Adjutor Insula

A Problem of Logistics

"No logistics train?" Marcus squawked. "How does the Home Guard not have a logistics train?"

Field Marshal John Strongsun bowed his head for the fiftieth time that hour. "My men are designed to fight on home soil, where the Hero's Road would supply them via our networks, 'Lord."

Of course Marcus was more than aware of this, but when dealing with his senior officers, he had to make them think he was a little more backwards than he was. "Well, yes, the Hero's Road will have to come with us."

The Field Marshal shook his head. "Can't be done, 'Lord. The crops need harvesting, and the men we'd pull away from that would cause an uneasy winter."

Marcus laughed. "An uneasy winter, Field Marshal? Really? This is your concern?"

"I have many concerns about this, 'Lord, but that is chief among them," John said, fixing his "King's" incredulous gaze with his famed thousand-mile stare. "A victory that leads to widespread suffering of those I intend to defend, is no victory at all."

Time to charm the old bastard, Marcus thought. He sighed, and nodded. "You are right, Field Marshal. It would not be a victory, and I cannot expect you to stain your conscience with such things. This is a war afterall, and you are ill suited for its demands. You are a good man, full of honour, and have served me well for many years."

"I appreciate your understanding, 'Lord," John said, with yet another bow.

"Which is why," Marcus continued, "I am relieving you of your post."

Now it was John's time to squawk, but Marcus silenced him with a wave of his hand. "You have served the Insula loyally for many years. You are tired, and old, Field Marshal, you have long since earned a comfortable retirement. Leave me, and find yourself a happiness that will carry you into Faran's arms."

John was flabbergasted, and it took him a minute or so to find his words. "But my King," he allowed, "I can yet still serve."

"Nonsense," Marcus proclaimed, spreading his hands. "You've said yourself that this campaign will weigh heavily upon you, and I will not allow it. You are a good man, and by my power, you shall remain so."

"Please, 'Lord, drillin' the boys is all I know," the Field Marshal said, getting onto his knees.

Marcus stifled a laugh. Drilling the boys? Faran be spared this man's lack of linguistic awareness. "Very well, Field Marshal. If drilling boys is all you know, then you have a place in our new Kingdom. I take with me the Insula's standing army, leaving her defenceless - and if the war goes ill, Karkarth will roll over it without resistance. We need a new army, and we need one quickly."

John nodded his agreement. "Where should I find recruits, 'Lord?"

Marcus thought for a few moments. "Ensure the Adjutor Order is fully disbanded. Draw every able bodied man - and woman - and assemble them into a host. What's left, can tend the fields. Scribe, scholar, doctor and foreman. I don't care what their station is, if they can't defend our country, then they can at least feed those who can."

The Field Marshal sighed. "Your logic is sound, but many will not be happy with this rash changes to our centuries old ways. If I am met with dissent?"

"I like you, Field Marshal, you're not like the others," Marcus said with a smile, "no morals, besides the alter of bloody war, unsettles you. If there is dissent, then fill the jails - find the ring leaders, and have them separated from the populace. I'll deal with them all upon my return."

"Yes, my King," the Field Marshal conceded, and with a bow, he marched off with a squadron of Order Guard.

Peace Keepers

"We have trouble, Sire," said Infantry Captain Grimspire. The man was an ugly thing, like many of Marcus' secret merceneries. All scars and fat, but with hidden muscles willing to tear a man in two.

"Trouble, Scoundrel?" Marcus replied with a raised eye.

Grimspire moved his bulk to the side, and pointed a hand to a docking ship. "Gryphs. They wish to dissuade you from war."

Marcus laughed, and laughed hard. Dozens of soldiers going about their business stopped to spare him a brief glimpse.

"By Faran, what - wait, are they armed?" Marcus asked gleefully.

"Yes, Sire," Grimspire responded, with equal happiness.

"Excellent. Ensure everyone sees. I can't remember the last time armed foreigners spurred happiness into any good patriot's heart. I'll meet with them soon, but be sure their commander is brought here, to the army camp, so that his build, nor his air of authority, can break through the sheen of ten thousand plated warriors."

- Adjutor Insula -

The Valiant Dawn had successfully arrived at the Adjutor Insula, the only boat of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere. Designed as a fast-moving transport ship for carrying large numbers of people around swiftly, it was the perfect vessel to carry the peacekeepers to the soon-to-be violent realm of the Adjutor Insula. Outwardly, there was few things threatening about it - there were few cannons, armour had been traded in favour of speed and there were no violent or gory drawings or carvings that usually adorned Torin warships. The same could not be said for the people on board - everyone was carrying some kind of sword or axe and wore armour, either the leather armour of the army, but without any of the telltale insignias, or the tribal armour of the Rockshatter clan.

"Alright, lads and lasses, listen up!" The captain of the boat cried out. The crew stopped what they were doing and listened. "We are here for one reason and one reason only - to prevent whoever is in charge here from going to war. We need to be as persuasive as possible. No-one listens to criminals. Everyone here must respect the Insula's laws - if even one of us breaks them, any opposition we encounter will bring that up. Y'all are representing the Empire now. Anything you do is done in the name of the Empress herself."
The Gryph amongst the crew were rapt, contemplating the captain's words deeply. Few of them had ever been on jobs of national importance before and responsibility was weighing heavily on all of them. Being new to it all, they were going to be sure to keep themselves in check.
The Rockshatter Kasai, on the other hand, paid little heed to the captain's ramblings. They had done things their way for centuries and it had usually worked. A few of them told themselves simply to treat the citizens of this strange country like kinsmen, but most planned to stay on the boat throughout the whole trip anyway.
"This is an important job and we cannot afford to screw it up. If we fail, hundreds - no, thousands of people may die. Thousands of fathers, brothers, uncles and sons will lay down their lives for this conquest, and one side will ultimately fall, making their sacrifices pointless. If we can prevent all those meaningless deaths, we will be praised as heroes once we get home. If we cannot, we may as well take our own lives."

The mood was dulled somewhat after that last sentence as the true realisation of what their task was finally settled on the crew. Some saw it as a low-importance issue, one that didn't really matter. Others saw it as a paid holiday. Now they were disillusioned, any happy feel that had surrounded the journey was killed. The crew was in a somewhat dour mood as they moved crates, tied the boat and lowered the sails. One poor sod left to pay for docking and came back in tears.

The Captain who was in charge of the Valiant Dawn bore the name Orion Daemus, though he was simply referred to as Daemus (by his superiors) or Cap'n (by his crew). Orion was your average Gryph - tall, gold skinned, muscular. Unlike many officers, he got to his position the old-fashioned way - by earning it. Though he was considered to be rough and insensitive, he was one of the best negotiators Torin had, especially since Gaius was out testing the Divine Wind, and he had made it his personal quest to prevent a war or die trying.

---

"Captain, we got a situation"

It was about mid-afternoon. Most of the crew were off exploring local culture and preaching peace, so the first thing Orion thought was that one of the crewmen had broken a law. He turned to face the soldier who had addressed him.

"What's the matter, Private?"

"There's a bunch-a soldier boys asking about you" the Private told him "sayin' they need you to go with 'em."

"Asking about me? What do you mean?"

"Well, I was walking on the docks to stretch me legs and this big soldier boy comes up to me and says 'Excuse me, do you know that ship?' and points to the iDawn. I says 'Yessir, that's the boat I came in on.'. He says 'Do you know who owns it?' and I says 'Yessir, that would be the Captain.' and he says - "

"Private" Captain Daemus asks patiently "Did he say why I needed to go with him?"

"Yes he did, sir. He says you need to go with 'im and his lads to go to their army camp or sumthin like that. Seemed quite insistent."

"That'll be all, Private. Return to your duties."

"Aye, aye, sir" the Private saluted clumsily. He took a few steps in the other direction before turning to ask his captain "What duties, sir?"

But the captain had other things to think about. He wasn't expecting such a response so soon. He needed to gather his thoughts - and a troupe of guards - before going to meet the soldiers.

"Private" he called the grunt over "Find Commander Ripley. He should be just downstairs, in his quarters. Tell him to hold the fort while I'm away"

"Yes, sir"

And you there, Tribesman" the Rockshatter in question looked stunned for a moment, but swiftly regained composure "you come with me. And you, Corporal." In the end, Captain Daemus gathered eight soldiers to accompany him, three tribesmen, five soldiers. He disembarked the Dawn and went to meet the soldiers.

"We are ready. However, we refuse to disarm. If I'm walking into a trap, I want my weapons and guards with me at all times."

Adjutor Insula

The Templar

Templar Gombas left the Council of Sorrow more angry than sad. Madness!

Or so it seemed to him, that the Order of Adjutor would so willingly proclaim the Lord Defender their King. KING! Surely their minds had gone to madness, and their bowels to water, if they were so sacrilegious as to throw down Faran's teachings and appoint a man with a forbidden title.

Fear gives men wings, this was known, but such brash insanity?

As the Templar descended the stairs from the meeting house, he found his carriage waiting, but raised an eye at the twenty or so Sword Brothers circling it in a loose phalanx.

"Problems?" He asked to no one in particular.

One of the Sword Brothers grunted, "since the Matron Scribe's unlawful killing, all vote eligible members of the Adjutor Order are assigned a tripple guard."

Gombas rolled his eyes, "I'm an old man. If winter doesn't get me this year, then a Karkarth dagger will the next. It's irrelevant. I dismiss you."

The Sword Brother shook his head. "Can't do, my Lord Templar. King's orders. Says he wants you all safe and sound."

"Watched and silent, more like," Gombas shot back.

Now, Templar Gombas was an old man. All Templars were. To achieve his title, one had to serve twenty-five years in an Order branch, and then be honourably transferred to another, where they had to serve twenty-five years more. Well, Templar Gombas was sixty three years old, and his silver tonsure - no maintience required - his foamy white beard and his leathery skin demanded somehow immense respect. But his guard would have none of it.

"Forgive me, Lord Templar, but I cannt allow you to slight the King," the Sword Brother said.

"Ballocks," Gombas spat, "your name, soldier."

The Sword Brother hesitated before answering. "Thomas Stillwater."

"Well," Gombas grunted, "are you aware of what a dictator is, Master Stillwater?"

"I-"

"Or how about a war monger?"

"My Lo-"

"Murderer perhaps?" Gombas finished. He did not bother to give the young man time to respond, and he brushed past him to clamber into the carriage. "Take me to the Lord Defender's residence."

"He is not there, Lord," the subdued Sword Brother uttered.

"Good," Gombas smiled.

***

Marcus' residence was built to the man's stature. Large, angular, dull but somehow intimidating. As if someone had just dropped one giant brick in the middle of Love. It had taken four days to arrive there, and Templar Gombas had not allowed he nor his guard more than an hour's rest a night. He was tired, but he was sustained by his faith in Faran. King Faran, who after he wiped out an entire peoples, realised he was no hero - no, he was a monster. King Faran, who had tried to build a better world.

"So long as I still draw breath, perhaps what was, can still be," Gombas muttered, as the carraige came to a standstill.

Two guards helped him down, and three of the now defunct Order Guard met him from the house. They were grim men, unshaven and smelling foul.

"I'm here to see the Lady Aticus, if you will," Gombas said to the Order Guard, all smiles and wrinkles as he was.

"She is unwell, I'm afraid Lord Templar. Perhaps another time," one of them replied, fingering a sharp dagger at his waist.

Templar Gombas was... well, he was a Templar. If he wanted to see the Lady, then only she herself could refuse him. He'd done enough for his country to earn that right. He went to move past them, but their spears crossed his path. "Return to your home, Templar. You'll find nothing here."

"You deny me?" he asked incredulously. He tried again to get past them, but this time they relented.

He walked past the bland gardens, the bulky water features, the statue of Marcus' father, and pushed aside the front door with strength not befitting his build. Then he disappeared inside, and did not emerge for some time.

[Heh. If you hadn't put the note in, I'd have made the child Luna anyways, and then apologise to you for god modding. Fits in with my plans perfectly]

It was Luna's fault really. She had been that excited about actually being here, she had plain forgotten to look ahead of her. Presently, she was sitting on her arse, legs wide, knickers on display, her little blue dress doing next to nothing to cover her. It was at least a little embarrassing, especially since some of the more immature guests saw it fit to point at her and giggle.

But when she looked up and saw who she had bumped into, 'embarrassed' didn't even begin to describe it. She had been thinking all the way through the journey how she was going to talk to the Gu'Shedal, since her habit of saying a little too much had got her into trouble in the past before. She wanted to have an air of sophistication, like her mother, combined with the hawk-eyes of Corvus. Instead of grandly introducing herself, she instead barged right into him and gave him a ticket to the upskirt show, with her as a main attraction. Combined with the blunt, thudding pain that was slowly spreading through her rump, the situation could not have been less ideal.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going" Luna stammered, humiliated. She tried to rise to her feet without causing any further trouble and actually managed to do it. "I'm fine, thank you. I've had worse"

Smooth, Luna. Make it out as though falling on your backside is a regular occurrence, that's really classy.

Still, she at least tried to salvage some dignity "I should really pay more attention to where I'm going, shouldn't I?" She laughed a little, unsure of what to say or do. She took a sudden interest in a particular patch of floor, lowering her head so her host wouldn't see the two tomatoes that had replaced her cheeks. A little part of her was saying 'Go on, talk to him. Maybe you'll hit it off". Unfortunately, that was only a really small part of her, whilst the rest of her screamed 'Sit down, shut up and try not to get noticed any more'

"I hope I didn't hurt you or anything" Luna said, genuinely concerned. "I mean, not that I think I could hurt you, but..." When she was in a pit, she just kept digging. First she looked like a klutz, now she had inadvertently insinuated that the Gu'Shedal was weak. Only the heavens knew what she was going to say next. The safest option was to go.

"I should probably go, sir. I mean, you've got much more important things to do than stand here and talk to me. Please excuse me."

---

"Can you see Luna, Corvus?"

"Over there, on the stairwell."

Squint. "I can't see her."

"You don't see the fifteen year old Gryph with ginger hair and a knee-length, midnight-blue dress? Oh, no..."

"What do you mean, 'oh no'?"

"You'll never guess who she's just bumped in to. Literally."

"Don't tell me she's..."

"Yes, Empress. Her skirt's hitched up and all. I can see her underthings from here."

Pause

"That elf just gave you the dirtiest look."

"So she did."

"Corvus, please be careful with what you say."

"I'm more worried about what Luna's going to say to Mundir."

"She's a big girl. She can look after herself."

"No reason why I shouldn't keep an eye out for trouble. Remember last year, at Warren's ball?"

"That was an accident."

"Still happened."

"Ugh. Sometimes I regret keeping you around."

"Must be doing something right if you still wanted to drag me along."

"Corvus?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Shut up."

"Right away, ma'am."

Holy Palace of the Gu'Shedal, Capital District, Manram

Despite the festivities going on, and the primarily joyful air of the gathering Suthra was not enjoying himself. These types of meetings weren't really his style, and the fact that he towered above the crowd made him stand out. He was even taller than the massive royal guards the Gu'Shedal employed, and he hadn't known how to properly react when they'd given him a slightly different greeting than most other guests. He hoped nobody else had noticed, it just drew more attention to Suthra and he didn't do anything to deserve it. He was barely even royalty; Suthra would've much rather stayed back in Ulzschath, even if it meant staying around his father's family.

Currently Suthra was standing off to the side, having no desire to engage in the festivities. He knew he had to properly represent his father here, but that didn't mean he had to initiate conversation with anyone. He was already wearing a far more ornate outfit than he was used to, a robe of fine black silk trimmed with silver and a cloak of soft, silver fur in addition to a necklace and several bangles of jeweled silver, and Suthra worried about standing out even more thanks to it. But he was the son of the Grand Prince, and while that meant far less to the hanarth than to most other cultures, Napizzi didn't wish for his son to appear in just a simple robe before the nobles and royals assembled for the festivities.

Suthra's cousins, however, had no such qualms and were around and socializing with the many people assembled. Both of them were dressed in clothes as ornate as Suthra's, though theirs were more colourful than the simple black and silver of Suthra's outfit. In addition, both of them had disregarded the Gu'Shedal's suggestion that they come unarmed. Instead, Alurar wore a pair of short swords at his hip while Asurar had a greatsword strapped across his back.

Suthra didn't even notice the girl bump into the Gu'Shedal, to busy trying to not be noticed. He only realized it when he heard the response of the people assembled, and followed their gaze to where the young girl sat on the steps. At least the Gu'Shedal didn't appear angry about it, which was good.

"Oh, that's not good," Asurar said with a laugh, appearing behind Suthra and startling his cousin into a coughing fit.

"You okay?" Asurar asked once Suthra's coughing had subsided.

Suthra nodded his head, then looked up to where the Gu'Shedal and the girl were still talking, "It does not look like he's angry, though."

"The Estron may not be angry, but it still looks bad for the girl's family," Asurar said with a shrug, "How would it look if one of the governor's children bumped into your father?"

Suthra thought for a moment, before nodding his head in agreement, "True. But it could be worse."

"That means absolutely nothing, you know. It can always be worse," Asurar said, grinning again, "Anyway, you need to go out and talk to some of these people. What would my Uncle say if he found out you spent the entire visit standing in a corner?"

"He'd forgive me. He always does," Suthra replied simply, "Besides, I don't feel well."

"You never feel well," Asurar pointed out, "You live with it perfectly well, and you're much better than you were on the ship. Thank the Gods."

Suthra grimaced at the memory; it wasn't seasickness that made him ill, but rather the fact that he had caught a chill from a storm their boat had been caught in. He'd spent most of the voyage to Manram bedridden, but he'd recovered in time for the festival. Were it not for how horrible he'd felt, Suthra would've wished he could've stayed sick in bed rather than attend this party. "I know, but still..." he said, trailing off.

"But what?"

"Er..."

"Exactly," Asurar said with a smug grin, though his words were light-hearted, "Just introduce yourself to the Gu'Shedal at least."

"I will," Suthra said, "Eventually."

"And if someone talks to you, talk back to them."

Suthra gave his cousin an unamused look, "I was planning on it. Just hoping nobody bothered to talk to me."

"Suthra, let's face it. You're pretty much the tallest person I've seen so far, and everyone here's important," Asurar said, "Somebody is going to come over and talk to you. Now I'm going to go talk to someone else, so please try and enjoy yourself."

And with that Asurar wandered off in the direction of the serving table; he planned on sampling the local drink as well as mingling with those assembled. However, he didn't hear Suthra mumble under his breath "Not everyone here's important".

Adjutor Insula

The Templar, Part 2

"Thank you for seeing me, Lady Aticus," Templar Gombas said warmly, and with his semi-toothed smile. "I know these are hectic times, to say the least."

Gombas had found himself seated in a plush cushioned chair, situated on one of the Lord Defender's home's many balconies. He peered across at the ruins of Love, still smouldering from the raid more than a week ago, and it pained his heart to imagine such anguish afoot. In an attempt to refocus himself to the matter at hand, he switched his gaze to the "King's" queen apparant.

Though what he found there, was equally troubling. She wore a thick purple shroud, covering her face, though the rest of her dress was what one would expect. Still, the shroud? It was not custom for women to hide their faces, even in times of mourning. Faranism had always preached equality among the sexes, though sometimes the God King's holy visions had fallen short of their aims. Not that it was ever the God King's fault, but that of his followers, whom sometimes mired in the backwards ways of the world. Still, Adjutor Insula was a global leader in such matters regardless, and Lady Aticus was not known as particualy shy, or concious of her image.

"The pleasure is all mine," she said at last. Something in her voice was off, as if his presence was testing her patience. "How can I help you, Lord Templar?"

Gombas smiled again, trying his kindly charms to their fullest. He took a few seconds to glance around the balcony, and noted how austere everything seemed. It was true that the monks of Adjutor mimicked the poor of the world as best they could, but other Order branches, such as the Sighing Hand, had free reign over the finer things of life. No art work lined the walls, no vases the balcony's entrance. Just bland white stone, gleaming slightly in the sun.

"I am concerned," his tongue soured quickly, "over the well being of our King. I've come to enquire about his happenings of late."

Lady Aticus did not stir, though Gombas felt her eyes searing through him. Searing with what though? Anger?

Gombas cleared his throat, and approached from another angle. "The Crown he now wears carries a great deal of responsibility. He leads our nation into its first war in centuries, and I feel Faran-bound to ensure he is of... right mind. Not that I wish to assume the opposite of course, but he does seem... emotional?"

"He's fine," she snapped, suddenly. She went to rise from her chair, but an invisible hand stole the strength from her dress-clad legs, and she fell back into it with a moan.

The Templar took the oppurtunity to play the concerned neighbour, and moved over to help her. "My lady, are you alright?"

"Yes," she said, struggling for a second time to stand. Two ladies-in-waiting materalised from inside the building, possibly after hearing their charge's moan, and held either arm. "I'm just a little unwell. Arthritis, the doctors tell me."

Gombas raised an eye. "Lock-joint? But my lady, you are far too young for such an affliction. Come, let me have a look at you. Lock-joint is just one of my fields of experience."

As the Templar went to seat Lady Aticus back into her chair, an Order Guard, all plate and grime, stumbled through the balcony doorway. Alcohol ran rich through his breath, and upon seeing the Templar, he sneered. "Get the fuck out of here, you old pervert!"

Gombas was a man of compassion, a saver of lives, and possessed endless patience. It was with these qualities in mind, that the Templar grabbed the Order Guard by his shoulder straps, and slammed him into a decorative stone pillar. "You're ill, my friend, take a rest will you?" The Order Guard slid down the pillar, and slumped lifelessly on the tiled flooring.

Lady Aticus did not stir, but her ladies-in-waiting made to leave. Gombas did not stop them. If they wanted to alert the guard's comrades, then let them. He answered to a high power - himself.

"My lady, why are you shrouded?" Gombas asked, edging towards the balcony to see what his men were up to. His eyes found them standing rigidly to attention around his carriage, as two Order Guards berrated them with some nonsense.

"To hide my shame, Lord Templar," Lady Aticus replied suddenly.

Gombas turned from the balcony, and walked over to her. Taking a knee, he held one of her soft porcelain palms in his wrinkled, leathery hands. "Shame, my lady?"

Lady Aticus appeared to lose her voice once again, and Gombas felt prompted to push back her shroud. His eyes momentarily widened as they caught the sight of scorched skin, cracked and leaking puss. Eyes, one milky white, one sapphire, looked at him with questionable intent. A large and messy gash decorated what was once one of the finest pair of lips in Adjutor Insula.

"By Faran," Gombas gasped.

He needed not say more, and Lady Aticus needed not reply, though she did. "He said he wanted to make me strong."

Her words trailed into a sigh, as Templar Gombas picked her up in his arms and made for the doorway. A commotion met him on the otherside, as three more of the "King's" suspiciously unprofessional Order Guard met him. "Put her back, Templar, before we gut you," one of them said, pausing to spit black slime onto the floor. "Wont ask twice, we wont."

"Lady Aticus is now in my care. By the Fifth Law of Faran, I am now her guardian. Come at me if you will, I imagine a Templar's murder will earn you all swift justice," he shot back, and made to walk through them, but they drew their swords.

"By King Marcus' first Royal Decree, the Adjutor Order is disbanded, and all able bodied members are to report to the mustering fields, down by the docks," the Order Guard said, removing his winged helm to reveal a face of broken bones and yellow teeth. "By King Marcus' second Royal Decree, all Order members who cannot bear arms, must report to their nearest Agricultural Centre for work orders."

"He's disbanded the Order?" Gombas gasped, but his surprise soon turned to forbidden anger. "I'll neither join his army, nor shall I supply it. Stand aside, I do not recognise your authoritiy. I answer to Faran, and he tells me you are bad men."

The Order Guards looked at each other briefly, and started to laugh. Gombas said a silent prayer, and tried again to move through them. The tip of a short sword found its way into his gut in short order. His eyes bulged as the searing heat of the weapon's edge made for his internal organs. In a blind panic, he stepped back quicker than any old man should, with the Lady still in his arms, and made for the balcony. The Order Guards chased him, but he was already on the banister's edge and looking at the fifty foot drop below him. His guards at the carriage had stopped their quarrel with Marcus' house guards, and looked up at him with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Hold on tight, my lady," Gombas whisphered into the soft perfumed hair of his charge, and then jumped.

The fall lasted a second, though to him it felt like years, and the entirety of his long mundane life flashed before him. When he hit the bottom, a bolt of lightning shot up his knees, and he collapsed to the floor. Lady Aticus sprawled from his arms, and he rolled to look up at the sun. Pain paralysed him, and his hip told him he'd probably seen his last.

Within seconds, his men had circled him and were busy picking him - and the lady - up and carrying them off to the carriage.

"What was that, Lord Templar?" Asked a young Captain, whose features had aged a decade in the last few seconds.

"We must stop the King, take me to the docks, and ensure the Lady's safety. Take her to the Monastery of Regret, with any man good enough to still serve a holy purpose in this world," Gombas said weakly, trying to fight the pain and keep some length of sanity. "When the island goes dark, the Monastery will be the last to fall."

"I do not understand, Lord Templar," the Captain replied, as he helped load the man into the carriage.

"Much is a mystery in this world of ours, but if you truly love Faran, and all that he has tried to do for humanity, then follow my command to the letter, and stray not into the darkness," Gombas finished, as pain-induced hallucinations of blinding light took him to what might well be his last slumber.

The Captain stared at the Lord Templar for some moments, unsure whether to follow orders that would be considered treason. He did not like the idea of a King, this much was true, but Lord Defender Marcus Aticus had many fine qualities, and Karkarth was on the verge of wiping the Insula off the map. To kidnap the King's wife, and stow her away in the fortress-come monastery of Regret would be the last of him.

"What would Faran do?" The Captain mused, as a dozen Order Guard burst from the Lord Defender's home with swords gleaming.

"My name? Um... Luna, Luna Aerin. I'm from Torin. It's good to finally meet you, my Lord" Luna, having recovered slightly from her mishap, shot a brief smile and extended her hand towards the Gu'Shedal. It was nice to meet someone who didn't care how ditzy or scatterbrained she was. Everyone she knew, bar Father Bitter-Root, always took the mick out of her for being a klutz. Her mother always said that it was a good thing she had a pretty face, because otherwise she'd have nothing. Corvus disagreed, saying she had a nice voice and a bubbly personality, but that she should avoid doing anything practical. Lanius was the cruellest, saying if she wasn't the daughter of his employer, he would pay no heed to such a fool. Even her servants used to make fun of her, telling her to watch her step on even ground or asking if she was really sure she should be wearing heels - usually, right before she tumbled over.

The other girl wasn't quite so forgiving. She looked angry - way too angry to just be mad at her. From the dirty looks she was receiving, it was as though she had personally insulted Mundir by daring to be in his presence.

"I didn't mean any offence, miss! I just wasn't looking where I was going, I swear!" Luna went from being calm to panicking in an instant. Had she done something horrible and taboo, like touch the Gu'Shedal without permission? "I-it, won't happen again, I promise!"

Imperia, seemingly about to spit out an unending amount of information about who the Gu'Shedal actually was, so on and so forth, but in the last second she glanced over towards her own lord, knowing that she'd get on his bad side if she continued to disobey his commands, she remained silently, simply glaring at the little child with the gaze of a lion staring down some sort of lesser dominant herbivore. The last thing she did was walk up to stand right next to her lord, and then she decided that enough was enough, and continued her silent gaze.

Mundir, on the other hand, seemed more than happy to speak with Luna, seemingly throwing what had just happened under the rug and simply keeping to the kind smile of his own lips. ''Luna, you don't have to worry so..'' Mundir said with a kind smirk arising across his face. With a wave of his hand towards the silver gate which once had swung open only to allow more food and pleasantries through. ''Shall I take you somewhere you might enjoy? We have quite the nice garden at the very center of this palace. If you wouldn't mind, it would probably be for the best if you brought your Mother, I'm certain she followed with you?'' Mundir's eyes seemed to hold the same color as the starry night sky, an innocent gaze befell them as he turned back to Luna and looked into her own eyes.

''But if you rather, then we can walk there alone.''

Imperia recieved the note instantly, and whilst she was quite surprised, for whatever reason, she did far from rejoice at the fact that she was just told off by her own lord and master. She knew that he was more than capable of protecting his own and the child of Torin, but it was more the fact that she wouldn't be able to perform her duty as the First Lady of Manram and stand by his side for whatever reason, it was more duty than anything else.

With a single blink she looked towards Mundir, observing how his gaze met without worry with Luna, she simply replied. ''I will take my leave, mi'lord.'' And walked away, heading into the sea of lords to most likely create relations powerful enough to benefit Manram in the near future, after all, the time is nigh for the prophecy.

The South, Cholerny

The Keep of Cholerny was a grey and formidable structure carved out of the mountain range of the south and cloaked by the tall trees of the forest. The humble town stood at its heels pure and untouched by the crimes of the north. The keep was of finest and oldest Marmon build and has felt the pounding of many ancient wars. The walls were active and being trodden upon by loyal citizen guards who kept the old Marmon was safe in their very heart. The light that shone from the slits of the walls challenged and banished the cloudy gloom that formed under the storm clouds and promised a dry warmth from the pattering rains that washed the granite bricks of dirt and dust.

Here in this sentinel of stone lives Henry Lempeter, duke of Cholerny and last free noble from the touch of the criminal lords. His dining room was full this noon as hooded visitors talked softly to him. The room was a bright chestnut and filled with the labor of the towns people, from the long wooden table to the brightly stitched banners and table cloths. The room held the strong aroma of a very varying soup that filled the metal bowls of the visitors. The iron spoons clanked and scraped the bowls as they fought the evasive ingredients to get the biggest spoonful of the most tender bits of lamb and juicy carrot. In between slurps and smacking lips the conversation was spoken softly and privately, but clearly among old friends.

The hooded men where Commander Mikus Dominum and Glemus Puwonem who sat on the opposite side of the hard table, facing Henry. Henry was dressed like a lumberer, but a rich one at that, his brown beard was trim and his hair did not fall into his chestnut eyes as he sat, his big shoulders hunched and his hands folded as he gave the two fugitive soldiers a silent, pensive look. Mikus had been returning the look with one of irritation.

“Henry,” Mikus said finally as he directed his attention to a stray mushroom floating around in his soup, “I cannot thank you enough for the usual hospitality, my old friend,” Henry said as he scooped the mushroom with his spoon and slurped t down.

“Now Mikus,” Henry said, his stern gaze not lifting from Mikus, “I know you well enough to know that when you go so far off topic just to compliment someone, you’re devising a nasty little plan.”

A smile tried and withered on Mikus’ face, “It is just disturbing to know that the rat bastard fake king managed to take so much of the west so easily, and with half the conquered towns and villages giving up before his bastard army arrived.”

Henry nodded then took a sip of a mug of milk that had been sitting in front of him for some time untouched.

“Well, with the capitol pretty much defenseless and with the Bull presumed to be in the west, wouldnt this be the perfect time to take the castle back?”

“Not that I’m suggesting high treason,” Henry smiled his politician smile, and managed to get a chuckle out of the silent Puwonem who sat with his face practically in his bowl of soup.

“Easily,” replied an unimpressed Mikus, “But the issue is not with the taking of Marmon, but rather the keeping it. As soon as word spreads that I have showed my head and marched the lost cohort into the castle of Mallkim, all the crime lords and their pawns would be there in an instant, no, first we must take out a few heads so the body may not follow.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” Puwonem asked, his bottom lip had a stray bit of parsley sticking to it as he lifted his face from his bowl.

Mikus suppressed a laugh and scratched his stubbled cheeks, “I- “

Suddenly a chain covered guard poked his head in, “Sir, Duke Lempeter, a raggedy looking man has been pestering the front doorsmen for hours asking for you, what shall we do?”

Henry shook his head, “of course there has been, go on then lets see the poor bloke.”

After a few silent minutes a man who looked the part of a beggar walked in flanked by two guards men. The beggar looked worn and was wearing a dirt stained burlap cloak, pulled over his head and covering his face in a dirty shadow. The man was shoeless and his toes were bitten red, only finding shelter from the elements from the torn ends of long green pants that looked as if it was stitched a thousand times over in poorly sewn patches. The only thing remotely pleasant about the odd beggar man was his smell, which had a hauntingly strong tinge of the deep woods pines and saps. It wa if the forest itself had stripped itself to the lowest poverty and walked into the keep of Cholerny.

“good day, sir,” The beggar said roughly in almost a whisper.

“And a good day to you too my good man, what do you wish of me?” Henry started, a look of skepticism was in his face at the oddity that stood hunched before him.

“Just a simple donation for a poor old man.”

The guard on the man’s left looked extremely annoyed, “come on then, back outside, how dare you stop pall of us to beg.”

“No,” Henry waved his hand as if banishing the accusation, “I have a few coins in my pocket, I’m afraid it is the best I can do right now.”

Mikus, who had been hiding his face in a cloak of his own spoke up, keeping his face low, “Beggar, take my bowl, take my soup.”

Puwonem lifted his bowl up, “Take mine as well, beggar.”

A crooked smile formed under the dirty shadow of the beggars hood, “Thank you kindly, strangers.”

---

Party Time, starring Jim and William

The glamour of Palace was overwhelming for the Jim and William. Though they had little trouble getting in due to no one really knowing what King Curlow and Captain Edwin really looked like, the two had no idea what to do as soon as the party began in the great room. The regal looking Jim adjusted his bronze crown and eyed the bizarre foods, then back at the anxious William, who had stolen a particularly nice suit of mail and a matching sword.

“Jim.” William began as his dark searching eyes scanned the elaborate hall and its shiny trinkets.

“Yes, Edwin ,” Jim said through his teeth as he looked over a few of the foreign women with a roguish appetite.

“I want to get wasted,” said William as his eyes rested on the table of food.

Jim reached into his royal purple cloak he had stolen from a pimp and revealed a metal flask. Jim unscrewed the cap and took a heavy swing, making a face at the sour alcohol that the flask contained before quickly replacing it in his cloak once more, “Good luck with that Will,” He patted Williams shoulder and began a false royal walk towards some rich dressed lady who was creating polite conversation with some noble who stood as if a rod was up his ass. Jim slapped his shaven face as the alcohol kicked his stomach and refocused his hazel eyes on the lady’s back, “ ‘Scusie Madam,” Jim said with an exaggerated bow as the lady turned to witness the sudden arrival. She was a pretty woman and had a small nose that fitted her face quite nicely in between two big sea blue eyes, her young red lips were apart as she was interrupted by the bow.

“Yes?” the surprised raven haired noble woman observed the kingly rogue, particularly focusing on his impressive crown.

“Where do you hail from, regency,” She said, her tone was soft and quite lovely to the foresters ears.

“I am King Jeffsoff Curlow of Marmon!” Jim announced loudly as William watched from the food tables, his cheeks stuffed full of strange flavors. Jim looked back at William and received two greasy thumbs up.

Jim turned back to the pretty woman and flashed his most charming white toothed smile, custom to the Armain thief, matched with his enchantingly handsome gaze he had perfected over years of conning, “What star sign were you born under, lovely,” Jim said smoothly with a suggestive wink.

"I beg your pardon?" The lady replied almost confused, as her stare was trapped by Jim's mesmerizing hazel gaze.

[Feel free to mingle with the thieves of pick up lines, MORE TO COME]

Luna squirmed under Imperia's glare as she thought.
"I would need to..."
Then the full weight of the Gu'Shedal's words hit her. How did he know she came here with her mother? Did he recognise the name? He didn't show any reaction to it. Maybe he recognised her from that wretched portrait - the one where she looked about seven years old, holding a sword and wearing a leather corset she was certain was two sizes too tight. But then, wouldn't he know her name, or recognise her face? She hadn't told him he was a noble, just that she was from Torin, which could mean she was the daughter of a chief or warrior. Based on her skin and face, most people would guess she was Kasai, so that seemed more likely. Regardless, it seemed more likely that she would show up with her father rather than her mother. So why did he say Mother?

Oh gods... Had he mistaken her for a whore? She didn't think she looked tartly and by Torin standards she looked fine, but here it might be different. Wearing sleeveless dresses or knee-length skirts might be considered immodest here. To think, she had spent all that time getting her hair into that spiral-pigtail everyone found cute and picking a dress only to end up looking like a tart! The more she thought about it, the more it made sense - being asked to go with him someplace private, politely ignoring the fact she walked right into him, asking her to stay, telling whosherface not to yell at her. Maybe Mother was code for pimp, or was a hooker he frequently went with. Maybe prostitution was a family business, so daughters followed their mothers. Maybe he wanted them both.

But what about the age limits? She wasn't technically allowed - she had to wait for her first blood going by Torin laws. And even though she was abroad, she followed her own laws, always.

Panic and embarrassment once again took centre stage on Luna's face. Without thinking, she backed away from Mundir a couple of steps, her gaze firmly watching him. She was scared of him, and there was no hiding it.

"Sir" she began "Why can we not talk here?"

Mundir was very amused by the womans movements, apparently his little prank to loosen up the girl had worked the complete opposite, but it was interesting to observe nonetheless. If Imperia was here she'd enjoy what Mundir had accomplished to this female, but Mundir felt the need to enlighten Luna in the most basic knowledges of the world, family royalty. ''Luna, you're gravely missunderstanding something here.'' Mundir stated blankly, retaining his kind smile, even though he is being taken suspect of something obsurd, it simply seems that Luna is thinking the strangest things.

''News travel far and wide, as you are royalty it is only naturaly for me to know who you are and, even more, who your mother is.''This was truly once upon a lifetime. For the first time in Mundir's life he'd been mistaken for a rapist, whilst she didn't directly speak it out, she had the tone all over her face. Even more, he, the greatest lord of Manram, if not this particular part of the world, was defending himself. He looked around and to his surprise there were barely anyone paying any attention, or so he thought, but his skin would surely be safe, it was not his error, after all.

''Once more, should we speak with your mother, I am certain she came with you here.'' Mundir's gaze came upon Luna and what it displayed was a one of great confusion, but also deep surprise, he was truly looking upon an airhead, no offence in the word, but it was very amusing nonetheless, if it wasn't at the cost of his own reputation.

"Phew" That was good news. At least he wasn't trying to hop in bed with her.

"Why didn't you just say that then? Nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you were going to... never mind. Yeah, she's..."

Looking around, Luna tried to catch sight of her mother. She wasn't wearing anything particularly distinctive, just an old forest-green dress. Apparently, she wore it at some other formal occasion, a meeting with a chieftain or her coronation or something. It was plain, long, with a golden trim. It didn't look very comfortable, but Kali had insisted on wearing it, saying 'a little pain is worth a good impression.' Trouble was, she looked like she was uncomfortable, which made it seem like she didn't like formal occasions or being away from home. Even a political novice like Luna knew that didn't look good for a leader of a country.

Whilst the Empress blended with the crowd, Corvus stuck out like a sore thumb. Clearly caring little for the formality and exigences esthétiques of the situation, he had flouted the 'no-weapons' rule, with a long cutting sword at his hip and two daggers across his chest, and decided the best item of clothing to wear was his armoured Inquisitor robes. Because nothing said 'classy and approachable' like a set of dark red, heavily-armoured robes emblazoned with an eye in the centre of the burning sun across the chest. Thankfully, he decided not to wear his helmet, but brought along light red greaves, boots and gauntlets to make up for it. He was right next to the Empress, which was helpful, though it would be unlikely for him to be anywhere else. He kept scanning the area, no doubt looking for threats of some description. He had one hand on his sword at all times. He probably didn't even know he was doing it - it was just instinct for him now.

"... over there. Come on, I'll take you over."

Having totally forgotten her earlier panic, she noted grabbed the Gu'Shedal by the hand and practically dragged him behind her, ignoring the strange looks she was getting.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

---

"Ma'am?"

"What's wrong, Corvus?"

"Those two óinseach over there..."

"Corvus! Language!"

"One is claiming to be Jeffsoff Curlow of Marmon."

"Oh?"

"Ma'am, he is not a noble. He is not even high-born. He looks like a common peasant."

"How can you tell? Looks perfectly moble to me. A bit roguish, perhaps, but..."

"The way he walks. The way he wears his clothes. His accomplice. It's all a dead giveaway. He's a fraud."

"We can't prove it. Don't try anything untoward."

Pause

"Corvus! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to talk to 'King' Curlow."

"Corvus, get the muca back here!"

"Excuse me, miss...."

"Corvus! Oh, gods be damned..."

Holy Palace of the Gu'Shedal, Capital District, Manram

"So, the stories are true. Marmon must be poor if its King wears a crown of bronze," came a voice from behind Jim. It was Alurar, who had noticed the man while he was mingled and had heard his claim to be King of Marmon. And since Marmon was Hanartha's southern neighbour, he figured it only proper to introduce himself. "Prince Alurar of the royal House Byakha, nephew of Grand Prince Napizzi Alar," he said straight-faced, extending his hand out to the so-called King.

---

"So you know Marmon's King?" Asurar said to William, having been at eating at the table, and had noticed the two exchanging looks and had seen William's thumbs-up to the 'King'. At present Asurar was as busy stuffing his face full of food as William was, though he at least swallowed the food before it managed to puff out his cheeks. After all, he was a Prince and it was hardly appropriate to eat like a starving peasant. "He seems like an interesting person," Asurar continued, then realized he hadn't introduced himself, "Oh, I'm Prince Asurar of Hanartha."

---

Oth, Hanartha

"How is this even possible? Marmon is a weak nation ruled by a weak King!" Napizzi Alar said angrily. Hanartha's Grand Prince was currently pacing back and forth in the quarters that Govern Xisuki had set aside for him in his palace. While not as lavish as his personal rooms in Ulzscath it was still opulent and ornate, much like the rest of the Governor's palace. Xisuki was appointed governor of Hanartha's entire Western coastline, so almost all of the trade from the West went through his cities, and Xisuki had a taste of the extravagant.

"They may be weak, but the free villages they seem to desire to subjugate are small and divided. Easy prey for even a weak predator," Xisuki said, his massive form reclining in one of the room's chairs. The Governor was, to put it simply, a fat man; his body spilled out over the seat of his chair and his bodily jiggled with every step he took. When he bothered to actually walk and not be carried around in a litter, that is. He was currently dressed in the finest fabrics he could afford and bedecked with jewels and precious metals. It was rather unnecessary really, since Xisuki and Napizzi were currently alone and having a private conversation.

"That is true. But one has to wonder how long it is before they grow too bold," Napizzi said.

"So you fear they will attack us?" Xisuki asked.

Napizzi gave a questioning look at his friend, "You do not?"

"Of course I do, I was simply seeing if you shared the sentiment," Xisuki replied with a shrug that made his entire body shake, "After all, bandits from Marmon already try and raid the towns of the Finger. If Marmon grows too bold, they may see the Finger as, at the very least, a tempting target."

"And I would make them pay with their blood if they try and take it from us," Napizzi replied, his voice hard and full of cold anger, "And then, when I smash their weak armies I would march on their capital, and burn it to the ground and smash their weakling King's castle to the ground."

"Just like your ancestor did once he defeated the other Princes and became ruler of a united Hanartha?" Xisuki said, referencing the first Grand Prince's complete destruction of his rivals' capitals.

"Yes, except I have no desire to rule that cesspit of a Kingdom," Napizzi said, "I would simply make them pay for trying to being the hanarth under their yoke."

"True, but you are getting awfully worked up over this," Xisuki said, "We are only talking hypotheticals here. Marmon may just decide to leave us alone; they may be wise."

"They may also be foolhardy, as many Kings drunk on the power of petty victories have been before," Napizzi replied.

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Well the letter I received said that the Warden of the East was already drawing more men South into the Finger and along the new border. Which is exactly as I would have had him do," Napizzi said, finally ceasing to pace and sitting down on his bed, "But he had his own opinions to share about what further to do."

"You speak of the proposed alliance with Manas," Xisuki said, "It sounds like a wonderful idea to me. After all, we may both fall under Marmon's eye for conquest."

Napizzi nodded his head, "Well we seem to be in agreement here. You do not mind if I use some of your men to deliver the message, do you?"

Xisuki simply waved his hand, "Of course not. And even if I did you are still my Grand Prince and I would do as you ask."

Napizzi nodded his head, "Good. Now it is getting late; I'll send the message in the morning."

Xisuki nodded his head before standing up from his chair, thought it was with some difficulty, "Of course, I shall see you in the morning. I look forward to seeing you at the festivities."

"As do I, it is a welcome diversion from ruling the realm," Napizzi said, "And all this talk of war is depressing, certainly not what should be consuming our thoughts; we're here to celebrate your sister's daughters."

"And I give only the best for my family and my friends," Xisuki said, a hint of pride in his voice as he said so.

"You always had, for as long as I've known you," Napizzi said with a soft chuckle, then he sighed, "Good night, Xisuki."

"Good night, my friend."

---

In the morning, a group of men were dispatched from Oth to travel South into Manas. Though they were disappointed at missing the festivities, as Governor Xisuki had held a city-wise celebration, they knew their duties and their current mission was on the orders of not the Governor, but the Grand Prince themselves. They were to travel to the Suthron Kingdom of Manas and deliver a message. And not just any message, but one offering an alliance between the two nations in the face of possible Marmon aggression. And the Grand Prince was certain that Manas would see reason and accept the offer. But first, the group of ten armed and armoured men had to ride South and reach Manas.

Jim paused as he heard himself being addressed from behind amd gave the pretty woman who he was talking to a polite smile, "Scusie once more Madam."

With a pivot of his boot heel he faced the elf that had accused him of poverty and maintained his polite smile.

"Now that's quite the bold statement to introduce yourself with," Jim gave the elf a chuckle.

"Luckily I don't figure myself an insecure king, let alone one who jumps at every insult he hears about his reign," Jim gave a politicians nod, "I am King Jeffsoff Curlow, it is a pleasure to meet you Prince Alurar of Harnartha."

The doppelganger adjusted his crown in question, "As for bronze being the metal of the poor, I assure you in Marmon it is quite the opposite, I mean, our most sacred and priceless artifact is but copper, the crown of Marmon, lost to the ages, and second to it is the Crown of Curlow, bronze and upon my head as divine appointment."

---

William swallowed his food and gave a nod as he washed his dry throat with some drink.

"Of course," William said putting his fist to his mouth and clearing his throat, "After all, I am the Captain of Curlows Riders, Edwin."

William wiped his fingers on a hand cloth and then offered his newly cleaned hand as he stood perfectly straight.

The Elven Nation of Manas
Meely Plantation

Maim Lucille Meely looked out the window of her wealthy plantation with casual interest. The Yard workers were busy at work again, like every day and every day before that. They worked endlessly on the Yetch Fields that grew crops that could be selled at the local market.

As an estate holder, it was her duty to provide food to the nation by using her land to generate crops. But... she was much more than that. As the heir to the queenage of Manas, she was also next in line to the elven throne of Manas -- a virtual princess, although such a word hadn't been used in generations.

But a far more pressing problem was that she was still single and it was her duty, as long as she remained young, to generate future heirs to the throne after she had taken it. But in order to create children, she needed a husband, and she had none of that... yet.

Sitting down on a chair, she pondered about all the people alround her. All of intricacies that made her farm into a productive piece of land -- wouldn't be possible without the men and women who tended it.

She thought about Old Mr. Fabey, the butler who had attended her family for years. Dresed in black and constantly harassing the family dog, Old Mr. Fabey was the ideal worksman of her plantation. His bald hair and green eyes and long bony ears made him look like the ideal elf to represent her old old plantation during ceremonial times. But he was too old to be a husband. Besides, he was married to that Cerenad Woman who lived in the wooden appendage next to her house. No, as much as she liked Mr. Fabey, he wouldn't do.

The next person Lucille thought about was the Plantation Manager and headsman, Hamon Cox, a bright middleaged brown-nosed elf who worked the fields day in and day out like some madman who was possessed. She liked him a lot, mostly because he made the farm incredibly profitable, but he was too stern, too singleminded about his job and business that being with him made her think of a dull afternoon doing nothing but taking a nap. No, that was not what she wanted to do with her life. Mr. Cox was big and strong, and was diligent about his work, but he lacked something that Lucille couldn't quite put a word on it. But she loved the man, because he was so damn productive, and it made her ponder why she couldn't also be as hard working. Mr. Hamon Cox... certainly someone who was integral to her plantation, and an orderly member of her crew, but not an ideal husband. He was... too poor.

Then there was her nephew, Stannis Meely, a bright young lad, far too young for her, and wasn't he always chasing that maid who worked the kitchen? He was obsessed with that girl... his attention constantly possessed in that romantic interest he found in the maid. Lucille giggled at the thought of what the lad and her nephew would do the young girl if he ever won her affection. Stannis Meely was a boy like all boys, completely obssessed with young women to even know where his head will be next. Lucille's giggle turned into a laugh, and she moved to the next person to occupy her thoughts.

The next person that came up was the boy's father, and Lucille's brother, Lenon Meely, a tall compassionate gentleman who... she hadn't seen in months. As she could recall, the last time he had seen her brother was during the Estate Winter Holiday Party of last year. Her brother had been slightly ill throughout that party, but otherwise completely strong and kind. At 42 winters, her brother had become an semi-elderly elf. Years ago, he had married and created three lovely children, all of which she saw daily. But even though he was older and a male, he couldn't be a heir to the throne of Manas. Manas throne was matriachal, with every queen chosen from the female heirs of the previous queen.

But she loved her brother! She thought of him everyday, even though he hadn't been back in months. As a seasman, it was his duty to captain a vessel in the nation's navy, especially during the war with the Cecillian Pirates. She tried to imagine what his life was like, to see endless horizons of vast blue ocean each day. It must be glorious, and stunningly fearsome for the uninitiated. Yes, the war with the Cecillian Pirates was in its third year, and only the Gods knew when her brother would be back in her arms.

It was sad, sad, but it was all for the best, because her brother loved the sea and had been dreaming of sailing boats since he had been small. His room was filled with boats and more boats, which was his main love, besides his wife.

And then there was Lucille's father, the late Baron of Westcheck. Mikay Meely had been a stern rigid commander of the nation's military during his younger days, but life like all blessings had taken away his youth, leaving Lucille's last memories of her father as a feeble elf always sitting in the family mansion in Westcheck. Lucille loved her father, because he had taught her so many things in life, like how to play Booly Ball when she was a young elf maiden, and how to watch the stars in the constellations.

Her mother never remarried after her father died, mostly because her mother, too, loved her father, and the man had given given her mother the queen many heirs, including Lucille herself. Her mother... a woman who was always calm. Her mother sat on the elven throne for over thirty years, and had maintained the nation's state for as long as Lucille remembered. Her mother was called the Alke the Great, because she had reformed the nation's military system as well as expanded the nation's naval assets to fight the Cicillian Pirates. Yes, she was truly a capable stateswoman, but -- Lucille winced -- she had been a poor mother. Her mother, Alke the Great, never had time for her children and always gave priority to national issues over the wellbeing of her family. Lucille thought it was perhaps all for the best... maybe that was what elven queens were supposed to do, but still... she wished she had had her mother's love during her childhood.

A clicking interuptted her thoughts. Lucille Meely, next in line to the elven throne, answered the door. "Yes?"

"Main Meely?" said the Butler, Old Mr. Fabey. "Ten elven men are here to meet with you."

"Ten elven men? From where?" asked Lucille.

"From Hanartha, maim! They have a message from the Grand Princeo of Hanartha."

My gods! A message from the Grand Prince of... Hanartha?? On my doorstep? This was something that better fitted her mother -- it was her mother's job to maintain the nation's state. But perhaps it was her job, too, since her mother was five days away in the elven Capital of Su'rahs. "I'll see them, Mr. Fabey. Tell them to wait while I get dressed!"

"Yes, maim," answered Mr. Fabey, who quickly closed the door and headed downstairs to send the message to the ten men from Hanartha.

In the next ten minutes, Lucille Meely, properly addressed as Maim, hastly put on her make up and perfume. She gazed at herself in the mirror. She looked splendid. Her long red hair curved down to her shoulders, supplementing her ample red lips (with lipstick of course), giving her a vibrant color.

A woman had to look pretty, of course. There were many bachelors out there waiting for her, and men from wealthy Hanartha! What could be better? She couldn't pretend that she wasn't interested.

She put on one last tint of perfume and smiled in delight at her appearance. Then, she hurried downstairs to greet the men.

When she hit the bottom floor, she heard the men from Hanartha all in her reception room. It was a massive room, with giant candles on large metal chandeliers. Paintings of her mother decorated the walls, as well of that of her brother, father, and even her nephew.

"What can I do for you, Men of Hanartha?" she smiled her most prompt and elegant smile. She couldn't hide her excitement at the news. Men from Wealthy Hanartha! -- The rich elven nation that bordered Manas to the north! She gazed at them in her room.

Suddenly, all expectations of handsome elven men in well dressed clothe disappeared. The men before her were rugged looking, and they smelled. She could only wonder how terrible the trip to her plantation must have been for these travelers. She wanted to help them get the dirt off, and even give them a bathe. They must be tired from their long journey, she thought, and giving them a location to sleep and rest was the next thing on her mind.

What had these men traveled to get here? Their armor was filled with stink, and the room suddenly smelled. "You all must be tired," said Lucille, addressing the elven messengers of Hanartha before her. "If you'd like, my servants can help clean you and feed you from a hard week's travel. It can be done quickly, I think. we can provide you with a clean warm dinner from our kitchen."

- Mundir's Party -
"How interesting" Corvus interjected "that two of the most common metals, and one of the most useless, are considered valuable in 'your' country, Your Majesty. Where I come from, valuable items are things like diamonds, rubies, silver, platinum - you know, things that are rare and have some form of practical use?"
Every word that came out of his mouth dropped with sarcasm. The very air he breathed had hints of a challenge in it, begging the false king to try and cause trouble. There was a wry smile on his lips, but his eyes told a different story - he was wholly unamused by the pairs antics.
"His Majesty must have fallen on hard times indeed if he should appear in front of international dignitaries wearing ill-fitting clothes. No specialist tailors? No fine craftsmanship or distinctive tailor signatures? Has the treasury at Marmon finally been emptied?"

---

- Mundir's Party, about a dozen metres away. -
"You mean... you knew what..." Luna didn't finish. She didn't have to. Her face said it all, and it was screaming shame. She couldn't look at Mundir for a couple of seconds, too embarrassed by what she had implied of his nature.

"In fairness, my Lord" she tried to find some form of justification "you did make it all sound rather... clandestine. I only interpreted what you implied."

She walked and listened, not really paying attention, until he mentioned the Horaii. Luna, not being one to hide her ignorance, gave her host a puzzled look and asked "What on earth is a Horaii?"

---

- Banøkbirn -
"Captain, there are foreigners at the docks!"
(I'll finish this tomorrow.)

Holy Palace of the Gu'Shedal, Capital District, Manram
"If the tales are true, their treasury has been empty for a long time," Alurar said, turning his attention to the newcomer. He was an interestingly dressed fellow, to say the least, and Alurar was interested to note that he too had chosen to carry a weapon on his person. He was rather glad the Hanarth Princes weren't the only ones here with weapons, not that it would've mattered wither way.

"From what we hear in Hanartha, everything of value in his palace has been stolen and the King is a King only in name," Alurar continued, practically ignoring Jim.

---

Asurar took William's hand, smiling as he shook it. "Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Edwin. It's nice to meet a fellow warrior," he said happily, "Though I'm not much of a rider myself. I prefer to be on my feet with a sword in my hands." He patted the hilt of the greatsword on his back back emphasis, and gave another good-natured smile.

---

Meely Plantation, Manas

The ride south hadn't been a particularly difficult one, at least no more difficult than any constant ride would be, but the group had been riding almost constantly since they set out. So all ten of them were rather dirty and didn't have the most pleasant smell. Truthfully the only reason why they'd stopped at the plantation was because it was along the route to the capital; the fact that it was run by the Queen's heir was simply a bonus. When Lucille made her offer, one of the hanarth stepped forward. He wasn't the tallest or largest of them, but he was the oldest by far. His face had hints of wrinkles to it, and his black hair had wisps of grey to it.

"I'm sure that my men would enjoy that, my lady," the man said, "We've spent quite a while on the road. And it's been too long since any of us have had a good meal. We appreciate the hospitality." All the other men nodded their heads in agreement, before the man spoke again, "You are Princess Lucille, correct? don't suppose you would be available to talk after the meal, would you?"