in her step, the 17 year old girl went up the stairs and followed the complicated hallways to the chamber that held the great Queen Mytorane. While walking, she wondered what sort of happenings were going on right now. There was always something going on, such as a plot against the Queen which turned out not to be true or a new romance between a guard and one of the ladies. Thinking a bit too deeply, she stumbled on the top step and fell down hard on her knees. Picking herself up again, she took her time to brush herself off and make sure her dress wasn't ripped or torn. "Blast it all!"

__________________
LiZi wuz hurr. (Don't you just HATE gangster talk?)

__________________

Mytorane turned to look at the Drail that was her bodyguard. Indeed they were strange, but her father trusted the group, and this man had yet to give her suspect to his motives, though she didn't really know what the motives were to start with.

Another thing that got her going was why it wasn't the same guy that protected her father from the few that where able to get close enough to her father to strike at him. Did the group believe the rumor of murder and have the old Drail guard disciplined?

"I'm sorry to have worried you," she said to him, her voice low and melodic. She then approached the guard and looked at his mask-covered head, "It isn't really anything you could do."

She walked passed him and made her way into her room, inside the castle. She walked up to a vanity that sat by her bed, and looked in the mirror. There her mother stared back at her, her resemblance to the old queen was indeed strong. Only the eyes, hair, and the plain blush along her cheeks differed her from her mother. Mytorane's eyes were sapphires, while Hinu's were closer to rubies. Hinu wore her hair elaborately, often trimmed to remove split ends and in fancy styles, normally up. Mytorane's hair was more simplistic, longer and down unless it was a special occasion. Finally Mytorane's true beauty shined from her face, which was lightly made-up the majority of the time, unlike her vain mother, who was happier with the more artificial look.

She looked back at the Drail, still where he was. She didn't have anything to say, and likely wouldn't for a bit. She finally took a seat on the edge of her bed and looked down at her shoes. She wasn't the pride and joy of her parents, and she knew in her heart that she could never be. Only a matter of time before she destroyed the empire that her father had founded in a seemingly long time, though it wasn't so long ago in the grander scheme of things.

__________________
[br]Feed Me!

Feed it!