Slim fingers wove the spider silk about the wooden frame used by the Black Widows of the Hourglass. Ruby drops of blood slipping along the strands as the hands moved absently, unaware of the damage that was being done. The Black Widow that sat before the tangled web that was being woven had a vacant look in her icy blue eyes. Her gaze far off in the strands of the web, and the strands of time itself. Faeril Ashkevron had felt the call to weave like she never had before and the Eyrien heeded it.

Far off, yet so near, the blue eyed woman watched a map of the Realm of Terreille splay out before her like a great tapestry. However, there was a wrongness to it. The blood red that slowly seeped off of Dhemlan, the Territory to the south of Askavi, was thick and the Healer within Faeril could feel the draw to go. To heal the wounded and ill. But this was not such a place as she could do so. Here she was an observer. To see what the twisted kingdom that laid dormant in the dreams of the Blood showed her. Looking to the east of Dhemlan, the woman brushed her hand across the territory of Hyall and recoiled at the sickening feel and the sight of the tapestry rotting away slowly where she had touched. Smaller points of rot began in Pruul and Raej as well, though they were not so quick. With horror, the Widow watched as the map slowly rotted away. Revealing the Shadow Realm of Kaeleer beneath it. The rot slowly infesting the second of the living realms. But there was another darkness here as well, one that shielded the land from the destruction of Terreille and it was black as night.

Tearing herself away from the vision, the Healer and Widow gave a cry as she collapsed at her work table. Her eyes staring blankly at her bleeding hands as a thundering came from the stairs that led up to the rest of the eyrie and her ancestral home. The home of Ashkevron Black Widows in general, as it had been passed from mother to daughter, or teacher to student, but always within the blood of her kin. ”Ashke! Ashke-! Oh, Mother Night.” The Eyrien woman felt her hands being yanked away as another examined them, her gaze still fastened on the triangle that had shielded and slowed the rot within her vison.

”Destroy it.” Gen Saroth, the escort to Healer Faeril Ashkevron and the guard of Black Widow Faeril Ashkevron, looked up sharply into the icy eyes of his long time friend. Her hands were lacerated with scraps and lines where the spider silk had cut through flesh due to the tightness of her grip. It wouldn’t take much to heal them, aside from Ashke taking it easy for a few days which was another problem within itself. ”Destroy the web, Gen.” The voice that normally barked sharp commands and snapped far quicker than any lash, was shaking and soft. A plea. It scared the Hell out of Gen. Faeril never spoke softly unless it was deadly serious. Nodding his square jaw, the Warlord left her hands to lie while he reached for the web. The threads no use to another as they were tangled and the reek of Faeril’s psychic power stemmed from it like she had set it ablaze by power alone.

Which, she probably did. Faeril over did things from time to time for better or worse. But more often for the betterment of others, nevermind herself. It was part of being a Healer. To think yourself expendable while you really were no such thing. But Gen crushed the wooden frame and the web in his massive hands before letting the ruined mess fall into the brazier Faeril kept in her workroom for just that reason and to provide a little heat to the cool underground. He could never understand why she would enjoy it down here, so far from the sky, but the need for secrecy was great these days. Black Widows were being hunted down for being ‘unnatural’ and ‘dangerous’.

Opening his mouth to ask what she had seen, Gen didn’t get the chance as the oldest of those Black Widows in Terreille that remained faithful to the Hourglass Coven spoke. ”The poison that we have watch twist the Blood from the proper ways of Protocol is spreading far wider and faster than I had thought possible.” Faeril’s eyes were distant but this time the Ice Healer was deep in thought. Considering the vision she had witnessed. For such things were tricky and all too often misinterpreted wrongly. The Black Widow seeing what she wanted instead of what was shown. Perhaps that and their reputation for dealing in poisons and underhand schemes is what really caused the decline of her sisters and not just the bribes and temptations of the twisted Queens that now were slowly gaining power? As a mug was shoved into her hands, the woman flinched at the pain. Listening to Gen putter about her workroom. He was hardly the first allowed down here, but he was the only one she allowed down in this hidden space. Friends for all her long years, they had enjoyed a fast partnership that was more akin to cousins. Save for the whole friends with benefits things they had done for a time, but even that had been for her sake. A outlet to keep her from stressing, a possibility for a child to further her line. Sipping at the brew, Faeril gave her ‘friend’ a sharp look. ”Calming brew? Really? As if I need such a thing!”

Gen’s chuckle was a deep and reassuring thing as he looked over at the woman he considered family. ”Well your snapping again, so I’m doing something right.” His cheeky grin was contagious to many but Faeril was immune as she shook her head of black hair typical of their race.

”Hmph. Gen, I must go to Helios. I will need aid to find and forge the shield that will stop the rot of Dorothea from spreading. Perhaps then we shall find time to find ourselves the sword to cut the rot out completely.” Standing the woman made it all of three steps before she found herself over a muscular shoulder. A snarl ripping from her throat as the cheap pottery cup shattered on the flagstones below. ”I can walk up a flight of damn stairs!” The infamous Faeril temper blooming as she spat a few curses against Gen’s back. His wing draping over her head and muffling her cries much to her annoyance.

Gen nodded sagely as he hauled the woman to the thick door at the base of the stairs, then up said stairway. Faeril in this state wouldn’t have made it to the first step and they both knew it. He had seen the jewel she was wearing was not her jewel of rank, the Red, but her birthright Blood-Opal. A darker version of the Opal gem and the same as he had when he was first presented at the altar. ”And tell them what? That you’re a Widow with some vision of darkness and rot that stems from one of the most influential people in the realm? Not to mention you’d be doing so while wearing your birthright.” The muffled protest was ignored. For nearly a thousand years the two had watched the Courts about the realm of Terreille fall into disarray as Queens who cared more for their gowns, riches and own pleasure took control. They had watched the rivals to these queens disappear or die off. The Black Widows doing much the same unless they aided the twisted Queens who made little to no effort to care for the land they were attached to. Gen’s golden eyes turned sorrowful as he thought of the parched and dry feel of Hyall. He had only been there once, long ago and that had been to collect a debt owed to himself, his brothers and Faeril. A debt owed by his own father, who had paid the price. For while there was no law against murder for the Blood, they was generally always a price.

Setting Faeril down on the large bed that made up her private quarters, and not the rooms she used for her clients, Gen brushed away the straight black hair. A few waves in the inky depths that hinted at her blood not being wholly Eyrien, as if the eyes were not clue enough! The Ashkevron eyes- that stunning, icy blue. They had been a trademark in the family for generations, at least one child of the next generation being born with them. Perhaps it was from the sheer love that it had taken to marry outside of the race all those eons ago? Gen was a romantic, but his taste was for another warrior and to dance on and off the killing field with them. Shaking his head at Faeril the Warlord chuckled slightly at the mulish set of her mouth as he wrapped her hands. After a time, he felt the woman relent her anger, or rather, her irritability at him. ”I shall rest and recover my strength and then we shall pack and go. There is not time to be lost!” The Black Widow declared, making Gen only smile sweetly.

”Shall I get my brothers to help with the packing while you rest til your hands are healed?” The following curse from the Healer, was met with a male roar of laughter.

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Draega was a city of towering stone buildings that shadowed the cobbled streets below. Theaters, music halls, eateries that offered all sorts of food and the many galleries of artists. Not to mention more… salacious halls for those who liked that sort of entertainment that the Queen of Hyall, Dorothea, cared to enjoy as well. The tight city had parks- what city didn’t?- but they were filled with grass that had lost the sheen of good health and trees that were stunted and sickly. Oh it was all glorious to those who willed their long lives with too many hours and pleasure at their fingertips, but Saetan Sa Diablo could feel the illness that infected the Territory of Hyall, the place he was born over two thousand years ago.

Once the Queens have given back to the land, and the land had returned with bounty and life. Now Dorothea had risen to take what she desired and gave nothing but the broken husks of life back. The land returning the favor quid pro quo. Staring absently from his seat on the patio of one of the gardens that surrounded the great building that was by all accounts more than a mere ‘manor’. It rivaled Sa Diablo Hall in size, though the taste was horrendous according to more than a few standards. This particular garden sported a series of pillars and weaving paths between them, but the true treat or ‘show’ was the man who was being untied from one pillar and led away. For some reason or another, a actual or perceived slight, Dorothea had seen fit to turn the man into entertainment for the day. One that he had been forced to watch with a few other key political ‘guests’ who were now pale and trying desperately to avoid giving any reason to be the next one she invited to perform.

Saetan tapped his long tinted black nails on the arm of his chair absently, giving cold smiles to the women that fluttered their eyes at him as they crooned to Dorothea about the latest gossip. Servants who barely hid shaking hands and nervous glances moved about the group offering refreshment and choice pieces to the Ladies first before the guest and then finally him. The official Prisoner of War. He had been tricked into a peace talk that had pulled him away from defending Terreille Dhemlan leaving the territory open for attack from Pruul and Raej. The queens of those territories greedy for a piece of sweeter riches than what they were getting from their salt mines and other resources. Eager at the promise of labor where kindness was optional. Both lands were harsh and while the resources were well needed and desired bringing in a fair amount of trade, why pay for labor? This thought had been urged by Heketah and Dorothea. Two women who had started the entire mess by crossing the lines of Protocol, the Code that guided the Blood, to begin with! The black nails scraped against the wood of the chair threatening to shatter it as old rage boiled with the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince’s veins.

He could kill them all right here. Just by unleashing the Black and wytchfire he could burn them out of existence! A jolt of agony, however, shocked him from his thoughts of revenge. Drawing in a sharp breathe, Saetan leveled a golden glare at Dorothea who looked at him with a smug expression. Her fingers playing with the damned ring the controlled the band of compliance. It wasn't bad enough the thing was degrading, but that it would send whatever degree of pain Dorothea saw fit made him want to strangle her. If he could fight past the amount of pain the woman could, and would, level at him if he even tried to attempt it. If… If he hadn’t gone to that meeting at Heketah’s request. If he hadn’t agreed to take food or drink at that ‘peace’ meeting. If he had prepared Dhemlan for such an ambush as those two snakes set against the territory he defended. ”Saetan, darling!” Dorothea’s voice had enough false sweetness in it and real desire to curdle milk beyond its years. Saetan wanted to throw the wine his nursed in one hand in her overly elaborate face. ”We were just discussing the upcoming ball tonight, and my dear Alanya is in need of an escort! We hope you would be so kind as to see that she has a splendid time.”

Saetan’s golden orbs flickered over to the slightly pale woman who looked at him like a rabid dog at a piece of meat. A likeness that was not far off the mark. Giving a charming smiled as frost lightly coated the glass he was holding, Saetan ignored the shivers of those about him. His anger making the air grow cold. ”It would be a pleasure to see her to the ball, but surely you need your own escort, Oh tyrant?” He nearly doubled over by the jolt of pain and in laughter that he held back while Dorothea sent a poisonous glare at him. The mocking comments, the underhanded funding of rebels, the slaughter of her pet Queens. He was waging his own war against the twisted woman, but it wasn’t enough. Terreille was falling into her hands as it had been for centuries. Dorothea’s pet Queens were taking over bit by bit and as much as he tried, Saetan could only slow the tide of rot.

”I believe I will enjoy Prince Darrel’s company, tonight.” A sickening smile from those overly red lips at the pale Warlord Prince of Challiot. His psychic scent reeking of fear at what he had witnessed. Challiot was the latest territory to fall to Dorothea’s little game leaving only Dene Nehele free and slowly falling. Several rogue camps of males also plagued her across the Realm. Camps that she tried to send Saetan to ‘wipe out’. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince instead suffering punishments as he made the plans loudly and widely known so the rogue males could relocate. Saetan’s lips thinned on his handsome profile. It seemed he had little to no choice then but to play the escort. Though the man would admit he was curious as to how this ‘Alanya’ would try to seduce him. They always did after all. Eager to get a child of the Black Jewel. Something which Saetan did not permit to happen. Ever. If Dorothea got a child of his, he would never see the babe and it would be raised merely to another shackle or another tool under the twisted Priestess-Queen. Neither of which the Warlord Prince wanted for his offspring.

”Then I have the utter delight to join you this evening.” Rising from the dark chair, the man did not wait for a dismissal nor bow. Instead he braced himself against the pain that shot through him as the band of compliance burned in agony. Gritting his teeth he walked away from the gathering. Enduring each step of torture as he made his way to his room. His sanctuary and hoping it had not been violated in his absence as it had so many times before. Saetan doubted he would be able to stop himself from leaving the guilty woman who had done so as a visible message for the others. It would not be the first time he had done so, nor would it be the first time he had born the punishments that Dorothea heaped upon him. The only good coming from that would be the banishment from court. For while Dorothea loathed and fought to keep control over the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince, she did not dare kill him. The Hundred Families of Hyall, the aristo class or nobles, were failing in their dark bloodlines. Few offsprings wearing dark jewels and most far too light and weak in their psychic power. Dorothea needed Saetan, the only male to wear the Black. She needed him as a symbol and as a potential father to powerful children. The latter of which Saetan would not give her. He had fought for over a thousand years, and the man would fight til he became a Whisper in the Darkness to make sure that the bitch didn’t get what she desired.

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Fort Helios, positioned high in the Skypass Mountains and nestled up at a key choke point in the Askavi kingdom. Built by Eryian hands, for Eryian lives not because of them. Though the story of Helios is not one that came without bloodshed. After all the Warden Commander of the fort, Rathe Grey only came to this position and to see this fort built after the previously undefended pass cost him his family, home, and original life. Though it served to put him into this position and make him the man he needed to be to run it.

For Rathe this was just another day and thankfully one of peace. With the threat of raiders, bandits, vagabonds, and other unwanteds always present, it was good to have a moment to handle the other matters of the fort, bearing witness to the hustle and bustle of his men and women, moving about the walls, battlements, and emplacements of the fort to ensure that everything was in tip top condition for the next siege. One they knew was coming, yet when was the only question left to chance. There was a certain peace to knowing only war. Knowing that your foe will come and being ready for them, being strong enough to defend against them, and of course knowing that the brothers and sisters to your left and right were here to make sure you survived. It was a twisted and dark view, but it was one some could find solace in. It was also the view that the banner of Helios was formed under and let people from all the lands fight for the people instead of a dark and corrupted queen.

Rathe was on his way to the War Council, ready to meet with his Wardens. Chiya was with him, keeping pace at his ankles as Rathe strode with a sense of purpose towards the War Room. All the while the ever cheery pup chatting along about whatever crossed his mind, "... And that's when I foudn them all! They were glowing like a bunch of lights but they flew and hovered and moved all about! It was pretty and it looked like stars were having a fit! I thought I was going crazy but then one landed on my nose and I saw it! I saw it big brother! It was a bug that glowed bright like a star and stuff! There had to have been like... a hundred or them! It was awesome!" Though before he could get onto his next tangent or continue to explain how his first time meeting fireflies they reached the grand doors to the War Room. Rathe, using his great size and strength opened the doors with ease and stepped in valiantly. Chiya followed suit and once inside the chamber he scampered up, quieting in an instant, towards the table. Chipperly saying, "Hiya everyone~!" and making use of a pulled out chair to prance up and leap onto the table. Taking his place in front of Rathe's seat as he entered and was given the salute of Helios. A hand curled up to the heart and brought into a fist while standing at firm attention. The guards and Wardens giving him the respect the Eternal Warden was due.

Rathe bit them to rest and not prolong this saltue, he ruled with rank, but not with an inflated ego. So as all in the room returned to their seats and positions he in turn walked around the table to sit himself at the head of the round table. Emblazoned upon was a 3D map of Terreille, rendered out of a solid piece of vanished wood. Giving them a sense for their position in the world and a better understanding of where everything was in relation to them, especially being in the center of it all. The Warden of Blades, Lord Erval, stood to Rathe's right, a man of many years and many battles, scarred and marred to show his worth. To his left was the Warden of Bows, Lady Amaralia, the ranged master of the fort and easily the greatest shot this side of the world. To the right of the Warden of Blades stood the Warden of Siege, Elder Yusalf, a master engineer who either built or oversaw the construction of all the siege engines in Fort Helios. Then finally to the left of the Warden of Bows was the Warden of the Arcane, Magister Granild, a master magister and great teacher and scholar of the fort. And of course Chiya sat on the table next to Rathe, trying to seem confident and regal as all the others in the room had, but in truth it looked for like he had a stick up his hind end, making him look like a statue staring up at the chandeliers. It was more adorable than regal in actuality.

Addressing his council he bid them for a status update, eager to learn how their numbers and supplies faired since the last month. The Warden of Blades was the first to chime up, shuffling through some papers that apparently were a type of roster before saying, "Recruitment has gone up, another 63 able bodies have joined us from mostly Dhemlan and Hayll. Apparently some injustice from local queens has spurred them to seek shelter under our banner. We have already begun training and preparation for induction." Rathe nodded and spoke up to say, "Good, it is welcome to know that we still have those amoung the world who wish to see justice and honor fulfilled. Elder Yusalf, how go the repairs to the western battlements?" He spoke up, curious to see how the damage caused by rudimentary catapults on the last siege were shaping up. "Excellent Warden Commander, repairs are exceeding my original estimates and that is mostly in thanks to the new hands we have on board. Several were experienced engineers before arriving at our home." Once again Rathe nodded in approval and looked over some documents laid before him by his counsel. Reports of ranges and scouting missions that would better serve to inform him of the outside world. Though due to his position high in the Ashkavi mountains it left plenty undiscovered. Though one did stand out and caught his eye. A report that spoke of decay and discord within the territories of Dhemlan and Hayll. While the Warden of Blades spoke of discord in his notes on the recruits, this was... different. The rate and style of the advance wasn't one of petty dispute or uprising and instead seemed to be a power play, looking to change borders and expand. This could only mean one thing, another queen was rising to power with a fury.

Rathe was not one for anarchy, seeking to dethrone queens. In truth he didn't have a problem with queens in general, but it was the ones who spread this decay and discord that stung him. The purpose of leadership is to protect the weaker and misfortuned, not abuse and harp upon them. "Send scouts and guards to Hyall and Dhemlan. With this rising discord we may be able to source out more recruits yet. Further bolster our numbers and secure our place here in the mountains. Though order them to keep their heads down and not cause waves. I do not wish to see another incident with the hierarchy of foreign powers."

From there it was just a short matter of making sure that enough supplies were being sourced from local towns and ranges to handle the needs of the fort. In addition to bolstering and forwarding the construction of more siege engines on the north battlements which while that was firm in the high peaks of the mountains, it always served to be ready for an attack from anywhere. Finally was the matter of organizing the scouts to head into foreign territories for recruitment and assistance, which was no small feat to find able hands who could move through the realm under cover. Yet it was all done and that in turn left Rathe with nothing more than to adjourn the meeting, dismissing his counsel and making leave himself. After all Chiya and himself had 63 new faces to need for their induction to the fort.

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"You fought well," the man on his right said. "I didn't expect that from you."

"Truth be told," Lucivar said standing underneath a large tree shirtless and covered in sweat. "Neither did I."

The man grunted. "Lack of confidence is unbecoming, Lucivar."

"You misunderstand," Lucivar said taking a glass of water from a passing witch and drinking deep. In front of them was a ring of hard packed earth where the soldiers and armed men of Dene Nehel trained and sparred. Having nothing to do that day and filled with energy, he thought he'd try his hand at sparring. He didn't expect it to go so well. "My body remembers things I do not, Captain. Moves and skills that I think I learned from my past, and they just kicked in so to speak, if you don't mind the pun. They moved of their own accord."

"A military man were you, then?"

Lucivar scoffed. "Me? Hardly. If anything, I probably got into too many fights."

The Captain gave him a sidelong glance. "Knowing you, I don't doubt that."

He grinned and took his shirt from the chair and put it on, followed by his suit jacket. He spared a moment to stretch his wings. "Well, Captain Barr it's been a pleasure, truly. Thanks for letting me humiliate your men."

"I don't exactly see how beating recruits is worthy of gloating, but you do you, Prince."

"A win's a win, Captain," he called back as he left the training grounds. They weren't exactly training grounds, but rather a section of the manor's garden repurposed as such; the beauty of the place still held as it was surrounded by large hedges and trees provided shade for the guards and soldiers. Beyond the hedges however, the garden opened before him as he stepped onto the cobbled pathway. Fountains dotted the place, birds chirping as they fluttered around. Statues on high plinths in various poses lined the sidewalk and in the distance was the manor. Beige walls with a teal roof and several stories high. It wasn't exactly the biggest structure he'd seen, memories of a larger, more grand manor often and randomly flashed through his memories just before vanishing. He often wondered if he had been in such a position before his memories were lost, it would make sense as the skills to manoeuvre through the Queen's Court came to him as easily as fighting did, as though his body knew exactly what it wanted to do. In this case, his mind would come up with a sudden thought and his instincts would flare up to follow it; he would and there, his wanted results after a few short months.

He stepped out of the garden and onto the backyard where he saw a witch step out of a pillar and approach him, her hands clasped in front of her. "Prince Lucivar," she said. "Prince Tristan requests an audience with you. Today at five?"

He nodded. "Tell him I'd be pleased to have him over," he said as he walked into the manor and started climbing the steps to his rooms. Just the name of the Prince was a headache for him. The man was alas an utter idiot. He meant well, nothing he did was out of spite or to stir up controversy. But he had no mind for the political games the Courts played, he was by far too straightforward and honourable for such things. And just like any man he refused to give up his position in the Circle, enjoying the power and privileges being Master of the Queen's Guard gave him. Which was also a headache.

The rooms were large, massive and spacious. The antechamber was filled with fine chairs and several tables. Opposite the door was a short black cabinet that spanned the length of the wall and on top were bottles of wine, whiskey, and other drinks. The room had several doors, the door to the right leading to his bedroom, but he ignored that, instead going to the ones that led to the massive bathroom. Stripping down, he showered then, walking to his rooms dressed in a satin black fitted coat with golden scrollwork along the front. Underneath he wore a simple white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, and a pair of leather boots inlaid with silver metal. Once dressed, he walked over to his solar, which led from the antechamber and adjacent to his bedroom; inside, he poured himself a cup of wine and sat behind his desk, leaning back on the chair.

"Lucivar," a voice said at the solar's entrance.

He looked up to see Andressa standing there, dressed in a hugging black dress with an incredibly low neckline that accentuated her curves. "You're back early," he said, sitting up straight. "I wasn't expecting you for another week, at least."

"There was nothing happening at the Family Estate," she said with a shrug and entered the solar. In her hand was a beige portfolio and she set it on his desk. "So I thought I'd come back. But I did bring you back a present."

"What is this?"

"A benefactor of Prince Tristan," she said. "Open it."

He tilted his head in mild amusement and reached for the folder. Inside was the file of Sonya Thorne, a particularly wealthy and incredibly influential witch in the Queen's Court. He grunted, a small smile playing on his lips. "What do we know about her?" He asked.

"Other than the fact that she's well connected with other Queens and runs half the businesses in Dene Nehel? Nothing."

"Find something on her," he said as he stood from his chair. "She wants something from Tristan and I want to know what it is."

"I'll get right on it," Andressa said. "But, that other matter we've been talking about. I've found a a replacement for Tristan, he seems like someone with a good head between his shoulders."

"Who is he?"

"He's in the file."

Looking down, he flipped a few pages and found a Prince with a tiger-eye jewel. Colten Swett. A prince that was stirring water in the Courts. He took a moment to read through his file then set it down and smiled at Andressa. "Ambitious young man who could use someone powerful on his side. Contact him. I want a meeting tonight."

"I'll make it happen," she said with a smile and walked out.

What had been green, lush scenery now had the appearance closer to a wasteland than anything else. Dead trees, barely a few leaves still dearly clinging to the lifeless branches. Merely shrubbery still possessed a hint of life and volume. The influence of darkness spreading throughout the Dhemlan territory in Terreille clearly reflected by the barren lands.

The ghastly wind gave motion to the spiritless woodland only overshadowed by the sound of crunching leaves hidden among the woods.

"Show yourself." a voice called out in an echo, yet no response came and the unseen stir continued.

Percyvallus had spent the last twenty minutes luring one of the guards of Ironmawr out into the woods. The lacking of abundant greenery made it all the more difficult to remain unseen. Actually getting guards to follow him was also becoming an increasing nuisance. Intended to be a force against any outside threats, the defenders of Ironmawr, under the rule of Percyvallus' father turned their wrath towards the innards of the town.

"Over here!" Another voice came from the guard's back to which he froze mid step.
"Turn around. I'll let you." Percyvallus spoke to the guard in a smug tone. He stood with his sword drawn so close to the guard he would have had no issue ending him without the guard even feeling his presence right up until the cold sword would stick out from his chest. Still, he did not. He never did.

"Draw your sword." Percyvallus said in a commanding tone.

"I recognize you." The guard responded as he pulled out his blade from his sheath.

Percyvallus spun his weapons as he slowly began circling the man in front of him. "You people always do. Yet none of you have ever survived to tell my father I am here. Neither will you."
"We'll see about that!" The guard yelled as he raised his sword and swung at Percyvallus, starting a flurry of attacks. Each strike Percyvallus parried with ease, slowly backing away, toying with his foe. Percyvallus had done this too many times already, every time he returned home.
Another high stroke of the sword bore down on Percyvallus. Blade met blade and sparks flew as Percyvallus guided the sword of the guard into the ground with his own. The motion continued with a twirl of his body, straight into the man's leg. The guard collapsed to his knees grunting in pain. At that point, usually guard would try to bargain for their lives. Promises of silence or riches, whatever they could think of in their desperation.
In time Percyvallus however grew tired of it. This one was not even offered another chance to speak as Percyvallus drove his blade through the back of his neck. The now limp body slid of the sword and thumped to the ground.

Percyvallus was free to nonchalantly wander into town unchallenged. Or rather the opposite, he had lured the challenge right to him and dealt with it swiftly.

Ironmawr was in no better shape than the woods outside of it's walls. The people of Ironmawr had suffered under the oppressive rule of house Crowglide. The buildings were ravaged by time and practically no maintenance. Poverty and famine took their toll on everyone. His efforts to help the town had seemed to be in vain. Yet still the people remembered, what he had done for them.

As Percyvallus made his way towards the town tavern he failed to noticed the guard walk right past him, being careless now that he was back in his home town after such a long time. Some of that may have also been attributed to the increased number of hands his house had.

"Hey you." The guard called at him. Percyvallus merely increased his walking pace. "Come back!" The guard started following him. Just as he was gaining on him a woman carrying a half empty basket collided with him, sending both to the ground. The guard was the first back to his feet.

"Watch the where you're going! Do you have a death wish?!" The guard berated the woman desperately trying to collect the few foodstuffs now strewn across the ground.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again." The woman spoke in a scared voice and continued gathering her items. Briefly glancing at Percyvallus the scared expression melted away, as if dropping a charade. He nodded in appreciation and continued on his way, realizing he could not afford to let his guard down like he did just now, lest pay for that mistake with the life of a friend. The guard didn't waste much time with the woman and attempted to continue in pursuit yet found that he had lost Percyvallus.

The door to the tavern creaked as if it had not been in use for a long time. Percyvallus made his way in and scanned the room. Other than a group of four people idly chatting at one of the tables and one person at the front counter, the tavern was deserted. It seemed poverty and famine took it's toll even in such a place. Many elected to drown out the hunger with ale, yet these were indeed troubling times if many could not afford even that ironically.

Percyvallus sat down at the front counter and was greeted by the man behind it with a nod of acknowledgement.

"The usual." Percyvallus said as he took a gander at the person next to him. An outsider, possibly a mercenary just like himself.

Without a word the man behind the counter turned around and shuffled around, retrieving a small glass and a dark bottle.

"Thanks." Percyvallus spoke as the glass was filled to the brim with a brownish liquid.

Percyvallus emptied the glass with one gulp and coughed weakly, not being used to the strong drink after not having had the chance to taste it for so long.

"Things are worse than they used to be. What happened?" Percyvallus asked the taverner but before he could the man next to him spoke up.

"Are you blind, or deaf, or both? The twisted influence of our queen is spreading across the land. As if the Crowglides weren't bad enough. Since the pledging of their allegiance to the queen it has come to be even worse. Look around you!" The other mercenary ranted, Percyvallus narrowing his eyes at the mention of the his family name.

"Perhaps I've been gone for too long..." Percyvallus spoke just before bringing a once more filled glass to his lips.

One could only call the grand ball that Dorothea hosted marvelous, if they wished to live that is. Saetan lounged against a pillar looking at the ladies moving about the marble floor to test the dedication and attentiveness of their ‘partners’. A fluttering sigh would bring half a dozen of the stabled Warlords kept at the Priestess-Queen’s court as hostages or servants to see what the particular lady required. Swirling the deep red wine in his glass a bit, the Seducer considered joining the puppies in their scampering after the over done gowns. It would give Dorothea and his choice a good shock, though he would yield nothing more. Leaving the poor witch a simpering mess in her rooms on the morn and living the down the personal shame that she too had failed to seduce Saetan when he had been oh-so-willing to join her as her personal attendant for the night.

Sipping at the beverage, the Hyallian Warlord Prince nearly puckered his lips in disgust as one of Dorothea’s pets gave a simpering Warlord a verbal kick. Those around him drawing back and whispering to others further away who did the same. Saetan didn’t bother to catch what had been said, Lanvo- the Warlord in question- had been falling out of favor with the witches that Dorothea liked to keep nearby for the past year. His drive and spark gone after four decades roughly of serving the Queen of Hyall’s court. One witch who Lanvo had liaisons with had produced a child and for the past decade the Warlord had been bending over backwards and doing anything the twisted Queens and witches had asked of him. Pity stirred in Saetan’s chest for the warlord, but it wasn’t going to give Lanvo back his rights to his child, nor make the fact that the mother had been poisoning the child to the point the girl only snubbed her father now. After all, he was a male and meant to serve. Serve, protect, and- if one particularly cared for the hand that held their jewels- cherish. That was the law of the Blood, though to Saetan it was an honor code to live by. Dorothea’s twisted interpretation of it wrenched at his very foundations.

Originally as well as in Kaeleer, the Blood males had a certain understanding of Protocol. The law that governed all their kind since the Blood were first brought into being by the Dragon Queen and her Consort. They cherished and honored the distaff gender, protecting them from themselves as often as outside threats. Even if it meant risking the Queen you served would demand your life in turn, you protected and served them with their best interest in mind. Most Queens would be enraged, or irritated, or even just get this mulish look about the mouth and sulk for a week, but they would forgive and most likely met out some punishment that was not death or anything overly harsh compared to what the Master of the Guard, Steward, or First Escort would met out. Serving without question was uncommon and usually only with courts who had been together for a long time, or that was how the Black jeweled man remembered it.

Running the black tinted nails of his hand through his hair, Saetan gave a cold smile as Alanya sought to approach, her face paling at whatever she saw in his hard gold eyes. A smart move, considering he wasn’t feeling overly forgivable tonight. A burst of pain seared the Warlord Prince as he caught the hard look from Dorothea, her hand slowly adjusting the ring that controlled his ‘collar’. Sometimes he wondered how she expected to make him produce powerful offspring when that damned ring hardly set the mood. Baring his teeth into something he hoped was a passable smile, the man offered his lady for the night his hand. ”May I have this dance, Lady?” His voice was a velvet purr and the hidden threat of violence under it was lost upon the young witch who gleefully accepted. Batting her eyes as if he found it amusing.

Her dress was heavy velvet, a fashion trend that seemed to happen whenever he was in Draega. For even the warm summer days and nights could take a biting chill if Saetan let his anger taint the air about him. There was two types of anger in the Blood. Cold fury was by far the more deadly. Saetan had felt it enough to know very well you lost compassion for everyone and everything and saw only the destruction of those who tormented and wronged you and yours. A killing edge for a Warlord Prince. He was capable of anything and everything, which was why Dorothea toed a careful line against pushing him too hard. More than once something had poked those hidden wounds and his rage had billowed out. Leaving the one that pushed too far alive and well, but in the shambles of a body that would never again be either of those things. The second anger, was hot rage. It was something more private, turned upon those who were family or close friends. Saetan had lived a long life, but his own hidden fear was that he was only the shell of what he had once been. Unable to feel or care for anyone side from pity and contempt. And so he let Alanya pull him into the grand game of trying to woo him. She would meet her fate like so many before her.



Ice filled eyes stared at the three men who hovered at the foot of faeril Ashkevron’s bed. Each looking rather pleased with himself for a different reason, but each reason had a common element. They irritated her. Fluffed up pillows, a fire stroked in the hearth, a bowl of soup, and it was her glower that kept even one of the Eyrien bastards from trying to spoon feed her the concoction! Luck was with her however, for Gen had made the soup and not one of his brothers. Faeril thanked the Darkness for that! It was well known both Denar and Belor could burn water by simply putting it over the fire. They had no talent for the kitchen and been banished from that domain, Warlord Princes or not. Gen wore the Green that outranked their Rose and had long ago seen the destruction, however well meaning, they did when trying to cook.

All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and the steady dip of a spoon ladling soup from the bowl. Finally Denar spoke up with a slight frown, though there was everlasting amusement in his dark eyes. “So you had a vision of the Hyallian Queen making her move.” His brother, Belor, finished the thought as was common for the twins. “And then decided it would be a wonderful idea to go harrying off to Helios without anyone knowing? Merely leaving a note.” The Warlord Prince relented as Faeril opened her mouth to protest and closed it with a snarl after his words. She had made it barely from the foot of their mountain home before both brothers had shown up and taken the Healer back to her eyrie. She was a Healer and Black Widow who wore the Red! A dangerous foe to be crossed, and yet they thought nothing of it.
Shaking a mane of black hair that was tightly braided back, Denar spoke again with nothing but sheer dry humor in his voice. “And do not forget, Brothers, we are also suppose to go look under every rock, rook and tree for this triangle and the men and woman who represent it.”

Three dark golden eyes focused on the most powerful member in the room. Faeril wished they would remember that she outranked all of them and knew very well how to put them out of commission! Setting the spoon in the empty bowl and moving the tray off to the side, only for Gen to step forward and take it. Faeril wanted to rip the three of them verbally from the top of their heads to the tips of their blasted wings. Her own rustled dangerously as she narrowed her eyes at the three brothers who were as good as her own family. ”They need to know.This is information that cannot wait and every second we delay is another second Dorothea’s influence grows.” Her voice was sharp and cold as steel as the Black Widow snapped at the two Warlord Princes. Gen was well appraised at the situation and a stone wall in his immovability. Doran and Belor could possibly be swayed and for all they were not of rank with Gen, they could and would act in some way to aid her.

And as they shared a look between the three of them, Faeril felt a very strong headache coming on. They had come up with a battle plan to ‘deal’ with her and it was probably going to accomplish her desires but at the cost of something she dearly needed to do. It was a blessing she had not been born a Queen to deal with an entire court of males like this. Gen coughed slightly to hide a chuckle as the twins openly grinned and snickered. Why should they hide their feelings? They did not live with her, in fact they lived with their dear mother still. A kindly woman who was lost within the confusing roads of madness after their father had driven her there. An attempt to sire and install a Queen into Askavi that would be more open to Hyall influence. Luckily it had not gone that way then, though it was possibly a better outcome to the twisted Queen that now ruled. ”Well we did talk about it. Belor is going to take the message straight to the leader of the rogues at Helios.” Faeril arched a elegant brow as she shot the twins a concerned look. For all her fury she did care deeply for the two. While they only wore the Rose, the twins were fierce warriors as a pair with how closely they worked together. The eldest of the trio continued noting her worry. [color=FireBrick]”We don’t think the commander will not cause too much a fuss if we take it to him directly.”

Denar smirked and gave a slight bow, tossing in his own two cents though they were hardly needed. “I thought you might like the extra company to watch over you while you rest. After all, how improper would it be if I didn’t?” Faeril relented to the brothers, seeing little choice but to agree. Perhaps then she would be able to finally get out of the blasted bed!

@Torack A messenger runs up the large Eyrien, a youth no more than perhaps eighteen years of age. Two years from his majority but learning the ways of the Court from those higher than he. A native to the land, his Summer-sky jewel bobs on his chest as he pants for a second, catching his breath before shoving a official looking letter into Lucivar’s hand. “Message from the Lady.” For all a messenger should check the identity of someone before giving them a message from the Queen, Lucivar was the only Eyrien and easily recognized for his Ebon-Grey jewel. The letter itself bore the seal in the correct place and the writing was a little shaky but typical of Queen Karlianne of Dene. The young woman was merely twenty two and often over worked herself and was living in a constant state of fear after watching so many of her court get cut out from under her. Then having to turn around and find replacements before the bodies were even cold. She was a mere child to many, and unfit to rule the kingdom. But she was the last Queen who was strong enough to challenge and keep Dorothea herself out of the Territory.

”Warlord Prince Lucivar, I hereby request your presence in the formal meeting room upon receiving this letter as there are urgent matters afoot.”

It was short, but with so much to do Karlianne hardly bandied words about. For when she stopped to think, she wept. So she busied herself with work, be that her garden, the court or Lucivar and his position as Consort. The Queen had even tried to push to try and help the few servants that were allowed to maintain her personal quarters, only to be stubbornly refused. The few tears that speckled the page was proof enough of a slow in her work.

@Deos Morran A young lad perhaps eleven years of age, sent by his family to the safety of Helios so the young Warlord Prince would not be snatched away by the District or Provincial Queen. A lad who wore the Opal, and was acting as a errand boy when he wasn’t training in weapons to take down the very Queens who had essentially caused his banishment at eight years of age. It was a common enough practice for those with the wisdom to do it. To hide away those who could be a threat or taken for the games of the Twisted Queens. Cleverly enough the lad paced himself as to not double over for breathe when he did find the Commander of Helios himself. “Urgent messenger to see ya sir. By the name o’ Belor, I think? He asked ter be seein’ you in private.” The smaller Eyrien nodded gesturing towards the entrance to Helios. “He’s waiting at the gates. Said it was best for everyone.”

Belor leaned against the gate, trading news with one of the guards there. Mostly information that the rogue Blood could use to keep themselves out of the hands of the Queens. Who was dead, who was alive, who fought on what side and if any possible Queens had met a untimely end. The latter of which was not often common but the rogues who were more freelancing were getting very good at taking out Queens who had wronged them and theirs at their Moon’s ebb. Enraging and costing more lives. Not that freelancers cared. Belor himself stood five inches past six feet tall and his Rose jewel shone over his armor, to declare himself not a threat and a warning that his words were perhaps to be heeded. Lacking the straight hair so many of the winged warrior race of Terreille had, the man had pulled his hair back into a tight braid that followed from brow to the nape of his neck. Keeping hair that must be at least shoulder length from becoming an issue in a fight. No weapons could be seen upon him, though several daggers and broad sword laid in the road behind him.

@NanoFreakV2 “Aye, it’s true enough.” A man, a Prince, sighed and rubbed his jaw. “Since the District and Provincial Queens want more from the taxes, the Village Queens get the groan and gripe. Now they’ve been pitting their Courts against each other so that their purses don’t suffer, nevermind ours!” Shaking a shaggy head the Prince was in no way a fighter like the mercenaries and rogues. But he was a account keeper for several stores. Trying to scrap out a living of his own. “Crowglide just work over Tressina’s province. Make sure all the villages are night a fat. Heard from the latest news, that the old bastard’s been dancing the pet for the Queen as well as his wife. Sounds like that unnatural Widow talk is more than mere talk.” The Prince muttered, even as several patrons shifted nervously. The man was talking of things best whispered in the dead of night.

“Watch your tongue, Rainer. You’ve got a son and daughter.” One man hissed in undertone as he thumped the Prince on the back.

The thus named Rainer just shook a sorrowful head. “Not any more,” His voice nearly broke at that but there a hush over the table. For the sake of their child, Rainer’s wife had deny paternity so that his son could not be held as a hostage. It wouldn’t help if the Queens knew anyways but it was a small sliver of hope. “Sent the children and their mother to Helios. The Eyriens rogues are holding the fort and I pray to the Dark they will let them in.” Several people exclaimed in shock and several more gave curious looks. There had been some talk among those with darker jewels of slipping off to try and join the band of rogues, though it would be a dangerous trek and the risk if you were caught? It didn’t bear thinking about. Better a man meet his fate whole rather than bear the band of compliance or have your jewels stripped from you and shattered. To be reduced to nothing but basic craft.

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The hours droned by as Lucivar sat behind his desk in his solar going over paperwork and signing various committee forms. It was mindless work as he went through and skimmed over them before signing off whatever someone had asked, or some new preparations for this or that. It was all the same and it gave him time to think and focus on his past. Something that had been bothering him ever since he woke up without a trace of who he was and how he'd woken up so injured. There was nothing beyond that memory, a few glimpses here and there would come up now and again, but they would disappear before he could snatch at them and peer through their windows as if teasing him over and over.

The healers said it was some sort of protection his mind had conjured, splitting off his memory and locking it away because it was too horrible. But that only made him more curious about who he was. What horrors happened to him that his mind saw fit to completely lock it away. And more, wasn't his mind his? How was it that his mind could decide what and what not to show him? Another question that burned within him ever since he arrived in the city. He'd tried many things and many methods to try and open unlock his memories, went to the various healers around Dene Nehel trying to find anything at all to heal it or perhaps even find some answers, but all ended in failure.

Were it not for his responsibilities as the Warlord Prince of the territory, he would have put all of his time in researching the mind. That was the key. His mind. It locked away his memories, tossed the keys, and refused to give it back. And the most frustrating thing about it was that he didn't understand it, very few people did and the healers were useless in giving him answers, alas. A strange thing the mind, the way it could talk back like a little voice in the head, speaking and producing language, images, and scents. He wanted to understand how it all worked, what made it tick. Perhaps from there he could learn how to produce his memories and bring back who he is. But there was that fear still, that little gnaw in the back of his mind that whispered doubts. What if he didn't like what he found?

His mind locked it away for a reason, did it not? His curiosity demanded he find out what was underneath the lid, but his rationality said finding out might not exactly be to his benefit. Might even make him a worse person than he was now. But was this who he was? Was this Lucivar only a version of himself because of his lost memories, and if he gained them back would he turn into something else? Worse perhaps or better still? A curious thought and one that frightened him. Alas, he knows his name isn't his own, that it was given to him and he stuck to it because there was nothing else with which to identify him. Lucivar, and yet he wasn't Lucivar.

Fuck. Look at me. I'm going mad.

He leaned back on his chair and wiped a hand over his face. A knock came at his door and he saw Andressa standing there. "A messenger is here to see you."

He blinked confusedly for a moment before he sat up straight, a smiling curling on his lips, clearing his mind of their worries. "Of course, he said. "Send him in.

The letter was quaint and short. Direct. At least the Queen didn't suffer him with vague nonsense, the poor girl. Overwhelmed and burdened, which was what had drawn him to her in the first place. To offer her his help and in some ways he had. He was almost sure without him this territory would have fallen far sooner to Dorothea's influence, but even he could not stave off the inevitable forever. He stood with a grunt and walked out of his rooms and across the hall, a small smile touching his lips as he knocked on the Queen's door. This at least will be an interesting diversion.

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The sun was barely above the horizon when Artemis rose from bed. Quietly, as to not disturb her bed partner, she slipped out of her room. She made her way downstairs to grab a quick bite before heading to her garden.

Artemis’s garden had plentiful rows. She had a few rows for the vegetables she ate while the others were for different plants in her potions. Each row was categorized by their usage in her potions. Humming to herself, Artemis strolled over to the well to gather water for her plants. Her morning routine was always watering the garden, weeding, and pruning. Then she would check her supplies and pick what was needed to restock in her dealing room.



Vaclav woke to an empty bed. Not that he expected anything else; Artemis had always been an early riser, especially now that she had her garden. He smiled, picturing her tending to her plot. Artemis liked to treat each individual plant as if they were her own kids. He’s caught her multiple times talking to them, whispering words of encouragement for them to grow healthy and strong.

Stretching, Vaclav walked downstairs to start breakfast. It wasn’t high noon yet so he still had a bit before Artemis returned from her morning chores. He had just pulled the bread out of the oven when Artemis walked back into the house.

“Ah, look who’s finally awake.” She sat down at the table, accepting the plate of food that was passed to her.

“Oh hush. Someone’s got to feed you.” Vaclav prepared his own plate and joined Artemis at the table. “How’s the garden?”

“Good. I think the adder’s tongue finally got over its blight and the burdock that I planted is finally germinating…” From the trees lining the edge of the property to the newly planted herbs, Artemis went through almost all her plants and their health while she picked at her food. When she finished, Artemis saw Vaclav had an amused smile on his face. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to know all of that…” Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. She had a habit of going off on tangents when it came to her plants.

Vaclav simply shook his head. “I’m glad your garden’s healthy.” He and Artemis had been friends since they were children in Dhelem. They both had been through many hardships so it made him happy that to see Artemis so enthused by her garden. Taking both their plates to the sink, Vaclav put a kettle on the stove to make tea. “Anyways, I’m going to be leaving in a few days. Ellyas should be back before then.”

“Alright. Just be safe.” She was used to her friends coming and going at this point, doing deeds that they believe right. All she asked was they came back to her in one piece or she could get to them in time should they need assistance. With all the stories she heard, Artemis
continued to worry for her friends and for the Realm.

Artemis stepped into her healing room, adjacent to the kitchen. She tossed open the curtains to bring in sunlight and propped her door open to let other know they are welcome to enter. While she enjoyed gardening, running her clinic was Artemis’s favourite part of her day.

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Rathe had hardly left his War Room before he was accosted by a messenger. A young lad of stout frame and good build, a fine addition to the ranks of Helios, but far to young to be a soldier or ranger. Yet he wasn't fine with sitting around and thus was given a simple mission to deliver a message that he seemed to fulfill with fervor. Rathe was a man of patience and while he wasn't capable of grand feats he waited for the kid to catch his breath and give him report. Though it was strange. Most who join don't seek a direct audience with the Warden Commander and those who do are either bad assassins, envoys who normally have bad news, or just plan suicidal. Nodding to the boy Rathe and Chiya started to make for the gates.

Back on the outside where the messenger was the guards had gotten word through mouths and shoulders that he was to be let in. After receiving a proper description and gauging the threat of him, Rathe knew that if push came to shove he would be just fine. So walking through his halls he treated this like jsut another day. Before long he was out in the main courtyard, letting his banners fly around him off the battlements and bastions of his mountainside fort. The cool and crisp air trying to cut as his skin, but finding no purchase. Instead he continue on his warpath, leading up to the main gates and the waiting messenger.

Upon reaching him in the courtyard he stood at his imposing height a few feet away from him. Remaining stoic and silent, after all it was not Rathe who started this conversation and it would be rude to take command before he had reason to.

Chiya was chipper as ever, taking his leave of Rathe early on and running about the courtyard, making his peace known to the world and scampering about now that he was finally free of the cold floored castle. After all it was like Chiya always said! Too much castle is bad for your happy center!

Percyvallus turned his head to the side and stared out of the corner of his eye at the man who had entered the tavern, immediately recognizing him as one of the few bloods in town. A frown immediately overtook his face.
As the man willingly elaborated on the current state of affairs in Ironmawr, Percyvallus turned to face his glass and lowered his head, eyes closed.

It seemed Landen weren't the only ones to suffer under the sweep of corruption. Percyvallus may have even felt somewhat uplifted hearing about the misfortune of other Blood, were it not for others gaining more influence from it. And as if his parents didn't have enough, now his father was seeking to possibly gain even more.

"Perhaps it would be best if they weren't allowed to enter Helios." Percyvallus sneered at Rainer with contempt and disregard to his hardships. "Blood in large groups are just trouble."

Unlike the way most people would have avoided discussions regarding that subject, the taverner was surprisingly open about it. "That may be. But the same Blood might be the only thing that could stand against this depraved and perverted caste. As a Blood, you should know. You've been doing so for quite a while now, haven't you? Possibly for even longer than I've been alive."

Percyvallus clenched his teeth in response to being called out as Blood, despite it being common knowledge, and merely responded to the taverner with a contemplative grunt. More so as he was forced to acknowledge the truth behind the man's words. Even if he managed to ever take down his parents, then what? They were certainly part of the problem, but not the source of it. A source of evil Percyvallus had no hope of defeating on his own.

Helios, eh? He mentally repeated.

Downing one final glass of the brown liquid, Percyvallus stood up. "It seems I won't be staying as long as I usually do." He said as he left his payment on the counter. "It's always a pleasure conversing with you."
The taverner turned to face him and offered melancholic smile, though accompanied by a look that gave Percyvallus the impression he could see right through him. Perhaps he could.

Passing Rainer on the way to the door, he couldn't help but glance sternly at him. He never liked seeing Blood wandering through Ironmawr. It almost felt like an invasion of his private space. Part of Percyvallus wanted to challenge the man to the duel, and he would have if Rainer wasn't someone who couldn't hope to hold his own against him. It was no surprise to Percyvallus that his wife and son had left him.

Just as Percyvallus was about leave he stopped as the man behind the counter spoke to him one more time.

"Do tell me all about Helios once you return."

With a smirk on his face, Percyvallus closed the door behind him.

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@Torack As Lucivar knocked upon the heavy oaken door, there came a shaky and terrified voice from the otherside. “Enter, Prince.” Karlianne, Queen of Dene Nehele, sounded worse off than usual. Her voice had been holding that nervous shake for the past week or so. Her eyes often having bags under them from the strain and burden of holding together a facturing land. Provincial Queens had been gnawing at their tethers for years, and more than one of Karlianne’s court had fallen on the killing field to put down the renegade women and their ill founded courts.

But that was neither here nor there, if Lucivar walked into the room he would see his Queen seated upon a large chair. A man of dark hair and gold eyes standing behind her and a dagger at the pale and quivering throat. Tears were bright in Karlianne’s eyes as she looked pleadingly at the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince who swore her fealty, to protect her against this very thing. Off to the side was the Master of the Guard, Tristan. His back stiff and his face a mask of shame and humiliation. He had served his post honorable and with good intentions for years. Yet he stood there not daring to move to try and defend his Queen or the people as a screaming started outside. Someone had gotten up the nerve to attack, and worse, they had agents already inside as a man servant came running down the hall to fall with an arrow in his back as two natives to the land appeared at one end of the hall. “You may want to step in and close the door, Prince.” The Hyallian sneered perhaps thinking himself safe behind a shield of green that Lucivar could sense. One that also covered the knife and Queen. Nothing would stop that blade if it didn’t get through the Crafted shield first. “I believe we need to discuss your position in the new Court of Dene Nehele.”

@Deos Morran Belor moved slowly and carefully inside the fortress of Helios. An Eyrien eyrie that had been a hunting camp where youngster would normally prove themselves. It had been steadfast and turned into a eyrie for a war camp, then later a more permanent fort. They weren’t many of the sort in the Realm. But Helios was one of the few, especially in these dark times. Having gathered his weapons and rearmed himself, the smaller Eyrien made no moved as to draw or even acknowledge the fact he was armed. His golden eyes studying the Commander of Helios carefully. This was not a matter to take lightly and the wrong words would put him, his brothers and Faeril at risk. None of which the younger twin was fond of. “Perhaps if we could speak in private? My words are not lightly carried nor lightly said.” Tapping his Rose in acknowledgement of Rathe’s Ebon-Grey, the fellow Warlord Prince continued in a softer voice. “I would ask if you still follow the Old Ways of the Blood, and how you view the Black Widows?” His words were carefully pieced together as he studied Rathe with close scrutiny.

@NanoFreakV2 Rainer’s eyes narrowed at the Warlord, his jaw tightening as the Prince fought his temper. Rainer was not a fighter, he didn’t even know how to. His family was the sort that made their point with a pen. But it rankled the man that this stranger would so insult his child and their mother, his wife. The two men next to him gripped his shoulders, giving Percyvallus hard looks as they closed ranks about their table. Shutting the stranger and his problems out of their lives. Though the Prince could hardly help but mutter. “You’re under the same boot as the rest of us.” Something that Percyvallus would hear as the door shut behind him.

@nohbdies The day moved onwards with little issue, til a shadow darkened Artemis’s stoop. A Hyallian man stood there, leaning heavily against the door frame. A deep gouge in his side bled freely as he gripped the wood under his hand. Blood staining the once neat paint. His Purple Dusk jewel on his chest fueled a weakening shield as the blood loss started to affect the Warlord. At his hip was a empty sword sheathe and behind him laid the weapon where it had fallen from his fingers. “You there. Healer! Help me.” The golden eyed man snapped sharply, his face a twisted mask of anger and pain.

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Rathe took the man in and gathered stock for who he was. Sure he was making efforts to show he wasn't a direct threat, but the fact of the matter was he was making too many. Making requests and trying to show so much that he wasn't going to try anything makes a man cautious and alert. Being said though there was a certain level of risk that came with all diplomacy. So standing at his full height at the messenger he gave a brief glance around before he gestured for the man to follow. Adding on top of it, "Come with me." Starting to walk through the courtyard not towards the castle, but towards the outer wall and battlements of the fort.

Leading him up the internal structures and stairs that lead up multiple floors of solid stone and mortar to bring them to the top of the walls. Braziers stood at the ramparts at key locations, just as ballistae with racks upon them stood an ever faithful watch out into the mountains and valleys. It was an impressive sight, but one that the men on the walls knew to be familiar and comforting given the victories they had brought. Though this wasn't to show the fort's military might and instead he continued to guide and lead the man off towards a secluded spot on the walls. Of course no spot was unguarded, but with a simple command to the patrol to take a few minutes and reinforce the next station down. That in turn gave them a private space to talk.

Walking up to the edge of the battlements he gestured for the messenger to come and join him. Staring out at the beautiful view of the mountains and once again waiting for his guest to state his business. After all, accommodations have been made, there should be no more reason to delay the details of why this man had come the long way up to the Skypass Mountains.

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He opened the door and the scene inside was clearly something. He took a moment to let it all in, his face impassive, before walking deeper into the room and giving Tristan a small nod. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the Queen, his eyes finding the assassin's and never letting go as he sat down and leaned back, crossing his legs and interlacing his fingers over his lap.

He took a moment to look at the dagger a slight frown coming over him before his face went all pleasant again. "Would you please put that thing away?" he asked, a hand directed at the dagger. "And have a seat won't you, there's no need to be so crude. Let's talk like a pair of adults, you don't need to go putting your life at risk like this my dear fellow. Again, have a seat, please."

A chair came floating into the room and was set down a few feet in front of himself. "Would you like a drink? Some water? Wine?" A table floated inside along with a silver tray and several vintage bottles of wine accompanied by two glasses which all arranged themselves in between himself and the chair, all the while Lucivar was sitting calmly his hands still interlaced on his lap, looking up at the would be assassin expectantly.

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Artemis startled at the voice shouting at her. She almost dropped the mortar she was using to crush some poppy seeds but caught it at the last minute. Setting the bowl aside, she rushed over to the Warlord, ushering over to the cot she used for her patients. “You’ll have to drop your shield.” Artemis made sure he was laid down properly before fetching a bowl of water and some towels.

Dipping the towels in the water, Artemis cleaned the Warlord’s wound as best as she could to assess the damage. The gouge was deep though it did not seem to have hit a major artery. That didn’t stop her from worrying though. Wounds like this often damaged muscle and organs. If the blood loss didn’t kill someone, something else will. Putting her now blood-soaked towel aside, Artemis placed both hands on the wound, readily herself. Slowly, she let them phase through the Warlord’s flesh and seek out what was damaged. At first, Artemis was overwhelmed with how deeply wounded the Hyallian man was; her instincts telling her to heal everything. However, she found the worst of his damages- a nicked intestine- and focused on it instead, slipping into a deeper trance.

Before Artemis slipped deeper into her healing trance, she felt Vaclav’s presence entering the room. He glanced at his friend to ensure her safety before striding over to the forsaken weapon at their doorstep. Vaclav picked up the sword, feeling out its heft. Then he scanned the area to see if trouble had follow the Warlord.

Percyvallus let the words the man in the tavern had told him sink in. Indeed, he wasn't wrong and said boot was slowly growing spikes, pressing down harder than ever. He had seen it first hand today, in Ironmawr. At times like these, he would prefer remaining in town more than anything in order to try and help the townspeople as much as he could. The way he usually did. The grim truth hower was that it would not solve the problem in the long run.

Percyvallus' eyes blinked as he huffed, forcing himself out of his contemplation. He was on the streets of Ironmawr once more. A single glance from the wrong person would land him in serious trouble. He had already made a mistake today. It was best it remained that way. That thought included his decision to head for Helios.
Pulling his hood over the head, Percyvallus made his way to the town stables, intent on not being discovered again. Killing his parents' pawns in public view was not his prefered method of doing things.

"Leaving town so soon?" A man tending to the stable's horses spoke to Percyvallus to which he smiled. "Still haven't figured out how you always find out I'm in town, Volo." Percyvallus said to the man who reciprocated a chuckle. "So where to this time?" Volo inquired. "Helios." Percyvallus grabbed a nearby saddle and went to one of the horses while the two converesed. "The fort?" Volo went over to Percyvallus, patting the horse next to him as he went. "Yes, that's the one." Percyvallus responded as he tightened the final strap holding the saddle to the horse. "Who's the Warden nowdays?" He turned to face Volo. "Rathe Grey was his name I think." Volo rested his thumb on his chin in thought, not sounding very sure of his answers. "A Blood no doubt. Who'd he lay to gain the post?" Percyvallus sarcastically asked, voice dripping with disdain. "I recall him earning his position after defending the fort from raiders for several days." Percyvallus offered a skeptical look and then focused again on his horse.

Before mounting the muscular animal Percyvallus offered what Volo typically asked for a lend. The man glanced at the coins in his palm and back at Percyvallus. "You know, we live in harsh times. Few people have the money for my steeds these days. I've had to lower my prices accordingly." Volo, a man of honesty, told him, sounding far more gloomy than his usual self. "It's alright, you can keep it." Percyvallus retorted just as Volo was about to offer him some of his coins back. Percyvallus lowered his head sympathetically, once again being reminded how tough Ironmawr had it.
"Appreciate it. But this doesn't give a free pass to leave my horses to find their way home on their own. Try to bring him back yourself this time." Volo jokingly told Percyvallus as he left the stables.
"No promisses!" Percyvallus shouted back, quickening his pace.

The town guards, more stringent than ever, would typically question everyone entering or leaving Ironmawr. This time however, the ones on the other side of the town didn't even get the chance to utter a single word as Percyvallus raced past them, nearly knocking one of them down, only to further antagonize them.

The carriage clattered over the cobblestones of Beldon Mor as the golden eyes of the Saetan stared out the window, one leg casually crossed over the other. His hand resting with a certain satisfaction upon his knee. It had been mere days from the little disaster after Dorothea’s gala. The ball had been marvelous, if one was of the same taste of the Hyallian Queen, but otherwise it was uneventful. Dances were had, gossip was spread, and alliances tentatively forged and brutally broken. Hyallian, Saetan noted with a small quirk of his mouth, were adept at the art of gathering in some celebratory manner and slashing at each other with words. Their mastery of the Craft was well done as well, for what twisted individuals they were becoming under the Queen’s influence. Petty and only interested in the pleasure they could squeeze out of anyone or thing.

So, Saetan had done his courtly duty. He had given Dorothea’s little court something to talk about when he had escorted Alanya away from the gathering. It had been a good way to get away from the stifling scent of all those twisted Queens and witches. The glee of the torment of others, and the hunting eyes that watched him constantly. A powerful Warlord Prince and the only one to wear the Black, he was the pinnacle of suitors a woman could dream of. But that’s all they got. Dreams of him. Thoughts and longing. Til they tried for more like Alanya did when she had lead him into his own chambers. The ire at what the daring woman had done rankled the Warlord Prince. Frost icing over the window for a moment, before he capped his rage. It wouldn’t do for this new Court to see a monster. Not yet anyways.

Alanya had been a lucky woman in the end. Dorothea’s men had arrived too late when the Black had been unleashed. They had not remained long after viewing the fate of the wretched girl. A different group had returned later to escort him to Dorothea, and to remain what was left of the witch he had the pleasure of escorting to the esquite ball. It was safe to say however, that Dorothea would need to replace the bed and practically everything in the room. Perhaps he would ask that his room be placed in a different room all together. It was unlikely that the Queen would allow it, but he had his ways of persuading her. Saetan studied his long black nails as the carriage bounced and rocked over a bridge. The chatter of others and smells form the various markets filled his cabin, marking their crossing into the village proper.

In the end it wasn’t worth it to ask anything of Dorothea, not yet. She had been forced to act, and since she was unwilling to harm him. She had to resort to other tactics. Mental ones, and punishments that were really no such thing according to him. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince chuckled lightly at the thought that exile was to be a punishment. In fact it was a way for Dorothea to ease him of his temper and show the Realm the most powerful Warlord Prince that was at her beck and call. Though the irony was that it was hardly the case. So Dorothea had exiled him! Selling his services to a lesser Queen who sought power in Dene Nehele, but with no specification as to when he should arrive.

Thus he decided to do a bit of sightseeing. Urging a few of his own projects on their proper course so to speak.

@Torack Tristan stiffened as Lucivar nodded to him. Looking rather stricken as the Eyrien sat in a chair across from killer and Queen. The man behind Karlianne stiffened, insulted in how casual Lucivar was treating this. A flicker of rage crossing his face. The knife having drawn tighter against the Queen of Dene Nehele’s neck as the chair was drawn too close to the Queen for the Hyallian’s liking. Blood trickling down to meld with tears as Karlianne gave a small wince of pain. Only further cutting herself. “You dare treat this so casually?!” The man snarled, as he yanked the woman up from the chair and further away from the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince. “Put it on him, already! Else this wretch dies.” A odd delight coming to the man’s face at that thought. Tristan hesitated for a second before approaching, a ring in one hand. Lucivar would know exactly what it was for a witch had tried to put it upon him before. A band of compliance glittered in the light as Karlianne stared in horror. She knew well what it was having outlawed them in Dene Nehele and often ordering smiths to release the captive males that had made their way to this shakey safe haven.

“Just do as he says, Prince, and we’ll keep our Queen.” Tristan whispered, looking desperately at Lucivar as if that would gain his agreement and cooperation.

@Deos Morran The scene stunned Belor momentarily, for in his heart the twin was an artist of sort who enjoyed the scenery of a good mountain top view. He had been curious as to where the Commander was taking him but the battlements made some sense. It also was to Belor’s advantage if he needed to attempt to escape. A hazard when friends with a woman’s who tongue was sharper than most warblades! Rustling his wings in slight nervousness, the Eyrien frowned. “A woman- a Black Widow- sent me onwards as she was indisposed to coming herself.” Belor’s words were chosen carefully as much to convey his meaning as to keep Faeril hidden. “The time draws close to when Dorothea- the reason behind why so many twisted Queens- will make her move. She has covered this realm with her taint and now seeks to place her throne on top of the very foundations of Terreille.” Casting a look out of the corner of his eye towards Rathe, Belor continued carefully examining Rathe’s reactions or lack thereof. “And she has seen a way to stop it.”

@NanoFreakV2 The horse made it through the gate as the guards shouted and stumbled aside as the steed raced through. But Percyvallus’s attempt to antagonize them was his undoing as an arrow from one guard pierced the horse’s withers. Not bringing the animal down, but stunning him and slowing the beast. Their shouts could be heard from behind the fleeing Warlord. “Shoot down the horse, before he catches a Wind!” Nevermind that the horse would doubtlessly panic if brought through the winds. The Blood had created special livestock carriages for moving large amounts of livestock as well as horses, having learned the beasts did not care to be running one place then to be stuck with no sight, nor sound and appearing in a different area. It never ended well.

@nohbdies The Warlord lowered his personal shields, looking rather annoyed about doing so. Lowering his shields put him as risk and with the attack on Greyhaven- the capital of Dene Nehele- his men and he were going through the countryside. Slaughtering Widows (what few were left) and Queens that would oppose Lady Sonya Thorne as they met them. It would not do for a potential ally of their Queen to rise to power only to be put down by a rebellion. So they removed the possible seeds. Unfortunately not all had gone well. The fighting was thick and fierce. For all that Karliene had been losing power over the last few years, her men were loyal ones. Making this a difficult task to do.

As Vaclav moved out to pick up the sword that laid a ways from the doorstep, two arrows pierced his body. One ripping straight through his shoulder and the other his leg. “Hyallian! You’ll die for what you’ve done!” Two natives of Dene Nehele stood looking furious, as they rode the killing edge. Each knocking another arrow as they stumbled from the brush. Bearing wounds of a beating and several cuts.

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Lucivar closed his eyes, then looked at Tristan, the smile that was once on his face now gone and replaced with a deep frown. "I think I'll pass on that, dear friend," he said as he raised two fingers, a bloom of power flowing out of them towards the Prince and encompassing his form in an effort to constrict him, tightening and threatening to break him. Lucivar stood then, his frown turning to anger as he lifted another fingers to draw the dagger the assassin held and looked at him, his eyes promising death. "I tried to keep this civil, for your sake, assassin. But it seems you're too stupid to understand the notion of self preservation so allow me to spell out the gravity of your error. The fact you're still breathing is because I allow you to," he twisted the finger raised in his dirction that would cause his upper airways to collapse, then turned to Tristan, "As for you, it seems your retirement is at hand, Prince. Save yourself from this fool's fate and surrender this instant and I will make sure your imprisonment is at least somewhat humane.

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Rathe heard the words of the messenger, listening to their worth and gauging how this was to effect him and the people under him. It wasn't until he mentioned something about a way to stop her that he quirked his head and squint his eyes. "So how does this involve me. If your widow has seen her way, then why come all the way to my keep. Unless it involves me. And if that is the case I would ask that you quit beating around the bush and come out with it. I hate playing the pronoun game." He stated coldly and sternly. Making his piece known as he once again continued to wait for a proper answer and tale for how this was to involve him. In truth this was all nothing new to him. Queens always made their grasp for power and while they did he'd still be in business, collecting those spurned by the queens and giving them direction to survive and fight back against an unjust system. This queen Dorothea was no different from any other power mad queen. That in turn just made her another threat that would prove for good recruitment down the road.

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Artemis broke out of her healing trance when she heard her friend cries of pain. She gasped at the two arrows that had pierced Vaclav and rushed to him without bothering to finish healing the Warlord in the cot. Dragging her friend out of the way and to the back corner of the room, Artemis snapped the arrow in Vaclav’s shoulder in half to pull it out of him. Hastily, she began healing her friend, phasing through his flesh to heal the blood vessels that had been damaged underneath. She hoped that Vaclav would be able to move by the time the Dena Neheleans darkened her stoep. Artemis wondered what the Hyallian warlord did to warrant their anger; she regretted not asking what happened to him before giving in to her automatic instincts to heal.

Usually, Artemis would never stop a healing session once it started. However, she was more worried about Vaclav than a random warlord that showed up to her doorstep angrily demanding for treatment. Before she was startled out of her trance though, Artemis had healed the warlord some. While the deep gouge was still there, Artemis had been able to heal the nicked organ and staunch some of the bleeding.

Percyvallus cursed under his breath while initially struggling to keep himself on the saddle. "Easy boy." He patted the side of the steeds nape to calm it down. For mere moments Percyvallus managed to distract himself with mental cringe at the thought of what Volo might have said if he had seen these events unfolding. In the end it was a only matter of time until find out as he would still have to deal with the aftermath of this.

Hearing the guards behind him, still intent on stopping him, Percyvallus turned his head just so he could see his chasers with corner of his eye. The air around him began vibrating with energy, swirling and twisting, ready to converge on any projectile heading towards his general direction. The craft wasn't powerful enough to outright stop the arrows, however the Intention was only to deflect them away from him and his mount, provided more followed the first one.

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@Torack The Master of the Guard cringed as he saw the deep frown that flickered across Lucivar’s face. While there wasn’t much known about the Eyrien Warlord Prince, the simple fact was that he wore the Ebon-Grey and thus was not on to cross easily. He was dangerous. The Hyallian assassin could feel his limbs grow heavy and taunt as though a great weight pressed about him his shields doing very little to stop the oncoming force. Golden eyes flickered with panic. Death was bad enough, but if he had to face her and explain his failure? That would be worse. Thanking his forethought to have cloaked himself in Crafted shields about his hand weapon as Lucivar sought to tear it from his grip with the Ebon-Grey, the assassin acted before he could be stopped.

The silver blade jerked upwards at the same time as the assassin’s jewel lashed out at the small Queen before him. Karlianne’s blood spilling down the front of her dress as wide eyes stared in pain and shock as her jewel was burned out by the more powerful male. But the assassin did not gain time to boast as Lucivar’s next move closed off the assassin’s airway. Suffocating the man couldn’t bear to moved as the Queen in his arms gripped at the her throat. Sinking back against her killer, even as her eyes dulled. The life leaving her body as the assassin had stuck out with that last bolt of power to burn away the Queen’s left over power and what remained of her mind. A blessing perhaps as death would have been slow and painful.

Tristan looked in horror, shoving Lucivar aside in an attempt to reach his Queen. A small woman who would no more be Queen, as she laid upon the wood polished floor.

@Deos Morran Belor felt his wings that had been stiff with worry relax. “It involves you and your keep. As those who will be drawn to the Queen will be drawn here.” The Rose Jeweled Warlord Prince nodded in admittance that the commander had hit the nail on the head. “She would do a better job of explaining it but with the Hourglass Coven being hunted down… We thought it might be best to see where you stood upon such matters before granting full disclosure.” There was almost an apologetic note in the man’s voice, his head nodding in thoughts that were more for himself than Rathe.

While this could very well be a trap, what Belor had heard of the Warlord Prince that commanded the Helios Warcamp- something he had taken to calling a ‘Fort’ for some strange reason- was that the man disliked the twisted queens greatly. Enough that he lived the life of a rogue and led many other men in such things. Of course there was always the odd woman, but not many.. They weren’t the targets of the Twisted Queens generally and often if they did have ties to the rogues. They were the spies inside of town and such. “Three will make the triangle about the Queen, and two of those three will gather here at Helios. As to where this Queen is…” The Warlord Prince shook his head in annoyance. “That would be for the Widow to answer and she will tell no one until those who are needed are gathered. Stubborn women.”

@NanoFreakV2 While more arrows followed the first, they did not pierce the deflecting shield that Crowglide had put about himself and his mount. A blessing perhaps, as the horse soon entered the cover of the woods. Rendering any more arrows near useless and less than an attempt. There was no noise of pursuit from behind the fleeing mount. For while the guards had been there it was more of an attempt to keep people out rather than in. More of a way to collect gold from tolls and taxes than to actually guard the citizens. For the Queen of the village was greedy. And while the village did have a slight ‘wall’ made of rough pastures surrounding the village, the main road was a road and thus carts found it more easy than hopping a fence.

@nohbdies The first of the archers reached the door, a scraggly looking youth not even reaching his majority of twenty years. With an arrow nocked on his hunting bow and the string taunt with the intent to kill. There was a split second of silence in the cabin as the Hyallian Warlord managed to register what was going on. Though he failed to rise from the bed. A shared look of fury passed between the two as raw power surged from the Warlord, and the bow string snapped as the arrow was loosened to pin the Warlord to the bed. His eyes staring in shock at the shaft that protruded from his chest. But the boy was not still yet. His clothes were slightly burnt and blood encrusted his hands and arms. Mud covered the solid looking boots and his eyes were wild with terror and rage as he aimed the next arrow at the Healer and her escort.

A hand shot out pushing the bow down as the second archer caught up. They both had the look of two who had been out hunting and had run into some disaster or mishap. “Watch her! That’s a Healer, Liran.” The breathless lad gasped out sharply. The first boy’s rage slowly draining as he looked at Artemis and started to shake from the shock. A green cast coming over the lad’s face.