Of Crownless Kings: Chapter One of Act One
67th of Zieliah, Year 698


“Ye ol city of Splendors, gleaming towers of white gold,
kissed by the sun as it similes upon ye from skies above,
sit here the prodigy of the phoenix, adorned in silks of silver,
look now beyond your walls and know, all that you see you rule,
from east to west, south and north united are the children of the skies.
Gathered under wings on high, shall they and all their kin prosper.”
-Verse 123 of 'The Book of Holies'

The sun gleamed down upon the marble white walls and buildings, washing them in its forgiving light. The rays of light seemed to glisten upon the city of the Phoenix in such a way as to cause it to appear as if molded from white gold. High spires of snow white were casting long shadows under the risen sun, though none were so majestic as the Great High Tower of the Phoenix, built from the Palace of the same name. That great structure of stunning beauty could be seen clearly even from miles beyond the city. Banners of all colors with the most spectacular designs adorned these great and lofty structures, rising high into the heavens as if to touch the gods who the people of this great city worshipped reverently. The mighty battlements and guard towers were as much a work of art as the rest of the city, revealing the tilrinics love for architecture given a poets touch. They stood sentinel against the world, as if in open challenge to all, daring them to assault its formidable defences. Three such rings of fortifications did circle inward toward the seat of power.

Still the houses within surely did not disappoint, as much sculptures of artwork as they were structures of necessity. Statues lined every other street, the rare fountain strategically placed with gardens of roses and other sweet smelling flowers. Banners lined the streets as long steamers, the streets themselves meticulously clean cobblestones, continuously tended to by dung farmers. Today however was a day like few others in the city of Skyhaven, for the recent call for the Summit had been given, and it must be answered.

Already the first of the great High Houses were arriving at the city gates, proudly displaying the sigils of their mighty holds. There was erudite House Sovanid of Noctua, keepers of knowledge and masters of coin, few were the houses that could match them in either regard. As protectors of The Passage, the only true way past the mountain range known by all and called the 'Wall of Elyden,' they had used their position shrewdly. Gathering riches and everything worth knowing, and even many things possibly less worthy of remembrance. They held Laiskas Medjan, easily Elydens largest library, and some might boast greatest in all the world, for what great works and poetry had the people of the savage Black Continent of the far east to contemplate?

In the wake of House Sovanid there was ever famed House Benedikt, most pious followers of the Sacred flame in all of Elyden. Indeed, no one else could esteem to hold as much favour with the Sun God. Boasted widely as the most favoured children of Valarien, they easily held the greatest of relations with the ruling House Paragon. However, while the sight of their banners sparked many a peasant to bow in respect, it was the strange robed men who caught the attention of many onlookers as they entered the city. Their desert robes swaying with the wind in tandem with the banners on high, House Ashtokens guard cut a most imposing visage with their alien ash coloured flesh. At the head of the small party was undoubtedly the Spear of the Ashtoken, and no guard dared to ask him to surrender the weapon, even as their entourage eventually entered the inner city. After all, many commonly believed the weapons of the High Houses, the Makitherin forged tools, were cursed in some fashion or another.

The Odeshians that followed were the only ones given an even wider berth, for while many of their people were accustomed to being seen in the capital, their elephants were not. The ground shook with small tremors when the Whiteshorns arrived with their mighty elephants, the pride and joy of their province. Many were the onlookers who gasped and pointed at the strange sight of such great beast. Burdened with all manner of gear and gifts, or so the common folk whispered in delight as they guessed the contents.

Then there was the horselords of the great and Endless Plains, High House Khyriin, and while the great elephants had inspired wonder and fear, the majestic horses of the Khyriin inspired only awe, for no other steed in all of Aglil could compare to even the weakest of horses of the Endless Plains. Indeed they were unmatched by any of the other High Houses. Still more Houses followed, each a new wonder in and of itself, there was House Whitemane and their impressive war hounds, the swordmasters of House Ashwill, and still more.

Their entrance into the city was not unmarked of course, the moment the first of the High House delegates had been spotted, Dawnbringer Shamgar was made aware. The preparations were well underway of course, all that remained was the coming of the Head of each House or their respective representatives. They had all come as Shamgar had hoped they would. But of course they did, they had to, the well-being of the realm had very well depended on it. Quick action was needed if disaster was to be diverted. There was the loss of the crown for one, it's retrieval had to remain the Greater Realms top priority. Then of course there was his upstart of a son, the fool boy had decided the worst time to play king. With a sigh he watched from his high story window from the Phoenix Tower as the Houses streamed in one after the next. Shamgar of course could scarcely see much of anything from so far away even given his near birds eye view.

He turned from the window and fixed the hem of his robe before retrieving his staff of office. A beautifully crafted peace of oak wood topped off by a sizable ruby. Scholars and mages alike believed that the precious stones of the earth held some fragments of power unique to each, and thus they often contributed to the power of spells both divine and arcane. Shamgar was not sure if he agreed or not, but the rod alone was a powerful symbol of his office, which was power enough for his needs. Making his way down the winding passages of the spiral like tower staircase gave Shamgar time to think. In the foreground of such thoughts was of course the disappearance of the Crown of Fire. Well more to the point its theft, but who could be responsible for such a crime? Surely someone who stood to gain, thus the primary suspect would be Ealstain of course. Yet, Shamgar had doubts about that, he knew Ealstain well, and he was not the short to resort to thievery. One of the other Houses perhaps? But what would they gain from an extended midwinter? Perhaps they might use it as a bargaining chip, but they would have to know that would not end well for anyone.

By the time he reached the main floor leading to the Phoenix Palace, he had come no closer to unravelling the mystery. He dismissed it for now, he had a delegation of High Houses to address. The main chamber that marked the entry into the Phoenix Palace was a majestic and quite large almost circular room that exited directly into the main hall. The great double doors of hard wood that lead into the chamber were adorned in bronze, trimmed with gold and silver in such a fashion as to enhance the image of a Phoenix with its wings spread in flight that was well sculpted into the gateway. The audience chamber itself held its own ornamentation in the form of motifs of birds, majestic unicorns, with wall paintings of dragons being cast down by the great heroes of yore. The Phoenix kings and queens of old had gone through great pains to remind the other houses of their wealth and power, but just as much, to reveal the great heroism of their patron for forefathers. A method of revealing the gratitude of these ancient heroes and the loyalty of their scions.

This chamber lead into small corridors of reasonable beauty, but the main hall leading directly from the portal entryway was the larger of them all, and truly the most decorated. Wall murals leading down the entire hall told story after story of the great events and heroics during the time of the Wyrm Wars. Each Houses hero depicted with stunning clarity in battle with the hated beast of sky, fire, and frost. Shamgar had chosen the main audience chamber purposely as the place to first address the esteemed guest of the capital. For some this would be their first time in the city of Skyhaven, or at least within the walls of the Royal Palace of the Phoenix. There dressed in his long silver white robes, with tongues of flames fashioned intricately through the fabric, Shamgar waited as each of the first houses to arrive filed in. Grey eyes of startling focus observed each new entry. Hands resting on his ruby scepter, he waited until the last arrived before clearing his throat.

“I am Shamgar Paragon, First Dawnbringer of the Temple of FlameKeep, Viceisien newly named by Kammeth our beloved lord. I welcome you warmly to the Throne of the Phoenix and the City of Skyhaven. I thank you all for your timely arrival in these uncertain times. As you well know, the day after tomorrow will be the naming coronation of our new High King and Protector of the Greater Realm. Thus this summit has been called to name the New Regent Lord and to select who among you or your house shall serve in the inner Council of the Realm. As you are no doubt wary from your long journey and yet others have yet to arrive, you will be shown to your rooms as our honoured guest, and your needs seen to however small. You maybe even walk the palace grounds if you wish, though we ask you not wander to far into the city.” He then gave a slight bow. “With that I now leave you to the care of our servants, you may surrender any mortal weapons to our guard, for you will have no need of them here. The summit will officially begin tomorrow two full turns of the glass and a candlemark more after dawn.”

James thought while riding to the capital with some 50 guards. His most elite band earned them the name Shark Teeth for there strength and power. He knew that this meeting will be interesting. He'd be able to talk with his in laws and see how there affairs are going. While he more then likely won't become Lord Regent he was almost positive to keep his title as admiral. He did however have some plans he wished to discuss with the Dawnbringer. After a 2 hours he arrived and while at first the royal landers looked at him and his men with distaste they still were intrigued. James then stood still with his horse for a moment and said "People Skyhaven, though you may look on me as a heretic. I do hope you will be pleased with my gifts. You may do whatever you wish to them." He then said to his guard captain "Show them what I mean." Then the guards reached into there satchels and tossed out little red rubies to the merchants. They did not seem impressed while rubies are interesting those that small of size wouldn't be worth anything. As they moved up the the richer district the switched to blue rubies. The Royal lords cared little for them. As they arrived to the gate before the palace he called up a man in a brown cloak. He nodded and took out what looked to be a stick. He waved it around twice the gave it two flicks and all the red rubies turned into pure white doves and all the merchants looked impressed. Then almost simultaneously the blue rubies rose into the air and shot up and turned into bright balls of fire they were colorful the Royal Land lords applauded and little did they see in front of them were small baby rabbits. James turned back and said "Don't forget what House Conrad can do with help from it's Southern Isle Brothers."
He then stepped off his horse as did his men some of his guards grabbed wooden boxes and held them while walking in.. The Royal Landers took there horses to the stables. 25 of his Teeth went with them the other 25 followed James into the palace. He then took a seat with his guard waiting for the arrival of all the lords of the land. Waiting to perhaps give a good shot at becoming Lord Regent.

Prince Arron Sovanid was well accustomed to the kind of elegance and majesty that the Phoenix Kings had ensured their Palace exuded. He'd grown up in Talonspire, perhaps the most posh and fanciful city in the land, short of the one he found himself in now. The gold engravings decorating the doors to the palace's main hall reminded him of home, and then of how he felt towards home. Having always lived in luxury and fine quarters, there was nothing that Arron enjoyed more than the opportunity to leave them: to explore the darkest holes and most dangerous forests in the land, and escape all of the material richness which had characterized his youth. Arron had enjoyed the ride from Talonspire, through the Passage of Noctua and the lands of the crown, more than he had the gentle stroll through Skyhaven's streets.

Of course, that was not to say that Arron didn't appreciate the niceties that his position offered. When in the palace's grand hall, gazing at the murals of the great wyrm-slayers of old, Arron was reminded of the reason he appreciated his status when he found the mural which depicted his ancestor, Peisal Sovanid: the founder of his house. In Peisal's days, the Sovanids had ruled over nothing but barren stone, empty of resources and bereft of arable land. Their hide-away far up into the mountains was a hindrance to them, preventing them from participating in the trade that the land-owners of the Passage so enjoyed. It was only in Peisal's later days, as an old man, that he found himself blessing his isolation from the rest of Noctua. When star metal fell onto Sovanid lands, on the spot where Talonspire Tower now sits, Peisal was the only man of power around to make use of it. He had a talented local smith, the only one in the area, engrave the star metal into the workings of his wooden walking stick. With this new weapon, which Peisal named after his deceased wife, Waisnan, the gravely old Sovanid descended to the lands of the Passage to join in a coalition with other great heroes gifted with star metal, and defeat the wyrm. As the draconic beast's corpses fell from the sky, their flesh became fertilizer for the wealth of House Sovanid. Peisal's descendants had worked tirelessly to enforce House Sovanid's rule over the whole of Noctua, and build a dynasty strengthened by immense wealth. Arron did not see his jewellery and fine clothes as evidence of plutocracy; he saw them as evidence of the triumph of the Sovanids past. Each sip of wine that he took and each golden necklace that he dressed himself in reminded him of House Sovanid's ascension from the owners of nothing but barren rock. House Sovanid's luxury did not announce, "Look how high we are!", but rather, "Look how high we've become!".

Shamgar's words bored Arron. He'd heard only a single sentence of the man's speech while he was so immersed in his thoughts. Something about having to turn over weapons, Arron believed. With a smug smile and a barely contained snicker, Arron presented his sword to the Palace Guard as they came by to collect Lord's weapons. He had a dagger under his armour that he didn't bother handing over, though, and each of the two Noctuan knights flanking him at either side down not turn over their swords either, the scabbards of which they made no effort to conceal. Arron did not see the need to strip those in the palace of their weapons. To the effect of finding someone to complain of such to, Arron gave a quick scan of the room, and eventually spotted James Conrad seated with a perhaps overly large retinue of guards, at the other end of the hall. He moved towards the Lord in confident strides, his guards in their full suits of armour finding it almost difficult to keep up. Arron was dressed in only light armour and dark blue and gold robes for decoration. The Sovanid owl decorated his concealed leather chest-piece, an obvious symbol of House Sovanid to anyone even familiar with the House.

"A pleasure to see you, Lord Conrad!" Arron began, patting James' back boisterously. "Your son enjoys Talonspire, I hear."

History is written on this day, as the sandals of the First Star slap softly against the polished floor. The soft sounds are drowned out by the other parties heavy boots, and clambering conversations. The air was sweet, yet stale, this was noted by The Voice, and blamed on the negative energies that surely conquest this place since the death of their latest king. A pestilence on a once glorious hall.

The valiant imagery of the walls enveloped the mind of Gori Lamillur as his eyes darted around. The unyielding gaze studied his fellow house representatives who had arrived for the summit. His vigilant ears listened to the words of the dawn bringer as he studied on. But what was that on the wall? His thoughts began to buzz with a mild entertainment as his icy eyes deciphered the garnished image; it was Ashtoken.

Ashtoken had his fabled spear lunged into the heart of a wyrm. The very spear The Voice now held. A scepter of sorts now a days, reminding the tribes of their unity under the stars and the glorious desert. Of course the way the royal landers depicted Ashtoken was with an exaggeration of inhuman physical traits and a certain savagery unseen in the stoic lands of Ashishia. However respect was clearly kept, as he bore the sign of six stars on his forehead, and wore the exotic armor of the beloved fuwma lizards. This was the man responsible for the six tribes unity and prosperity. This man, this hero of ash, was depicted on the walls of a land so far away and so unknowing of Ash skin culture. A very admirable notion towards the Ashtoken's heritage and the houses part in the histories of the lands.

A soft chuckle whispered it's way from The First Star's emotionless face as he finished his observation. One of his guards turned his head to The Voice, and when their eyes met, the black cloaked soldier bowed his head in humble respect and reassumed his sentry position.

A loud slap echoed softly against the magnificent walls, and Gori turned to it's birthright, ever curious. The Prince of the pass-lands had playfully collided with the man known as James Conrad. With no further inquiry and his curiosity satisfied Gori Lamillur clicked his heels together. The black and crimson robed elites surrounding him followed his action obediently at the faint sound and the group turned and politely made it's way towards Shamgar the Dawnbringer.

Gori waved his hand silently and the Ashtoken guards halted a few yards away. The First Star approached. The spear of Ashtoken clicked on the floor after each second step. His blue eyes peered out from behind his ash painted face as he met the gaze of Shamgar with a humble smile and his left palm up, a sign of friendship.

A small party of horsemen rode through the streets of Skyhaven as the banner of house Khyriin flew above them. The peasants of the city walked out to see the entrance of the great noble houses as some of them would make a great spectacle out of their entry into the city. Showing off their riches and valor to the common folk of the Royal Lands. Odegai Khyriin did not feel the need to show off. Respect is something you earn through your real deeds, preferably on the battlefield and not through phony magic tricks and fancy parades with knights in shining armor. As he looked around he could see some disappointment on the faces of the peasants. No matter how majestic the Khitani horses are, seeing only 14 of them was a bit disappointing.

When lord Khyriin was traveling he would always make sure his party was not larger than necessary. He felt no need to have an extensive guard with him when traveling to the lands of his fellow lords. The man felt that he was perfectly capable of defending himself and his ability as a warrior is renowned far beyond the borders of The Endless Plains. There were times that he would even travel alone. But for this journey Odegai had decided to take along a small Khitani guard to make sure his other traveling companion would be save.

Prior to this journey Odegai's daughter Rika had begged her father to take her with him. She had never visited the majestic city of Skyhaven before and this might be her only chance as she was soon to be wed with Prince Oswyn Marrow of Alabast. As she drove her horse around the streets of Skyhaven the young girl could hardly believe what she saw. The endless rows of stone buildings, the colorful dresses of the commonfolk and the many banners waving in the wind. Compared to Skyhaven, Khitan was just small and dirty town. In some backward land far away.

It didn't take long before Odegai and his companions reached the royal palace. With a quick gesture of his hand he ordered 4 of his men to take care of the horses and make sure they were properly fed and under guard of 2 Khinati warriors. Horses are the most priced processions of the Khitani and to have a horse stolen is more disgraceful then to lose your wife in Khitani culture. No matter how much royal guards the house Paragon would station at the stables, Odegai made sure that there were always two of his men watching over their horses.

Odegai Khyriin entered the Phoenix palace flanked by his daughter Rika would stared in amazement at the rich decoration, expensive furniture and other luxuries the majestic palace of the Paragon's had to offer. Rika was closely followed by her female servant and the 7 remaining warriors. For most of the warriors it was also the first time in Skyhaven but unlike the young girl, they kept their composure and remained silent and ever serious looking as they followed their Khan into the great hall where the houses would meet. All their weaponry was still strapped to their armor as they all overheard Shamgar aks the other lords to hand over their weapons. For a moment they looked at each other and towards their Khan. For the Khitani warriors their weapons are part of who they are. To give them away is like to give away a part of who they are and an ultimate sign of submission. Proud people as the Khitani are, they would only show their submission to their Khan and the bearer of the crown of fire.

Odegai Khyriin walked up to Shamgar Paragon and bowed his head slightly as a sign of greeting and respect. However his face was serious as Shamgar has put the man in a difficult position. To surrender his weapons in front of his man was not an option. Odegai of house Khyriin has sworn his loyalty to the Phoenix throne and the crown of fire, not to Shamgar Paragon. He looked the first dawnbringer in the eyes and firmly spoke "I refuse to hand over my weapons., nor will my men hand over their weapons. I will gratefully take your offer of hospitality. Please have my daughter escorted to her room as I await the arrival of the other lords"

Flint Whiteshorn looked to the walls of the Palace, he had been only twice in his lifetime. The last of which was a very long time ago. He walked to the guard who he was to surrender his weapons to and noted many did not. “Seems people cant trust others in these modern times” Flint muttered allowed as he placed his cane under his arm and retrieved the small hand crossbow from his belt. The mechanism looked confusing, a system of cogs and twine, but it allowed the small device to quickly load a second shot after the first. It was the only one of its kind, and Flint cherished the device deeply. “Keep that safe” he muttered, realising the guard had no idea what magnificence he held in his hand. He waved away his own personal guards, allowing them to explore how they wish. Flint felt safe in the capable hands of the kingdom after all.

Flint then turned on his heel and began to walk, looking to the magnificent paintings on the walls, he found one depicting his own kingdom, the elephants where drawn as they always where outside of Flints abode, Huge and monstrous, reigning down terror and destruction in its wake. This always amused him as he knew that elephants could be just as friendly as any horse or dog. He continued his walk, glancing to each painting of each house with amusement, the cane in his hand helping his slow walk. The ornament at the top was made of ivory, and depicted an elephants head at the hilt. He had started to use it more often, aware his age was getting to him, it didn’t help that illness also seemed to have began to besiege him. Despite this, he knew that even when he was gone, his kingdom would be safe in the hands of his son, Gading.

After the dawnbringer had finished talking he stood up and had 15 of his guards patrol around but more are less take a break and enjoy the city. He sent 2 of his guards to go watch over his room that he'll be staying at. He then turned and could easily see Prince Arron who was head his way dressed in full armor with his somewhat shaggy hair. He had heard Arron was unlike the others of his family who loved to see the world and all it had to offer. The prince said "A pleasure to see you, Lord Conrad!" giving him a swift pat on the back and continuing to say "Your son enjoys Talonspire, I hear." James nodded and replied "Well my son always had an interest in the administrative side of running a kingdom. So I should hope he enjoys the Master of Coins land." He chuckled a bit then waved a guard over with the wooden box. James took the box and opened it in side was what seemed like a potion of some kind and a note he took it out and hand the box back to the guard. "With you loving to see the this note will allow you entrance to the Southern Isles. As for the potion it it said to granted the man or women who drinks it a great boost to there appearance. Though you may not need it your father may when he comes out to the capital. Speaking of which where is your father?" James stood there looking confused a bit as to why House Sovanid would send his heir rather then accompany himself.

Osmodeus

The king's eyes flashed open. They beheld the white drapes before them with confusion for a minute as the ruler awakened and recalled where he was. Cramp was settling in his legs and he shuffled awkwardly from his crosslegged position. The air was close, yielding sweat from his brow and harrowing his breathing. He would have to stretch his legs soon for fear of his mood darkening on this important day. He would need all the clarity he could muster.

Osmodeus had no inclination of how long he'd slept. Judging by his thirst, he guessed a few hours. Reaching for his waterskin, his thoughts turned to what he'd dreamt about. The images were fresh and vivid as a rich tapestry in his mind. He remembered two great birds, their talons interlocked in a fierce battle for supremacy. They fought atop a high castle wall as snowflakes the colour of blood fell all around them from a sky as black as pitch. Theirs were the only cries as the world died and froze around them.

I am no oracle, he resolved, taking a large swig of water. If the dream had come to Nana Obara, his grandmother and most trusted advisor, he would not have been so dismissive, but it is known in Alabast that men cannot read the many paths of the future. All Osmodeus ever saw in the bones was death and the potential for armour.

"Your Highness," a deep voice from outside uttered, stirring him from reverie, "Dust on my doorstep for disturbing you, my king. We approach the city."

The king put the skin aside and thrust aside the drapes of the royal palanquin. A figure of horrific aspect sat beside the litter astride a monstrous camel. Both were clad in an uncanny raiment of bone, in bands of lamellar sheets on the camel's neck and legs and the man's arms and legs, and reshaped ribcages for their torsos. The man's gauntlets and sabatons were worked from the bones of arms, hands and feet and the camel's hooves left bare. Upon their heads were helmets molded from camel and human skulls respectively with circular eyeholes and rounded tops. The camel's helmet encompassed it's whole head whereas the man's terminated below the nose in a half-helm. The yellow eyes of a Nomadii shone out of the half-helm's empty sockets. Aside from the armour, the man wore a sand-coloured leather undertunic and cloak, the latter emblazoned with the cattle skull sigil of House Marrow, and the camel a leather saddle with a long bone-handled scimitar and other provisions strapped to it and the house's sigil upon a cloth flap extending down to the stirrups. The man was a soldier of the Alabasti elite, the Skeleton Guard, the private force and guard of the king.

The guard bowed his head in respect. The sound of hooves clopping against the cobbled path and the sound of metal chains filled the air, the latter swinging from the legs of the six thralls that carried the king's palanquin up the mountainside. Sweat beaded from their naked, sunburnt and whip-scarred backs as their slavedriver spurred them on from horseback behind. Unconcerned with their hardship, King Osmodeus peered beyond his camelry's loping march to see a serpentine mountain path winding up to a large city among the peaks. It had a remarkable resemblance to the landscape in his dream.

The king wordlessly closed the curtain to the guard and the outside world. He shuffled again.

Note: Bolded dialogue is Kreshvi, unbolded dialogue is Elydinish, or the Common Tongue

Lords, men-at-arms, servants, and knights. They had all gathered in the main hall of the Phoenix Palace, answering the call to the summit that would eventually be held in another chamber of this giant palace. Some gawked, others seemed bored or uninterested, but all of the were clearly liars, and they were best at it. And who was he? This man stood in close proximity to Shamgar Paragon himself, and the armor that covered every inch of his body suggested that he was the captain of the guard, and for all extensive purposes, he was. His loyal guardsmen held their stoic positions with none of the human delegation any the wiser, and could he really blame them? Most of them governed their respective realms, and rarely left the confines of their capitals to even recognize a member of the royal guard, save for the emblem that was emblazoned upon all their armor. He had doubts that even denizens of Skyhaven would be able to detect this deception. Peace had reigned throughout the realm for many years, and few would cast their eyes on the royal guard, who were tasked with protection and stability in the palace, of treachery. In fact, due to recent events, it was more likely that priests were being eyed with much more suspicion. It was almost refreshing to see men who believed they were in complete and total safety, even though he had already cast his net over them all, and there was little they could do to escape from being ensnared within it.

At this particular point in time, it wasn't yet time to reveal him and his warriors, so he took this time to observe them in their natural habitat. Many of the people that were assembling before Shamgar and the captain were people he had only read about in old texts. The horse-lords, the men of the isles, and mountain men alike, even the captain, who particularly prided himself in his travels when he was only a boy, couldn't help but to gawk from behind his all-concealing helm, much like a child visiting his first fair or tournament. The multitude of different cultures was certainly a sight to behold. It was interesting to wonder which of these lords would pursue the lofty title of Lord Regent. All men desired more than they were born with, and for those who were born so close to the top of this so-called feudal society, becoming the second most powerful man in all of Elydin was rather appealing. It was certainly an out of reach goal for most, for there can only be one Lord Regent, and it would guarantee disaster if a some of these lords were to be given such power over all the realm.

Agrippa Paragon was to be crowned in the following days, but since he was a boy of only six cycles, it is difficult to predict what the future might hold. The truth of the matter is fairly simple- if a boy cannot hold a sword, and if his voice cannot be heard over the clash of steel and scream of men on a battlefield, he simply cannot rule- at least not alone. If the summit had its desired effect, the best man to help rule of Elydin for the next few cycles would be chosen. If not... well, neither one of those possibilities was of much concern to the guard captain. He had other goals that he wished to achieve.

As for Shamgar himself, the aging man was competent and well-spoken. A true shame that he had decided to give up his claim by entering the priesthood. Kammeth only knew how much chaos and uncertainty could have been avoided if he had done the dutiful thing and remained within the line of succession. Still, that was neither here or there, and wondering about what-ifs only stalled men from reality itself. The Crown of Oaths was stolen, the future king was a boy barely off his mother's teat, and the captain had no doubt that all these “high” lords would endlessly bicker among themselves. It sounded like a lot of fun.

When Shamgar gave the order for the guard to collect all weapons from the lords and their knights, his own men swiftly got to work, stripping them all of pointy and sharp objects. All seemed to be going according to plan until the Khitani Khan refused to do so. The captain gave an irritated sigh that created condensed moisture on the inside of his helmet. Of course things couldn't go as smoothly as the captain had wished! It wasn't much of a problem, though. Such an ordeal such as this could easily be rectified with a few choice words.

“Is it not curious that you are the only ones who are not willing to surrender their weapons? Perhaps this is the making of some plot by the Khitani?” He let his words float into the hall for a moment, so that the many lords around him could fully comprehend his meaning. “It's of no significance, of course. I'm sure you have no ill intention. In either case, before you stands Dawnbringer Shamgar Paragon himself, who currently speaks with the same authority of the High King himself! Show some respect, human."

That's all it took. A simple slip of the tongue. A habit of his that managed to escape from his lips. No human would ever refer to another as human. His hand quickly fell to the hilt of his sword that hung at his hip. “I meant to say Khitani. . .” the false captain began, but it was already too late for that.

Almost in unison, the guardsmen professionally lifted and pointed their spears at the gathered delegation, not allowing the humans to move an inch. With an even greater sigh of irritation, he spoke in some foreign language. “For Kammeth's sake, we nearly had them!” With his free hand, he removed the helmet that had once concealed his face to reveal a startling image. Pale gray skin that was nearly white, eyes that were blacker than the night's sky, short, cropped silver hair that shone when the light hit it, and finally, a smooth hairless face that only possessed a single scar that stretched across his jaw and over his mouth. Undoubtedly and most certainly he was a Kreshvi, there was no denying that. None had expected the arrival of any Kreshvi delegation, and though a letter had been sent requesting their presence, it was more a formality since the Kreshvi usually ignored the affairs of humans, other than the few Kreshvi mercenaries, bodyguards, and military advisors. The Kreshvi cast aside his helmet and all the royal guards in the main hall did the same. Revealing that their true race was certainly not human.

Looking upon all the Kreshvi, it was clear that a few of them were very tall, but it seemed that a wide variety of heights had been chosen, as to not raise suspicion about their disguises. The Kreshvi who had been masquerading as the captain was the shortest of them all, with Shamgar being slightly taller than him. The Kreshvi leader have a simple shrug, a grin, and gave them all a short bow. “I do hope you enjoyed our little performance.” His Elydinish was nearly perfect, though if you listened closely, you could hear the slightest hint of an exotic accent. He removed his hand from his sword hilt, and raised his hand. “Now now, warriors. It's best to not give the humans the wrong idea,” he began by speaking in Kreshvi before expertly switching over to the common tongue, “it wouldn't do well if they thought we were taking them as hostages. It would be much too difficult to get the ransoms, and it seems that they are out of fancy crowns to steal.” With that final comment, he gave Shamgar a half-smile.

Once the command was given, the Kreshvi instantly obeyed by placing their spears upon the floor and gave the Kreshvi salute of pounding their fist into their left breast and held that position. The reasoning was clear why they had snapped to attention and obeyed the Kreshvi leader so quickly, he much have been the Ak-Sheh, and a Kreshvi could not refuse any orders issued by the Ak-Sheh. The Ak-Sheh turned back to the delegation. “My utmost apologies,” he gave them all a refined bow, “I am Ak-Sheh Rollo va Herik Kreshimera, perhaps you have heard of me?” Faced with continued silence, he spoke again. “No matter. We wished to have a... more explosive entrance, and it seemed to have the desired effect.” He turned but grabbed the shoulder of Shamgar, and whispered in his ear, “I'm having much more fun than I thought I would be. Let's see what happens next?” With another smile, he patted the dawnbringer's cheek a few times.

“It seems like we're royal guardsmen for the day! Continue to gather those weapons-” he paused by looking at the Khitani “-including the horse-lords.”

The Ashtoken guard instinctively circled The First Star at the sound of the foreign commands. Their boots softly padded around Gori as they observed their all too well known northern neighbor. The stoic expressions the Ash Kin had carved into their faces with rigorous discipline remained in stone as the Kreshvi leader hollered boisterously at the impersonated royal guards.

The Kreshvi were a well known race to the Ashtoken, as they had lived in bordering lands since around the time of the Ashishia unification. However, as close as they had lived, the Kreshvi always came across as intruding and abrasive, today was not an exclusion.

The Voice had expected an interruption to occur at some point today. The mere act of it being this early only softly hinted at what was to come. The air was constricted with a tight tension now more than ever among the people in the glorious hall, and loose fingers played with the idea of gripping ever present weapons in rejection of the chaotic vibe.

Gori Lamillur gave a silent exhale and eyed one of his elites as if to start a conversation. The two pairs of blue eyes met, and Gori's blinked. The elite swallowed and blinked back, his eyes reappearing with their gaze at his own feet. The First Star inhaled slowly, and the guard matched it simultaneously.

Gori's mind fluttered with idle thoughts as the guard stared at him expectantly. Finally after processing a few inquiries Gori stared at the man and then exhaled through his nose, and was matched back with a loyal blink.

Suddenly, Gori clicked his heels together in a almost silent manner and the rest of the entourage clicked back obediently. With a pivot of the heel, the party turned away from the Dawn bringer after a polite nod. In unison the First Star, the Ashtoken guard, and the few advisors who accompanied The Voice retired to outside of the hall, the unique sound of the spear of Ashtoken clicking against the polished floor slowly faded into the distance against the coming wave of inter house conversation and bickering.

After James finished his small talk with Prince Arron he excused himself to talk with the Kreshvi. He walked over with only his mage and a guard carrying a wooden box. He gave a small bow while his guard and mage kneeled down. James then stood up and said "Greeting great Ak-Sheh Rollo, I am King James Conrad the first of the Isles welcome to skyhaven." James then turn around and opened his wooden box. He took out a Longsword the longsword is very shiny and sharp almost untouched it has jewels in it's hilt and is perfect for a lord. James then turned around and said "Ak-Sheh Rollo a gift from me and the merchants of the southern islands. This longsword is made from the best blacksmith of the merchant lands and is now yours." He then bends onto one knee and offers it waiting to see what Ak-Sheh Rollo will do with it. This good either be a beginning of a friendship or his fatal end.

Meanwhile

Laurel Conrad looked over the vast ocean, see stood a top of the castle viewing her homeland with longing eyes. When was the last time she had visited? It has seemed like so long now.Luke walked to Laurel's Handmaiden in the courtyard who who had been looking after Mena, Zach and Harper playing a game. He sat next to her and asked where Laurel was and his guess was correct in the tower overlooking the sea longing for her home no doubt."You know not to disturb me here" Laurel muttered formally, turning to find her husband was the one to approach her. "I am sorry my love.. i did not know it was you that had come to accompany me." She said as formally and softly as she always talked. She turned back to the main land once again."It is fine my love." Luke said warmly but then frowned. "My love I know you wish to return home and should my father be granted the fame of become Lord Regent we'll be able to go visit him and your father." Luke smiled."Really?" Laurel span on her heel once again. A glint was in her eye is she smiled softly "I would love to show you the elephants, they are like walking carriages ten feet high and nigh indestructible" Her voice sounded happier already. She then looked to her husband "It is not that I don't like it here, I hope you don't feel that is what i mean. It is just, nothing can compare to my homeland"Luke smiled seeing his love being happy always brought joy to him he then continued "Even if he doesn't after he returns here to take hold of the kingdom again I'll gladly escort you to see your father maybe the children will want to come too." He nodded thinking how lucky he is to have her at his side."That would be wonderful, i am sure my father would be happy to arrange something with you" Laurel sighed, thinking about a separate subject "I hope the meeting goes well.. we need a leader in these times... and they are only getting darker.... I feel safer on this island right now then back home... despite missing it."Luke nods in agreement, he then pulls out a green gem Necklace and puts it on her. "This is one of the safest places in all of Elyren however should something terrible happen you can always takes the children to our allies in the south. They are old friends."Laurel smiled softly "Lets hope that day never comes" She mutters gently, kissing Luke then returning back to the wall she had been leaning on, continuing to look out over the sea. Waiting for what will happen in the future.Luke then came and put her arm around her as they stood looking at the sunset over the sea.

Princess Eden Whiteshorn sat at the desk in her “Creative room”, the room was provided to her by Flint, Edens father, who believed her creative mind should not be locked up, but instead explored whenever possible. Despite this, most of her creations where far too ahead of her time, and so where unnoticed, seen as unobtainable fantasies.

The room she sat in was filled with small tools and models. Carriages that propelled themselves without the need for an animal pulling it, machines that could make a man fly like a bird. Even great war machines that would destroy all in its wake. Despite these magnificent sketches and even small wooden models, none of the ideas left this room.

Eden was sketching something, she had paper fanned out in front of her and she was drawing another new contraption. The contraption she was currently drawing was of a crossbow, not any crossbow, a crossbow the size of a small village. The way the diagram explained was that the large ballista would be loaded, using a herd of elephants to pull back the huge string, with a humongous bolt made of iron and other hard metals. The ballista would then be aimed at a town or other large structure, then aimed upwards. The bolt would fly high into the air and begin to land, falling onto the enemy town or structure. The bolt would explode in a shrapnel effect of death and destruction, the forces involved would create a huge impact, and the town would be destroyed by a single weapon. After the sketch the girl sighed heavily and wiped her brow, placing the papers into a drawer filled with other such diagrams, each of different inventions and contraptions.

Octavius

“King Osmodeus Marrow, First of His Name, King of Alabast, Governor of Marbis, Lord of The Bonelands, requests access to the city of Skyhaven to seek an audience with Arch Dawnbringer Shamgar Paragon,” the captain boomed up to the gatekeeper. The call was soon answered with the opening of the great doors that led them into the city interior.

The escort continued in diamond formation, flanking the royal palanquin positioned in the centre on four sides. The captain headed the procession, looking down on the citizens of the capital through his skull helm with steely attention. They gawked with amazement, whispering amongst themselves as the warriors wedged a path through them towards the Phoenix Palace. Captain Octavius imagined most had never seen an Alabasti before, or even a camel for that matter. He had heard bone armour was uncommon in other nations so perhaps it was these common folks’ first time seeing that too. He wondered what they must think of them: wondrous knights from a distant kingdom or outlandish savages from a decadent wasteland. Octavius feared the latter, and judging from the way these people looked at them, his fears were confirmed.

The Captain of the Skeleton Guard was adorned in his ceremonial armour, one of human bone with large pauldrons to differentiate him from the other guard, crafted from the skulls of two mountain bandits he’d slain over fifteen cycles ago. His helmet was the only piece that wasn’t human, worked from a cattle skull with a muzzle that acted as a visor and long horns curving upwards. He rode bearing the standard of House Marrow, its tall flag flapping in the mountain breeze.

Octavius could see the palace looming before him, a marvel of western architecture. He yearned for the chambers that awaited him tonight, for a hot bath to soothe his blistered heels and aching muscles. It had been a long journey from Marbis, sailing round the southern coastline of the continent to Lochbridge Port on the edge of the Royallands where they alighted and rode camelback. The king was safest in his palanquin so he was carried the entire way. They had erected makeshift camps by nightfall and packed up and marched onward at the crack of dawn each day. Octavius prayed he’d never have to make the voyage again for he had not the stomach for sea travel. He’d spent most of the time aboard the galley hurling from the bulwarks, much to the amusement of the sailors, and the camels were restless with their incessant bleating and stomping. The sea was no place for a creature of the desert.

As the escort drew close to the palace, the palanquin was set down so the king could ascend the outside steps. The guard too dismounted and passed their dromedaries to their squires. They knelt in unison as the king materialised from his litter, garbed in a fine bone-white silk robe that terminated above his feet which sported tan leather sandals embedded with small sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. Silk wrappings encircled the lord’s head leaving only his piercing yellow eyes and a small portion of forehead with a hint of fringe and nose bare. Rings and bangles of Alabasti craftsmanship decorated his arms and hands, multi-coloured gems on bone. The Skeleton Guard followed the king up the steps, only Octavius by his side. His scimitar was at his side, ready to be unsheathed quickly if required.

King Osmodeus paused a second mid-step and resumed with outstretched arms, a gesture of warm greeting. Ahead, Octavius saw a figure he recognised from a meeting he’d previously escorted his king to. It was Gori Lamillur, First Star of Ashtoken, stood outside the entrance to the palace.

The familiar men of House Marrow had stopped their skeletal parade at the bottom of the sun baked steps where the Ashtoken watched diligently, joyed to recognize old friends so far from the warm sandy home of the east.

House Marrows king, Osmodeus, had paused mid-step as he noticed the Ash kin staring at him blankly as they have grown notorious of doing. The Voice, Gori, exhaled sharply as a formality, and the Ashtoken guard bowed their heads humbly at the guest and crossed their arms at their waists and away from the long curved Ashishian blades.

As Osmodeus approached once more, this time open armed, Gori's still ashen face did not change as he accepted the gesture with his own open arms. Although a clear example of the formal stoicism to be expected of an Ashtoken, Osmodeus could see the friendship in The First Stars eyes, and a smile that would've been there.

Gori Lamillur, lifted his arm, letting his long, finely patterned, sand colored sleeve slip down to his elbow, revealing his ash colored arm, covered in copper rings native to the artists of Kenero. Segregated however was his upper forearm as it was revealed to be adorned with a decorative bone brace, the very gift Osmodeus once sent. A slight curl fought it's way to the edge of Gori's mouth, but only so slight, that the great Marrow king would see.

A soft western breeze flew by the political friends and neighbors with grace and the scent of rich foods and drink. The short chirps of urban chickadees broke silences between the louder banter of the citizens of sky haven, as well as the loud rolls of wooden wheels on beaten cobblestone roads. However, there was one sound, just one that didn't quite fit this western scene, and that was Gori's voice.

A strong and deep accent rolled out of his throat with a melodic hum. A tone unheard of by the people of the west, and rarely heard from most elsewhere. As an Ashtoken, Gori holds their beliefs closely. One belief is that words shall never be wasted on anything, if it can be said with motions or expressions, say it with them. Of course with the cunning of the people of the Ash they eventually developed entire languages of simple notions and expressions, and some even more vague language supplements by the more elite members of the tribes, to the point that the actual spoken word became so rare and so reserved for long intellectual speeches or philosophical debates, that each syllable became a blessing, and each pronunciation an exotic poem.

Thus Gori spoke, his deep voice dancing with the breeze in a tongue not native to his lands, "My good friend, it is well to see you on this day," He said as his free hand came up and laid rest on the shoulder of the Marrow King.

Even before Shamgar could respond to Odegai Khyriin's refusal to hand over his weapons the royal guard captain stepped into the matter. He began with with making the ridicules and insulting suggestion that the Khitani where plotting something. When the man let a single word slip from his tongue Odegai immediately realized with what kind of man he was dealing. When all the guards removed their helmets it did not came as a surprise anymore to see their pale gray skin. Kreshvi where forming the royal guard. This was either some kind of stupid joke or a sinister plot from this outlandish race of mutated beastlings. As the Kreshvi guard immediately pointed their spears towards the Khitani party he knew his warriors would immediately grab their swords as well. Both the Kreshvi and the Khitani where known for their fighting prowess and their love for battle. A dangerous situation that could turn violent very quickly and could well mean the beginning of the end for the entire kingdom as they knew it. Odegai quickly raised his hand and gave his men a sign to stand down.

For a moment the Khitani warriors where weary of releasing their hands from their sword hilts but as the royal guard stood down they also relaxed their stance. Few of the other lords seemed to have realized that the conflict over the weapons could have escalated very quickly. Not to mention, the situation was far from over. The Khitani still refused to hand over their weapons.

Odegai was not the man to be easily intimidated. The fact that the royal guard where all Kreshvi did not startle the horse lord as he is a very competent warrior himself. Many consider Odegai Khyriin among the best fighters humanity has to offer. For him, battling a Kreshvi seems like a nice challenge, even though the odds would not be in his favor due to the Kreshvi's more powerful physical power. But any experienced fighter knows that there is more needed to win a fight then just raw power.

Odegai stepped one step closer to the Kreshvi captain as a way to show that he was not intimidated by the fact that he was Kreshvi and looked the pale greyish figure in his eyes. On a firm tone the horse lord spoke "If Kreshvi scum is pretending to be royal guards then there is all the more reason to keep my own security in my own hands. I suggest the other lords do the same. Afterall, these non humans are as trustworthy as the average beastling" The Khan paused for a second before he continued to speak again. "The Khitani will not hand over their weapons to the Kreshvi." The insults and the second refusal would probably intensify the conflict a bit as now both lords have thrown insults at each other.

That last line the lord of the Endless plains spoke was definitely the most interesting as it was more targeted at Shamgar Paragon then at the Kreshvi captain. It offered a clear diplomatic end to the impasse created by the proud warriors of the plains as Lord Khyriin changed the issue from handing over their weapons to handing them over the Kreshvi.

Algrim Whitemane
Algrim exhaled deeply, his breath appearing before him in a white mist as his gloved hand absently patted the flank of the Stone Warhorse below him. Even through the leather, he could feel the stone steed's cold, rough exterior and the power of the magic working and emanating from within like a beating heart that remained strong, even in these dark times. The stone steeds eyes glowed an emerald-like glow, as it gazed around, never failing, never dimming.
Reign, the very same Makitherin forged spear that was once held by Lorem Whitemane, the founder of house Whitemane in times of old, was now like a burden to Algrim as he carried it across his back and kept in place by a leather strip tied around his chest. In a similar fashion to that of the stone steed's eyes, one of keen eyesight would see that the spear tip also glowed an emerald-like glow albeit faintly.

The days are growing colder. He thought, Now with the crown of Fire missing, there was nothing to stop the coming winter. His thoughts wandered to that of his children and home, a few days had passed since he had waved his farewells to his remaining family, his bloodline, his joy and they were all he had left. Even fewer days had passed since he had left the border of the Greenwood, already was he yearning for home, to return to that which he knew and was familiar with. But now he was heading into a den of wolves, before him sprawled the city of renowned splendours, Sky haven.
The slight rise of craggy rock he sat atop his Warhorse on, offered a view of the city over the walls but little protection from the wind as he gazed over the sight before him, he idly contemplated the reason for each house being here. It was a sombre one, a king was dead, a good king, but with no eligible heir left to ascend the now idle throne and take his place, the cold winter was also starting to show its icy claws once again, it did not look good for the people of Eledyn and hard times were ahead. This also gave way to bids for power and left the houses to bicker amongst themselves and pick through the remains, frankly Algrim was ashamed at such displays he knew he would witness. Nothing would he take apart in though, or so he told himself.
"Very observant..." A voice, as sharp as the whistling wind and snow that was so common back home, emanated from behind him.
"Malakai” Algrim spoke plainly. The Court Druid of House Whitemane, while indeed a powerful and proven druid in the primal ways, had an air of untrustworthiness to him. He had insisted on joining Algrim to Sky haven for a reason unknown to himself, perhaps he was just curious, wanting to see the glorified city in person? Nevertheless his power could prove useful, so he had agreed.
"We are ready to move." Again, the voice spoke.
Looking back over his shoulder, he now saw the druid, clad in green, hooded robes that hid his face from view and billowed in the wind. In his right hand he held an old, well-worn oak staff, several feathers hung on string from its wooden base. Behind the cloaked druid, a little way of the rise and on the well-trodden dirt road below, stood a small retinue of armed guards and nobles, all looking expectantly with their shields and weapons in their hands. A shaking of fur to his right, indicated that Brutus, Algrim's own hound and the largest kept by House Whitemane was ready also. Looking down at the loyal hound that stood, alert as ever beside him. Brutus’s black fur stood out against the snow and his brown eyes returned his gaze. They were ready.

Turning his back to the retinue, again facing Sky haven, he spoke quietly in an ushered tone.
"Let's not keep our friends in the capital waiting then"
Without another word, he leaned over and whispered words of magic into the ear of the stone warhorse and the steed began its trot once again, its stone hooves clattering against the rock and then dirt below. It was soon to be followed by the marching sound of boots, one after enough and the clatter of hooves. The banner held at the fore-front of the party, stood aloft in the sky signifying their allegiance. House Whitemane, it spoke boldly to whomever was surely watching them from the stone walls of Sky haven.
Once more, I find myself within a den of wolves.

Asura Sky

Asura Sky stood at the window of the Phoenix tower, having taken position there upon hearing the bell announcing the coming of the High houses. He watched them as they rode into the courtyard, eyes missing nothing, one hand to his face as he bit skin and pieces of nail from his fingers-- the tips were red nubs, swollen with endless spit, and on occasion they bled, staining the sheets of his bed at night. He studied the movements of each lord he could see as they dismounted, before being ushered into the palace proper. The roughly sixteen floors, the Tower of the Phoenix dominated the sky lines of Skyhaven, and made up a considerable portion of the Palace.

Asura remembered waiting in this very same spot when his father often returned from one of his hunts. He would wait, for that change in the atmosphere, a trembling in the ancient walls of the edifice, the very thunder of the Phoenix Kings presence. There had never come any notable change however. And Asura never knew if the failing was his, or if his father's power had been sealed away inside that imposing frame and behind those unerring eyes, contained by a will verging on perfection. He had always suspected the former-- he had seen how others reacted, the tightening expressions among the highborn, the shying away of those of lesser rank, and how on occasion both reactions warred within the same individual. Taramyth had been respected and also feared for reasons Asura could never understand or comprehend. It was still hard to believe he had died at all.

In truth, he did not expect more of himself in this matter. He was a bastard son, after all, and a child born of a mother he never knew and had never heard named. It something he was reminded of whenever any spoke his last name. In his twenty turns of life he had been in the same room with his late father perhaps twenty times; surely no more then that, and not once had Taramyth addressed him. He had not been privileged to dine in the main hall; he had, and still was, tutored in private and taught the use of weapons alongside the recruits of the Houseblades. Even in the days and nights immediately following his near drowning on a boat expedition on the Grey Rivers, he'd been attended to by the Royal guards' healer, and had received no visitors barring his two younger half-brothers, who had peered in through the doorway- a duo of round, wide-eye faces- only to immediately flee down the corridor.

Such had been his relationship with his now late father- nonexistent. Shamgar had been closes to a father figure Asura had ever known. Perhaps he felt he felt obligated to in the wake of his brothers failings. As Asura's mind wondered he took note of the newest arrival, one carried in on a palanquin that was flanked by intimidating men wearing the most exotic armor he had ever seen. The figure that exited exuded a natural kind of authoritative command, draped as he was in exotic and expensive jewellery. He ascended the steps to then meet another equally foreign looking dignitary. Asura noted both men in his mind, trying to place faces to places. It was easy enough to spot House Marrow, their bone armor was as a beacon screaming of their identity. The ash covered men they engaged with in turn could only be House Ashtoken's First Star. Asura had ever only read about them, he had never actually met a member of either house directly. For a time he merely studied them and their interaction from his rooms window out of sight.

Many believed Asura lacked any ambition at all, that ever bone in his body was content as could be with his lot in life. To a point this was true. He had loved nothing more then to shy away from public attention. In time however, he had learned there were different types of power and ways to exercise them to obtain more favourable conditions for ones own goals. To the outside world Asura was happy to remain ignored-- even forgotten. After all, those out of sight could never be the target of ire. So he had learned to use his rather unremarkable nature, and the very fact he was a bastard in fact, to his advantage. Today was a rare opportunity for him to exercise his own unique kind of power.

Shamgar Paragon

At first things had been quite simple enough, with the arrival of the first houses. He had returned Gori show of respect and friendship. No sooner had he done so that Lord Odegai Khyriin approached him speaking of grievances of having to surrender his weapons and those of his guard. A simple matter to resolve for the shrewd Shamgar, long a veteran of Church politics. At least, it would have been simple had Ak-Sheh Rollo not chosen now to suddenly become belligerent. A frown creased his features as the situation nearly fell out of hand entirely. Rollo demanding the Khitani surrender their weapons, and the Khitani in turn refusing. Tension was quickly mounting and hands gripped weapons in a pointless stare down of will vs will.

Lords He thought with a shake of his head.

Shamgar cleared his throat to before he snapped his scepter on the ground in an annoyed outburst, sparks of flame seemed to jump up for just a moment from the sceptres contact with the rough tiled floor, a small show to return their attention to him before the situation become even more volatile. “Enough! Ak-Sheh Rollo, while I thank you for your esteemed vigilance and willingness to uphold the laws of the court, I do not yet believe I have become incapable and unable to speak for myself. No? Good, with that said,” He turned to Odegai Khyriin. “Lord, my apologizes for the slight misunderstanding. I am well studied in Khitani honour and traditions-- Though I confess your proud people come far to little to the Capital for my liking at least. As I have always believed there is much we may learn from each other. In any case, know I anticipated your needs ahead of time and have acquired a fitting compromise.“

He snapped his fingers and in little time a servant came sweeping forward with a red pillow with strings adorned atop it. “Far be it from me to force a proud warrior of Kammeth from his weapon if he chooses not to surrender it willingly. To that end observe these peace-bounds. Simple strings in which you and your guards may tie the hilts of your weapons to your scabbards. In this way you may keep your weapons, but simultaneously reveals your respect for our laws, as well as respect to our future king.” He gestured again and more servants came forward. “You may tie them yourselves or allow the servants to attend to the task. Let it never be said the Court of the Phoenix did not treat all fairly and in accordance to their needs.”

As he finished he tapped his spectre on the ground once more. “Now I trust the matter is resolved? I shall have no bickering over such simple matters within the Palace, especially as the morrow holds more then enough of that do you not all agree?” He added the last with a wishful smile before it vanished. His eyes flickered back to Rollo and Odegai, as if daring them or any to speak in opposition to his compromise. Shamgar was no great warrior, or blessed with tower strength of the physical nature. Yet his gaze and will was strong, and his faith stronger still, when one braved the flames of Kammeth daily, that man soon found mundane matters of the world hardly intimidating in comparison.

Roman Benedikt

With order among the assembly restored, thanks to Shamgar's intervention and diplomatic gesture, Roman eased his hand from his sword hilt. He could feel the tension among the gathered lords running through his bones; his too, as though House Benedikt was a friend to some, it was certainly an adversary to others. The heathens on House Conrad came to mind, and it took a great deal of Roman's concentration to keep from grimacing at Lord James when he had arrived. Instead, he opted to distract himself from his hate by positioning himself next to Lord Barad Anselm, a longtime friend in the Weald.

When the guards came to him for his weapons, Roman complied without incident, as would be proper. Though he had no quarrel with the Khitani, their brazen refusal to remove their arms gave Roman the impression of a disobedient child, and Shamgar, acting as a father, had found a compromise to keep his boy under control. It amused him; the terms Shamgar must have contemplated when taking the diversity of the Houses into account. Had it been himself in the Paragon's shoes, he wasn't sure he'd be so tolerant. Roman's entourage of knightly orderlies complied with their own arms, flanking their lord with watchful gazes at the men of other Houses.

As the atmosphere in the room fell to a gentler spirit, Roman stepped forward, folding his waist in a respectful bow. "Lord Shamgar, my friend," he started as his torso came back up, "It pleases me to see you again. I applaud your tactfulness in dealing with the... more foreign of the Houses." At that point, his words were a whisper, spoken through a wry smile. "I look forward to what the consensus of the Lords holds for Elyden. All's well in the Capital?"

Osmodeus

King Osmodeus Marrow hated being touched, but he endured it. Gori Lamillur was a trusted ally of House Marrow and had been a great friend and colleague of his father. Osmodeus could still see in the sands of time this man just over twenty cycles ago clad in his battle raiment commanding the warriors of Ashtoken against the armies of the gnolls in the Great Gnoll War. He’d served as a role model to the young prince during the war, and the years since had not stripped the First Star of his charisma. If King Osmodeus had a fibre of sentiment within his body, he would have considered Gori a friend. He mirrored the Voice’s gesture and laid his hand delicately on his opposite shoulder.

The King’s eyes did most if not all his talking for him. Their irises were like two bright yellow sunbursts, eclipsed in the centre by full-moon pupils. They were entrancing to look into, hypnotic, contrasting the magnificence of light against the depth of darkness. Yet there was no warmth there, only the cold vast void of space. He held the cosmos in his gaze, bearing down with gravity upon the beholder. Now they seared into the eyes of the Voice, imploring him to divulge detail of the current happenings in the palace of the high king. He would stare for as long as it would take for an answer to be issued, for there are no grains of sand in space; no shackles of time.

Onyx
The sun beat down on the valley. It had been hundreds of years since there’d been water here, cascading down from a high crevice in the mountainside to permeate and enrich the bedrock. Plants had grown along the banks where soil had formed, up the slopes and onto the far ridge. Grazers had fed on the highland grasses and wildflowers and herders pastured their livestock for generations upon generations under a sky ruled by the dragons of old.

The Long Summer had brought all this to an end. The Oath of Springs Tide was not enough to maintain the delicate ecosystem of Alabast’s mountainous region. The springs dried up deep in the range and rivers shrank and evaporated away. Vegetation withered and rotted, forcing the resident fauna to migrate. What remained now was a barren wasteland of rock, dust and bone. All become dust, the prince reflected.

They had been traveling for five hours now. Prince Onyx’s rear had become numb a few hours back as the camel’s gait relentlessly rocked him from side to side. He wore leather sandals and a tan robe with wrappings similar to his father’s around his face leaving only his eyes visible. They too were like his father’s, but with a warmth that radiated from the sunbursts, the light triumphing over darkness. His camel was bare bar its saddle which held a waterskin, basic rations and a scimitar.

The prince rode in a party of three, one behind and one in front. The rider ahead was his uncle, Prince Ostifer Marrow, Governor of Lith. As the second son of King Osmodeus, Onyx would assume Ostifer’s position in the event of his death so on the day of his seventeenth cycle Onyx was sent to Lith to learn about the city and how to govern it. Uncle Ostifer was his mentor and father figure in the absence of the king. He respected the man more than anyone he’d ever met.

Winds laden thick with dust whipped at their faces. Prince Onyx squinted through the squall to see ahead. Judging from the length of the journey so far, he figured they should be there soon.

The trio continued through the valley round a sharp jutting spur. There they saw it: a small mining village composed of a few shacks and a central campfire sight. No fire had burned here for a while Onyx noticed as he drew nearer, the remnants whittled down to a few spots of grey ash. They approached slowly, the wind howling as it blew through the encampment.

“Where is everybody?” the third member of their party asked, a Lithi soldier of Jaggar’is descent named Kar’tul.

“Look inside, Kar’tul,” Prince Ostifer commanded, wheeling around one of the shacks, “There may be clues as to what happened here.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Kar’tul dismounted his camel with a thud, sending up a cloud of dust into the air. He trudged over to the shack and entered.

“Holy Kammeth!” Kar’tul sprang backwards out of the door, tripping over himself. He pushed himself away from the open door on all fours, wild fear in his eyes.

Prince Ostifer dismounted immediately and strode into the shack, followed closely by Onyx. “My bones…” he uttered, as both stared at the huddled figure in the corner. It was almost human.

Gori Lamillur responded with a long stare of his icy eyes, letting his hand gently slip off Osmodeus' shoulder. The Voice resumed his stoic position and his voice rang with his accent that swooped like the winds of a desert storm, "I implore you to listen to my words as closely as you always have," he stopped his speech suddenly.

Gori twitched his shaven eyebrow and the Ashtoken guard swiftly half circled them, leaving Osmodeus free from their position, their cloaked backs faced the two as they watched their surroundings as vigilant as an eagle on the hunt.

Gori straightened his back, and the sun caught his face through the shadows of the surrounding stone towers that circled them like imposing vultures of another world. With an impenetrable gaze he spoke again, with formality and position," We are in a vulnerable state," he spoke as he tapped The spear of Ashtoken against the stairs with a click as if to stamp his assessment with a seal of approval, "not Ashishia, and not Alabast, but all of the lands. I understand that if the black continent received wind of this, our broken state would not be able to push back the invaders this time, and on top of that we shall receive a harsh winter if things do not improve soon. However, the men of the East recognize these possibilities, our people feel it, they can smell it's pungent odors. I do not differ, as I have received the unkempt thoughts of a broken land and it's volatile corpses spewing corruption and softness for the scavenger to pick away at the rotting flesh. Behind us dwells the men capable of restoring stability and allowing our lands to prosper as they always have, or the men who will feast upon each other's down falls as cannibals lusting over the destroyed bodies of their brethren. You and I both know what must be done to restore the balance, but do they? I have yet to see."

Gori ended his short speech with a blink, the intense gaze fading into a reserved glance. As if The First Star had taken retirement in a warm thought, or a simple abstract concept. The wrappings of his mind constricted tightly against possible solutions to the scenario he had proposed, and with the raise of an eyebrow, he had hoped Osmodeus would understand a solution himself. The sun reflected itself off of a sudden revival of his intense stare.

" riddles aside," his authoritative voice boomed out suddenly from his collected figure, "the eastern alliances will hold against all possibilities, unless Ashtoken stands alone as vanguard of the desert, blessed be her warm sands."

An Ashtoken guard spotted a distant glimmer in a window, peering eyes. The guard clicked his heels together and Gori nodded without breaking his focus on the Marrow king.