A Land Divided IC

[Heroshade]

It didn't matter where you were when you heard the news. Whether you were on the borders of Massen, ready to give your life at the drop of a hat to defend your nation, or plowing the fields in preparation for the harvest. The farmers, the miners, the soldiers, the nobles, every man and woman knew what was to come when they learned of Arin Calhouen's death at the hands of Tyren Lane. It meant war. War between the three most powerful houses in all of Massen. One of Dominick's cousins was at the banquet that night. He watched Arin die with the rest of them. Dominick's uncle Jorinth had been there as well. As had his youngest sister and the castellan of Gilead fortress. Almost all of House Calhouen had been there that night to witness the first shot fired in the war against the Lanes and Elecams. All of them except for Dominick Calhouen.

He was at a party in southern Massen when he got the call. It was a penthouse apartment, red lights in the ceiling and an obnoxious techno beat blaring out of the amplifiers mounted to the walls. Dominick was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking and strongly regretting not going to the wedding with his family. The idea of flying a few hundred miles to sit alone in a strangers apartment while everyone else danced was quickly beginning to lose its appeal. Dominick downed his third whiskey and coke while Jesse sat on the couch in the living room, a girl under each arm. Jesse was one of Dominick's men-at-arms, but they had grown up together alongside Arin. He was the third son of a baroness, practically a low-born, but he was as much a brother to Dominick as Arin had been. But on this night, Dominick was content to let his friend alone while he waited for this pointless affection that people called a party to die down.

Dominick was just shoving his way through the too-crowded kitchen to grab another drink. That was when he felt the phone buzzing in his pocket. He couldn't hear himself think in this rabble, let alone carry on a phone conversation, so he pushed his way to the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The roof top of Caen tower presented a magnificent view of the city below. As part of a tradition that could only have been influenced by alcohol, the people of Caen kept their houses lit with several different colors of light rather than the standard white. As a result, a multicolored wave of light shined up from the streets, bathing the tower in its almost-majesty. From up here, Caen didn't look anything like the hovel of thugs and thieves that Dominick knew it was. He dug into his pocket and answered the phone. It was Eliza, one of his father's servants.

"Dominick? Dominick! Your father told me to contact you. He says he needs you home as soon as possible. There's been... something happened tonight. At the princess's wedding."

"Calm down, Eliza," Dominick said, clutching the rails at the edge of the roof. When she said 'the princess's wedding' she really meant 'Tyren Lane's' wedding. There were few fans of the Lane household, and even fewer liked Tyren himself. Dominick wondered if it had been an assassination attempt. "Tell me what happened."

"My lord wishes to tell you himself."

"Eliza."

There was a long pause on the other line, and for a moment Dominick thought she had hung up. Then Eliza said "Your brother. Lord Tyren challenged him to a duel. He lost."

The words his Dominick like a rifle round. Instantly, he felt his chest begin to cave and the world started to quake. Arin and Tyren had never liked each other. It shouldn't have been a surprise that one of them would kill the other. A duel was the likely way to do it, but at the prince's own wedding ceremony? What had Arin done? "Has my uncle returned to Gilead yet?" he asked. Jorinth would surely have brought the body home so Arin could receive a proper burial.

"Lord Jorinth is being held at Crandell keep, my lord." Dominick was instantly sober. You didn't imprison the uncle of a dead duelist. Something else had happened. Something between the Lanes and Calhouens.

"Why!?" he demanded. "What happened at the wedding!?"

The apprehension was clear in Eliza's voice. She obviously wasn't comfortable talking about this. "Arin was wounded, badly. He forfeited the duel, but Tyren killed him anyway. Lord Jorinth attacked him and the king's guard captured him. Most of the soldiers and servants that went to the wedding were released, but all of the nobles are being held there. Lord Roderick has sent a shuttle to get you. It should be there soon."

Dominick let the phone drop from his hands and gazed out over the city of Caen. Arin was dead. Uncle Jorinth was imprisoned. As were Dominick's other relatives who had chosen to attend the wedding. His little sister. His cousin. His father wouldn't stand for it. Had Tyren simply killed Arin in combat or let him bleed to death, that would have been the end of it. There was no law against killing a man in a duel. But Arin had yielded. He had surrendered, and Tyren Lane murdered him. Dominick's father would call the banners by the end of the night, and they would be at war by dawn.

He bolted back into the penthouse and found Jesse right where he had left him; sipping drinks with two gorgeous women. "We're leaving!" Dominick called over the music. Jesse's words were inaudible, but Dominick read the words 'no way in hell' on his lips. He leaned in close to his friend, grabbed hold of his shirt and whispered the words in his ear. Arin is dead. We are going to war. Instantly, he was on his feet an motioning for the other men they had brought with them. All men-at-arms, all like brothers to Dominick. They weren't on the roof for ten minutes when the shuttle thundered over their heads and lined itself up with the guard rails. The doors opened and Dominick climbed into the shuttle's cab. The flight from Caen to Gilead was over four hundred miles, but they were home in an hour and a half. The fortress looked different somehow. Even from the shuttle, Dominick could tell that it seemed a little less alive. The banners of House Calhouen that lined the forts outer wall were all hung at half-mass. The steel drawbridge the connected it with the rest of the city was raised and the flak-cannons along the walls were more heavily manned than usual.

When they landed, Dominick made for the council hall. The servants all said that that's where his father would be. No doubt, he was preparing for a conference with the king to make terms. Several of the countries highest officers would take part as well, all trying desperately to avoid a war that nobody could stop. Dominick had never been to war, but he had seen some of his father's council meetings. They were often tense and heated, and that was for the small issues, between a few of the lords. This would be everyone. This would be the kingdom conferring on how to handle this situation, and Dominick knew exactly how it was going to go. Everyone in Massen did too.

[TheFrontLine]

The morning sun had barely risen over the wintry land when the viscount of House Leroa, Albert Lawson, awoke from his serene slumber. The perpetual snowfall dulled the brilliance of the ascending source of light and warmth, and blanketed the concentrated cityscape of Newurn, save the tar streets and cement sidewalks. An underground network of heated pipes emits a constant supply of steam, created through the evaporation of water from reservoirs, upwards and upon the freezing roads. Simple, rectangular homes, all of which are made from red bricks, line the long avenues. Untouched, the whiteness cakes the frame of blinded windows, while patches of translucent ice occupy the corners. The elegant lampposts seem to be the only outdoor objects not affected by the biting weather.

Albert Lawson peered out the cloudy window adjacent to his wall-flushed, wooden-framed bed. The Leroa Manor matched the design of the civilian homes, but was much larger, and separate from the crowd. It had a magnificent, and strategic, view of a majority of the snow-capped hill upon which Newurn was built. City workers, paid by the house, had begun their daily duties: cleaning the streetlights, and shoveling the light snow from the sidewalks. With a final, and quick, glance at the towering reservoirs, the viscount stumbled out of bed. He quickly put on his warm clothing, and made his way to the dining hall.

The elongated hall had no windows, like many of the rooms in the manor. A glass table supported by black steel legs sat in the center, surrounded by chairs of a similar design. The white walls were adorned with old paintings and beautiful ornaments that had been commissioned by House Leroa throughout its rule. A single plate of food was at the end of the table, where Albert sat. Servants wandered around, doing their jobs keeping the manor in order. Albert took his seat and proceeded to enjoy his simple breakfast.

About half an hour later, Gerald Straley, the High General of House Leroa, entered the dining hall, dressed in many layers of heavy clothing. A cook quickly came over and placed his warm meal in front of him, then rushed back into the kitchen. Albert and Gerald exchanged their usual greetings, then continued to eat.

A few moments later, a man clothed in a dark-green jacket jogged into the room, his boots stomping against the wooden flooring. Albert glanced at the man's tired, panting face.

"You're quite late today," Albert said, returning to his food.

"I-I'm sorry, Viscount, but something has come up. A message has been relayed to us. S-something happened l-last night, and there are r-rumors of a war between House Calhouen and House Lane approaching," the man stammered.

The viscount and general paused mid-bite, and gave an interested look at the nervous telecommunications worker, who looked back in discomfort.

"Well, continue. Surely, you don't expect us to understand the situation with that," Albert urged.

The worker took a deep breath before replying. "A member of House Calhouen was slain by Prince Tyren in a duel, allegedly unjustly. Further fighting ensued between the houses' men-at-arms, and now the situation is tense between the two."

Albert turned to Gerald, and gave him a worried look. Gerald returned with a stern expression, then motioned the worker away. The worker bowed, then quickly paced out of the room.

"What do you make of this, Gerald? If this is true... if there will be war... bah, I just don't know!"

"There is little doubt in my mind, Albert, that there will be war. It is no secret that some members of Calhouen strongly oppose the adoption of Tyren. The duel could be the spark that brings them over the edge."

Albert shook his head in disbelief, but reluctantly accepted the situation at hand. "Then, of course, others will be drawn into the conflict. Our weary people's last worry should be war..."

"You're right, it should; but, will it? This is a war between the most powerful on Massen. Many support Calhouen, and many don't. The masses will join both sides in droves. We must prepare."

"No, we'll wait. We'll wait for the king to call a conference of the houses, then we shall decide whether we should put our people on the front lines. Until then, no word of armament to anybody."

The two quickly ended their conversation as the rest of House Lorea entered the dining hall, putting up smiles to hide their stress.

[Leather Wytch]

The music was old, ancient almost, undiscovered in its own time. The sounds of distorted steel strings and drums mimicking medieval fanfare. It was a like an orchestra of heavy winds underpinned by the militant roll of drums. This low, ominous music filled a large white and silver room with full window across one wall looking out on the sprawling metropolis below. In the center of the room was a round digital display table, currently displaying a map of Massen. At the far wall from the window was an elaborate computer terminal with three monitors. Anastasia Atlantic sat there furiously typing while different reports were displayed on either side of her.

Vera Atlantic, the Duke's wife and Anastasia's mother, entered the room without ceremony. She was a stately woman, dressed in regal finery. Her long blond har curled and loose.

"Darling, isn't it a bit early to be turning your study into a war room?"

"War is on the horizon, Mother. The Arch Duke saw to that. We have to be prepared." Anastasia continued typing as she spoke.

Vera examined the map display, before looking back to her daughter. "Still the royalist, I see."

At that, Anastasia stopped typing and turned to face her mother for the first time since she'd come in. "Lord Ender's niece was at Crandall Keep. Arin provoked the Prince before the duel and the Calhouen's opened fire immediately after. They are making a play for the crown, Mother. We should not let our guard down around them."

"Nor should we let it down around the Elecams or the Lanes, my dear." Vera insisted. "We have strong enough enfluences with each side of this disaster that we may be able to help mend it before a war breaks out. But to do so we must remain unbiased."

"I trust that you have our families best interest at heart, but not everyone can see that when you speak so harshly of the Calhouens. Just be cautious. And be sure to speak with your father, today. He'll want to check in on you and your brothers with all that's going on."

On that note, Vera walked out of her daughter's study.

[Zesty]

The Count Giles

Inside the great hall of the Warder manor a large crowd was beginning to disperse. The evening had been filled with conversations recalling somber times of the old Count and now there was a silence settling on the place. The people had lingered long; they loved their Count and were reluctant to send him off. The funeral orchestra had left too, though only at the request of the Giles. He now stood looking up to the projected image of his father alone in the large chamber. The responsibility of leading the funeral customarily fell to the eldest son and with the preparations the funeral had required, along with the news from the capitol this was among the few times he had to himself. I have already mourned you father. We all have.

He stood there for a while looking at the short holoclip that was being projected in front of him. He guessed it had been taken decades ago, perhaps a few months after his own birth. The count was staring straight ahead at the camera, a full smile on his face, until his wife came to join him holding a baby Giles in her hands. Giles watched the loop run a few more times then switched off the image and walked over to his father’s casket. Age and sickness had ravaged the young man pictured in the holoclip but he did not look unkindly. The coffin had been erected upright so that the body could be seen by everyone in the hall. Giles always thought that the tradition was a little unnerving, but the count had passed peacefully and the servants had given him such a peaceful look. He reached his hand up to touch the glass but held it short. You were the balance that held our lands together and without you the land burns.

“Ho there, my lord!” A loud voice boomed across the halls. Giles turned to see Gerard Kesler walking swiftly up the aisle. “We have an urgent message from the King’s Court. I would not have interrupted but…” He handed him the note.

“The King is calling his bannermen.” He studied the rest of the message. “It looks like there will be war.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of rallying your levies. We’ll be able to move within the day.”

Giles nodded “Thank you Gerard. I won’t commit my men to a war without first knowing the circumstances of this duel.” He grimaced at the thought. ”Have your men kept at the ready but no more. I’ll call a staff meeting this evening where we can discuss any battle preparations.”

“One other thing, my lord...” Gerard hesitated a moment. “My brother wishes to speak with you.”

Giles exhaled slowly. “I should have known. Can you put him off until the meeting? I must join my lady in the Dining hall and send my father off the manner he wished.”

“I’ll do my best my lord, but you know how he tends to act when put off. I'd rather not have him talking to the rest of the noblemen before he knows the truth of this thing.” A smirk crept on to his face. “Though I would wager that is not nearly as bad as what my sister is capable of when put off."

Giles grinned but there was no humor in his eyes. “Too true Gerard. Though I think that with these recent developments she will understand. I’ll talk to Wesley and after that I’d like a word with you about all this. Please tell your sister that I will be delayed.”
He started down the aisle but stopped and without turning said “And tell her that I’m sorry.” With that, he stalked off, leaving Gerard alone with the Old Count.

The Lady Serah

The dining hall had been renovated heavily in the past few days. Black flags with the Heron had been hung in the old counts honor and black tablecloths had replaced the customary blue. The lighting fixtures had been programmed to cast dimmer lights on the tables and a new stage for the Counts favorite orchestra had been erected with an adjoining dance floor only just a few hours ago. The place had been packed with hundreds of Patrons dancing, eating and mingling after the formal funeral processions had taken place. One of the Old Counts last wishes had been to hold a feast open to the public in his honor. While a feast was prepared it was being held outside the family stronghold and to a much lesser degree that the amount of extravagance here.

The dining tables were set up in rows extending the length of the hall. Lady Serah and Count Giles place had been at the head of the row on a slightly elevated platform. She sat now with an empty chair to her right half listening to a chatty governess sitting across from her.

“I really do hope that the governor is enjoying himself. He’s been in a rage ever since he’s gotten word that the Jerto Corporation is demolishing his favorite old theatre for a new shopping mall and the news of the Old Counts death has been very taxing on him.” Excited, giddy laughter erupted from a portly man sitting a few seats away on the Count’s side. The governess shook her head, “Very taxing…”

Serah smiled politely and said “The Count wished for us to send him off in our own individual way. If he thinks that the spirits he consumes will speed the count on his way,” she took a quick sip of her wine “I hope he is right.”

The governess looked as though that were not the response she was expecting and seemed to relax a little after Serah set her cup down. “How are you holding up?” She glanced quickly at the empty chair next to her. “A son losing his father is a hard thing,” She looked back at her “For everyone.”

Serah suppressed the urge to glare the woman down though she had pierced the heart of it. Giles had been distant lately. Understandable given the circumstances, running a house had its own set of commitments and responsibilities but that wasn’t all. She sensed that there was something else there nagging at him but she couldn’t tell what. “I am as well as I can be, the children too. They loved their grandfather but at least they still have their father.” She paused for a moment when the portly man begun to laugh loudly again. “Giles is a strong man. Losing a father is indeed a hard thing but he has been handling it well.”

“Hmm. That is very good to hear.” The governess nodded but her attention had shifted back to the governor and his wine.
Serah disengaged from the conversation and glanced again at the entrance as another group of patrons filed into the dining hall. She saw her brother walking swiftly to where she was sitting. She looked at the empty chair beside her. Perhaps the governor has it right she thought and took another long sip of her wine.

[riprofsuls]

"Brother," Edward called to Aleck in a formal tone. "I bring some rather disturbing news. The houses supporting the king and those of the Arch-duke may begin a civil war, the Arch-duke's son was killed in a duel after apperently having surrendered by the prince."

"Ah," Aleck breathed, not all that bothered. "Petty squabling, if it were not that the fist of our might is that of the empire I would direct it inward and settle this matter for them, as it were if it is war they want it is not our concern."

"Are we not to support our king?" Edward asked.

"We do not answer to the king," Aleck replied standing from behind his desk where there was much paperwork to be finished. His office was in an outlook dug into one of the sheer mountains overlooking the valley that gave the greatest visible range to all Wydred land. His hands motion for his brother to come closer and look out of the window, which was really the entire wall. "The force contained here, all these soldiers, the officer academies, and the industrial zones produce what is known as the iron fist of the empire. Imagine the empire to be a man, would he turn his strongest fist, even then any fist, towards himself? We are not loyal to a king, we do not fight for him and we do not bow for him. When in his presence I have the right to not take to a knee, I may look at the king standing and straight to his eyes for he and I both know that my armies are not his. My armies are the empires, if it wishes to spread, we shall spread it, if it wishes to repel, we shall stand ground and drive whomever disputes with us back into their lands. However, if the king cannot control his subjects, if another pretender rises and wishes to take his spot from among them, we cannot interfere.

"It is among the many laws of the Wydreds, remember that brother. No blade forged or held by a man or woman of any age born or raised in the lands of Wydred may ever be turned to his brother or sister citizen."

"What then of those who defect?" Edward pointed out. "Do they remain of the empire?"

"For those who seperate themselves we must become the surgeons," Aleck responded. "We either bring them to reattatch gently or we 'pursuade' them to do so. The king is surely to call for his bannermen, I want you in his court. But remember brother, your word, even at your age, carries tremendous weight. Do not speak, do not influence anything, or even I will be forced to flog the flesh from your back. By law I cannot leave the valley until I have sired an heir so take half my honor guard with you...and brother, return to me safely."

"Yes brother," Edward nodded. His big brother, the burley commander, a fierce individual to all showed only brief moments of affection and even then only to the very few he trusted with his life.

Within two hours Edward found himself inside the transport "Maelstrom", the commander's personal transport vehicle with recently dismounted cannons and polished armor. Most high born would never be caught dead inside such a robust and daunting looking tank, however the Wydred's valued praticality above luxury, as there are no actual roads anywhere near the Wydred valley the transport tank's all terrain system was a necessity. With him were fifty men, all seated in the troop transport seating in the cargo section, all trained to the utmost and proven thoroughly as adequate to protect their lords.

Aleck watched from his office as the "Mealstrom" entered the cavern that lead to the outside. He wondered if he should infact start looking for a wife, maybe his brother would find him one, the rascal was good with words. His father had died the year he was to help him find a mate as tradition dictated, normally the duty would befall to the uncle should the father be indisposed, then to the mother, and if not even that, a sibling. The heir and commander had no time to spare to do the searching except when tradition dictated, so by logical selection it was literally up to his brother to find him a wife. Aleck snorted, lips spreading in an amused grin.

[Heroshade]

The council hall was a simple, square room with several chairs lined up along the back wall and an upraised platform on the other side. More than a dozen screens were mounted on the wall nearest the platform, all blank save for the one in the center. It bore the image of Elecam's coat-of-arms, the falcon holding the rabbit. Below the sigil there was a line of text that read "connecting... please wait." Dominick was nervous, and his father must have sensed it. "Stay quiet," he said calmly. "And look strong. Show them we won't be shaken by the prince's ego." Dominick nodded to his father and tried to make his face impassive. There was rage there though. That wasn't something he'd be able to contain. Uncle Drexel touched a hand to Dominick's back and gave him a reassuring nod. He was as apprehensive as Dominick, though he was probably more afraid of letting anger get the best of him. They were in a delicate situation now. One wrong step, and things were going to get very brutal very quick.

Suddenly, the image on the screen changed to that of Edwin Elecam. He was short, strong shouldered man with salt and peppered hair that ran down past his shoulders. He didn't wear a crown, but Dominick could make out the faint glimmer of a silver circlet glinting out from behind his hair. "Roderick," he said, his voice toneless. "I wish we were speaking under better circumstances."

"Wherever Arin is, I'm sure he wishes the same," Dominick's father spat.

The king sighed and then pushed away an adviser who had swooped in from off screen and started whispering something in his ear. "I know why you've contacted me, Roderick. This disaster has been hard on everyone. I'm sorry about your son. I truly am."

"I believe you, Edwin." Even now, on the brink of war, the Arch-Duke's and the king's friendship was apparent. They had been raised together. Roderick had been sent to Crendall keep as a ward in his youth, and the two had forged a fast brotherhood, one that was about to be broken. "I believe you're sorry, and I believe you know what I'm about to ask. I want you to release the members of my family that you've taken prisoner. I want you to send me my son's body so he can be buried in our ancestral tomb. I want my brother acquitted of the treason charges against him. And I want Tyren Lane." Roderick bit off each word, barely containing the anger brought on by the man's name.

"I will send you your son's body. The prisoners must be thoroughly questioned before they can be released, but I assure you, Roderick, I will see them released with all due haste. But I won't hand over Tyren. He is my son-in-law."

"He's a murderer," Roared the Arch-Duke. I've seen the video-feed, Edwin. Your son executed Arin in cold blood. Further, Arin was drunk. It was not a proper duel. "

The king's eyes flashed dangerously, but only for a second. He regained his calm and spoke slowly, chewing on every word as if deciding how he should articulate what he was about to say. "Your son accused Tyren of treason. He accepted the terms to the duel. I acknowledge what Tyren did was wrong, monstrous even, but he is still my son. Would you hand over Dominick if he was accused of-"

"My son is not Tyren Lane! Your prince is a lawbreaker, and if you don't give me the justice I demand, I will take it myself. Tyren Lane has committed an atrocity against my family, and I will see his punishment served whether you allow it or not."

The king's shoulders slumped. It was apparent that he now knew war was unavoidable. If he handed Tyren over, he would be willingly dooming his son. He would be as good as a kinslayer. His family's honor would be in ruins. "Roderick, I've known you since I was eleven years old. Don't make me call the banners against you." Both parties were silent for a long, long moment before the king finally spoke again. "So be it. I'm sorry for this. If you move against me or against House Lane, it will be considered a declaration of war. Your family will be stripped of all titles and holdings, and all legitimate houses will be given free reign over how to divide them among each other."

"Then you question the 'legitimacy' of over half the kingdom. Don't think we will be so easily trampled, Edwin. If you don't give me the Lane boy, you will find yourself in a war that could tear this nation apart. All you have to do is give me the boy." The king said nothing. "Then god help you. Show me my brother. Show me that Jorinth still lives."

Edwin nodded, and before the line between the two houses cut out, he uttered on final line. "The fate of our kingdom hinges on your actions, Calhouen. I urge you, don't do anything rash."

"This was avoidable," Roderick said, but the king's image disappeared before he completed the sentence. He was replaced with Jorinth Calhouen, laying in a bed with a breathing apparatus over his face. He was asleep, wheezing heavily as one of his lungs had been punctured. The bandages over his chest were crusted black with his blood. The image stayed on the screen for thirty seconds and then cut out.

"Call the banners," Roderick said in a low voice. Then he turned towards his son. "Dominick. Take your levies and march for Wydred lands. We'll need them on our side, and I'd prefer we meet them in person. I will contact the Leroa's and the Atlantics. Our bannermen shouldn't need much convincing, but I'm not sure about those two. I want them on our side. Regardless of how your meeting with the Wydred's goes, I want you to move on Empress Peak shortly afterward. Three of the king's daughters are there. If we can perhaps convince him to make a trade, we might have Tyren without too much bloodshed. I will move two regiments into position around the city to aid you when you arrive."

"And the Lanes?" Dominick asked. Empress Peak was an ancient city, one that was dominated by the Lane's influence.

"No mercy for criminals," he answered, and his words were clear; if you meet someone of House Lane, kill them.

"What will you do?"

"Meet with the bannermen. Arrange our plan of attack. I want to end this before the entire kingdom gets drawn in, but even if Edwin trades Tyren for his daughters' safety, he still might wage war upon us. We have to be prepared for anything at this point. Gather your men, Dominick. It's time to go."

[ComiTurtle]

Contained in the octagonal tower room was the palpable aroma of ancient leather bound books and paper scriptures, which Fulzan was commonly drawn to. He enjoyed the texture and crispness of each and every page and would commonly end each day with reading from them. Though this is not to say that he didn’t still find interest in the modern internet world as nestled in the corner 90 degrees from his room’s entrance was his desk which was adorned with a multitude of pens and paper as well as two monitors hooked into his computer. Fulzan’s room while large felt congested and swollen to some of his family and he wasn’t the most visited maybe partially for that reason. Light poured in through the four windows at exactly the perfect angle to illuminate the center of the room.

Blissfully unaware of the events that had transpired at Tyren Lane’s wedding he kept up with his schedule of teaching one of his youngest cousins, Garrett, the basics of chess and at some times teaching him how to read and write, as that was his weakness his kindness towards children. Fulzan was empathetically expressing a surprise at a move Garret has caused when the door of his room slammed open. The sound resonated and slammed Fulzan into a transient stupor once he regained his stupor he stared at the door to see his best friend, Armand Altrosa, a distant cousin. Normally this would be a joyful surprise, but Fulzan could tell this wasn’t a joyous moment.

Fulzan ushered Garrett out of the room quickly and told him to stay outside for awhile.
“What is it Armand?” Fulzan inquisitively asked. Armand was a gentleman above all else and was commonly well kept and proper in voice and appearance but he was panting and disheveled at this moment.
“A bloodbath has taken place at Tyren Lane’s wedding.” Armand coughed.
It took Fulzan a couple of moments to process this information, “What!?”
“A duel was started between Tyren and Arin. Arin was killed after his forfeit and then the dominos fell and the Calhouens were shot. War has approached Massen.” spoke Armand.
A grin slowly cut across Fulzan’s face; “Well some excitement has begun.”
“Your father wants your siblings and you to meet and discuss these events very soon.”
“I shall.” he responded.
Armand left the room and Fulzan quickly confirmed all of the information he could on the Internet. Fulzan informed Garrett that study session was over for today and placed him upon his shoulders as he ran down the stairs and into the main structure of his family’s home. He removed Garrett from his shoulders to be enamoured with his own devices and then found his way to his sister’s room. He knocked in a 4-note pattern.
“Anastasia, open up we have much to discuss.”

[Zesty]

The General Gerard

Lady Serah had not been pleased to receive his message. He could still see her face in his mind, her jaw set and lips pursed. And her eyes, Gods the Eyes. He shuddered visibly and quickened his pace. The staff meeting had been called and the exact details of the duel had been disclosed then and there. The Counts advisors were all in agreement; The Prince had committed murder and insulted the Archdukes family with the pretense of a fair fight. But what the archduke asked for was too much. No man should be asked to give up his heir.

He arrived at an imposing plasteel reinforced door at the end of the hallway. The door slid open for him, after a quick scan, and he stepped through. Once inside he stopped for a moment to admire the buzz of activity that unfolded before him. Men and women, dressed in the black and blue livery of the Warder House, were busy tending to massive aircraft that lined an enourmous room. He had just entered the pride of the Warder house; one of their many Launching Bays scattered throughout their holdings. This particular hangar had been constructed into an existing cavern that both let out into the sky as well as the ocean. That allowed the city to launch both ships and aircraft simultaneously in the event of an attack. The launching area itself was abuzz with activity ever since that morning when the message had come through from the king. The Warder house usually had a standing defense force kept at all times but the amount of equipment and manpower that was assembled now was easily ten times their usual garrison.

Gerard smiled at the sight of his army. It had been ages since he was put in charge of a force this large. “Merl!” He started forward into the tangled traffic lanes of ammo crates and repair equipment, disrupting them as he passed. “Where the in the hell is Merl!? I’ve got a war to run and my deck chief is MIA!”

“I’m here sir.” The calm reply came from a scarred lump of a man who was pouring over a set of diagrams.

“Splendid! Where is my ship?” Merl waved his meaty arm in the direction of a tarp covered craft a dozen meters away from the water. “I expect all of the repairs from its previous encounter have been taken care of as well?”

“Yes sir.” Merl kept studying his screen. “The damage was mostly superficial, except for the engines. Those were completely shot once you hit the water. I’ve added a few modifications that should help if you decide to have another encounter with the surf.”

“I’ll have you know that the surf came out of nowhere. And had the crew been doing their job properly we would have never had to push the old gal that hard.” Gerard had already started walking towards his ship. He beckoned for Merl to follow. “How many ships are ready to fly now?”

Merl followed after one last reluctant look at his screen. “We have fifteen airworthy Hulks and a compliment of fighters ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Only ffteen! That’s only a fraction of our garrison!” Gerard shook his head somberly. “When I return we will need to discuss this oversight. But for now, we’ve received word that an envoy from Calhouen is trying to link up with the Wydred House. We can’t let that happen.”

“The most direct route from the Calhouen lands to Wydred is directly through ours, sir. He will undoubtedly have brought force enough for safe passage.” Merl spoke with no expression. “Should I ask for volunteers?”

“No. We have little enough ready to meet him at the moment. This is an order, Merl. We have been blessed with peaceful times under the Count. Now that there is war…” He stopped in front of his ship and turned to Merl “We will all need to make sacrifices.”

((There is a description of Gerards ship and the Hulks in the OOC if anyone is interested ))

[Heroshade]

Though only six hours had passed since Dominick's dreadful conversation with Eliza, it seemed as if a month had gone by. Five hundred proud men-at-arms had marched valiantly aboard the Amethyst Bride, amidst waving banners and the cheering townsfolk of Gilead. Arin had been dead less than a day, and the people were already eager to tear their own country apart. He was never a scholarly child, nor strong, nor rational, but he was a man of men. Where Dominick flew all over Massen accompanying lords' daughters to immaculate banquets, Arin would find the greasiest bar in whatever city he was in, buy everyone a drink, and immediately start making friends. The people of Gilead were, most decidedly, consumed with war fervor.

And when all five hundred of those soldiers were in place within the Bride's massive hull, when the engines started, and when "The Incursion of Nine Houses" started blaring over the ships intercom, Dominick was... asleep. He didn't lead his men onto the ship, didn't hold an inspiring speech, didn't even greet the crew. Once his avatar was loaded into the ships hanger, he found his stateroom and promptly passed out on the bed. His visions were like a fever dream, just one short moment, played through in his head over and over and over again. Just when it seemed like a thousand thousand eternities had passed in his sleep, Dominick awoke. The only sound in his quarters was the dull hum of the ships engines as they carried her ever further towards the lands of House Wydred.

This trip had potential to be a deadly one. There was more than one way to get to the Wydred, but the quickest was through Warder territory. The late Tiylar Warder's friendship with the king was longstanding and well known, and his son wasn't likely much different. If there was any sense in that family at all, they would guess that the king would NOT give up his heir, that the Calhouens WOULD go to war with him for it, and that every war instigator's best friend was House Wydred. The Amethyst Bride was accompanied by the carrier Dauntless, five destroyers, ten frigates and an armada of fighters and gunships. That little flotilla paled in comparison to what Warder was able to bring to the table. In times of war, it was the Warders who provided the backbone of Massen's aerial forces, in the same way that it was the Wydred's who provided the strongest feet on the ground. If Giles Warder wanted Dominick blown clear out of the sky, it was going to happen. All he could hope was that a state of war hadn't yet been declared within the kingdom. That wasn't to say the Warders might not annihilate Dominick's fleet anyway, but firing the first shot of a civil war was never anything a house wanted staining their reputation.

Dominick stood from his bed, dressed in an informal tunic bearing the sigil of House Calhouen, and stepped out of his stateroom. He began making his way to the bridge, to ask the captain if they had yet to breach the Warder's lands. The answer came to him as soon as he stepped out onto the main deck. Before him lay a vast expanse of plains, pale mountains growing on the horizon, and the armada of House Warder hovering above them. They were approaching the border. Dominick quickened his pace and continued towards the bridge. He expected he'd be receiving a call from the Warders soon.

[Leather Wytch]

Much of the family of Duke Morin Atlantic and many of their retainers dwelt in the vast fortified estate of Kelundra Keep in Kelunt. A towering cathedral of concrete and steel, surrounded by many lesser estates and military compounds. And all of those impressive buildings surrounded by the city itself.

The window in Anastasia's room looked out to the west, where "the Hills" could be seen in the distance beyond the city of Kelunt. "The Hills" being the common local nickname for the stretch of the Arcadian Mountain Range that bordered the city to the north and west.

Anastasia's room had dark metal lockers beside wooden chests of drawers. The furnishings were all darkly colored, if not solidly black, to contrast the white and silver walls. Beside the desk where Anastasia sat there was another doorway. But with velvet curtains baring the Sigil of House Atlantic instead of a door, hiding her bedroom from view.

Grim, ominous tones still played softly in the background. That militant drumbeat still driving them on, like a furious march of unyeilding soldiers traveling on foot through decrepit villages in the dead of winter. Notes which some might find fearsome or despondent or perhaps just too serious. Yet they were combined in intricate layers, each building toward it's ultimate crescendo.

And then the knock came. Fulzan's knock. But one of Anastasia's monitors switched to a video feed from just outside of her door. A touch of a few keys, and the video feed went back to text while the door opened on it's own.

As the door opened, the first daughter of Morin Atlantic did not turn, rise nor gesture slightly to what she knew was her little brother entering the room. She kept on typing a message which was nearly completed. She was sending orders to the soldiers and border guards in her Houses lands.

Anastasia was on a first name basis with many of the Houses Commanders and elite soldiers, having undergone advanced military training with her brother, Kyril. Her entire morning had, thus far, consisted of checking in with many of them and having them increase relevant patrols. She had also sent out messages to those Commanders loyal to her that anything even remotely suspicious should be brought directly to her attention with due haste.

When Fulzan entered, he would likely notice that the three dimensional map of Massen displayed upon the center table had every House's territory marked with four things. The first two being the House's sigil along with a sigil of either the Elecams or the Calhouens. While the third and fourth were visual depictions of the said House's military and economic resources, respectively.

As the current message was finished, and the send command selected, Anastasia finally did turn to face her brother. The. message records on screen behind her faded into a display her family's sigil. She looked at Fulzan with a bit of curiosity. Perhaps his wild side would come in handy in what would surely be the troubles to come.

She rose from her seat now as well, and spoke. "I take it you've heard about what the Calhouens did at Tyren Lane's wedding?"