Chapter One: The Chosen

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"Your Majesty, I urge you to reconsider this decision," the Prince sat quietly on his father's throne, considering the priest as he rolled a coin back and forth over his fingers pensively. The Priest standing before the Prince referred to him with all the proper titles, tones and inflections. Yet he did not kneel, or even bow after entering, and he made direct eye contact with the soon-to-be King. That alone said all he needed to know about the Priest's intentions. To this man he was merely a child who might serve a purpose, truly they were getting arrogant. His father had denied the Church entry, why did they think he would be any different? They came crawling to him with bribes of gold and jewels, and now they had the audacity to urge that he do anything? It was insufferable.

"You forget your place, priest," the Prince said softly, causing the emissary from the church to lean in closer to hear him. "The Throne of Othea is not beholden to the Holy Order of Idris, I have made my decision and it is final," the King turned his gaze from the priest with all the finality he could muster, focusing on the silver coin he kept dancing across his fingers with ease. It had become a nervous habit of his over the years, something his father had failed to break him of. The priest's jaw clenched and twisted as he tried to contort some excuse to continue speaking, but he surrendered and with a wave of his hands the servants he had brought scurried around him to reclaim the 'gifts' he had brought.

"Very well then, Prince Aral, but I warn you if the church discovers that you have been harboring evokers their will be...consequences," with a deft motion, Aral dropped the coin into his hand, clenching it into a fist as he shifted a withering gaze to the smug priest.

"You have overstayed your welcome," the priesthood truly did not teach their emissaries when to stop talking.

"I-"

"GET...OUT." the Prince clenched the arms of his throne as the priest weighed his options, eventually he realized there was nothing to gain here and bowed. Retreating from the throne room with his servants. Prince Aral waved a retainer over once the priest was gone. "Have the guard follow them, make sure they leave the city without causing problems, and send for Janir," Janir had been his father's adviser, and was helping him prepare for the upcoming coronation which would hopefully be underway in a few hours. That irked him more, the priests had tried to strike before he was even king. Well what could he expect from them, they had been hounding his father for years and they would hound him until he was dead of old age as well. However, now that they were dealt with he had other matters of state that required his attention.

---

A Dank Basement,
The City of Amaryth

Maksim twisted the needle back and forth slowly, he was a master of his craft and he would not let any distractions get between him and his work. Many people thought his needlework was ugly, even though they paid him a great deal of money. Maksim disagreed. He liked to consider himself an artist, and his mother had taught him that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. So naturally, he started with the eyes. The man strapped to the chair screamed and thrashed back and forth, but the filthy gag in his mouth stifled any sounds he tried to make as the 'artist' slowly gouged out his left eye. It was the sign of a true artist that they still enjoyed their work even after so many years, he had done this many times before but the colors of blood spreading across the canvas of his face was never any less...sublime.

"You are...Maksim?" the artist jerked as he was interrupted, the man in the chair thrashed harder as his eye split in two. Maksim sighed, this was the consequence of working with people who did not understand his art. It was impossible for him to concentrate on the canvas when they kept on asking him questions, but alas they were paying him to do something he loved so he did feel somewhat obligated to be polite. If only just.

"Yessss, I am he. What is it you wish, priest?" he said, eyeing the man up and down. Yes, his strong jaw would make quite the canvas indeed. Too bad he might never get to use it, but such was life. His predatory gaze must have unnerved the priest, because he shuffled backwards as he continued.

"Have you...extracted the information from him?" he asked quietly, looking away from the bloody mess. No one appreciated his art work, but he enjoyed it and that must be enough.

"Information?" Maksim asked, confused. He pulled the gag out of the man's mouth, silencing him with a backhanded blow as he let out an agonized scream. "What information does the priest seek?" the man could hardly speak through his sobbing.

"I-I-I'll tell y-you an-n-ything!" Maksim pushed the gag back into his mouth.

"You see? This one knows nothing you want, now if you'll go please I have more to carve away before this sculpture is perfect," he said, turning back and raising a scalpel. The man could only let out horrified moans around the gag.

"You haven't even asked him?!" the priest shouted. Maksim rolled his eyes, knowing that this would be a long night, then pulled the gag back from his mouth.

"This priest wishes you to speak of the evokers in Othea, so speak quickly."

-

The old wagon creaked and moaned as it hurdled over bumps and small pits in the rode. The two horses pulling it along were a bit on the old side, and their pace was commendable yet, not all too fast. The person at the reins was a boy of tall stature. He had a jovial face, and a lax posture. He sat alone on the front bench of the carriage humming a small tune to himself. Looking away from the road to the empty spot beside him he saw his leather satchel. Rifling through it with one hand, he found a small bag inside. Taking it to air and shaking it a bit, he weighed it against the time needed to fill it once again. "Running a bit low on gold..." He murmured with only slight care. He wouldn't need to worry all to soon. When there was enough people around, he could make enough gold to keep traveling, and lucky for him, they were nearing quite a well populated place.

"Hey! Wake up now, we're close!" He called back behind his shoulder, a few seconds of silence and a messy headed girl poked her head from the inside of the carriage. She blinked a few times at the sudden sunlight, adjusting once again to the waking world. "Wow...looks busy." Lucia smiled to her brother. She loved seeing all the new places full of people. The first large city they had found had floored her. She didn't know so many people could even be in one place.

Getting herself a slight bit more presentable, the blond sidled up next to her brother. Smiling excitedly at the oncoming walls of the city. She was wide awake now. She was short of stature and tanned in complexion. Her face was round and her eyes were large. The freckles shadowed her wide grin and lower than that was a dangling ring, strung on thread and tied around her slender neck. This was Lucia V. Valendorffe, an aspiring evoker.

Artemis passed the priest on his way into the throne room, reflexively putting a hand over his chest where his strange pendent lay. Stopping halfway to the throne, he bowed his head and knelt on one knee, muttering "Your Majesty," and waiting for the order to rise. Once it was given, he stood and patted the book under his arm, one of his nervous habits.

"Your Majesty, forgive me for delaying this matter, but I have been preoccupied as of late." He started, then took a deep breath. "My name is Artemis Decarte, a Scholar well versed in many subjects. The previous king, your father, consulted with me from time to time on certain matters." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the priest was gone, "Certain matters the church would, ahem, frown upon." He tugged at his collar, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea after all, but forged ahead anyway.

"I have come today to offer those same services to you, should you desire them. I ask no fee, though your father insisted on paying one anyways, and if desired would keep any subjects spoken of in the strictest of confidentiality." He glanced around the room as he waited for a response, taking in every person there. To his eyes, everybody there gave off a pale white glow, and the prince shone a bit brighter than the rest, though that may have been his imagination.

"Where is the relic?"
A small man in bandits clothing hovered above a sharp spiked rock, looking deathly scared in front of a hooded figure The figure was covered in a cloak that hid his weapons and his form. The only distinct feature that one would remember are his eyes. Many a person has stood transfixed before his glowing eyes, almost like the stars themselves were plucked from the sky to rest in his head. For this, he was called 'Starry Vagabond', the wanderer of the stars. In his hand shone the only clear thing from this man, a long staff covered in cloth, a small orb resting at the top, covered in just as much rags as the vagabond himself. The bandit, on the other hand, was not to be remembered. His fate was in the hands of the vagabond now, and the vagabond was not known to be forgiving.
"Tell me where it is." The vagabond spoke again, his deep voice commanding respect.
"I...i don't know... i don't know no evokers!!" The bandit sutured.
"There have been numerous reports of raids performed with the assistance of a magical object, otherwise known as a 'relic.'" He said with contempt. "Someone in your gang has a relic." The bandit hesitated.
"I know nothing, there are no evokers!" The vagabond sighed. The man would be useless. He reaches to pull off some of the cloth that covered the Sphere, revealing a smoky substance to be inside it. But in the middle there was a shining, memorizing light. The bandits breathing relaxed, transfixed.
"I hope you enjoy the sight," The Vagabond said. "It is your last." The bandits eyes had only a second to widen in surprise before a heavy force of gravity smashed him into the ground, effectively snapping his spine, leaving no evidence. The vagabond re-covered the sphere, turning to walk up the road, remembering it leads to a coronation that would be happening soon. "Perhaps the new king will assist my journey." The vagabond walked of, leaving the corpses of five broken bandits behind him. Not a trace to be seen...

In the bumpy yet comforting forest roads of Othea leading to Amaryth, one would hear the subtle click-clack of wagon wheels on dirt and stone. If one looked closer, out of the forest emerged an ordinary-looking wagon - well, except for a few things. It looked nearly as twice as large as an ordinary wagon. It seemed to buckle under the weight of several heavy pine logs. The four horses condemned to pull the monstrosity did not seem to be especially burdened - rather, they looked healthy and vigorous, akin to their master. The driver certainly looked the part of a savage, complete with bearskin, fierce yet intricate tattoos and a double-bladed axe and shield at his side. Meanwhile, his companion nestled himself - or itself - among their wooden cargo. He looked like he was constructed out of mere vines. This strange creature communicated with his master in grunts, something which the savage understood. "Yes, Morris, indeed. Since there's a coronation today, you can relax among the common folk for awhile." The construct seemed to hoot in approval. Meanwhile, the savage prepared himself for the ever-approaching gate inspection. Before entering the bustling city, he fingered a silver amulet hanging from his neck. No one. No one must ever know that Morris wasn't actually a wandering beast he found and tamed in the wild. No one must know that he was... was what they called an Evoker.

As Lucia and her brother passed a bend in the road, they heard a slapping against the side of their wagon. As they slowed to see what happened, a woman in red practically danced toward the front of their cart.

"Excuse me," She said in a lilting voice, "I was wondering if I could hitch a ride in your cart. I've been walking for days and my legs are worn." She looked imploringly at them, her woven metal bracelet glinting in the sunlight as she shook her wrist. She smiled sweetly at the boy up front. "You wouldn't make me walk all the way to the city, would you?" She adjusted the strap of a small traveling bag to fit more comfortably on her shoulder, still smiling.

The two siblings were in the middle of their usual mindless rabble, when a slapping sound and slight vibration caused them to stop. The brother pulled up gently on the reigns, signalling for the horses to slow even more-so then they already were.

Lucia looked over her side of the vehicle, searching for anything they could have run over or hit. As she did she heard a soft voice coming from her other side. Her brother meanwhile, had found himself captured by a sweet smile. One that was warm and would probably take a hold of him every time he saw it. "Uh, hullo..." He replied to the "excuse me" After hearing the girls plea, he simply blinked for a moment, Lucia had come to lean somewhat over his lap to get a good look at who he was talking to. "Sure...I don't see any problem with it." He smiled a bit awkwardly, and then looked to his sister. "Would you mind sitting in the back?" She gave him a perplexed and somewhat hurt look. She had wanted to see the city with him...

A sigh and pout later Lucia had stood up on the bench, looked to the stranger with some confusion and curiosity, then stowed away in the back. Her chin resting on the back-end of the bench next to her brothers shoulder, and likely soon to be beside the strangers shoulder as well. "Name Oswald...what's yours?" The blond headed boy offered a large hand out to the girl. A hearty smile still on his freckled face. A small "pbbtbt" came from Lucia's lips. This was going to get old for her, real fast.

The girl smiled brighter as she moved out of view. With a short jump and surprising strength for one so slim, she lifted herself into the back next to the girl. "My name is Lillian," She said, propping her head up like her disgruntled companion. "And it's not nice to make a lady ride in the back alone, even if she is your sister," She admonished jokingly.

"What about you?" She asked, turning towards the girl who hadn't introduced herself yet. Her playful smile never left her face.

A lone figure was walking on a narrow, winding path surrounded by grasslands and farms as far as the eye could see. Marcus adjusted the bags on his shoulder with a sigh. His feet were sore after days of walking and he was a starting to get irritated at the gods for making such a vast world. Still, the view was great. After living in a small cabin in the woods near the southern mountains for five years, it felt good to see vast grasslands again. He had tried his best and succeeded to avoid the main roads, since large crowds made him feel uncomfortable. And currently the main roads sure were crowded. No wonder, since it didn't happen that often that a new king was crowned in Othea. As a wry smile crept across his face, Marcus thought back to all the coronation rituals he had witnessed as a child. Twelve... in a span of fifteen years. On two of such days, the the High Saeng had been killed just before he ascended the throne, and on one he was killed by poison in the holy water. It hadn't been a pleasant sight when the High Saeng-to-be fell to the ground, screaming as his skin and hair seemed to wither after the water had been poured over his head as a symbol of unity with the gods. Apparently, the gods didn't really like rulers.

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Marcus noticed that there was a group of people was walking not too far ahead of him. His bow hung on his back, but he wouldn't be able to reach for the arrows. What on earth had he been thinking when he put them in the bag with provisions this morning? Unconsciously, Marcus reached for his lower abdomen. Beneath the piece of cloth strapped around his waist was the reassuring weight of a metal. Sang Min was within reach and with that comforting knowledge he continued to catch up with the group.

As he came closer to them, he noticed that they were arguing about something. "No way that... Do it yaself!" He could see that the group consisted of five men, three woman and two children. His hand moved away from Sang Min and he sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to shed any blood today. "Ya know bloody well.. necessary..." When he was only 5 yards away, one of the younger men noticed him. "Hey and who is this then? Sneaking up to us like tha. Lance, look at tha. He's dressed real odd isn't he, that fellah." Lance... the name seemed oddly familiar. A man as large as a bear turned his head towards them. While he first seemed angry that the younger man had interrupted his conversation, his eyes went wide when he spotted Marcus. "Well blimey... I may be damned if that ain't our very own Recluse!" Before Marcus had a chance to react, Lance had already grabbed him and hugged him tight, squeezing all the air out of Marcus' lungs. "Lance....let..m...no..." But Lance paid him no heed and just continued to smother Marcus while laughing his roaring laugh. When he finally let him go, Marcus was sure he was a few bruises richer. "And wha on Azukhar brings ya so far from ya lil forest?", Lance asked with the thick accent of the southern mountain people. "Ya didn't come all tha way to just to say ya miss me?" Lance laughed loudly at his own joke and Marcus couldn't help but smile, invisible under the cloth covering his mouth. Lance was blacksmith in the village near the forest Marcus lived in. He was always kind to him and after taking a good second look, he noticed that Lance's wife Meriam and his children Bruce and Amy had come as well. "Actually, I'm on my way to the coronation." Marcus said with a soft voice. "Wha coincidence, so are we. Join us!" Lance wouldn't take no and so Marcus found himself continuing his voyage with ten new companions. And so his plan to avoid the main roads died a soundless death...

Prince Aral Otharion V
The Palace

The hall was still bustling with servants and a few clusters of milling nobles when the scholar entered the audience chamber and presented himself before the Prince. Aral looked on in trepidation, he easily recognized the scholar whom his father had employed for very particular, and discreet purposes. The very same purposes the scholar was heavily implying to everyone within earshot. With a wave of his hand, Aral dismissed everyone from the audience chamber. Servants and guards ushered them out politely as the scholar continued. The previous king, your father? he thought, as if he had never noticed his father was busy running a Kingdom. He sighed.

"Your sense of subtlety could use some...improvement, scholar," he said with a frown. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a coronation to prepare for. A matter which you are delaying," he said, standing up and dismissing the scholar for the moment. "For your own safety, I suggest you learn discretion," and with that he retreated through a side door that lead to the palace halls. His footsteps were hurried as he made his way to his chambers, where he imagined Janir would be waiting. That scholar unsettled him, his lingering gaze was not something the Prince wished for. He would have to find a way to employ his services discreetly, or privately. He did not want him working on cohesion with the Constabulary.

Artemis bowed his head silently, accepting the rebuke. He recalled a similar conversation taking place when he had first offered his services to the previous king. Pperhaps if I live to see the next monarch crowned, he thought, I will have learned to choose my moment more wisely.

With the prince gone, he had no reason to remain. He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, making his way back to the main streets of the city. As he turned the last corner onto his street, he immediately knew that something was wrong. The door to his house was ajar, and he could see a faint glow through the second floor window that wasn't cast by a lantern.

To anyone who would be watching the Vagabond walk down the city streets would have noticed he walked with a limp. The orb that usually topped his staff was hidden from plain view. Anyone knowledgeable of relics would know right away that either the staff or the orb were a dangerous power. But with the orb hidden, and the gold covered in tightly bound cloth, the staff merely seemed to be a waling stick. With the Vagabonds limp it required no effort to convince people of such things.
The vagabond carefully weaved through the crowds of people preparing for the Coronation. He was not one for parties, he came here for a very specific reason. If he remembered correctly, the holy order did not take kindly to evokers. Lucky for him, he didn't either. As he approached the Church, he carefully thought out his plan of attack. If the chruch refused to assist him, he would have to take more drastic measures. He had managed to develop discreet connections in the city, and he would not be afraid to use them. But the chruch provided the fanatical devotion that he required for his journey.
The vagabond entered the church, subtly emphasizing his limp before sitting down in one of the pews. He stopped a Church worker who passed by him, standing up slowly to look him in the eye. "I wish for you to bring me the highest available authority on the status of evokers whithen the church. Can you do that?"
He sent the boy on his way, kneeling down to pray.

Oswald watched as his olive branch was acknowledged and yet at the same time, ignored. The girl disappeared once more around the wagon, the only indication she was taking his offer up, was the feeling of slightly more weight being added to the wagon. Lucia watched as the stranger made her way to her side. She smiled at her brother's slightly pink cheeks, and stiffened shoulders.

"Names Lucia. Nice to meetcha!" She smiled at the girl. Maybe she wouldn't bee so annoyed.

Oswald tugged and the horses began trotting once more. The wagon began to creak it's way into to the city, coming closer and closer to assumable calamity and adventure. Lucia looked their new companion over, her eyes resting on the girls bracelet. She wondered how the person who made it did so, it looked very complicated...

"That's a neat piece of metal you have on your arm." Her eyes had a new shine to them, living with only family one would need a hobby. Jewelry was Lucia's.

Kareth of Lendria
Church of the Holy Order of Idris

Kareth of Lendria had arrived in the city almost a week ago. The coronation was big news in the area and it also meant that there would likely be some political change. Whenever there was a change in politics, there were often those who would oppose such changes, violently. That was where Kareth hoped to come in, coming to work for rich noblemen and wealthy royalty seeking to enforce their will upon the world. But the coronation wasn't for some time, and he had plenty of time on his hands. He had taken to sitting in the Church of the Holy Order of Idris. It was a quiet and peaceful place where he could lose himself in thought and memory. So long as he wore his relic under his clothing and didn't show up during services, he didn't have to worry about being harassed by the priests.

A man about his age, walking with a staff and a limp entered. The rhythmic clack of the staff hitting the marble floor and the clinking of chainmail distracted Kareth from his reflections. He took a seat in a pew on the other side of the aisle and asked to see someone about evokers within the city. This put Kareth on edge. On the off chance that he could be identified as an evoker, he could end up in some trouble. All he had to defend himself with was a leather jerkin and a simple shortsword; the rest of his weapons and arms were back at the tavern. If he got up and left now, it could arouse undue suspicion, and for all he knew, the authority on Evokers couldn't identify him at all, and he could be worrying for nothing, so he stayed in his pew, but kept an eye on the wanderer across the aisle.

Business was good today. Bor hewed log after log to sell to woodcarvers, carpenters, wheelwrights, and even the occasional curious commoner. A large throng was ever so slowly attempting to make its way through the square, and so the availability of customers was considerably larger. Aside from the common pine and oak, Bor had a mysterious wood he called Mystra - there was only one small log in his cart, and that was a lot. Morris also seemed to guard the wood fiercely, growling deeply whenever a curious passerby tried to sneak a touch. Mystra was rare in Othea's woods, but near Bor's country house a little bit of it grew. Luckily, he had put up a rather high fence and of course none would dare anger Morris the vineman. The only customers willing to actually pay for Mystra were a few shady types that held gnarled old staffs and purple hoods. They only asked for a little chunk, which Bor more than willingly cut off with his large knife. In return, he got a couple of bags of gold.
Bor had no idea what Mystra did, but he figured it must be something magic and powerful that held absolutely no interest whatsoever to him. However, he did recognize its value and fenced off the area which it grew in his forest. He looked up towards the ever brightening sky. The coronation had to begin soon.

(Double post)

"Nothing here," called a voice from the second floor. "There's no sign of a relic or Evoker tally either."
Within the abode, a handful of Constabulary Guards rummaged though drawers and chests, momentarily examining each item within and casting them aside, apparently unsatisfied with what they had found. They skimmed through the pages of books and unfurled scrolls, looking on with a grim intent. At the center of the hubbub, Captain Itani Ronah directed her men, arms crossed impatiently over her chest.
"Keep looking! The late king sought his council for good reason. I know he has records."

The resident of the home, Artemis Destarte, had been a trusted source of information to the late king; although the subject of his counsel was a secret shared between the two. Faced with pressure from the Church and a rise in relic-related incidents, the Constabulary had issued a warrant to search Artemis's residence for signs of information pertaining to relics, or even traces of relic use by the scholar.

"Captain! The scholar!" One of the Constabulary Guard had peered out the window as Artemis was returning from the palace. Dropping what was in their hands, the troupe of Guardsmen raced to the door, Itani at their head. "Artemis Destarte! By order of the Constabulary, your home is under search by warrant for information pertaining to Evokers and relic usage. We ask your full cooperation with our investigation. This matter is of the utmost importance to the Constabulary and the Othean Throne."

-Whaddafuck I DPed too-

Altim wandered about the market, having already purchased groceries for cooking over the fireplace at home. He had the meat at home, but a basket in his hands contained the vegetables he wanted for the stew. The last thing on his list of necessities was firewood to fuel the flames that would boil his broth and warm him in the cold of night while he turned pages in books about various subjects, some manuscripts collected over the years through deals with scholars and others inherited from his father's collection. His glasses did good for his eyes though, and he soon spotted a cart with wood of all kinds he could purchase.

"Um... sir! How much is that wood there?" Daror rose his voice a bit to get the attention of Borgrund, Altim's finger aimed at the log of Mystra innocently as though he didn't know what it was, which he didn't. It looked different from any other log of wood, but he assumed it was probably just a different type of wood than he was used to.