The Absent King
The golden kingdom of Areta, shining jewel of the Eretolian deserts.
The Aretan Knights
“The king is missing, sir. He’s just gone.”
The words were recorded by the court’s royal scribe, though she did not include the ums, ahs, or embarrassed pauses with which the statement was delivered. Nor did she record the gnarled groan uttered by High Magistrate Aeronas Harking as his head fell into the palm of his hand. Her quill did not move again until the magistrate uttered his irked reply.
“Again?”
Prompted by a wry motion from the youngest magistrate, the scribe paused her writing once more. No one outside the room needed to know of the round of expletives that rumbled from the gathered assembly.
The words were recorded by the court’s royal scribe, though she did not include the ums, ahs, or embarrassed pauses with which the statement was delivered. Nor did she record the gnarled groan uttered by High Magistrate Aeronas Harking as his head fell into the palm of his hand. Her quill did not move again until the magistrate uttered his irked reply.
“Again?”
Prompted by a wry motion from the youngest magistrate, the scribe paused her writing once more. No one outside the room needed to know of the round of expletives that rumbled from the gathered assembly.
***
Nicknamed the Absent King of Areta, this is what our country’s monarch has become known for. Now, I feel for the lad, I truly do. After King Leonard passed suddenly, his only son Alonso was coronated as his successor at the tender age of thirteen. Ever since then he has been known for his rebellious… escapades and impudent escapes from the palace. It was endearing when he was a youth, but he’s come upon his twenty-third year, and now it’s just embarrassing.
I could forgive him if times weren’t so dire now. Areta faces the makings of a massive conflict with the neighboring nation of Vicenna, and if that weren’t enough, savage elven warbands have been spotted at our borders. I worry for our nation’s future should anything happen to King Alonso, who has yet to produce any heirs.
Viceni diplomats are due to arrive for a meeting with the Aretan court for an imperative treaty signing that could prevent all out war, but if the king isn't present to speak with them—I dare not imagine. And there is no need to.
The king will be there. Once again, it is my duty as Knight Captain to see to it. I have selected you specifically, out of all the king's knighted men, for your outstanding loyalty. And for your discretion. For god's sake, no one needs to know that Alonso is off galavanting again.
The Ytharien
"Alan, what is he saying? What is Lothren so angry about?"
When the woman leaned in to ask her question, Alan could smell the floral oils in her dark, ribboned hair. It mingled with the roasting campfire. If it weren't for the gravity of the moment, he would have found himself supremely distracted.
"He said," a frown overtook his otherwise placid expression, "the Aretan curs have his brother."
Startled, the woman covered her rosy lips in dismay with her slender hand. A frantic look passed between Alan and the elf he was translating for. Lothren continued speaking to his fellow elves around the fire. Alan and the other humans grouped together, as they often did, to share their drinks. Not because the elves weren't invited, but because they couldn't stand the smell of beer.
"Ularien is in prison," Alan clarified, his eyes falling. "It's where he's been all this time. The scouts just reported to him an hour ago."
"Oh god, poor Ularien." When her eyes glistened, they caught Alan's full attention. Clearly a woman of heart.
Alan straightened and raised his voice, speaking a silken, rolling verse in elvish that turned the heads of the others gathered around the camp. A question was pitched back, to which Alan replied with a hearty gesture and a bold, youthful tone.
"What did you say?" The girl took his arm.
"I said we're going to get him back."
When the woman leaned in to ask her question, Alan could smell the floral oils in her dark, ribboned hair. It mingled with the roasting campfire. If it weren't for the gravity of the moment, he would have found himself supremely distracted.
"He said," a frown overtook his otherwise placid expression, "the Aretan curs have his brother."
Startled, the woman covered her rosy lips in dismay with her slender hand. A frantic look passed between Alan and the elf he was translating for. Lothren continued speaking to his fellow elves around the fire. Alan and the other humans grouped together, as they often did, to share their drinks. Not because the elves weren't invited, but because they couldn't stand the smell of beer.
"Ularien is in prison," Alan clarified, his eyes falling. "It's where he's been all this time. The scouts just reported to him an hour ago."
"Oh god, poor Ularien." When her eyes glistened, they caught Alan's full attention. Clearly a woman of heart.
Alan straightened and raised his voice, speaking a silken, rolling verse in elvish that turned the heads of the others gathered around the camp. A question was pitched back, to which Alan replied with a hearty gesture and a bold, youthful tone.
"What did you say?" The girl took his arm.
"I said we're going to get him back."
***
And I meant it. Ularien is a brother to all of us, even if he is an elf. The Mummers of Merry Andrew don't bother with the trivialities of race or politics. They've accepted me and other humans, with no thought to nationality, social standing, or creed—we've even got a dwarf. Since my own life and comfort were ripped from me, since my father was murdered, they've become the only family I have now. It's a laugh, isn't it? A band of jolly actors staging plays and performing acrobatic arts as we travel from village to village.
And i-it's also, ah, a warband.
They call themselves the Ytharien in their own language, and they have a mission. An important one. The performances they put on are only to lift spirits and refill their coin pouch, but that doesn't mean they don't have a passion for entertainment.
The mission must carry on. It's larger than Ularien. It's larger than all of us. But I swear, I will get him back, or I'm not the King of Areta.
Overview
The setting will be the country Areta, a medieval-style nation that somehow flourishes in the arid Eretolian desert. I'll be assembling two parties: the Knights and the Mummers. They won't be separate for long, but they'll start out that way. Although originally they'll center around Knight Captain Vanayar Flint and King Alonso, who'll be played by me, I'll be creating the world around the characters you submit and placing a focus on them, their decisions, and how their actions affect the world.
I promise themes revolving around politics, conspiracy, gunpowder, treason, and—no, wait, that's... that's guy fawkes, we're not doing that here. Uh. Mostly politics and conspiracy and probably enormous emotional upheaval.
One important detail: I will be giving secret information to the Mummers that the Knights won't have, and vice versa. What you guys do with it is up to you.
I'll take up to 3 applicants for either party.
The Aretan Knights:
- Applicants must be human and a minimum age of 18 IC (plus a few years before that of training).
- Must be at least partially Aretan (or claim to be). Heritage from other countries is okay if it's mingled in.
- You can be young or old, male or female, experienced or new. Choose any weapon skill.
- Aretans are generally very racist. Not only against elves, but all foreigners. There are exceptions, but they're usually quiet about it.
- Remember, you're a knight because you follow orders, not question them. Above all, you swore your oath to the King.
- Magic exists but it is BANNED in Areta, as it is considered blasphemy against the Aretan god. Severe punishment befalls magic users, including dismemberment, imprisonment or even death.
Get ready to kill some elves.
The Ytharien/Mummers
- Most Ytharien are elves, but there are some humans (of any nationality) and one dwarf. There are about twenty-five members.
- You have no loyalty to anyone except each other, to Lothren (the warband's leader), and your own heart.
- Little known to humans, elves aren't really savage.
- You're a competent fighter and probably a good actor, dancer, or singer. If you're not good at performing, you're probably good at building sets or tending horses instead.
- Even for foreigners, magic is BANNED in Areta. You can know it, but don't let anyone important see you use it.
Get ready to kill some Aretans.
Please feel free to ask any questions. I'll be building the story and the world around the people who sign up, but there's a general direction it will be going.
