[IC] Formaroth Part 2: Throne of Lies

Part One Summary

Part One prologue

The reigning ruler of Formaroth, King John Remonnet passed away under suspicious circumstances, most whisper it was the cause of poisoning, others say it was natural causes, whatever the case it now left the throne open for grabs, as there are no living heirs to the throne to claim it for their own and continue on the royal lineage. Anyone was able to lay claim to the throne of Formaroth, and so the Battle for the Throne began. King John tried to right the ways of his brother's maniacal reign before him; a reign that ended in a civil war in which the tyrannical king was killed by the rebel Andris Mandarass. Under John's rule the empire began to blossom, there was peace to be had, and shared across the land; wealth bloomed, and kingdoms pledged allegiance to the mighty kingdom of the Sypius, where Nyhem, the sprawling citadel that holds sway over the land, working alongside one another in prosperity. With King John's queen dead three years prior to his own, there is no eligible heir to claim the throne; meaning anyone can stake a claim to the throne.

Part one: 'Battle for the throne'

Shortly after the death of High King John, each of the major houses sent a diplomat to Nyhem to discuss who should be the next ruler of Formaroth. Due to being the head advisor of the late king, Alasdair De Reimer was made the temporary De Facto ruler of Formaroth. As there was no other heir, Alasdair put himself forward as a candidate for High King, given the position was practically already his and he had most experience for ruling Formaroth. Despite not being tied to the throne by blood, Alasdair gained a lot of support from the central kingdoms of Cawanor, Sypius, Telmarion, Orog, Windermere and later Nash. However, many others saw this act as nothing more than a grab for power and denounced his claim as High King. The most outspoken of these was Andris Mandarass of Uzgob, who rallied the kingdoms of Glamrion, Ralda, Coruneon and later Akki to remove the De Reimer's from power and thus started the battle for the throne.

After the war broke out two other factions formed. The first being the Southern alliance, comprised of the Kingdoms of Thralreth and Raeldar. The major supporters of this alliance were the two noble houses of Sutharlan and Staghain who felt no loyalty to either Alasdair or Andris. Now that the Remmonnets had died out both houses wished for the south to be free from the crown, believing themselves to be more capable rulers than any northern lord would ever be. Throughout the war the Southern Alliance has remained neutral in the war and has not involved themselves in any major military or political events. The second faction was the newly formed House Blackwell that formed ten years prior during the Mandrass-Remmonnet civil war.

The war first started when Andris Mandarass denounced Alasdair De Reimer and declared war on the Imperial Concord. For House Mandarass, honour is of the highest Importance when it comes to ruling. In Andris’s eyes the De Reimer’s honour is non-existent and was a family that could not be trusted. As such Andris and his allies decided to remove Alasdair from the throne before he could do any harm to the kingdom of Formaroth. In return Alasdair and his allies formed the Imperial Concord to oppose the Mandarass usurper and return order and peace to Formaroth.

The Concord gained an early victory over the Mandarass Alliance when the combined armies of House Anjervine and House Greensworth invaded Ralda and wiped out the majority of the Mazeltof host. During the battle Godwyn Mazeltof was killed while Henry and Pearl were captured. Henry was later executed for treason by Alasdair. The concord advantage was further cemented when House Wulfrick of Nash joined the imperial concord.

Around this time House Blackwell tried to invade the Island kingdom of Akki but the plan ultimately failed once House Neptuna discovered their plans and sunk the Blackwell Navy at dock. To worsen the Blackwell position, House De Reimer used their Uzobian double agents to frame Andris Mandarass for an assassination attempt on the Blackwell family. While the assassination failed, Naomi Blackwell was seriously injured and house De Reimer successfully turned house Blackwell against the Mandarass Alliance. Lady Lanaya Dionisa was able to negotiate an alliance between the Imperial Concord and House Blackwell through various deals and arrangements (one deal being the arranged marriage of Patrick De Reimer and Naomi Blackwell).

To turn the tide of the war Andris combined the armies of Mandarass, Lannistark and Humber and marched on the Kingdom of Telmarion, hoping to defeat House Tuania. In response Patrick De Reimer sent an army of mercenaries, led by the renown Claus Rotstein, to reinforce the Tuanian army. When the two armies clashed, Orland Tuania (commander of House Tuania’s forces) disobeyed Claus’s commands and led his troops into a tactical disaster. The battle was a clear victory for the Mandarass Alliance and had it not been for Claus’s battle experience, the Concord casualties would have been far greater.

Furthermore, House Neptuna of Akki decided to join the Mandarass Alliance, as the aggression shown from House Blackwell had caused them to become fearful of their neighbouring kingdom Alenius. To show their support House Neptuna sent their army to reinforce the Alliance in Telmarion.

His defeat caused Claus to retreat to House Tuania’s stronghold of Clarm, while Orland led the remaining Tuanian forces to regroup with the bulk of the Concord’s army. To gain a strong foothold in Telmarion, Andris besieged Clarm in the hopes he could take it before the Concord army showed up. However, Claus and his mercenaries proved to be more than a worthy adversary and after a month Andris was forced to abandon the siege to face the concord’s forces.

The concord had divided its forces into two armies; one, led by Aureus Wulfirck, consisted of the armies of House Greensworth and House Wulfrick. This force went north and retook the kingdom of Orog and captured the now undefended kingdom of Coruneon. The second, led by Patrick De Reimer, consisted of the armies of House De Reimer, Anjervine, Du Paraquette and Tuania. This force went to Telmarion to reinforce Telmarion and engage the Alliance forces. House Blackwell sent their army to bolster the Concordian forces with the entire Blackwell family (baring Naomi) joining the fight.

The second battle for Telmarion was the turning point of the war. The Mandarass Alliance suffered a major defeat at the hands of Patrick De Reimer and lost much of its army. Daeron Humber, Orland Tuania and Beatrice Blackwell were all killed during the battle while Serala Lanistark was captured.

After his defeat Andris retreated to Uzgob with the remains of his army, intending to make his final stand in the Uzgobian capital of Andromeda. However unbeknown to him, his most trusted advisor Nizaar had turned against him, believing that Andris was no longer the honourable man he once was and that Uzgob needed new leadership. Nizaar stopped the Mandarass army from entering the city and kept Andris’s family hostage.

While Andris was able to infiltrate the city and rescue his family, his arm was badly wounded by Nizaar and was forced to amputate. Eventually Andris had to flee Formaroth entirely using the Alliance’s fleet, exiling himself and his remaining supporters to the continent of Seikastsu.

With the Concord being victorious, Alasdair is now the undisputed High king with the concords power growing exponentially after gaining the kingdoms of Ralda, Coruneon and Uzgob. During the war House Blackwell power also grew significantly after gaining the kingdoms of Glarmion and Akki. While they are still allies with the concord this alliance is fragile and Alasdair has come to see Eli Blackwell as a new rival.

Imperial concord
House De Reimer of Cawaport (now also of Uzgob)
House Du Paraquette of Sypius
House Anjervine of Windermire
House Greensworth of Orog (now also of Ralda)
House Tuania of Telmarion
House Wulfrick of Nash (now also of Coruneon)

Mandarass Alliance
House Mandarass (now exiled)
House Mazeltof (now exiled)
House Lannistark (now exiled)
House Humber (now exiled)
House Neptuna (now exiled)

House Blackwell
House Blackwell rulers of Alenius (now also Glarmion and Akki)

Southern Alliance
House Sutharlan of Raeldar
House Staghain of Thralreth

Order of Saint Elenor

Lycaon, Grand Master of the Order of Saint Elenor, beloved by the people for his philanthropic work, has been gaining influence in the Church. After a long absence from royal life he attempted to ally himself with King Duncan by presenting to him a lavish gift and promising him the Church's support. This was part of Lycaon's attempt to strengthen the Church's waning influence on politics, a plan that was years in the making and would take years to carry out. Soon afterwards, Lycaon had the reigning Grand Cleric assassinated, as he found her insufficiently cooperative, and gained power in the Church from the ensuing power vacuum.

Elsewhere, turmoil reigned in the Church. The controversial theologian Johannia of Telmarion put forth a number of shocking doctrines, which included harsh criticism of the upper echelons of the Church, advocating the dissolution of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, harsh criticism of mages and magic, and the existence of a demiurge above the gods worshipped by the Church. For this she was tried of heresy and would have been executed by burning at the stake if not for a sympathetic bishop who orchestrated her escape to somewhere in Ralda. On her way there she was attacked and her patron bishop was killed, but with the aid of a lone bodyguard Johannia was able to escape. Now safely in hiding in Ralda, she now hides alongside her body and a friend of the bishop who aided her, who now serves as the chief propagandist who spreads her message among the literate.

Meanwhile Lycaon continues to consolidate power. He made a deal with King Duncan, promising to aid the King in his war effort if he would allow his holy order to raise a brigade. During the battle of Telmarion this brigade, made up of mere peasants, took heavy casualties. However, with Lycaon's funding they have the possibility to become well-equipped, and in the time that it takes for them to recover and reinforce from their casualties they have the time to become better trained and become a force to reckoned with. Meanwhile the heretics continue to gain strength. A conflict between those who supported the heretics and those who remained loyal to the Church, exacerbated by the squalor of city, proved to be the spark that ignited a riot that engulfed the entire city of Nyhem. Though the riot was put down, in no small part due to the Holy Order of Saint Elenor's wanton slaughter of the heretics under Lycaon's orders, it will now take much for the city of Nyhem to recover, and the worst may be yet to come.

Mage Collective

The Mages Collective is the brainchild of Duchess and Magister Lanaya Dionisa, a skilled mage and highly capable politician. Its fundamental goal is twofold. First and foremost, the Collective seeks to ensure Mages are free from prosecution of any sort all across Formaroth. The second, more radical aim of the organisation, however, is to put Mages in positions of power, ideally including placing a Mage on the throne. The second aim is kept relatively secret even within the Collective, for obvious reasons, but as the Collective grows, it has become harder to keep the more radical members quiet.

In order to further the goals of the Collective, Lanaya aligned the organisation with the Imperial Concord, reasoning that Alasdair De Reimer was the most likely to be sympathetic to her cause. She provided a number of mages to the Concord army, as well as attempting to convince her childhood friend High Magister Aurelia Vincetta to marry Alasdair. Later, she was sent by Alasdair to negotiate an alliance with house Blackwell, which she did reasonably successfully. However, she also fell in love with Eli Blackwell while there. In addition, she convinced High Magister Drevala Blackwell to join the Collective, and discovered Drevala’s ability to take the shape of a Dragon.

Upon returning to Nyhem, Lanaya discovered Aurelia Vyncetta had been murdered. Soon after, Alasdair offered her Aurelia’s place on the High Council, as magical advisor to the High King. This has greatly benefited the Collective, both in terms of raw power and legitimacy among the mages of Formaroth. In addition she was able to secure a tentative alliance with the Order of St. Elenor and recruit High Magister Barden to her cause.

Finally, she met with High Magister Alice Budwin, recruited her to the Collective and received a crimson gem filled with magical power to test. It empowers her spells, but seems to be having some side effects… When the riot broke out, she defended the Manor House she resided in before going to the King. Atop the battlements, they got into an argument and Alasdair struck her. Later, she massacred a crowd of anti-mage fanatics on the Nyhem docks with the help of a Summer Isles ships crew, before sending that crew to deliver news of the atrocities against mages to the Circle.

The Collective faces a time of great change. They have collected much power, but have yet to truly exercise it on a country-wide scale. Lanaya has risen from the representative of a minor noble house to a significant house leader and Council member, yet her already shaky relationship with Alasdair may not hold up while the Blackwell alternative remains; and all the while a new foe stalks her from the shadows… To make matters worse, the Collective has become a natural enemy of the Anti-mage religious schism, and the Circle, previously content to ignore the power games of one Magister, has begun to take notice of a power bloc involving three High Magisters with radical and risky ideas. Will Lanaya’s grand plan face adversity and emerge stronger for it? Or will they fracture under pressure, folding to the many threats they face?

[TheDuncanMorgan]

Throne of Lies

“And so the Mandarass Alliance has finally been defeated” Alasdair said, smiling smugly as he finished reading the letter he had been holding. The letter was from his brother and had arrived only yesterday. While he already knew its contents this was the first time he had announced the news to his advisors. Six people were present in room, all sat at a long rectangular table at which Alasdair was the head. Despite the importance the council’s decisions had on Formaroth, the room in which they were made was somewhat unimpressive. Besides from the table and chairs the room was barren with nothing more than a few candlestick holders to light the room during the night. Two windows were on the far side of the small room, allowing ample light to enter. A fireplace burnt quietly in the corner; the first time it had been lit in near six months, so as to ward away the first chills of autumn. On Alasdair’s left sat his sister and economic advisor; Isabel De Reimer, a tall thin woman with beautiful long dark brown hair. Next to her sat the advisor of law; Alexander, a tall thin and gangly man with a mess of brown hair. Finally next to him sat Magister Lanaya Dionisa; Magisterial advisor to Alasdair and a powerful mage. She was a slim woman with pale skin, green eyes and straight copper red hair. On his right sat Marchioness Cerlina Tuania, head advisor of the high council. She had recently only just returned to the capital to discover her younger brother had died during the war against house Mandarass. As such she was wearing a long sleeved black dress with matching black gloves and veil, to which her bright blonde hair and green eyes stood out in contrast; a way to let others know that she was in mourning. Next to her sat Alice Rallar, advisor of war. In comparison to the others surrounding the table she was a giant of a woman, taller and larger than most men with short ginger hair and narrow piercing eyes.

“So the war is over then my king?” Alex said “the Imperial Concord is victorious?”

“So it would seem” Alasdair replied smugly “and now that we have control of Uzgob, Coruneon and Ralda the concord has easily become the most powerful faction in Formaroth”

Though it should’ve been a happy moment, Lana’s face was marred by a faint scowl as Alasdair spoke. In her eyes, he was too eager to revel in this costly victory. When silence fell, she spoke up quickly, before the others could turn this meeting into unending self congratulating. There was a certain venom in her voice, but tempered by the unfortunate truth that she spoke.

“And yet, my King, the Land is still fractured. As the ruler of the majority of Formaroth, and no longer at war, you cannot afford to ignore the madness of the Johannian Heresy any longer. The Church is clearly not equipped to handle this without you taking charge.”

Alasdair’s disapproving gaze fell on Lanaya. It was clear she was bitter after what had happened during the riot, not that he expected anything else.

“She is right your grace” Alice said “the riot proves that the heretical threat must be addressed immediately”. Alasdair internally sighed; he had always hated the church and all the superstitious nonsense it preached to it’s followers. Before, all he had to do was pay off its leaders to stay out of the political affairs and keep the peasantry blindly loyal to whatever monarch happened to be on the throne. But now both Lycaon and Johannia were tearing Formaroth apart over differing ideology based on fairy stories and both continued to undermine his authority.

“The Heretics have been driven from Nyhem, Lycaon has seen to that” Alasdair said as he reflected back to the brutal and violent manner than Lycaon and his knights had put down the heretics “Furthermore I have outlawed the heretical teachings of Johannia. Anyone found worshiping will be imprisoned until they recant, while preachers will be tortured and later executed, the method of which shall be decided by the church”.

“If I may your grace I do not believe that will suffice” Cerlina said, this was the first time she had spoken during the meeting. It was likely she had been too busy thinking about her brother to engage until now “Even if outlawed we have no way of enforcing the law. Perhaps if we set up some sort of an inquisition with the sole purpose of rooting out the heretics”?

“Perhaps, though such an order would likely have to operate through the church and I am loathed to give Lycaon anymore power than he already has.”

As bitter as Lanaya was about Alasdair at the moment, she couldn’t help but agree with him.

“I agree with the King. Lycaon has accumulated a great deal of power already, and giving him the opportunity to command an inquisition may let him turn even the nobility to his cause, for fear of being accused a heretic. Do we want to risk him becoming a more serious threat than Johannia?”

Lanaya was close to suggesting her own organisation be given the right, but after highlighting how corrupt an inquisition could be she thought better of such a blatant power grab.

“Exactly, but if we don’t do something soon Lycaon will root out the heretics on his own, and if his actions during the riot are anything to go by, he will be brutal and belligerent. What we need is an organisation that we directly oversee, a faction within the church that acts on our best interests. Not only will we have a way to stop the heretics but we could use it to curb Lycaon’s power”. Many of the council members nodded in agreement

“That could work” Alexander replied “If we control the inquisition then we will have have direct oversight to prevent anything from getting too chaotic like they did during the riot”.

Lanaya looked around at the other Council members, weighing it in her head. As far as she could tell, their interests were probably diverse enough that they wouldn’t be able to direct such a faction in one particular direction, other than its intended one. That was, if they could all maintain control over it. She thought for a moment, then spoke up.

“You make a good argument your majesty. If we maintain control, we should be able to avoid having the inquisition turned to political ends. Very well, I support this initiative.”

“Excellent. We will have to find someone capable of leading such a organisation, or at least someone who can control Lycaon should he become inquisitor, and more importantly someone we can trust. Alexander-” upon hearing his name Alexander straightened “-make a list of possible candidates for me to review over”.

“Yes your grace” Alexander said with a slight bow of his head.

“Very good. Also to celebrate the concord’s victory over the alliance we will be hosting a party here in the keep. The party will be take place a month from now, that should give the guests time to get here. Hopefully it will give the peasantry something to talk about instead of the riot. We will dispense free food and drink to the city to keep them placated.”

“I’m sure the peasants will appreciate his Majesty’s generosity.” Lanaya said drolly, before taking on a slightly more serious tone. “House Dionisa will increase see to creating a stockpile for the event.”

While she was technically only here for the sake of magical advice, Lanaya would never pass up the opportunity to secure a political advantage. In this case, to have the king rely on her noble house for this grand event instead of one of the others.

“That would save house De Reimer from having to pay for everything for once” Isabel replied, she had taken the letter from Alasdair and had been quietly reading it to herself. Her eyes remained fixed on the letter as she spoke “Tell me brother will House Blackwell, Staghain and Sutharlan be invited”?

“Invites have been dispatched, whether they arrive or not is another matter. However it is likely house Blackwell will attend, afterall Patrick and Naomi are to be wed soon”. At this Isabel made a noise of disgust.

“To think our family would have to muddy our blood by marrying into a family of elevated peasants” Isabel scoffed while Cerlina nodded in agreement. Alice Alexander looked offended however, as both of them had originated from the peasantry.

“Maybe so but they are the Concords true rivals right now, and as such it is a good idea to have them on our side” Alasdair paused for a moment before adding “at least for now”.

Lanaya remained quiet as house Blackwell was mentioned. She was the architect of this rivalry, in a way, having negotiated the treaty that let the House officially form their own Kingdom. Naturally, it was, in truth, even more complicated than that. Regardless, she had nothing to contribute to the meeting on the subject.

***

“And with that I believe the meeting is concluded” Alexander announced waiting for his kings approval

“Very well, in which case everyone is dismissed” At this the advisors stood up before heading towards the door. Before Lanaya could leave Alasdair called out to her “Lady Lanaya, I should like to speak with you”.

Lanaya, who had already stood in her eagerness to leave, gracefully sat back down, scowling somewhat. She was not expecting this to go particularly well, whatever it was, after their exchange atop the castle during the riot. Some extremely barbed words were thrown, and Alasdair had punched her rather unexpectedly. Though the bruise was already healing, she waved one hand over her the side of her face, dispelling the illusion that had concealed it far more effectively than any makeup could’ve. Saying nothing, she let the ugly reminder of what he had done speak for her.

Alasdair noticed Lanaya dispel the illusion, it was already clear that she knew what he wanted to talk about. Alasdair stood up before looking straight at Lanaya

“As you undoubtedly remember, during the riot harsh words and insults were passed between us. Furthermore in my rage I struck you and for that I apologize. It was...unbecoming of a king and I should not have allowed my emotions to have gotten the better of me” In truth Alasdair felt somewhat guilty over what had happened. While he had no personal attachments to Lanaya she had served both the concord and in turn House De Reimer well. However more importantly she was far too valuable an asset for them to remain on poor terms. People perform their duties best when they are satisfied under those they serve, a simple fact Alasdair had tried to teach his siblings time and time again.

Lanaya looked at Alasdair for a moment, unspeaking. For just a moment, there was a spark of rage deep inside her, but she was able to quash it before it turned into a flame. “Apology accepted.” She said in an even tone. She would never forget what he had done, and likely never truly forgive him, but in politics one could not afford to hold petty grudges.

“I apologise for my own words as well. It was a trying day.” She left it at that, once again keeping a cool, even tone. Naturally she was far from sincere, but she hadn’t gotten this far by letting little things like truth get in the way of politics.

“Very good, in which case we will resume our duties, and not let what transpired impact on our duty to serve the concord”. While Alasdair sensed neither her apology nor forgiveness to be genuine, he didn’t need them to be, so long as she continued to serve the concord as dutifully she had done before. “Have you any recommendation on whom should be invited to this event?”

Lanaya absently passed her hand over the side of her face, recasting the illusion that concealed the bruise. With her point made she preferred to maintain her usual radiant beauty.

“Perhaps the Elven Trader, Dyril, should be invited. It will let her know she and her goods are welcome in Formaroth, and that this Kingdoms grandeur is undimmed despite the times.”

Alasdair paused for a moment as he considered Lanaya’s recommendation. While it wouldn’t even of crossed his mind to invite her, he saw no reason why not to. Lanaya’s reasoning seemed fair enough. “Very well I shall bear her in mind”

“Is that all your Majesty?” Lanaya inquired. Alasdair nodded, and she stood, walking to the door. She quickly half bowed in his direction, then left the Council chamber.

By
@TheDuncanMorgan @Sundered Echo

[TheDuncanMorgan]

The Mercenary and the Warrior

It had only been a day since the last high council meeting but once again Alasdair found himself in the cramped and dreary council chambers. Unlike last time however, the only council member present with him was his military advisor Alice Rallar. Alice had only just entered the room and was currently standing across from Alasdair who was sitting at his usual place; pretending to read a scroll placed in front of him. After a short while of silence Alice spoke

“You sent for me your grace” though she tried to hide it there was clear annoyance in her voice. Despite him asking that she report to the council chamber immediately he didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. Of course it was a nothing more than a show of power, a way of letting her know that he could keep her waiting for as long as he wanted.

“Indeed” Alasdair said as he continued to look down on the scroll “As I stated yesterday, the war with the Mandarass Alliance is over. As such I thought this would be a good time to establish your resignation”. Alice, quite rightly was taken aback. While she had previously told Alasdair that she planned on stepping down as advisor of war sometime after the war, she didn’t mean immediately after the war had literally just ended. Furthermore when a advisor resigned there was normally a ceremony celebrating their achievements during their time on the council. Not...this

“Your grace…” Alice stammered, still unsure if Alasdair meant what he was saying

“Arrangements have already been made for your departure. Along with your reward of a large sum of coins for all your years of service” While Alasdair’s face remained deadpan as he finally looked up from the scroll. Despite his outward expressions, inside he was enjoying every moment of this. During his entire time on the High Council Alice had looked down on him, even going as far as opposing his appointment to head advisor and openly expressing her distrust of him and his family to King John. Even during his time as king Alice had served him with reluctance. Now that he had no use for her he could finally disgrace her the same way she had attempted to disgrace the De Reimer name for years. Dismissing her so offhandedly with nothing more than a bag of coins for her years of service would damage her reputation greatly.

“Your grace, you cannot just dismiss me like this” she growled through her teeth, trying her best not to let her anger get the better of her. She had known Alasdair for years, and while she knew he disliked her immensely she didn’t think he would dishonour her like this simply due to spite.”A successor hasn’t even been chosen yet”

“And that is where you would be wrong” Alasdair replied cordially, he knew that retaining a calm demeanour would further vex her. Upon this moment there was a knock on the door, Alasdair smilled “Perfect timing, I believe that is him now”.

The first thing visible through the doorway was a sturdy leather glove softened with wear, following was the plate armoured arm of none other than Claus Rotstein, whom entered with zero introduction and closed the door behind him. Still lingering was the unmistakable smell of war and battles, since he had had little time to freshen up. Just the usual oiling of the armour so at least that one was shining. Albeit being violently banged and worse for wear.
Pausing to finally look at those present he saw the high king, he remembered his face from the party. And some person he’d never met. Probably someone who was in a meeting before him. With sort of a boastful pose Claus then introduced himself.
-”Mornin’ liege. I am here now.”

Alice identified him immediately; Claus Rotstein, captain of the steel fist mercenary company

“This is who you will have replace me” erupted Alice as she pointed towards the mercenary, no longer trying to hide her anger “A mercenary, a man who’s only loyalty is to his own purse”.

“I would watch your tone, I am still your king and you no longer hold the authority to speak to me in such a manner” Alasdair replied firmly “Besides Claus has proven his military capabilities at both battles of Telmarion as well as the siege of Clarm. I believe he will be a great asset to the concord”.

-”Name’s Claus, seems someone knows who i am. Pleased to learn that i am recognized, sadly, can’t say the same about you.” Claus said with a grinning smirk while offering his hand to Alice for a handshake. The king didn’t like her so it would probably turn out fine. Before she had time to answer Claus added.
-”Oh, and one thing you got wrong there, i ain’t loyal to my purse, i’m loyal to the purse that pays me. Which is the De’Reimer’s.” Across his face was a broad grinning smile. He liked messing with people, especially if he could get away with it.

“You and your mercenary company are frauds” She said as she swiveled to face Claus, her attention and anger now focused on him “Oh yes I know of your mercenary thugs and despite your self proclaimed elitism, you are no different than the others. You only care about lining your own pockets, why else would you arrive so late to the second battle of Telmarion? Had not been for the potential reward of house Mandarass’s supplies I doubt you would have even of let the safety of Clarm”.

Seeing she went on the offensive and began to insult him he didn’t expect an answer, ignoring her he turned to the king and asked.
-”So m’liege, who is this lovely ‘lady’, friend of yours?”

“This was my advisor of war on the high council, Alice Rallar. She has recently stepped down from her position to be replaced by yourself” Alice turned to face the king to protest, however she stopped herself and fell silent, knowing that Alasdair wanted her to say or do something that could get her forcibly removed from the keep or even imprisoned.

-”Former advisor of war, fancy. Well honestly i guess i expected someone less important to act like that, reminds me of myself. So, m’liege, want help to get her leave, free of charge, see it as a bonus.” Claus smirk was there as ever.

“If you value your life, you wouldn’t dare touch me” Alice hissed “I will not not stand by and watch as everything I have achieved over the past decade be striped away and given to a lowlife such as yourself. I challenge you to a duel, do you accept” Alice was putting her hopes into Claus accepting her duel. If he accepted then Alice would be given the chance to regain her dignity in front of the people of Nyhem. If she won then she could have her revenge on Alasdair by killing his replacement.

Visibly surprised and almost taken aback from the proposition, Claus soon regained his calm demeanour and telltale smirk.
-”A duel? Ever full of surprises, alright, but me being challenged choose the form, it’s customary after all.” Claus was faking pondering with obviously non earnest chin stroking while Alice frown was closing on surreal depth before he settled on what to say.
-”It wouldn’t be much of a match to see who could bed the most in a day, seeing i’m far more handsome than you, so the only proper form would be drinking contest. Orog wine, who can drink the most.” He held out his hand for a handshake with a massive grin on his face even though one who was more perceptive could see a hint of annoyance..

Alice was fuming, visibly reddened face and with a grunt she backhanded away Claus hand with force and yelled.
-”You dare mock me lowlife scum!” She stepped in a step closer and stared him square in the eyes.
-”So you are a coward, not even daring to face me in combat. But what did i expect, i read about you in the archives, about your Beilokias ’campaign’, more like sitting around being scared. Craven fools all of you, how you pretended to get lost for several weeks to avoid a siege, how you snuck out before the final battle and of course how you rats perfected the art of arriving late in the battle of hymns, just so you could take their supplies. Cowardly thieving...”
Before she could finish Claus interrupted, he had gotten much more than annoyed with this little spiel and when she mentioned the battle of hymns, he got angry.
He ended her rant with a spit in the face before speaking.
-”Alright you royal sucker-up whore, that does it, you know NOTHING about the battle of hymns.” Claus was angrily pointing at her face while forcing her back until she almost fell over the kings desk, the one keeping her from falling was Claus holding a firm grip at her collar.
-”But you want your damn duel, FINE. I can see you won’t settle with first blood either. To the death then. Since you can’t live without the possibility to lick his ass.” Claus angrily referred to the king.
Here she had had enough, she aimed a knee-kick at his crotch, the angle and her weird pose made it a bit less forceful than she wished for, plus his armour helped protect which resulted in a noisy rattle and a light thud to which Claus grunted heavily and took a step back.

Alasdair was having none of this. He called out to his guards and within seconds Alenius followed by half a dozen Cawanor soldiers rushed in and restrained the two of them.

“Remove her from the keep at once, Ser Alice is no longer welcome here” with this the guards struggled to drag her from the room, but not before she shouted out

“We will fight tomorrow at the grand arena, so the whole city will know that your ‘skill’ is nothing more than talk” As she was removed from the room she could still be heard from down the hallway “We shall see if you are worth your mettle!”

Shortly after the soldiers let go off Claus after Alasdair waved his hand, the captain was still visibly angry but soon gathered his cool, especially when he noticed Alenius was there.
-”Tsk, tomorrow ey? Not a long time to prepare, but i’ll manage.” He cracked his knuckles and neck and kept on.
-”So, have time for dinner? I know a good place.” Claus smirked and was obviously flirting with Alenius, something she initially met with a sigh before she turned to face Alasdair

“Was there anything else you needed your grace” she asked. In response Alasdair shook his head. She bowed before taking a quick glance at Claus and then exited the room.

“I apologise to you sir” Alasdair said as he turned his attention back to Claus “It would seem you are now in more danger here in Nyhem then you ever were during the war”

-”More dangerous than the war? How so, i’ve been in fights before. With and without onlookers.” Claus followed Alenius with his vision as she left while he spoke to the king.

“It seems you don’t know of Alice’s skill with a blade. She is one of the most skilled fighters in Formaroth, one of the many reasons John elected her as his war advisor. Perhaps it would be for the best that we cover this incident up. I have people who could, ‘deal’ with Alice meaning you won’t have to risk your life over something so trivial” there had been a reason Alice decided the duel take place tomorrow, the longer she waited, the more than Alasdair had to have her assassinated. Afterall he wasn’t about to loose his new war advisor.

Clearly surprised with this, Claus tried to recall her but couldn’t.
-”So one of ‘ol Roddy’s people? Never heard of her, besides. I myself happen to be second best so i think i’ll manage if i keep my head in the game.” He spoke with his usual carefree attitude.
-”As for covering it up, i’m not that kind of guy m’liege. I’m gonna fight her, and i’ll win.” His tone got slightly more serious but he finished off with one of his usual smirks.

Alasdair paused for a moment as he considered “Very well, you can have it your way” it wouldn’t matter, Alasdair already had a plan to ensure the odds were in Claus’s favour.

By
@TheDuncanMorgan @Klomster

[Fading Memory]

The Princess Fell

The Old Man rose from his kneeling position beside the casket, placing a hand gently atop the surface of the wooden prison for his daughter's corpse. His hand slid across the surface with some weight, before falling heavily at his side.

"Lift. Turn. Walk." He barked out, rising up himself and turning to lead the procession out of the Telmarion camps. His daughter had fallen, and he felt nothing save a...bitter disappointment. She was doing so well, she had nearly wrought vengeance upon that damnable Mandarass-

And yet she failed. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was fighting to right a wrong, to do service to her sister, and yet she was the one who fell, not Mandarass. It made Giles retreat within himself, the aura of unyielding authority he projected wavering and warping into one of absolute rage. It seemed to project out from in front of him as he lead the funeral procession away from the battle, clearing more space before him than any shout or command ever could. His hands lifted and rested on the familiar hilts of his Dirk and Broadsword, where he gripped them to hide the weight in his limbs. For the first time in his life, Giles Blackwell felt...Old.

His mind retraced the battle, and in his soldier's heart he couldn't find it in himself to doubt Andris Mandarass' words. The battlefield brought the truth out of men, as did facing death- and in facing Giles Blackwell, Andris declared his innocence and defended himself handily. Giles didn't care about Andris' escape, didn't care about the broken duel, didn't care about the gods, or the politics, or the implications- He'd felt played, cheated, and he'd lost his daughter.

The only child he had that he considered a true soldier. As Giles Blackwell lead the procession out of Telmarion, and back to Alenius, he made a silent promise to himself;

He'd find Andris Mandarass again, wherever he ran.

-----

Eli Blackwell watched the procession of soldiers from on-high. After the battle, and after witnessing the death of his sister, a cold silence overcame the young lord. He watched as his father handled the official business of getting a casket and whatnot, but as he watched he found he couldn't think. Couldn't formulate ideas. He found his most critical tool had been stolen from him- rationality. For a brief moment, Eli Blackwell was visibly shaking with emotion. His ordinarily analytical eyes made wide with emotion, his usually calm movements made erratic with anger. A storm was released, no longer held in check by his calm.

He licked his lips and shut his eyes, his mind wracking itself to compartmentalize the grief he felt. He sucked in a deep breath, and as he exhaled he was calm once more.

The momentary lapse had passed. Eli blackwell was back in control. He had grabbed that storm of emotion and brought it back within himself, shackled it with chains and stone walls of mental power. He was feeding himself with its energy, and the shaking of his body calmed. He opened his eyes and gazed down at his father-

A glint in his eyes that was usually reserved for his enemies. The analytical, piercing, glint he had given many over the years when negotiating or haggling or plotting. Today he turned this gaze on his own father.

"Old Man..." He whispered to himself. "Your pride has gotten in my way for the last time."

And with these words, uttered to himself, he blew a sharp whistle and lifted a hand, Mary alighting upon his arm as he made his way to follow the procession home.

-----

Drevala wept openly. She stood on the edge of the field, far and away from her family and the soldiers of the battle. Hot tears streaking down her face as she watched her father begin to carry her sister home. She watched as, in her eyes, her father held back his anger. She watched as her beloved sister's body was carried home by men she herself would've carried back had she been alive.

She gripped herself against a tree and shook in raw emotion. Unlike her brother, she could not contain herself. It was moments like these that she wished he had been born the mage and not she- he would've been truly terrifying if he could wield magic. Not like her. Weak. Useless. Too afraid of being in her own body to be of any use on the battlefield like her sister was. Sure she could hunt dragons, and could kill men- but she couldn't be there when her sister needed her most. And that's what matters. Not the kill counts, not the glory, not the pride-

Drevala couldn't be there in time. And it killed her. First Naomi, injured and warped beyond repair, and now Beatrice... This was Drevala's second failure as a sister, second failure as a healer, second failure as a Blackwell.

So she turned and fled from the battlefield, sprinting on human legs until they couldn't take her any further, then warping into the majestic great falcon she is known for and flying away. She couldn't bear to face her father- not having failed twice now. She needed the comforts of a friend, not the iron of that man. Her mind raced, the emotion overcoming any rational thought she might have had, and she began to think about magic. The only tool she had that her family did not- magic. She began to think about anything she could have done differently, any spell she should have used... To no avail. Her knowledge was limited beyond shapeshifting, a thing she now cursed herself for as she fled the Telmarion fields.

The Great Pyre of Beatrice Blackwell

Naomi stood at the edge of the kindling. The mountain of wood, flowers, grass, and anything else that could be burned was already massive. Situated outside of Mercy, in one of the fields cleared for the armies, the burial pyre was already massive.

"This isn't enough. Bring more. More wood. More...anything."

The young girl's voice was quiet. This blessed sister of hers, this wondrous woman of strength who understood her more closely than anyone else in these recent days, was taken from her. But...she felt nothing. She felt hollow and empty. And yet she knew how she must act. If she didn't act sad, filled with grief, people would think her strange and send her away. She needed to be here. She had to see Beatrice burn. She owed it to the woman for understanding, even if Naomi felt nothing.

The exhausted laborers silently nodded at the princess' words, and labored on- bringing great logs, many branches, felling whole trees at her orders. The burial pyre grew. Greater, larger, wider, until Naomi was satisfied. What was intended to have started to burn at sun's fall had now been postponed for hours as Naomi refused to allow the funeral to begin until everything was just perfect. It wasn't until her father stepped forward and placed a hand on the young girl's head that she tore her gaze off of the ever-growing mound.

"Flower, that's enough. Even Beatrice would scoff at the funeral you've built for her. Let her go, Flower. Let her rest." Giles spoke to his daughter in a tone of iron. No feeling. Naomi smiled wanly up at her father- her own dead eyes meeting her father's gaze of metal. She could see through his façade, see through him and straight into his soul- the rage bubbling within the man's tired bones. She nodded and pulled away, turning her back on the pyre and striding back to the safe distance where her brother waited. For his part, Eli had remained unbudging, unwavering, and unbending for the entire process. He hadn't spoken a word, just stood there cold, silent, and in all his imperious elegance as he let his sister work until perfection. He would've stood vigil there for a month if he needed to, unmoving until his youngest sister was satisfied.

Naomi placed her feet in the ground and turned, standing at Eli's side, as Beatrice's body was carried to the pyre.

"Did you see how she fell, brother?" Naomi asked softly.

"Yes." Was Eli's reply, following one of his customary silences.

"Will retribution be had?"

"Yes."

"Can I help?"

This question warranted Eli turning his analytical eyes to his youngest sister.

"Yes, Naomi. Yes you can." He said with a small smile. A vicious smile that he saw reflected in the young girl's own features. He couldn't comprehend how she'd changed, but he knew he could rely on her when the time came. That knowledge made the pain dull slightly...but until this funeral was complete, it was all Eli could do to hold onto his emotions. His immense intellect was straining to keep the storm in check even now. "I'll tell you what you can do when I need you. Deal?"

"Deal, brother." Naomi said coldly, turning her dead eyes to stare at the pyre as they struggled to hoist Beatrice into the monstrosity of wood Naomi had constructed. "The next time I see a fire like this, I'll be a married woman." She said with a derisive snort.

And with those words, Beatrice's body was placed into its final resting place. The Old Man blew a whistle, shrill as ever, and a dozen torches were tossed onto the pyre. Drevala was nowhere to be seen during this entire ordeal, and none of her kin knew where she had disappeared to. As the blaze grew, higher, stronger, more passionate, each of the Blackwells felt that something great had been lost.

A daughter.

A trustworthy soldier.

A teacher.

------

Drevala sat and thought about her talk with Lanaya. She was poised in the top branches of a tree and stared up into the light of the moon. Far off in the distance she could witness the great bonfire of Beatrice Blackwell- a beacon of light in the darkness of night. She still couldn't bear to face her family, couldn't bear to hold herself before them a failure, but she had to be here to witness her sister's funeral. She wouldn't have missed it for the world. Her tears had dried up, but her grief still raged deep within her.

Lana had assured her there was nothing she could have done- but that's a lie. Drevala knew it deep in her heart. She always had a choice. Always had the power to have saved her sister- and the mages of the collective as well! She could have brought fire and brimstone down on her foes and saved everyone she loved, but fear gripped her heart as tightly as grief-

If she had saved her sister with dragon's fire, she might have doomed Lana and the other mages to persecution with her actions. She had to choose who she wanted to risk, choose whose life she had to preserve, and deep within her heart she knew she would make the same choice she made again, and again, and again. Who was Beatrice Blackwell compared to Lanaya and the Collective? Beatrice was a dead end, a way of thinking that would've lead to conflict with the Collective-

but even as Drevala tried to think that way, tried to crush her grief with magical pride, it fell away in an instant for what it was; illusion. Drevala had been trying desperately to work her grief into something productive, try to drown herself in magical theory and work with the collective...but in meetings all she found herself doing was nodding along and agreeing with Lana...

Oh Lana...Lana was so smart, so courageous, so capable... She was glad Eli had her, glad her brother could rely on Lanaya. But she herself couldn't do what they did- couldn't be rational, couldn't assert pragmatism over feeling.

All she could do was feel. And feel. And hate herself for not being good enough. If she was willing to do more, had studied harder, perhaps...perhaps Naomi would be back to the way she used to be, perhaps Beatrice would be alive.

And so it's with this bubbling hatred for herself, this grief at the loss of a sister, this determination that she would save everyone, that she tore her gaze off of the bonfire in the distance and back to the notebook she bore in her hand. She was dancing the lines of taboo and abomination, and knew that if anyone found these notes of hers it'd ruin everything the Collective was trying to do.

She lifted a piece of coal in her hand and returned to her notes, even as her sister's body burned.

"Scales or fur...Oh, I could possibly expand the bone structure to...no, no not that...I'd need to do away with those organs entirely!...The fur is problematic, but if I ...Maybe. Maybe this'll work..." she muttered to herself. "Oh Lana, I wish I could tell you what I'm thinking, what I'm researching, but if I do...Oh if I do you might tell me not to!" She lamented. "But I must! I must push the boundaries! I will not lose anyone else!" She said with conviction as her eyes sharpened in the moonlight, tears beginning to flow once more as she calmly continued working her formulae and notes.

When the sun rose, she'd fly back to Nyhem and return to her studies in Restoration, but for this night... this night she worked on her own secret notes.

---

The Pyre that Naomi Blackwell had constructed for her sister burned for a full day straight. The Great Pyre, as it became known, was a testament to the feelings the family, and people of Mercy, had felt for the warrior princess.

A Schism of the Swords

"It's your fault she's dead!"

Eli's enraged yell flew across the decrepit stone garden kept by Giles Blackwell. The Old Man tilted his head just slightly at the accusation, before shaking his head and snorting.

"Rage isn't becoming of you, boy. I'd suggest you take a more reverent tone."

Eli shook his head in exasperation and stood his ground, his shackled emotions raging against his rationality and creating this surgical anger that he's focusing on his father.

"Reverence? For you? A man who stood back and watched his daughter die? A man who could've killed a king, kept a daughter, then turned and won a second war in the blink of an eye?! What madness is this, father, that has taken you? Why must you be so lost in your own pride that you fail to see the opportunities right in front of you?" Eli strode forward until he was before his father, where his rage burned plain as day in his piercing eyes. "You stood back. Watched Mandarass kill her. Then let him escape, and for what- another man to have called the day his victory while we recuperate and weep? You call yourself a warrior king?! Does this sound like a victory to you?!."

Giles stared up at his son with nothing but...exhaustion in his features.

"Boy. If you feel so strongly, you know the rules. They've been the same since before you were born. If you've got a bone to pick, draw steel. If not, shut your mouth and sit the fuck down."

Eli trembled. He knew a challenge when he saw one. Knew how his father worked. Knew his father would bury him the day after burying his daughter in a heartbeat. But he could also see his father's weakness, and he was fuelled by the confusion of grief, and so without a moment's hesitation he drew the elegant rapier from his hips and brandished the sword.

"Fine. I'll do this your way, you old fool." He said calmly as he backed up a few steps and gestured with his blade for the Old Man to rise. Giles sighed a deep breath and rose to his feet, not even bothering to pick up his weapons.

"You feel that strongly, eh?" He seemed amused, and shut his eyes for a moment. "Fine, boy. Let's see if you're a man yet."

Giles moved forward, already moving to duck the thrust of Eli's rapier, and slammed his son into the stone ground with one well practiced maneuver. A knee pinned Eli's arm down, rendering his rapier useless, and the Old Man stared down at his son with a frown. A deep frown. Eli surged his other arm up and, to his surprise, actually punched his father straight in the jaw.

The Old Man rocked back from the blow and stared down at his son.

"Huh. You're not just spitting fire, are you boy? You feel so strongly you actually hit me?" Giles said in a dry tone.

Eli, for his part, felt all his anger die the instant he struck his father. He wanted to back down, take back his challenge, apologize and bow- but he had his own pride. His own agenda. Now that the storm within him had died, he couldn't believe he'd taken things this far, but he refused to be cowed before his own father. He hadn't bowed to anyone since he was he was a boy and he wasn't about to start now. So all he did was rest his gaze, now calm, no longer on fire, on his father. A silent conversation danced between them, before Giles rose up and lifted Eli to his feet.

"Very well, boy. I never liked the crown anyway. It's yours." Giles said without a moment's hesitation. Giles proceeded to then crack his neck and chuckle wholeheartedly. "It's funny you hit me the day after your sister's burnin'. Almost like a ghost came back and hit me for being such a bastard to her for all those years." the old man shook his head.

Eli comprehended and registered his father's words as soon as he said them, but he frowned rather than smiled. He'd gotten what he was anticipating for so long- but not after his father's death as he had expected. The Old Man was simply...abdicating? Eli had never expected this, had simply been acting out on his emotions in the privacy of the garden where he could be angry with no repercussions, but...

Eli shut his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. His father understood how he felt. Of course he did, Giles must be feeling the same way deep down. They all missed Beatrice. And as soon as he was thinking clearly again, he understood why his father was giving up the crown.

"Give Mandarass hell for us all, Old Man." Eli finally said, reaching out and clasping his father's hand in his own. "Take whatever you need."

"I'll do things my way, you do things yours. You probably won't see me again, boy, so don't fuck this up." Giles said simply, before pulling his hand back, picking up his weaponry, and simply walking away. As Eli watched his father's back leave the garden, he felt the weight of what had just transpired fully fall upon his shoulders. He didn't bend- in fact, he stood up straighter.

No longer was he crown prince. He was High King. He had work to do.

----

Eli did not advertise his father's abdication. He didn't want any perceived weaknesses in the transition of power to himself. The administration of three kingdoms was a weighty task for him, but he handled it well. Eli Blackwell had been destined for a throne from day 1, and now that he was finally on it his ambitions hadn't been quelled. Alenius, Glarmion, and Akki were hardly all of Formaroth.

He wrote a hundred letters in that first week, detailing his plans for a singular powerful economy to flow through all three kingdoms, as well as plans for a refurbished and rebuilt naval structure. It wasn't until a letter from Nyhem, inviting the Blackwells to a celebration of victory, reached Eli that he finally allowed himself to stop working.

"He throws a party weeks after his city burns. His people must simply love him." Eli said as he analyzed the invitation. He debates writing a letter in return stating his intention of arriving, but then he shakes his head of the idea and laughs to himself. "I want to see his face when he learns I'm the one wearing the crown."

Thusly Eli began preparations for arriving at Nyhem well ahead of the advertised date.

Mercenaries will be Mercenaries - A Klomstabboration, courtesy of Klomster and Fading/Phoenix

While the young lord prepared for a surprise visit to Nyhem, a mysterious figure issued a challenge to the Steel Fist....

"You all really should have just let me challenge Claus from the start."

The helmeted man said as he knelt and cleaned his blade, wiping the small amount of blood off of it. He hadn't killed anyone, hadn't brought death to a single challenger- but he'd made his skill known.

"In fact... I think I'll hold you all prisoner until your boss finally faces me himself. You."

The helmeted man pointed his sword at a bloodied Steel Fist mercenary, who pointed at himself dumbly as if uncertain that he was the one being indicated.

"Yes...You. Run back to Nyhem, fetch me your boss, or I'll bury your friends here. I want to fight Claus Rotstein. I won't be delayed any further by your idiots and your loyalty. Run before I get angr-"

Before the helmeted soldier could even finish his sentence, the Steel Fist mercenary turned and crawled to his feet from the ground and began to run back to Nyhem, clutching a bloodied and wounded arm as he ran. The helmeted man laughed and looked to the remaining 'challengers' he had faced of the Steel Fist.

They were splayed about the farm in various positions, and fielding various injuries; stabbed legs, sliced arms, bruised egos, and battered pride. No fatal injuries whatsoever, but debilitating ones indeed. The Helmeted man had two companions with him, also dressed as he was; A Steel Fist mercenary, but they were neither wielding weapon nor assisting the helmeted man. They simply stood back, silently, observing the scene.

"You're all fine soldiers. Claus should be proud of you." He said to them as he sat down and faced them, broadsword still clutched in his right hand. "Go on, tell me about yourselves... We may as well share stories while we wait for him to get here."

He egged them on, trying to get them to talk about themselves and tell him about the steel fist...He was going to wait for Claus, and knew his men wouldn't delay telling him of this...'hostage' situation....

Later in the Steel fist camp. Command tent.

Claus had barely gotten time to sit down and get to his usual comfy position with his legs crossed over the desk as a corpsman entered his tent and excused himself.
-"Boss, someone beat up Jiddy and several of Roogel's men are missing, he's recovering since he collapsed after running into the camp." Claus looked up at him with tired eyes and just stared at his soldier who dutifully gave him the news.
A massive sigh was Claus response, he hadn't even gotten a rest after the meeting with the king and already there was stuff going wrong.
He got up with a heavy gait and waved for the man to show him where the problem was.

After a brisk walk the two got to the exhausted man now in a bed, his left arm wounded but not too serious. He was wincing and panting and at first didn't notice Claus entering the barber surgeon tent.
-"Jiddy, what happened to ya? Where's the others." Claus voice was stern and serious, none of the usual attitude.
Jiddy opened his eyes and noticed his captain, moved for a salute but Claus motioned for him to stop so the corpsman just spoke.
-"There was this guy, he called out that he wanted to challenge you boss, for the Steel fist or something.... Fat chance we thought, so Arch rounded up me and a few others to go and teach him a lesson..."
He paused to collect his senses for a moment, Claus motioned for him to carry on.

-"So we cornered the bastard over in the nearby farms, Arch moved in to fight him.... but damn, he was crazy fast. Fought with a single sword, didn't even need anything in his off-hand, he just sidestepped Arch and fell him and pommeled his neck in a single move.... so we moved in and tried to clobber him, but he took us all out. Reminded me of you boss, the way you move on a battlefield while outnumbered.... he was crazy strong, knew all attacks where coming..... damn scary actually." Jiddy lost focus and panted for a while before getting his senses back.
-"I was cut somewhere in the middle of it, it felt like he took us all out in the time i backed off because of the wound.... Told me he wanted to fight you boss, or he'd bury them. I didn't even let him finish, i knew i was in over my ears. Sorry boss for running...."
He was shedding some tears at the end of it, Claus however just showed him his palm motioning for him to stop.
-"You did the right thing, this man was damn good. You couldn't have taken him. Did you see who he was?"
-"No boss, he had a full helmet on."
-"I see, very well, rest up for now. It seems i need to handle this..." Claus got a bit annoyed with this whole affair.
He didn't need more duels, he was already up for one duel with someone who was apparently a war hero or something, and from nowhere this other guy comes and demands a fight as well.
He brought Roogel and a few of the best from the vanguard and moved out. Six of them total.

---------

The Helmeted Man was glad that he didn't have to wait long. He lifted a hand and cut the Steel Fist merc he'd finally gotten to talk off. The man stopped discussing his opinion on potatoes and how much he hated peeling them with a start, suddenly trembling in fear at the helmeted man's outstretched hand.

"Alright you can cut your yapping, your boss is finally showing up."

He rose up off the ground and sheathed his broadsword at his hip. He strode away from the injured group he'd been discussing with and into the center of the road, his own two mercenaries striding and standing some distance behind him. Now that they've moved out into the open, it is apparent that they weren't just not wielding weapons, they weren't carrying any at all. One was carrying a large wooden case, the other a large pack of travelling supplies. It seems this helmeted man in the road was the sole warrior of the trio.

The Helmeted Man struck a Steel Fist salute, and stayed silent as Claus and his posse approached. He didn't call our or budge from the middle of the road, putting the weight of action on Claus.

With a clenched fist Claus ordered his support to stop, he himself kept walking until he was a comfortable six or so metres away from the mysterious swordsman.
It was obvious he was good, the way he moved and the confidence in the posture. The familiarity with the steel fist salute was also a bit uncanny.
Claus eyed the swordsman and laid his hands on his hips.
He didn't have a greatsword, he hadn't had time to get hold of one so he was stuck with a mace and his misericord.
-"So who are you supposed to be, coming here and beating up my men, yabbying nonsense of fighting me and to top it off not introducing yourself." Claus spat a massive spittle and kicked the ground.
-"You already know, but I'm gonna be more polite than usual, I'm Claus Rotstein, captain of the Steel fist, next in line for the title of royal advisor of war and thus massively important. Who are you?"

The Helmeted man stayed silent for several moments, before breaking the salute and laughing. Heartily.

"Claus Rotstein! About damn time! Your boys here tried to put in the good word for you."

The Helmeted man strode forward and offered Claus an extended hand for a handshake.

"Can you trust the men you brought to keep things quiet between us, or do I need to put them all to sleep before talkin' to ya?"

-"I trust them all with my life, most of them are better at keeping their mouth shut than me anyway." Claus didn't respond to the hand-shake but wasn't hostile either.
-"I'll have nothing off knocking my men about. So, what do you want? And again, who are you?"

The Helmeted Man left his hand there, in the air between them. He paused and turned his gaze to study the wounded soldiers, then the group Claus had come with.

"I'm just a tired, old, man." He finally said, lifting his other hand to remove the helmet. The face of the man who was thusly revealed was none other than Giles Blackwell, The Old Man. As he pulled the helmet off, his long white hair fell down his back and made his appearance even more pronounced. His eyes fell on Claus with the weight of a man who's seen far, far, too much in his life-

But he seemed...tired. As if his age was finally catching up to him.

"Shake my hand before I punch you with it." He stated flatly.

Claus thought for a while when the old man revealed his identity to him, he'd heard the stories, even seen him once in the distance some ten years ago or so when speaking to Doroka Hawk, then leader of the steel fist.
But with a sudden realization Claus eyes spurred into focus and he instinctively shook his hand.

-"Never thought I'd speak with you old man." Claus mentioned while giving a solid handshake. The white hair, the gait and the tiredness of war, it could be none other than old man Blackwell himself.
-"So what have i done to earn your ire?" The steelhead added in before letting his handshake go. An eyebrow hinting of being raised.

"Left my daughter unsatisfied." He said gruffly in response, before pulling his hand back. "She died without having had a chance to test you. You might be the only man in Formaroth who can claim to have vexed her."

He laughed a deep laugh at that, shaking his head. He turned and began walking towards the farmhouse, waving a hand for Claus to follow.

"I see you carry a Bludgeon. Beatrice said you showed a particular interest in her sword. In need of a new one, or were you just playing nice with the warrior princess?"

A bit confused, he followed along.
-"Nothing really, I'd just never seen anyone with a weapon like hers. Just plain curiosity. I mean, who fights with a massive wooden stick?"
With a slight pause he motioned for Roogel to come to the house as well, but keep their distance.
-"As for the hammer, 'tis just my sidearm, i lost two swords in Telmarion, haven't had a chance to get a new one yet."

"Well, cancel any work orders you've given your smiths. You're leaving here today with a new sword." Giles stated flatly as he pushed open the door to the farmhouse and moved to sit himself down at a large table. "I don't give gifts often, but you're in a curious place in the world, Claus Rotstein. You said you were the future War Councilor, eh?"

Giles laughed heartily.

"Giving up the sport for a shiny badge of office, or perhaps you've come to think of the Snake as a friend? Satisfy my curiosity and there could be an opportunity sitting right in front of you."

Following inside, Claus looked around to try and spot the trap. Not seeing one he calmed and went along with the curious conversation.
-"Let's hope it's more sturdy than the last ones. The first one I sort of didn't treat right though." He said with a smirk recalling how it broke.
-"As for the position, I got a taste of nobility and want in on it. Wanna show pops I can get somewhere in life without inheriting." Seeing that he and Giles was actually alone in the room he leaned over and spoke a bit more silent. His face cast into a slightly eerie dark.
-"And who knows, I might even be landed, like yourself, or something even better..." The telltale smirk on his face, he let it sink in before leaning back again.

-"So, you want to bribe me? Or just be friends? I'm all for both really, but I can't make any promises." He added as he found a chair to sit down on opposite the old man.

"The sword is a gift. It was to go to Beatrice, but she's dead. I had it made for her after the Dragon War, but she hadn't earned it. If she had defeated Andris and proven herself, she would've received it. I don't plan on staying in Formaroth, and my son hasn't earned it... So I decided to find someone who would put the blade to good use."

Giles offered a grim smile.

"A sword is a tool of war, you've earned it from all the talk I heard of the Steel Fist's work."

He blows a shrill whistle with his lips, and the soldier with the wooden case came into the room and placed the large case on the table, sliding it in front of Giles, before bowing and leaving.

"As for a bribe...I have two offers." He places his hand on the wooden case and slides it over to Claus. "The first is simple; My son will pay you extremely well for any information you get from The Snake. Hell, if you're willing to switch contracts he might be willing to buy you off of The Snake. I don't care what you do now that I've made the offer, it's not my fight anymore. I owed it to the lad to at least put the thought in your head. Alenius is rich."

He leans forward and taps the table with his fingertips.

"This one I offer you for Beatrice and the Fist. Have you ever hunted a dragon, Claus? I know the Fist's history, they tried it in the past and failed, but I'm asking about you."

Obviously curious about the box, Claus had a hard time keeping his eyes from it. All the while being offered money for things a loyal puppet would consider treason against the crown.
In the end, he spoke calmly.
-"As always I am a mercenary. So money gets you a long way, but the De Reimer's are the most wealthy house of you all. So for buying my loyalty, I don't think you can afford it." He paused slightly, his mouth formed a smirk.
-"However, seeing you are an old friend of old Doroka Hawk, I could easily send letters of friendship. Perhaps in exchange for some Orog wine. After all, friendship is important in this time and age and I think we understand each other." He ended the sentence with a slight grin.

-"As for dragons... never a real one..." Claus vision became distant for a second, recalling another place. His smirk exchanged for a troubled and tired looking visage, reminding of the old tired eyes of Giles himself.
Shaking his head slightly to get the thoughts out of his head, he began to examine the box, checking for how it opens.

The wooden box was simple- a case for carrying a great sword. It wasn't locked, nor sealed. Why should it have been? It was escorted by The Old Man himself. No lock was needed. It had a simple latch that only needed to be lifted to reveal the contents within.

"Send your letters, friendship is a wonderful thing." He agreed. "As for my point with asking the dragons...There are dragons still in the mountains in the southern half of Alenius. They're no trouble to the people nor the mines, and if you have the desire or opportunity, you're welcome to try your hand at it. This sword should make it a simpler task than it ordinarily is."

Giles rose up and placed his hand on the wooden case.

"Bear it with pride, Claus Rotstein. It was meant for my daughter after all. If I hear you lost it or sold it, I'll find you. IF you manage to break it, I'll be impressed."

The Old Man nodded, and moved to the door of the farmhouse, pausing before he left.

"I won't be in Formaroth much longer. Loose ends to tie up across the seas. Give the Old Hawk my regards, he might outlive me at this rate."

Seeing there was no nails or locks, Claus opened the box with a flick while looking at Giles.
-"I know how it ended for the dwarf, I think I'll leave dragons to the dragon slayers." Claus said with a smirk, he stood up and began to remove the hay which protected the sword in transit, or more like kept it in place in the box.
He kept talking while doing so.
-"If I see the scraggy old bird I'll tell him, so what's your plan? Beilokias? Seikatsu?" It was here ho got the first good look at the weapon, slowly lifting it out of the box and studying it closely.

The box opened, the hay was cleared.

Within would lie a blade of unrivalled caliber. Reflecting an iridescent and metallic green, the sword's focal point is its remarkably wide blade that measures in at two hands wide which glints brilliantly when the light strikes it. The weight indicates it is Steel at its core, gilded with draconian scales. Uniquely, every inch of the scaled blade is pounded into a patterned formation, each overlapping structure ascending the sword to come to a finely sharpened edge.

The guard itself is planted into the base of the blade and embellished with a pair of talons of a drake rising upward which creates an advantageous nook to lock weapons between.

The long grip was whittled bone which was tightly wrapped with treated leather that allowed the largest of men to hold it with ease. Beneath that rested the fierce insignia of a dragon -- a pommel with a vicious and archaic design of a great scaly head with teeth clenched and its bright eyes featuring the same scales of the blade creating an eye-catching yet simple motif to set it apart from all others.

In the hands of Beatrice Blackwell, this sword would've wreaked havoc on the battlefield. The ultimate shield turned into the ultimate sword.

"Wherever Andris Mandarass goes, I will follow." Is all the Old Man seemed to want to say on that front. "Enjoy court life, Claus. It didn't suit me."

And with those words, The Old Man disappeared out the door and left this farm house behind, his compatriots in tow.

Claus brought the sword and ran to the door, just to see Giles moving away.
He thought of something clever to say, how he'd like to spar with the living legend, something to show sympathy about Beatrice, but in the end he only managed to say.

-"Give him a punch in the gut from me, he owes me that much!" Before he returned to his men who were awed by the event and the vicious blade now in Claus possession.

An Old Man and his Shadow

Vivian Blackwell stretched languorously as she awaited her uncle. She'd been scrubbing floors and kitchen utensils for months now, and to be quite honest she was very tired of it all. The war had ended and she hadn't gotten to kill anyone, and Beatrice Blackwell of all people got all the glory! It irritated her to no end.

"We finally have another war and what do I get to do? Play maid. Fuck you, uncle, your coin is barely worth this depravity..." She sighed and looked up at the sky to see the moon moving lowering steadily. "You're late..." She grunted, before pulling her hood up to shield her face as she grabbed her crossbow. "And you know the rules, Uncle; you're late, I leave."

As soon as she went to take a step, however, the sound of approaching footfalls made her hit the ground and slide silently into the nearby brush. It wasn't until a few moments later that she saw the visage of her Uncle stride into the clearing that she had a dubious and wonderful thought cross her mind.

Why not shoot Giles Blackwell, then tell Alasdair and get paid for it?

It only entered her mind briefly, before she exited her hiding spot and made herself known.

"You're late. Why risk this meeting, uncle?"

"I'm no longer king. I came to tell you that Eli will be your handler now. Your reports are to go to him."

This puzzled Vivian, but she nodded.

"The boy handles his coin well, I know I'll get paid. Where are you going?"

The Old Man refused to answer and stared Vivian down. The girl gave him a sheepish grin, before shrugging.

"I had to try. If Eli fucks up, I figured I could score some decent coin selling your location... Though, knowing you, it wouldn't be a secret anyway. Got it, I report to Eli. Anything else?"

"Claus Rotstein is to be the new war councilor." Giles stated easily, making Vivian quirk an eyebrow up;

"You already know? Well damn, what do you pay me for Old Man?"

"I pay you to keep the information reliable and constant, and now I've got a new job for you as well. Listen up, I won't say this more than once..."

Vivian couldn't help but smile as she heard the job Giles had in mind. It was good to be back in action.

[ZB1996]

Johannia’s First Tract, Exerpt

…Yet for all that, it is not a crime to act in self-defense. Saint Klebrithy may have been subject to a martyr’s death, but Devi Marius¹ was a warrior who fought for the faith. This we call a holy, or a crusade. And just as Devi Marius fought his crusade against the heathen, we must now fight against the heretic. This is no easy task. The heretics have spread deep into the Church, and who commands even the ear of the King. Yet we are not aggressors. Only against the oppressors are we to fight, and we must accept all others as our brothers and sisters. We are unlike the heretics who stand in the Grand Temple in Nyhem and do their preaching with a sword and rack.

Yet remember most of all that we remain King’s men. It was not by righteous Alasdair’s hands that the slaying of so many of our brethren came, but by that beast Lycaon. He once masqueraded as our hero, but in fact he was merely a devil in disguise, who delighted in egregious and unnecessary massacre of our brethren. Now this devil with his silver tongue has taken the ear of the King, and has forced the King to condemn us by spreading foul lies and by intimidation and threats. By destroying the heretics who occupy our Church, and bringing down Lycaon and his “holy order” we may cleanse both the body and spirit of this land. Repeat this, my friends, when the wayward call you heretics and traitors.

Johannia,

[1. Marius was a great warrior, and one of the main leaders of the Church when it became the state religion. He claimed to be a Devi (an incarnation of a deity) of Timtos, a claim recognized by the Church.]

A Meeting without Lycaon

Lycaon was away at the moment, but his knights had gathered nonetheless. In a way they were able to talk more easily, for without his presence their words would seem less binding. Nonetheless, their words would no doubt make their way to Lycaon eventually, and to Lycaon they were still more like friends than subordinates. Everyone had made their way to the Holy Order’s headquarters, to a room where they would not be bothered. Sir Glynda had made her way there as well, though she had been too late to arrive in time for the riot. Much was on their mind, as there was much for them to think about at a time like this. And it was not a time of small, nor was it a time to discuss the game of kings. Now more than ever seemed to be a time for change, for revolution. It could be felt in the air, or so they thought.

“It was ill news to hear that lady Felise has fallen,” Sir Glynda said.

“Indeed,” Sir Oswyn said. “It has weighed heavily on all our hearts.”

“But it must also weigh on our minds,” Sir Daeleth said. “Such events, along with Raeya’s death, have made it prudent that Lycaon choose a successor. That role has fallen to you, Glynda.”

“Me?” Glynda said. “Sir Daeleth, you are the one Lycaon’s oldest friend among us, his closest lieutenant, and his highest ranking one. Compared to you I barely know him.”

“And for all that, I could never do it, and we all know it. I was a mercenary, and a criminal, and some other things. I still am, in my own way. But I am not the sort that can lead Holy Order,” Sir Daeleth said. “I’m sure Lycaon’s told you lot he doesn’t expect to live to see the end of this. When that happens, you’ll be in charge.”

“But I am not like Lycaon,” Sir Glynda said. “I am no visionary. Lycaon is like a like a light, like…a beacon. I cannot be him.”

“You will not need to be, if all goes according to plan,” Daeleth said.

“And the rest of you…?” Glynda looked around herself, wondering how the other two felt about this.”

“I am but a soldier,” Sir Oswyn said. “And if Lycaon has chosen you, that means he has placed his trust in you for this task. I shall remain where I always have been.”

“It is too dull for me,” Sayer said. “I will continue to serve Timtos through my sword.”

“Very well,” Glynda said. “I am surprised, but this duty I shall accept wholeheartedly.”

“Very good,” Daeleth said. “Now, there’s one more message you all need to know. Our task in Nyhem was mostly a failure. Whatever Alasdair has given us, Lycaon suspects that he shall be uncooperative in the near future. Lycaon will be leaving as soon as possible, and we shall be leaving immediately. With a new leader in the Church, along with our brigade, we may be able to improve our situation regardless. Oswyn, you shall remain here in Nyhem and continue our efforts in this province. Sayer, the heretics have been becoming especially thick in the east, so you are being sent to oversee those regions. You know what to do. Glynda, you shall go south. The Church has powerful allies over there, and your diplomatic subtleties will be needed. Lycaon shall return home, to our base’s national headquarters. It is safer than practically being a hostage of the King.”

“And what of you, Sir Daeleth?” Oswyn said.

“I will go south, of course,” Daeleth said.

“Into Blackwell land?” Glynda said.

“Lycaon is fond of putting me in charge of all the most dangerous operations,” Daeleth said. “I am not too worried. Their King is fearsome, but Beatrice is the one of his children I truly feared. His heir is a pompous ass like Alasdair, and I am not afraid of him. He is clever, cunning, but Alasdair is more so, and we have survived just fine here. Still, I will have to be careful.”

The Holy Debate

Rumors that had reached Lycaon told him that there were many that believed he was in charge of the Church. He hoped that there were many important people who believed such, as it would certainly be a great bargaining tool from him. Yet Lycaon could tell that those who thought so severely underestimated the Church’s unique ability to factionalize in even such dire times as these. There had perhaps been no time in which the Church had been more corrupt and powerless than it was now, and there was no doubt that would be readily apparent in the upcoming election. Lycaon had been able to make inroads, and had created a coalition of reformers, but even so this was not enough to ensure that he would be able to get the right candidate confirmed as High Priest. However, he did have a plan. Currently the bishops had gathered to select a new High Priest or Grand Cleric within the Grand Temple. Even though it had been heavily damaged during the riot, the symbolic significance it held could not be ignored; every leader of the Church since it became the state religion had been elected here. Even so, Lycaon himself could not be present. Only bishops could now enter the Grand Temple, and to defy this order was to incur an automatic excommunication. Lycaon for now would have to rely on the conniving of others, and hope that his luck had not run out.

Within the Grand Temple sat Bishop Irenaeus. He held a specific honor among those present, as the Grand Temple came under his ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Even so, he could still only vote once, and he was unsure of whether his side could win. Lycaon’s loyalists made up a majority in the chamber, to be sure, but in order to elect a new High Priest it would be necessary to gain at least a 2/3rds majority. Whether this could be achieved remained possible, but the results were still unsure. Irenaeus sat among his allies, and the same could be said of all those present. It was as if they were parties or factions, and these factions were in turn separated into cliques which represented specific interests or groups.

Irenaeus sat among those who were sometimes called the Moderates, strong advocates of substantial reform in the Church who had been rallied by Lycaon, but who were nonetheless quite conservative. Corruption was widespread within the Church, and this faction was very far from being an exception. However, Lycaon had promised them many things, and convinced them that the only way the immortal and inalterable Divine Church could survive is if it could make substantial reforms without sacrificing the traditions and wealth of the Church. Coin and promises of the continuance of their wealth was persuasive, but the threat of the heretics was far more so. They were the largest faction here, but they would not be enough alone. Among their leaders foremost was Irenaeus himself, but there was also Oriela of Ashcroft, the famous theologian, and the firm, intelligent Henri Saint-Simon.

To the left were the so-called Reformers, the most liberal, some said heretical, faction of the Church’s bishops, led by the theologians Valence Canrobert and Ramiro of Uzgob. They believed great and essential reforms were necessary for the Church to survive, and often accused of being Secularists, those who favored the authority of Kings at the expense of the Church. They certainly did believe that the authority of King Alasdair was clear, as he had been supported by the Kings and lords of Formorath (or so they said). Notably, they were unlike others in the Church in that they had no problem with mages, and even wished for better relations with the Circle, and accused the anti-mage cliques of being akin to Johannianism.

Close to them were the moralists led by the respected reformer Bernarda Avicebrol, who worked closely with the Reformers due to their shared belief in the necessity of great reform. Unlike them, however, they thought that a return to an ancient and austere piety was necessary, they were not so friendly to mages, and they scoffed at the reasonings of the university schoolmen. Philosophy and the liberal arts does nothing to make one closer to the gods, after all.

Then to the right sat the Conservatives, who were unmoved by any words of reform. Any hint of this, they said, was simply a sign of the corrupt times, and they decided they would wait until such corruptions passed by and would diligently oppose any reforms. Of course, they were without a doubt the most corrupt faction. Though all claimed that they were merely opposing false innovations into the Church, many simply wished to retain their wealth. Their leader was the implacable Andronicus of Orog.

“With the authority invest in me by my position as Speaker, I pronounce this session opened,” Irenaeus said. “We are here to choose among us a new leader. So, my friends, prepare to cast your vote for a new Grand Cleric or High Priest. It is quite simple.”

Yet it was anything but simple. There was much whispering among everyone. How the voting would go was still undecided.

Turning to Irenaeus, Oriela told him, “There are no problems among our cliques. It should be unanimously for you among the Moderates. As for our allies among the Reformers, we shall yet see.”

Later, Irenaeus was approached by Valence Canrobert and Ramiro of Uzgob. They wanted to talk, and judging from their serious expressions Irenaeus knew that they would not be as easy to convince as his fellow Moderates.

“Honorable Irenaeus,” Valence began. “We admire Lycaon and his message of reform very much…”

“But we have many questions and misgivings that still have not been dispelled,” Ramiro finished.

“I can assure you I shall do everything in my power to combat corruption and reform the system,” Irenaeus said. “And I can only point to my record and history, and have it speak for itself.”

“Does it, my esteemed colleague? Yet it was reported that you were over-tithing¹ here in the Grand Temple,” Ramiro said. “And all for your own benefit.”

“The state brings no funding for the Church, and this holy shrine has fallen in disrepair,” Irenaeus said. “Without assistance from the Grand Cleric, raising the tithe was the only way in which I could keep the Grand Temple in an acceptable state.”

Yet Ramiro scoffed at this suggestion. “Among other grievances, you voted to have Johannia killed. You could have prevented the motion for her death from passing.”

“She was a heretic, and a vile one,” Irenaeus said.

“And now, my esteemed colleague,” Valence said. “We have an unnecessary conflict which has only created discord among the faithful. All because of unnecessary haste towards one unimportant heretic.”

“My friends, this is no time for quarreling,” Oriela said. She knew exactly what Valence and Ramiro were doing. They were not too fond of Irenaeus, and perhaps for good reason. Yet that was not the issue now. “We have discussed all this before, with me, with Lycaon, and with Saint-Simon. You have grievances. Yet we cannot decide things at our leisure, you know that. We are part of coalition, and compromise is of the essence. Or perhaps you would like the Conservatives to have their way? Maybe even see Andronicus himself become our High Priest.”

“My esteemed colleagues, I recognize your grievances,” Irenaeus said. “And I shall swiftly deliver reform upon the Church.”

“You have our votes,” Valence said, annoyed. “For all our sakes, I hope that Lycaon’s faith in you is well-placed.”

Irenaeus was calmed, slightly, though annoyed at their unnecessary argument. However, he knew that the worst was yet to come. Now they had to deal with the Moralists and Traditionalists. They would accept no call for quiet negotiations, and so it was only through debate that any agreement and compromise could be reached with the Moralists. The Moralists were nominating their own candidate, the unblemished yet puritanical Thomas of Legon, while the Traditionalists rallied around the incredibly wealthy and corrupt Ruggiero of Akki. The Traditionalists knew they couldn’t win, but were trying for a compromise in their favor, while the Moralists were hoping that their candidate, after sufficient debate, could gain traction. The Moderates extolled the virtues of Irenaeus’ candidacy, while the Liberals stayed treacherously quiet. Bishop after Bishop made speech after speech. After two hours things were becoming more and more heated, as the bishops became more and more tired. That was when Andronicus of Orog stood up, which resulted in one of the most infamous exchanges of the night.

“In this holy chamber we select our new leader, and I will not have it defiled by the intervention of outsiders,” Andronicus said. “That man Lycaon has made a mockery of the Church by swaying the minds of the bishops, much like a seducer charms her prey after the trap is set. But we are the Church, we are an edifice that is immortal, that belongs to kingdom or dynasty, but to the gods themselves. Thus, we ought not to be seduced by their talk of so-called ‘reform.’ For how can the divine, which is already perfected, be improved. If it is changed, it is only made inferior. And this Lycaon, this lover of mage-”

At this the Liberals erupted into jeers.

Andronicus continued. “He would sell us out to none other than the Circle! And who else has done the Church as much harm as they? Already Lycaon has made, without our approval, an ‘official’ Church agreement with his Majesty’s new favorite mage-”

As he went on about his dislike of Lycaon and how he sold them out to the mages, boos emerged from the Liberals which only intensified as he went on. Yet he continued.

“-The Circle has since its beginning served as the Church’s enemy, and even now they are always undercutting us. We have long since learned that their mages are not to be trusted-”

“Heretic!” one of the Liberals shouted. The shadow of Johannia now towered over every discussion of magic in the Church.

“-I will not be silenced! Even if it is the death of me, I will defend this holy edifice with all my might! There are many of us who do not appreciate the ” Andronicus said.

As things intensified it seemed as if Andronicus would tossed from the stage by force. Things had reached the level that it seemed inevitable that the bishops would ultimately resort to violence. Compromise was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind at the moment. It was at that moment that an obscure bishop, Clovis of Telmarion, arose to speak.

“Is this how Bishops of Formaroth behave? Are we no better than children? In times of trouble we ought to debate, and through insight and understanding come to a decision. We are not to act like common criminals, who settle our debates with our fists. Esteemed colleagues, if you have any wisdom you shall behave yourselves at once! What shall posterity think, when they find that the Church now elects its leader through a brawl? If that should become the case, then indeed we are truly lost. So, my friends, calm yourself, and see to it that the gods are honored for this auspicious event. But I know tempers are not easily cooled, and that even now you are still unsure who among us ought to become our leader. So let us retire for the night, and return in the morning when our heads are clearer.”

“That will not be necessary, my esteemed colleague,” Bernarda said. “There can be little doubt who shall be able to lead the Church. Amongst our own factions we will never agree, but if one comes soaring down like an eagle upon us we cannot help but bow. I, for one, nominate thee for our new High Priest!”

That was the turning point. Irenaeus was very nervous, and when Valence concurred with Bernarda he knew it was all over. He felt tired, enraged, and especially betrayed, but it did not matter. Bernarda, it had seemed, had utterly defeated him. Seeing this Clovis of Telmarion appear, to the Moderates he appeared the perfect compromise candidate. At least he was clever in speech, and he seemed to know how to bring unity. Thus the Moderates concurred with the Liberals in supporting Clovis, and chose to abandon Irenaeus as well, leaving him without any supporters. Only a few moralists remained loyal to their original candidate, Thomas of Legon. Thus, though the Traditionalist remained obstinate in their opposition, this unknown bishop was elected handily. Those who remembered it later were themselves surprised at what had happened. Some supposed it could only have been a miracle from Jykher himself. Others, however, saw only that Bernarda, despite supposedly having been eclipsed by Lycaon and stripped of most of her influence, had once again emerged victorious within the Church. Irenaeus was ashamed and humiliated, and he could not imagine he would ever indulge in politics again. Thomas of Legon felt betrayed as well, and could barely contain his rage. He left without saying a word, intent on having nothing to do with any of this ever again.

~

Yet the outside world was still unaware of what had happened. Lycaon stood not far from the steps of the Grand Temple. He was surrounded by holy soldiers adorned in the heavy plate and mail of a knight, but they were not of his Order. Lycaon stood next to Grandmaster Octavia Celestine, the leader of Order of Saint Zacarias. Lycaon of course did not have a monopoly on Church military orders. His own was new, while that of Saint Zacarias was very old. Under order from the Church, they were formed during the Elven Invasion in order to repel the foreigners. They had then fought with unflinching courage and loyalty for their country and their gods, but today were greatly reduced. Though their austere piety remained, they had become increasingly irrelevant, relegated to guardians of temples, churches, and monasteries, and occasionally as a mercenaries. During King Heylot’s reign they had almost been completely eliminated while in service of House Mandarass in the Great Civil War. However, they were still alive and well in the Southern Alliance. Lycaon knew that in the future he would need their support, and so he had invited them here.

It was about that moment that a messenger from within the Church out, and he shouted, “We have a High Priest!” There were cries of jubilation, and those that had them threw their hats into their air, creating a raucous sight. It was certainly a day for celebration. Lycaon wondered the result had been. For all the influence he had tried to build in the Church, this was the one day that he was blind. Yet then the messenger shouted, “Make way for our new High Priest, High Priest Clovis III!” Adorned in the vibrant and opulent robes and the crown of the High Priest, Clovis emerged from the Grand Temple with a look of power and authority around him, though the fact that figures such as Mildred wore the same robes. It was not Irenaeus, his own candidate. Nonetheless, there was no change in Lycaon’s expression. Octavia looked over at him.

“I’ve never heard of him before,” Octavia said. “Was this your doing, Lycaon?”

“Even I am not all powerful,” Lycaon said. “It is a surprise that such a surprising figure would become High Priest, but the gods clearly have spoken, and they have offered us a leader.”

“And we shall diligently follow them,” Octavia said.

Octavia was supremely suspicious of him, but Lycaon knew that for the time being he would not need to worry about her loyalty. She was loyal to the Church, and of course to strengthening the Church, his own goal. More importantly, he was thinking of the results of the election. In truth, it was not a surprise. He had no idea who Clovis was, or where he came from, though in time he would. However, when he heard the hagiographic account later during the day he doubted it would surprise him in any great deal. The bickering reformers would reluctantly rally around Irenaeus, who would fail to gain sufficient support, yet would prevent any traditionalist candidate from gaining traction. Only a strong compromise candidate, one not tied down to any faction and who made a strong impression, would emerge. Lycaon presumed that was this Clovis.

1. A tithe is the income of the faithful that is voluntarily, yet mandated by holy doctrine, given to the Church. Usually it is 10% of the income of the faithful. Over-tithing refers to when it is set higher. This is not forbidden or illegal, but is very controversial, and many in the Church regard it as a particularly egregious act of corruption and greed.

The Exodus

Things had gotten far worse than she could have ever had anticipated, yet somehow things had gotten quiet. Rhodanthe for the time being had been staying in a quiet inn. Everyone in there was a believer, and considering that she was still alive she supposed none of them were spies. Even so, things were bad. No one talked especially loud, but Rhodanthe had heard all sorts of rumors. Apparently the King had sided with the Church, and that anyone who was a “heretic” would die. Rhodanthe didn’t know a whole lot, but she knew enough to know that that was very bad. She was getting anxious. Her problem wasn’t that she might end up getting hurt. She had gotten plenty hurt already, and it wasn’t as if she expected that this would be an easy job when she took it. No, what was making her anxious was that now she was sitting around. She still had a job to do, and it didn’t involve her waiting for the King’s men to finally catch on come knocking down their door.

“Come on, you all!” Rhodanthe said. “We can’t just keep sitting here, twiddlin’ our thumbs, whisperin’ about this and that here and there.”

“Rhodanthe,” one of the serving-women began. “It’s frustratin’, I know, but that’s how it’ll be now.”

“You’re all fine with that?” Rhodanthe said. “You’re fine with livin’ out your lives in fear out here, hopin’ that yer’ not the next one on the King’s chopping block?”

“Whaddya suppose we do, young lady?” one of the men said. “We ain’t soldiers, just men. We can’t fight. We’ve all seen what happen when ya’ do.”

“No, we can’t fight,” Rhodanthe said. “But we might well be able to leave.”

This couldn’t technically be allowed right now, but Rhodanthe had a feeling it’d work out if things worked out well. She couldn’t say that they couldn’t kill them all. That was exactly what happened in the riot, for instance. However, though Rhodanthe wasn’t sophisticated she thought things might be a bit more complicated than they appeared. Lycaon, he was very bloody, and he’d probably have them all put to the sword, no questions asked. That’s what he did before. But the King was a different person. Maybe he’d be different. She was Uzgob, she knew they didn’t call him the Snake for nothing, but this was all they had. If they stayed their doors’ would be knocked down one by one, and everyone knew it.

“Would if we could, miss,” one of the men said. “None o’ us want it t’be like this, but what choice we got? Do you really think we’d jus’ be able to get up an’ leave?”

“The best plan we got,” Rhodanthe said. “Maybe we survive a little longer if we stay, but mark my words, we’ll be picked off one by one by the king’s men. This is the only choice we got now. We gotta hope that the King’ll let us be. We’ll be out of his city and out of his business. We’ll head south. King’s got no power there, so we should be safe there for now.”

“If I ever heard anyone else tell me that I’d say they were insane,” the serving-woman said. “But you’re a prophet. If there’s someone we oughta listen to, it’s you.”

“Well, I’m more like a part-time prophet anyhow,” Rhodanthe said. “But if you’ll follow this part-time prophet I promise you all that’ll defend each and every one of ya to the death.”

However, one more thing was needed for them to have any measure of success, and it all depended on the barman behind the counter. He was Olivier, a brewer, a bartender, a smuggler, and the pillar of the community, at least around these parts. And everyone knew that he was an atheist, not that it mattered too much. His support would mean more than anything for Rhodanthe.

“And how about you, Olivier?” Rhodanthe said. “Will you join us?”

“My brother was killed by Johannia’s men in the riot,” he said as he cleaned a pewter mug, his voice showing hesitation and anger. “But my wife and daughter were killed by Lycaon’s. Count me in, prophet.”

“Then we’ll be quick as we can,” Rhodanthe said. “Come nightfall we might not be able to leave. Who knows?”

~

Rhodanthe was not afraid. She was standing in the front of a large crowd of people, all of whom had chosen to follow her out of the city. She never could have imagined it. It seemed incredibly illogical, that anyone would chose to follow a sixteen year-old girl from faraway Uzgob, but word seemed to have spread that she was a prophet. She didn’t question the truth of that aloud, but she couldn’t be sure she believed that herself. What mattered now, however, was for them to all get out of Nyhem. Perhaps one day they would be able to return. Rhodanthe wished so, but a voice within her knew that they would never see this city again unless it was for them to be tried. She was an outsider. She could never understand how much this city meant to these people. At this moment a thought went into Rhodanthe’s mind. Only a few days ago Rhodanthe had entered this city, and she had been dazzled. Now she could only think that it was dirty.

“My friends!” Rhodanthe was shouting as loud as she could. “This is a sweet moment! This is the time we make our lives!”

That was all that needed to be said. They had definitely taken everyone by surprise. Thousands were leaving the city of Nyhem by the gates, and Rhodanthe was the one leading them out. No one was stopping them. Rhodanthe had apparently called her cards right this time. No one laid a hand on them as they walked out of the gates of Nyhem and into the Sypius Plains. Where they would go now was unclear, but Rhodanthe thought she might try her luck in the Southern Alliance.

[Nib]

Collab with @Fading Memory

Ignocious Phlemonte. Phlemonte- I've heard that name before.

She chewed her lip, working her mind over the name scrawled on the note in her hand. Soon she began to giggle.

Did I kill a Phlemonte? No, no, that was a Flimmonte not a Phlemonte. Easy mistake.

Her laughter, while already soft, died shortly after her words as she folded the note away. She'd gotten the recommendation of one 'Ignocious Phlemonte' when she went to search for her usual contact for poisons... but apparently the fellow had moved town, changed names, and in all likelihood hired bodyguards after Vivian's last visit. This loss of a once-reliable source of her poisons had lead her to search for another...Trustworthy sort of alchemist, and the word around the metaphoric grapevine- Nyhem had no grapes on vines as far as Vivian was able to find in her limited searches, but perhaps she had neglected to check by the Grand Temple or the noble's homes- was that the man who's name was scrawled on the parchment she folded away didn't care much about what he was asked to make, or who was asking.

Where was she?

Oh right, the alchemist. She moved her way through the quieting streets of Nyhem; night time was falling, and this woman- dressed in a simple maid's outfit, shrouded in a heavy black cloak- had somewhere to be, somewhere she would prefer to get into quietly. She pulled the hood up about her face, shadowing her features, as twilight settled across the city, and once night fell proper she stopped her meandering. She knew it was implausible she had been tailed or even 'made', as spies are wont to use the term, but her enriched paranoia had kept her alive all these years and she wasn't about to abandon it now.

Should I pay him, threaten him, or seduce him? she thought to herself as she began to head into an alleyway of Nyhem's streets, hiding herself fully in darkness and out of torch light. As she began to scale the side of a building to throw her tracks further off the ground, juuuuust in case she had been followed, she decided to answer her own question;

I suppose it'll depend on how 'e looks... but you've never been picky old girl, just do what the Old Man asked and get your payment. If he'll give you poison for a kiss, hell...that's the best margin of profit, now ain't it?

Vivian then began to silently make her away across a few of the rooftops, cautiously avoiding any stray lights that might reach her hidden vantages and taking her time to ensure she didn't get spotted. This was all to satisfy her paranoia, the possibility she had been followed, and after an hour of silently crossing rooftops she finally descended back into an alley, then back out onto the streets.

She already knew where Ignocious lived, and now that she'd satisfied herself with covering her tracks, she went directly there.

To knock on the front door, or break in and say hello...Oh, why not, it could be fun to surprise him. If he gets loud, I'll just kill him and find another apothecary.

And thusly the woman decided that breaking into the (in)famous alchemist's house was the best course of action for this evening.

-------------

This is odd. He's definitely home, I can tell that much, but this place is bigger than I expected. Rather empty, though- I wonder what he does with his money.

The cloaked woman slid her hands behind her back, where she had slung a crossbow discreetly; the weapon was a lighter, smaller, crossbow than most, and the heavy cloak shielded her form to a satisfactory degree to have hidden the weapon as well. She chewed her lip- a tick she just couldn't seem to break, whether it was a seductive tick or a nervous one such as moments like this, where a plan didn't happen precisely as she thought it would.

It wasn't until the form of Ignocious Phlemente, the very man she sought to employ temporarily, was nearly right in her face did she come to a realization- Of course someone like this would have secret passages in his home! she chastised herself, as yet unnoticed to the alchemist, as she composed herself and leaned on the wall some short distance behind him, aiming her crossbow at him through her cloak to keep it hidden.

The woman then cleared her throat to get the man's attention, having caught him in the process of emerging from a hidden room. she couldn't discern the nature of the room from her current position. She also didn't really care: knowing this man's secrets wasn't her job.

"Ignocious Phlemonte? I've got a job for you." She said swiftly afterward, not giving him a chance to react before her words were said. Her voice carried nothing but a...sort of flirtation. A very pretty voice, soft and rolling out of the heavy hood as if whispered by the wind. She kept her face and body hidden by the heavy cloak, for now.

The only acknowledgement Ignocious gave to the sudden voice in his home was a brief pause in shutting the hidden entrance to his lab, before walking down the sparsely decorated hallway. Without waiting for a reply Ignocious strode up to a doorway down the hall and began fishing for keys from his trouser pocket.

“Well…,” was all he said as he slipped a key into the door and pushed it open, finally turning to look back down the hallway.

"A poison. Not of the body, but of the mind. I need something that'll scramble a man's brains, but not kill him in the process. Can you do that?"

The woman slipped the crossbow back behind her back, satisfied she wouldn't need it in this situation. She strode up the hallway after him, closing the distance rapidly as she let her silken voice roll out to him. Once she had established herself well within the concept of 'personal space', she let out a giggle.

Of course, poison. Why else would someone break into his home instead of coming to his lab? He watched her move lithely down the hall toward him. If her breaking into his home and her cloak weren’t enough, her movements revealed her as an assassin to him. As she stepped right up to him he arched an eyebrow at her then sidestepped away from her and into the room he had unlocked. It was his personal study. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and every surface was covered with papers and books. He stepped around his dark wood desk and settled himself into the armchair there.

“Your request is an interesting one. I have read of such poisons before but have never made one myself. With time, I will be able to make what you ask.”

"With time, eh? Time means money, Phlemonte. What kind of price do you have in mind?"

Her honeyed words came quick that time, no slow coy meander. Same silken tone, just rushed with the speed of someone who wanted to get to the point. She walked forward across the room and disregarded his possible organization by gently pushing some papers aside on his desk to make room for herself, then she slid forward and sat on his desk- leaning over the surface to lean over him. This revealed the lower half of her face from the hood, where her deep red lips were curled up in a smirk.

"I'm a resourceful gal: whether it's gold or a service you want, I can get it."

Watching her slide his work aside to sit caused a pang of irritation deep in his chest, but he kept his composure as he spoke.

“It certainly does. First, tell me what happened to your last supplier,” he kept his tone even, eyeing her from behind his hands, fingers laced together.

"He left town. I was less than cordial with him- he had a family I could find." Her silken words carried poison within them. "But I'd never threaten you, Ignocious~" She teased.

“Don’t think me a fool. You’d threaten me as soon as you believed it would get you somewhere. That’s beside the point, though. For my fee, I would call upon you when I am in need of your skills. You will undoubtedly be checking up on me as I research and concoct the poison you asked for, so we may as well open a correspondence and make this a symbiotic relationship.”
Vivian licked her lips, a slow, calculated, gesture.

"I see. You want me to offer my services in return for the poison. Well, Ignocious, if you ever have need of my services just leave this..."

She produces a sanguine-shaded handkerchief from her cloak pocket, embroidered with an elaborate 'S’, and hands it to him.

"In your window. I'll see it and visit you when I can. Keep me interested, supply me with new and fun tools, and I’ll do whatever you ask~”

Ignocious took the handkerchief and slipped into his trouser pocket.

“I trust you can show yourself out without being spotted?”

Vivian lifted a hand and kissed her palm, before blowing the kiss to Ignocious. She giggled and slid off the desk, before throwing a hand up in farewell- that little bit of a smirk now hidden once again- and moving from the room.

This is going to be fun. she thought, laughing in her mind.

Ignocious watched the woman go, lost in thought about the exchange. She had said her previous supplier left town. He would have to check on that in the morning, find out local apothecaries or other alchemists who had recently left the city. He shuffled the papers back into their previous places on his desk.

[Fallenreaper]

Dyril

Collab with @Sundered Echo

Location: Winter Haven Inn
Time: Morning, a week after the riots.

---

The Winter Haven Inn was a very well off Inn. Ideally located on the edge of the Garden District of Nyhem, it saw customers from both the nobility and the masses of lesser people and travelers of the great city. Thanks to its wealth, it was well guarded by both the City Guard and, often, its clientele. And because of this, it had been lucky enough to avoid any damage from the terrible riots that had rocked the city a week ago. As horrific as they had been, its proprietor, Marius Rothemor, was rather thankful for them. Many other Inns had been damaged or wiped off the map by fire or crazed lunatic, and their loss was his gain.

Not since the deposing of the Mad King had he seen such good business. And with that business had come information…

Dyril’s head was bent down. Her four fingers rubbed her temple as she read through the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. Each calligraphic letter made one thing absolutely clear: she requested more time in Formaroth. It all came with valid points, but most were elaborated with additional details about selling magic wares to the High King and the profit they might make. She purposely left out the attempt to grow mandrakes within Formaroth purely because she suspected they would try to sabotage it.

Relaxing from the weight being lifted, her back leaned against the chair. She then raised her arm to summon a waitress and order something to eat. Dyril slid the letter to the table’s side closest to her before puzzling out her next action: where would be the best place to grow the mandrakes. Being a foreign element in the continent gave her sparse knowledge about, even possibly outdated.

Marius had been watching his most unusual client ever since she arrived. It wasn’t every day he could claim to have served an Elf, much less a half-elf. She had seemed stressed and busy at first, and so he had not interrupted, but when the women finally deigned to summon one of his people, he took the chance to go and have a chat as well.

It was not uncommon, in this particular Inn, to see the proprietor at a table with his customers, talking merrily, sometimes softly, sometimes boisterous and loud, drink in hand. (Though the keen eyed observer would note that the one drink always lasted the whole night). And so it was, that he siddled out from behind the bar, and as the waitress left with the Elf’s order, he sat down across from her.

He held out his hand in greeting, politely beginning to speak as he did so. “Miss Dyril. A pleasure to meet you at last. I am Marius Rothemor, owner and proprietor of this Inn.”

Dyril’s posture stiffened abruptly when she spied movement from the corner of her vision. Her head turned to identify the owner then all her rising tension evaporated immediately. The riots had shown there was a xenophobia among a few of the city residents. This was enough to put her on high alert and expect any attempts on her life. Thankfully none had happened since the riot a week ago.

Softly exhaling, her lips curled into a natural smile. She was pleased that it was merely a curious individual rather than a thug intending on beating her to a bloody pulp.

“Hello,” She began, a little cautiously. An idea flickered into her head then as she began the digging for information.

“I’m a bit surprised you know my name. Most individuals usually ask it, but you got it right and even pronounce it correctly. That’s an interesting little trick.”

“Oh, I am just a humble Innkeeper.” Marius said in a well practiced way that would fool no-one used to courtly tones. “It was difficult not to hear the name of the Cities one and only Elf. My apologies if I acted too familiar. I only seek to show that this great City can be welcoming and pleasant, despite recent events.”

“I will admit, my first time in Formaroth was… unexpected. It is one I rather not repeat any time in the far future,” Dyril casually took a sip of her tea and cringed at the surprise bitterness dancing upon her taste buds. She struggled back a cough as she set it back down.

“It seems a lot is different here in Formaroth than Beilokias. The tea is more bitter than I expected,” Dyril chuckled to hide the roughness in her throat over the discovery. The half-elf continued on, she decided to ask him for assistance.

“Just another thing that wasn’t in the Elven library back at Norastir.”

“The cuisine of this land can be something of an acquired taste, it is true. Thankfully, I know of a little shop that sells several Beilokias native ingredients, if you’d prefer not to risk your taste buds every night.” He said with a smile, procuring a small folded map of the city from inside his waistcoat. He proceeded to point it out and give a few directions.

Dyril naturally leaned in. She knew that Kiseo would need direction to fetch them in the future, possibly even finding something suitable for the Mao’s tastes too. After memorizing the paths, she settled back into the chair then continued the conversation.

“You seem to know a lot about the city, were you born and raised here?” Dyril asked, trying to confirm her suspicions.

“Guilty as charged.” Marius mockingly bowed. “I have seen much in Nyhem, and Nyhem has seen much herself. I don't know if you have such a place across the ocean, but Nyhem is the heart of Formaroth. Everyone and everything worth knowing eventually arrives here, and if I have not spoken to them, I have spoken to their friends or family. For all its flaws, there is no place in the world quite like Nyhem.” Marius’s pride and love of his city came through in his voice strongly.

“We have many actually, but inland is where most of our more important individuals chose to gather. So in a few ways, Nyhem is as you put it is rather unique,” Dyril agreed while she considered her job had just became much easier.

“Any well known individuals able to move large quantities of goods for a negotiable price? Preferably those who take pride in their job rather than become careless over it.”

“By sea or by land?” Marius asked, before answering both possibilities anyway. “There is a Merchant Lord by the name of William Flin who might provide the services of his fleet for coin, though my dear, if you have any of those mighty Elven Caravels, you need not waste time on local ships. Mind you, the seas are far safer in this time of uncertainty. The war may be over now, but the church is split in two and bandits rule the lands. I’d suggest you find some mercenaries, or perhaps persuade a King to lend you some troops, if you need to transport valuables by land.”

“Getting Elven ships to travel outside Beilokias is much harder than one might imagine,” Dyril bitterly noted.

She was pretty much the runt in the litter when it came to any of her relatives, especially when every single one was untarnished by human blood. She sighed a bit then decided on the mainland method because of the mandrake requirements to grow.

“How would I be able to get a hold of this William Flin? Is there a common place he visits or found that I could find him?”

“I’m sure.” Marius said knowingly. “But don't underestimate how much of an impact even one or two can make here, even crewed by us lowly humans. One Caravel might be nothing to you in Beilokias my dear lady, but its a King's ransom here in Formaroth. Or at least a Princes.” He laughed, then proceeded to point to some more spots on the map. “Rumor has it Mister Flin will be relocating to Nyhem from Akki very soon, and you’ll find him at these spots if he still follows his old habits.”

“But if you feel the need to buy a few local ships for yourself, I’ve heard that a Grand Tide Master from the Summer Isles has just landed at the docks not two days ago. Make nice with her and you might get a good price on some captured pirate ships.”

“What might be her name?” Dyril inquired while she wrote down the information on another slip of paper.

“Oh my. My dear you’ve caught me in a rare moment of ignorance. I know she is the daughter of Grand Tide Master Arthur Zerrikan, so your best approach will be to look for one Lady Zerrikan. Naturally though, it will be easy to find her. The most exotic ship in the harbor will belong to her, and i’m sure her crew will be willing to help a seafarer such as yourself.”

“My last experience on the sea was a fairly good one with the unfortunate case of a pirate who took down our escort ship. It was a terrible ordeal to witness as they set the ship on fire, burning it and the crew alive,” Dyril shivered at the memory then pushed it aside for a better focus.

She wrote the name beside Flin’s locations.

Marius shuddered as his guest recounted her experiences. Fire consuming a ship was a terrible and often very final thing. “My condolences. With any luck, the Blackwells will see to the securing of the Oceanic coasts now that the war is over. At least the inland seas are quite safe.”

“I hope so, or getting additional goods from Beilokias will be difficult, if not impossible.”

Dyril finished writing out her notes then decided to address one final thing, the most important tidbit. Her hands folded back on the table while she spoke again.

“Where would I be able to find information about Formaroth’s various environments? I’m intending to set up a production for a rare and sensitive crop that needs the right conditions. In order to determine where, I need records over rainfall and other conditions.”

“Oh, well, that is hardly my specialty…” Marius said, a little dejected, before perking up. “But I can tell you who might know. That kind of record keeping on paper is definitely the area of the Circle of Magic. If you’re lucky, the farming focused Noble Houses might have records of their own land, but you’d certainly have to cut them in on the profits when you sell whatever you might grow on their lands. There I go assuming again… You do plan to sell this crop don't you?”

“Some might be sold, yes. Others will be more ingredients in the manufacturing of specialized goods, something they might be interested in since it aligns with their focus,” Dyril said, feeling she hinted too much to the nature of her request.

“Ah. Well, the ones most likely to be able to fulfil all of your requests are the Kings. His Majesty Alasdair is the local one, but he has been… embattled of late. I’m sure he’ll bring the land out of this mess eventually, but swapping from advisor to High King and having a war and a religious schism in the first year of your rule… well it’ll either look really good in the history books, or it’ll be, shall we say, a very short entry for the scholars to study. Eli Blackwell on the other hand, is an ambitious upstart. A very rich one at that. I’d wager we’ll be seeing him in Nyhem soon. He isn’t going to get very far politically if he hides away in Mercy. The Blackwells are a bit different. They respect skill, not prior titles. If you’ve expertise to demonstrate in any field, he might be willing to help you out. Just remember, it's a land of opportunity out there right now. The really powerful Kings have barely been in power longer than you’ve been in the country.”

He paused there, then lowered his voice. “Oh and one other thing. Careful of the religious types. The church leaders may all be filthy rich, but they are even more petty and likely to stab you in the back, or the front, than the nobles. You didn’t hear that from me.”

“I think I’ve gotten a good glimpse of the church’s opinion over magic and things related to it. I do aim to avoid them purely for self preservation,” Dyril tried to lightly chuckle, but the sound made it obvious her heart wasn’t in the performance.

Again, her quill went to paper to write down the information and possibly list her options. She wanted to avoid being tied to one individual source of income because one thing she did learn from her Uncle was that limitations often spelt terrible consequences. Especially when the funding individuals felt they could control the production purely by withholding their support. Not eager to brave that storm, she polite thanked Rothemor.

“One last thing, for the moment. I need to ship this off to Beilokias. Is there any trustworthy ships or ways to get it there with the least risk?”

“I think I know a man.” He wrote a name on a slip of paper and handed it to Dyril. “This captain should be sailing for Beilokias in a few days with a sturdy ship. Tell him I sent you and he might take your letter at a discount.”

“I’ve solved several issues thanks to your information and for that, I’m grateful to you.” Dyril said as she began to collect her papers, stacking them up and ensuring she had it all.

“Happy to help.” Marius said, a glimmer in his eye. “There is plenty of greed and hate in the land, I like to do my bit to counter it out every now and then.” He stood then, nodding politely. “It was a pleasure to meet you in person.”

[Klomster]

Aftermath of the riots.
Following the riots of Nyhem, the Steel fist had captured hundreds of dissidents, if not thousands.
It was not his place to keep track, that job he happily left to his logistics officer, Katrina Nikos. Whom had proven to be an invaluable asset to the fist since she joined.
Claus himself had retreated to his tent following the work in the final hours of the last night of the riot. He had done as ordered and focused on the districts indicated by the high king and the Steel fist had dealt with the rioters flawlessly.
That's what he is gonna write in the report anyway, to be fair there had been flaws, a few in the fist had gotten minor injuries and several of the rioters were badly bruised. Not to mention the guy who was shot in the leg.
But in truth, the steel fist hadn't killed a single person during this riot. Something Claus could feel pride about, not a single one...

After all, he wasn't on his post there in the inn, Dyril needed help and Claus was sent not as captain of the steel fist, but as a concerned individual.
Sent? Perhaps the gods were at work, who knew.
The steel fist hadn't killed anyone, but he... how many were there? Five? He didn't know, he tried to not care, they were just numbers, numbers who tried to kill and maim a friend of his, of course he should've saved her.
But they were still dead.
It was different with civilians, in the Beilokias he could more easily ward it off with them not being human, they were birdmen or lizards and with soldiers and militia they knew what they were getting into, they had some sort of training.
But these guys...

He realised his thoughts had run off again, the dreams with the faces of the thousands of dead that haunted him at night didn't help either. Claus was sitting at his makeshift desk and writing letters, reports and logs to keep the company in order.
At first Dyril had welcomed the safe haven the Steel fist camp had offered, but the following morning she had realized that the chilly weather, multitudes of bugs and a bedroll that seemed just a bit too thin was not something she would endure in the long run and had returned to the city and one of its inns as soon it was deemed safe.
Too bad Claus had thought, he had hoped to have a proper party to celebrate long time no see, but the sad truth was that now had a buttload off work to do after the war and all.
The casualties, the final pays would need to be sent to their families along with condolences and their equipment would need to be evaluated.
After that there was the new guys, they needed drilling, since the discipline right now was NOT up to snuff with steel fist expectations. Sure they would form a line and hold it roughly, but they were a troupe of individuals, not a team effort like the steel fist required.
And admittedly, some of the drill was for show, it helped when negotiating prizes.
Lastly he needed a lot of new gear and to sell off more of the loot. He had claimed a few nice sets of harnesses and weapons from the Mandarass baggage train, nothing amazing, but still several sets of high quality scale mail and a plate armour.
Not to mention he probably needed a full new suit of armour himself, the one he got was severely banged up and worsley, it was warped.
Guess that's what getting squashed by an elephant does to ya.

Outside the drills were coming along, the new guys realizing the truth about the steel fist.
The steel fist was the best mercenary company in the world. Why? Drill. Punishing and exact drill.
Not one step out of line, not a single order ignored or done later. The companies renown as drunken idiots was not really deserved considering how serious they were.
Several of the new guys quit the first day, many more during the following.

A duel of ill fated.
The days passed and life returned to normal, Claus always almost got to have a rest before some unexpected events needed his attention.
The meeting with the king, the strange happening with old man Blackwell and following that the prisoner exchange to the royal troops.
They would probably end up in the dungeons, a lot of them.
After all the fist had captured roughly four thousand dissidents, most of them would not fit in the dungeon.
As there was a breakout of rats in the grain storage, Claus realized he had once again not gotten a moment of rest before the duel next day.
He was sitting among the troops in the vanguard who had a pot of pig porridge.
Grain, water and salt, made to a porridge and served with butter, hopefully... this was one of those days and he exhaustively but happily munched on his salty food when Roogel and Katrina came up and joined him.
Roogel was about to speak when Claus boomed out.
-"NO, i am not needed anywhere... apart from here with my dinner." To which Roogel laughed once and sat down.
-"You're in luck then, Katrina just wanted to give you some thoughts on your enemy tomorrow." Roogel said heartily as he gave Claus a good whack on the back with his right palm.
Claus ended his spiel and looked to Katrina while eating his porridge. It took a while before Katrina understood she was supposed to talk.
-"OH! Um, yes. It is Alice Rallar, she served the Remonnets in the Remonnet Mandarass civil war, she's apparently a bit of a war hero since she commanded so well the old king rewarded her with the advisor's seat for her service."
Claus didn't look up as he sarcastically answered.
-"Great, i have to kill a war hero. That'll look good on my resumé."
-"Furthermore, she is a very skilled swordsman, apparently fighting with rapier and a dagger. She's also deceivingly strong." Katrina worriedly kept on.
-"You know Claus, you don't have to fight her, you could...." Katrina tried to reason, but Claus stopped her.
-"I do have to fight her. I saw it in her eyes, she is cornered. Don't worry though, i'll manage. I get to try my new toy as well." He finished with a smirk.
-"So boss, what about a few training bouts?" Roogel's optimism was welcoming as always.
-"I don't wanna.... but i guess i have to." Claus weariness was obvious, but he didn't have familiarity with his new weapon. Plus getting a new sword would take days, or he'd get a ready made sword he wasn't familiar with either, so he might as well use the new one.
It would also be a moment to show off himself.

The following morning he moved out, he wore his full suit of armour, whom Katrina and a few others had done their best to look better, he marched with a full fifty people from his vanguard, two of whom carried his blade. Along with Roogel and Katrina on his side. Roogel was also carrying the banner of the Steel fist. A ragged and stitched black banner with the white clenched gauntleted fist on top, with the most heroic deeds of the fist embroidered on its surface.
The procession entered the city and moved towards the arena.
There were thousands who were flocking to see the event, the arena was packed. Nobility, burghers, it was said even the king was there to witness the event.
It was honestly difficult to get there before Claus began to make himself known via horn calls.

The arena was packed, people from all social stratas had gathered and Alasdair was looking down upon the arena from the kings podium, he sort of wanted the whole ordeal done with as he gently rubbed his temple, but in truth he was early.
Claus had not even arrived and Alice had barely gotten inside the arena's preparation rooms. Which was fine with him, it had gotten him a lot of time to set up the 'plans' for this combat event.
Known only to himself and one other, the water Alice would be offered would be poisoned. Not a strong poison, she would not die. But her judgement and her awareness would be hampered.
He momentarily wondered if he'd need to get rid off the man doing the deed later, but his train of thought was interrupted as a chilling horn-call was heard from outside.
It repeated itself four times, each time it was closer. The call was deep, it cried war, blood and death. A few who had heard the horn of the steel fist before were reminded of its meaning. Others needed no prior knowledge to be chilled to the bones.
After the last call, one of the kings servants snuck up to Alasdair and told him that Claus had arrived.
Finally.
He stood up and unusually, there was no cheers from the crowd. They had gotten into other thoughts, as Alasdair stood the much more happy and joyous fanfare of the brass horns called everyone's attention and silence befell the arena.

-"People of Nyhem, we gather here today to witness the conflict of old versus new. So without further ado, let us commence!" Alasair used the most imposing 'king voice' he could muster, the clever design of the arena also made it easier for his voice to travel to those who would need to hear it.
A cheer was heard from the crowd as two of the arena doors opposite to each other opened to reveal the competitors and their aides.
Alice had gathered several imposing soldiers in nice cuirasses and with capes in her heraldic colours, they carried only shields and had their swords in the scabbards, the four of them formed a square behind her as she walked up to her designated spot, the marshall was overseeing the event from the arena floor and instructing the combatants on their positions.
From the other side, Claus exited, he took a few steps and raised his horn and called the two tone call for march, out from the door behind him came his entire entourage in formation which was not how anyone expected him to arrive. The marshall was not happy to say the least.
With perfectly matching footfalls, the troupe went to their spot and claus stopped the formation with a shouted order. Followed by 'Form wall.' which the troop did with a shout in perfect unison and formed a spear wall behind him. As usual in flawless straight lines.

The arena was silent for a moment before Alasdair motioned for another fanfare.
-"Competing for honor today, are the champions seen before you. In the southern field, ser Alice Rallar." A cheer came from the populace, the southern field was the one further from the king, symbolising that she was the one who challenged the one in the north.
-"In the northern field, we have captain Claus Rotstein, advisor of war to the crown." Alasdair's last sentence had stirred some murmurs, the changing of advisors of war was still rather new and many had not gotten assurance that that was the way it was.
-"Marshall, you have the word." Alasdair happily let the marshall explain the rules, he didn't let it show in his voice though.
The marshall's voice was booming and clear.
-"Thank you high king. The format for today is a duel to the death, fought between the champions with the arms they best see fit. The champions will now give praise to Timtos, so that the battle will be honourable and fair." With that Alice drew her sword and knelt, Claus however reached his left hand to the back and Katrina nervously strode up to him with a cloth wrapped package. Claus took it by the hilt, nodded to Katrina and with a one-handed swing to the right followed with a flourish he cast the cloth off the sword revealing it as he in one fluid motion knelt as well.
The weapon was nothing like most of those present had ever seen, constructed with dragon scales and talons. It's size made it look almost like a caricature more than a sword, but Claus wielded it seemingly without hindrance.
This event got an noticeable response from the crowd as gasps, hollers and ooh's were let out.
Finally the marshall knelt together with the aides as a priest came and led those present in a prayer to Timtos, god of battle and honour.

As the prayer finished, the aides left the arena leaving only the marshall, Alice and Claus.
-"Now we pay respect to the king!" The marshall commanded and those present knelt for king Alasdair, even if Claus was slow to kneel.
With that Alasdair waved to the populace and nodded to the champions.
He held a striker for a gong for everyone to see, walked to the bronze gong and showed he was ready to strike.
Claus and Alice assumed fighting stances and were given a few words.
-"Now i will strike you down for your impudence! I will have my honor, you will be.... dead." At the end of her sentence, Alice felt a bit groggy, loosing her focus for a second. She thought of it no longer.
-"Impudence? I don't even know what that means! HA! I'll cut you up since you wanted that, good chance to try out my new sword as well!" Claus was grinning broadly as he tried to piss off his opponent. He ended by fastening his visor with its buckle and spinning on the rondel in the back with a flick.
There was a brief moment of silence, but seemingly from nowhere the gong sounded and the duel had begun.

Alice did not wait for her opponent, she knew he had range advantage and wanted to get in as soon as possible. Claus held is sword straight up in front of him with both hands, his visor slightly open revealing the focused eyes within.
Claus simply let his sword fall, he guided it and made a surprisingly quick thrust towards Alice face, she however realized in time and pushed the sword away with her rapier, she was going for a quick stab at Claus face with her dagger when she realized he was already punching in with the quillon of the sword, the dragon talon looked wickedly sharp and she literally threw herself backwards to avoid it hitting her torso.
Even if she wore a reinforced cuirass, she wasn't going to take chances with a strange new weapon like that.
Claus renewed his pose and swung the sword above him into a diagonal slice to his right, pursuing her relentlessly. She moved low and aimed for his leg when she once more felt groggy.
She stumbled, barely avoided the slash and was pommeled in the side by Claus.
Alice fell over and rolled away from Claus, luckily for her Claus was backing off as well. The pommel strike didn't have the proper force that a stronger wielder could have gotten in, it had however dented the cuirass and put in a visible indentation of the dragon snout of the pommel.
The truth was that the blade was heavier than Claus was used to, so he had overswung. The force needed to reroute the weight in the large sword was a bit much, so he had gotten in a poor blow... of sorts.
It had still dented steel plate.
Both of the fighters were now breathing heavily, one because she had been struck in the side, one because his sword was far more unwieldy than his usual weapons.

Alice was now getting worried, she wasn't feeling well, her focus went in and out and she felt groggy and wheezy. The combination of nausea and the pommel strike made her throw up.
But unbeknownst to her, the poison had already taken effect, even if she got some of it out now, it was too late.
She stood up with a noticeable shakiness to her gait, cheers were all over as she pointed her weapons at Claus once more.
-"Nice to see that blow didn't stop you!" Claus shouted at her with a smile, he changed his guard to a half swording stance. He realised that the weight of the sword would not do well against her skill, even if it gave him a reach advantage.
For he realized it now, her attack against his leg had hit, luckily the armour had pushed it off safely.
She moved in with a flurry of blows, all would have been fatal against a lesser opponent. But Claus managed to dodge parry and block most of them. One had glanced off his shoulder while another struck his arm.
The dagger pommel strike to his arm had hurt like a bugger though and he shouted in pain.
He leaned in, pushed Alice off him and seemingly swung madly in what looked like someone trying to row a boat. The manoeuvre was less stupid than it looked though as the repeated attacks threatened her from several points of danger, the edge, tip, the quillon and the pommel.
She took a step back, began to move to her left when once again her vision blurred.
Her movement had slowed and Claus took the chance, with a downward stab with the blade-tip, which hit her in the right leg, it sliced through the armour like a sharp knife through cloth and opened a rather messy wound through her leg with an opening towards between her legs.
Claus followed up with a full on pommel strike with all his might, she however countered with a quick thrust from above and both attacks hit home.
The force of the pommeling sent her literally flying, half a metre or so. Her strike had however left the rapier stuck in Claus helmet. It swayed ominously up and down.
The arena was in uproar, Alice was scrawling on the ground as Claus just stood there for a moment like a statue with a sword in its head.
Alasdair stood up trying to get a better look, boos and cheers were rampant as the crowd was in uproar.

Then with a stiff twitching motion, Claus moved his left arm, took Alice rapiers hilt, dragged the sword out of his helmet.
With mad cheers from the crowd.
The blade had hit his right cheekbone, bounced to the side and sliced his ear slightly, then it had gotten bent to follow the inside of the helmet.
As he pulled it out blood flowed visibly as he hurt more of his cheek and ear, booming cheers were rampant as he took a few steps and tossed the sword back to Alice.
-"Take the weapon! FIGHT!" Claus voice boomed over the arena, it had more presence than both Alasdair and the Marshall.
Alice was beginning to get a hold of herself, took the sword and began to sit up. The blow had pierced her cuirass and hurt her stomach quite badly.
But she wouldn't give up, she managed to kneel with the weight on her left leg, resumed her guard with the now bent rapier and shaky hands.
-"Good thing i brought the visor, otherwise you'd have put that one in my mouth i reckon." Claus spoke to Alice as he responded with a guard pose as well.
-"Anything to shut you up!" Alice spat out as well as she could. Before summoning the best of her power, standing up and charging in on Claus with repeated thrusts and slashes with both sword and dagger.
As her onslaught began Claus just began an echoing sinister laugh, her movements were now slow enough so that Claus could read them and easily defend himself.
He let her strike his armour several times, every time the blades making a deep score, but with each strike they became weaker and weaker.
At one point he headbutted the sword arm of Alice away followed with a hearty punch to the stomach. Something Alice barely could handle and stumbled a few steps backwards holding her wounded stomach with her left arm.
It was here Claus changed grip once more, took a step forth and made a massively telegraphed upwards strike. However Alice was too weak to even notice.
The strike hit her right armpit, with seemingly no effort the dragon-sword lopped off her arm cleanly at the shoulder, as she noticed her arm was hit she looked at it, and felt the kick on her chest which sent her flying to the ground.
She saw Claus stepping over her and with a massive two handed thrust he roared as he struck down with the blade vertically.

The friend.
Earlier, as Claus entered the arena doors, he and his entourage was shown the directions where to go by some servants, he was however approached by someone in far nicer clothes whose thin frame and young appearance stood out.
-"Mr Rotstein, if you may? I want to speak with you."
-"I'm busy." Claus responded without stopping.
-"I am Alex of Nyhem, advisor of law, please listen." The young man informed, which had Claus stop for a second.
-"What? Am i breaking the law or something?" He ended with a smirk.
-"No, but please, listen, you are fighting Alice, i heard it was to the death. Is that so?" Alex was worried and genuine, Claus just responded in his serious tone.
-"Yes, she wanted it this way, so she'll get it. Now i have a fight to win, anything else? Or move out of the way."
-"Mr Rotstein, you must listen, i... i, want to ask a favor of you." Upon this Claus moved up to Alex and led him off a few steps.
-"I am listening." His face in that most sinister look.
-"You see, Alice is my friend, i don't want to loose her... but i can do nothing except... well... talk to you. Since i fear things will go bad for her, and i don't think the whole ordeal will be honest, I'm not thinking you will do anything.... but someone... so please... spare her." Alex spoke with true words, Claus had seldom heard more genuine words.
Claus pondered shortly before answering.
-"We shall see, i'm really tempted to kill her you see. But if i spare her... you owe me." At the end Claus pointed at Alex for a while. Then he left, leaving Alex as worried as before.

The crowd cheered and booed like madmen as they realized the blade had missed her head, it was embedded a good half metre or so into the arena floor. Claus bent down and took her dagger held it up high and walked towards the nearest spectators as he boomed out.
-"I have, DISARMED her! So now i spare her life!" He then tossed her dagger up to the spectators so that they could take it. A small fight broke out up there to take it.
With this the marshall signaled the duel was over, there was a clear winner, a clear loser and a massively entertaining fight.
He realized that the words of Alex held some weight to them. She was good, he had been weary and hadn't got time to recover after the war. She was completely fresh and seeing how she moved, she should have won...
But something was amiss. He didn't care though, now he had taught her a lesson and he had earned a favor from that kid back there.

As medical staff hurriedly took Alice off the field and began to treat Claus cheek and ear, the king stood up once more and motioned for a fanfare to prelude his words.
-"Thus, we have a winner. Congratulations Claus Rotstein, such a performance. Let us now celebrate!" The crowd was cheering, the mood was unexpectadly good.

The corpsmen of the steel fist now entered the arena and they ran up to Claus who had gotten a chair to sit on and was brought his sword.
They gawked at his wounds, messed with each other and Katrina was worried, back to normal so to speak.
Back to normal Claus thought with a smile on his face.

Back to normal.
The following day, Claus thought it was time, he gathered the steel fist at a certain town square, and stood upon a certain speakers podium.
-"Gentlemen of the Steel fist! My friends! We have persevered through a harsh conflict and are now here to claim our prize. I can contain you no longer!
You deserve this time to feast, for you drink not only for yourself, but also for the fallen. So i implore you....
STEEL FIST! It seems we failed last time, DRINK THIS TOWN DRY!!!!" A mad cheer erupted as hats, boots and hollers were tossed to the sky as the steel fist began another victory celebration.
A few of those present managed an 'Oh no' before corpsmen began to take over all the local pubs.
Roogel went up to Claus and asked.
-"Was that a wise move? With the riot and all? Not to mention last time..."
-"You know i am right, i cannot contain them anymore. They were getting skittish, they've earned this. And it would never be long enough time after the riot." Claus stated, Roogel simply nodded and turned to Claus.
-"True true you little idiot. Now, are we gonna show our troops how it's done?" Roogel laughed with a massive grin.
-"You know it's time, i know just the right place as well!" Claus smiled as he got this mischievous look on his face.
Later Claus, Roogel, Katrina and several from the vanguard entered a fancy restaurant which clearly remembered them from last time.
This time they had even less chance to stop them since Claus brought about fifty from the vanguard this time and made sure to buy three bards to have one hell of a party.
The butler from last time just left, he perhaps even quit his job right there, or perhaps not, certainly no one from the steel fist Cared.

Once more the steel fist was let loose upon Nyhem.

[Randyfourballs]

Arrival

It was a long time coming but William finally tasted the salt filled air of Akki once again. His voyage had been long but his traveling had only just started. His ship rocked steadily towards a silent rock filled cove, with a small slot canyon at it's heart. This was smugglers cove, a place that had taken the life of many a vessel but William and his crew knew it like the back of there hand. Navigating the rocks and struts of debree with such grace and eligance this was what made him such a skilled merchant, his knowledge of the places that few care to look.

The ship started to slow and William quickly snapped out of his distraction for just a moment. From outside his cabbin a crew mate shouted "Sir we've landed and the cove and will start loading right away" with a disinterested grunt he acknowledged there arrival.

But for William his notes and scribblings are what he took solace in, not the cool breeze of his home, after all the plan was too moor for less than a day and make haste to the capital from there. Finally he stood from his chair, swung open his cabbin door.

"Right men we have till day break to get this ship loaded and to take inventory I don't need to remind any of you what's at risk if you're late" with that he got his parchment, ink and quill. "Let's get to work".

Taking inventory

The walls of the smugglers cove glistened like diamonds with the residue of condenced ocean water. A sight nowhere near as valuable as the content of the cave. William walked past rustic shelves stacked high with bottles and creates that's content have been long forgotten to all except William. He liked it that way all ways putting interesting trinkets away for what he called a "rainy day" but that day had never come and he always hoped it never would.

Finally he made it, to where his most important stash layed. 3 cases of Akki Saphire, a drink crystal blue in colour brewed by nomadic farmers deep in the heart of akki, merchants told stories about how the water passed through Saphire geodes to get it's luxurious blue color however that's just a fools story it's value comes from it's alcohol potency and the fact very few bottles a brewed every year. Alongside this 3 musty books sat atop a shelf nearby. Books imported form the lands of the elves, the things they trade for a sack of potatoes. Probably some pointless magical nonsense, William didn't care he just knew they'd sell for a fine price to the right person. A few barrels of imported elven vodka, a strong and flavoursome brevrage infused with the beautiful flavor of truffles, a drink perfectly suited for people of Noble tastes. 2 sets of silk robes created for the thread of a gold orb spider. Not Williams taste, but should fetch a good price to a pompous fool with more coin than sense. And the pride of Williams personal collection, a one of a kind set of China crockery beautifully engraved in with shingseng artwork. He'd saved these items from years of traveling and trading preparing for his trip to the capital.

William took solace in the knowledge that the items he'd held onto for so long would finally serve the purpose of introducing the nobility of the land of his amazing ability as an importer. Time had flown over as William sat in his fantasies of wealth and grandeur staring at the goods before him, mouth watering and partchment shaking. Then suddenly noise blocked out the relaxing lap of waves, he heard the shouts, the drawing of swords. "Sir come quickly we've found a thief washed up on the beach"

William taken aback by this revelation and fearful of his prized goods. "load up the valuables immediately and let me deal with the thief personally"

[Sundered Echo]

A Horrifying Display

Nyhem City, Overlooking the Arena

Lanaya was perched haughtily on one of the chairs in the box reserved for the King's Council, simultaneously appearing both aggressively bored and sulky. She did not technically have to be here to watch Claus getting rid of Alice for the King, but it would be considered very rude of her not to attend a duel between former and future Council members. And so here she was, with the others of the Council and a few very well off nobles influential enough to get a box seat, forced to watch a couple of Mundanes beat each other to death with metal sticks.

It was dreadful.

Worse, she mused as she pretended to pay attention to the events below, she knew who would win already. There wouldn’t even be any surprise shift of politics. The King wanted Alice gone, and so that is what would happen. Lanaya didn’t know with certainty how the King would throw the fight, but she knew it would happen. She couldn’t see any illusions being used to distract Alice, so her money (if she had been a betting woman) would’ve been on poison. Though she wasn’t well versed enough in combat to be able to pick out the signs of debilitating poisons. Or even really tell who was winning. Or what was going in the fight all.

The only thing that had piqued her interest at all this morning, was seeing Claus walk into the arena with a very exotic sword. She’d seen a weapon similar to it before, though it had been a dagger, not a greatsword. The thought of the dagger, and the fact it’d gone missing when Lord Dominus Thale had died, sent a brief flutter of apprehension through her heart. What Eli would think when he learned it had seemingly been stolen? She quickly suppressed that line of thought. The matter at hand was far more important: how had Claus managed to acquire a sword made of Dragon’s claws and scales? She would definitely be asking Eli about this in the future, for if he was favored by the Blackwells, it would change many things.

This one interesting piece of trivia did not serve to distract her from the tedium and vulgarity of the whole affair though. The idea that someone could influence such a thing as membership of the High Kings Council with a glorified brawl was preposterous... and yet, it was law.

Unfortunately, such close proximity to her fellow nobles had forced her to buy and wear an up to date dress - and the recent fashion seemed to have no consideration for comfort at all. This had not helped her mood at all. Worse still, she might be stuck with it all day if she didn’t disappear fast enough. There was a high chance that one of the insufferable Nobles would ambush her with polite invitations to tea, to discuss some insignificant local affair that they believed to be of world ending importance. That was one the things she disliked about her ascent to power. Being on the King’s Council gave the nobles the impression that she would bring their plights to his Majesty even when they were completely unrelated to her official field of expertise. She was beginning to understand why Aurelia had spent so much time in her tower.

Lana turned her attention properly back to the fight just in time to see a particularly gruesome sight. She gasped in shock and went pale as Alice’s arm was severed clean off in a fountain of blood. She looked away quickly, only to glance back as an analytical part of her mind assessed the wound based on her theoretical knowledge of restoration magic. It was ugly, and she suspected Alice would be lucky to survive at all. Yet Claus refused to finish his foe off, a fact for which the squeamish part of her was very thankful.

She was jolted out of her shock only by the nagging voice of a Noble, first asking her if she wanted to visit his estate, then if she was alright. That gave her the excuse she needed to get away from him. She quickly responded that she was feeling faint at the sight of such carnage (which was true - something of a rarity for her excuses) and dismissed herself, making her way quickly to the carriage that would deliver her home.

The Burdens of Leadership

She quickly arrived back at what was once Thale Manor - the grand, three story building she had lived in since her arrival in Nyhem several years ago. She paused outside to look up at it, murmuring to herself “Not Thale anymore. Dionisa. Mine.”

She was still getting used to the idea that the grand old building was hers now. Her coat of arms flew above it, and between this building and the lands that came with it, she was a genuine power among the local nobility. Entering, she found the interior in a state of controlled chaos. Since Lord Dominus Thale’s death, she had decided to redecorate and hire additional staff. It wasn’t that it hadn’t been a pleasant place before, it certainly had. But the way it was before was known by all the houses guests as Lord Thale’s preference. She wanted to make it clear to the City nobility that she was not some favored mistress inheriting wealth - she was a power in her own right.

She stepped around burly men moving furniture and nodded approval to young women hanging new tapestries on her way to the stairs, only for the captain of her house guard - Reginald Moros - to catch up to her. “Ma’am.” He said to get her attention. “Captain. What’ve you found?” She replied. She had him scouring the City for young or vulnerable mages at all times, but had also tasked him to investigate the events surrounding Lord Thale’s death during the recent riots. “I’ve not found any since the riot. I’m worried some youngster mages might’ve been killed that night.” He sighed, clearly dejected, but quickly moved on. “I haven’t found anything about Lord Dominus’ death either, but there is… No. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Lanaya stopped and turned to him then, looking up at the weary, well worn face of the man. He was no mage or even learned man, but she had observed a keen intuition in him over the years, and found it frustrating that like many servants, he often suppressed it rather than ‘trouble his superiors’ with insight. “What is it Reginald?” She asked. “In my experience, things are rarely coincidental in this city.”

To his credit, he did not show any emotion at the subtle rebuke, instead answering efficiently. “Quite so Ma’am. I have found that the morale and acceptance of the transfer among the guard and the militia in the outlying areas has been extremely high, despite recent anti-mage sentiment in the city.” Lana looked puzzled at that, and responded “That’s good isn’t it?” The captain’s expression became troubled then. “That’s just it Ma’am. The reception is unusually positive. Almost as if the ones who would issue with the transfer of power have already disappeared. Yet the rosters don't show any such disappearance.” Lana nodded. Put like that it did seem odd. “You are right, that does seem unusual. Keep an eye on things would you? I want to know if my Guard needs re-arranging.” With that, she dismissed the man and continued upwards.

Only to be ambushed by her seneschal, with yet more news. “My Lady. We must discuss the logistics of your promise to the King.” He said rather insistently. She kept walking, but nodded. The struggles of nobility never ended did they? “I trust we will be able to meet the demand?” She said expectantly. “M’lady, I’m afraid things have begun to fall behind schedule. Raising the output from the ex-Thale fields while also rebuilding Dionisa orchards and wineries is demanding more labor than we can pay for.” Lana’s face was once more twisted by a scowl. “Mr. Elan, we cannot renege on this promise. House Dionisa must make its presence known, and I will not have that achieved with an embarrassment.” The seneschal, doing his best to remain composed while keeping up with Lana’s purposeful stride, began to reply “My lady, there is simply not enough-” She cut him off. “Has Thanatos’ inheritance been claimed yet?” She snapped. “No, but he still has-” Once again he was cut off. “Then reclaim it, and spend it on restoring the orchards. The ungrateful little brat doesn’t deserve it.” The disgust in her tone was plain to hear. “But M’lady, he still has eleven months to claim it.” Lana finally stopped and turned to face her beleaguered Seneschal. She didn’t raise her voice, but her impatience was written all over her face. “Make it happen Victor. I know you can.” With that, she turned on her heel and left him to figure it out on his own.

A Run Through The Woods

Soon, she arrived on the top floor, in her combined study, library and quarters. Safe at last from the tedium of managing a house or the intrigue of advising the King. She sighed, casting a glance at the books of magical lore still open where she had last left them on her desk. She felt like she had studied more in the past few months than the several years since she left the Circle. No. As interesting as it was to sift through Aurelia’s notes, or tap some of the more obscure knowledge she had recently acquired, she was just in far too foul a mood for it. She needed a diversion… Something fun to take her mind off the intrigue and horrific sights of battle from the morning duel.

She knew just how to distract herself. She began to untie the various laces holding her in her uncomfortable dress as she was contemplating which secluded grove to head to, and which farmers sons to torment. By the time she had finished unlacing her dress, Lana had a mischievous smile on her face. Slipping out of the restrictive garments, she stretched and admired her body in front of the full height mirror mounted in one corner of the room. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in all of Formaroth… Yet her well formed, well cared for body and flowing auburn hair had caught the eye of many young men even before she layered on the illusion.

With a flick of a finger, she could summon all manner of illusion about herself. And for the sake of practice, she did just that - recreating dresses, jewelry, even crowns, all just as stunning as the real thing, and without spending a single coin. Then came more outlandish illusions. Wings, scales, barkskin, even a fish tail from the waist down - all were within her power to create and maintain. The last one had brought about the rumour of the ‘Mermaids of Nyhem’ that was now quite well entrenched in the local docks and beyond.

Common folk only needed to see something fantastical and alluring once or twice before they started seeing it when it wasn’t even there. She found that quirk of the human mind rather amusing. Today she would reinforce the growing myth of Dryads in the forests near the Raldan border. She turned and prowled towards the door to her third floor balcony, beginning to chant a shape shifting spell as she did so. Caring not at all for her state of undress, she flicked the door open and stepped out. If anyone had been in a position to see, and been looking at the time, they would be treated to a rare sight. But a momentary one, for no sooner had she stepped outside than her shape began to alter in a burst of magelight. A few seconds later, a magnificent eagle with a red band about its neck was perched on the balcony.

With a sweep of her wings, Lana took to the air.

For a time she simply circled, gaining altitude on the thermals above Nyhem. She admired the sails of the ships at port, picking out the flags of traders from all over the continent with her enhanced eyesight. There was even a Summer Isles Catamaran pulling into port. Something to investigate upon her return. Once she was high enough up, she set out on a lazy, gliding flight path towards the forest she had in mind. Far below, the city and its outskirts quickly gave way to the neat fields and muddy roads of the farmers that kept the great city fed. Some of them belonged to her, but she hardly cared to inspect them. This wasn’t a business trip. After a time, the fields became less ordered, and eventually stopped entirely, transitioning into ever more thickly wooded countryside.

Spying the movement of a rabbit in a clearing below, she screeched and dove from on high, purely for the thrill of it. She had no intent of catching the small creature, despite the distant animalistic urges that wearing this shape invoked…. Yet it was at times like this, plummeting through the air towards a singular target, that she almost understood why Drevala preferred this life to that of a human. There was a primal thrill that was hard to replicate in her real body. At the last moment she veered off, instead spreading her wings again and gliding to a soft landing. A moment later she had retaken her normal form.

She took only a moment to weave an illusion about herself, taking on the appearance of a beautiful forest spirit with an elegant twirl. There was a village nearby, and with a light step she set off towards it. She quickly spied some prey on the outskirts - a young, ruggedly handsome man chopping wood outside a small cottage. With a flick of her fingers, a wisp of light appeared on the end of the axe. The man soon noticed, and began to peer at it with a very confused look on his face. Lana giggled at the sight, and by the time the sound reached the man, it was distorted and otherworldly, yet not in a terrifying manner.

He looked towards the treeline immediately, searching for the source of the sound. For a moment his look of confusion deepened, then his eyes found hers as she leaned out from behind a tree. She froze, giving her best ‘deer in the torchlights’ look as the man's eyes traveled down. Slowly, she raised an arm, and with one finger beckoned to him once. The moment he stepped towards her, she turned and ran into the forest.

The chase was on.

He gained on her quickly, his long legs used to work easily outpacing her, but before he could get close she leapt over a protruding root and slipped behind a tree. He tripped, and in that moment she concealed herself, laughing gleefully, but bending the sound to come at him from another direction. As he pulled himself up from the ground, the man looked around for her. He still had an eager look on his face as he turned towards the sound. But just as he looked set to stride off in pursuit, she conjured a faerie light in a different direction. He turned towards it and followed, and she, in turn, followed him.

After a time following the wisp, he seemed to be becoming frustrated. It was then that she extinguished it, laughing as she did so. He turned towards the sound, and she let him see her again, this time with none of her body concealed behind a tree. Just like that, the chase was back on, with all the vigor of before.

She repeated this routine several times, though with different details each time. Sometimes he would be slowed by branches hidden only from him. Other times, lights would always appear on the edge of his sight, leading him back and forth at her whims. Other times, laughter would come from all directions, making it seem as though there were many Dryads around him, haunting these woods. After forty minutes of this, physical weariness was beginning to overtake Lana’s sadistic glee and she decided to end the charade. That, and the man was looking quite frustrated and downtrodden.

He had been good sport though, so she wouldn’t just abandon him without any payoff. Drawing him towards her once again, she waited until he was about to pass by the tree she was behind, then stepped out suddenly. Leaning up on the tips of her toes, she planted a kiss on his lips, relishing the look of surprise and joy on his face.

But that was all she would give him.

As she withdrew, she channeled electricity into her hand, shocking him just enough to temporarily stun him, but not enough to injure. As he fell to the ground, she flitted away between the trees once more. Within minutes, she had take on a bird shape again and left the poor man to find his own way back to his village. She was sure he’d find his way back. At least, mostly sure. Not that it mattered.

When she was younger, these diversions had often led to her laying with the frustrated men. But now, she had Eli, and the idea of laying with a random mundane peasant for fun was not appealing at all. How could they satisfy her as he did? A quick dip in a clear running river on the way back served to wash her feet clean of the mud and leaves, then she continued homeward by wing. She would arrive home in much better spirits. A run through the wild always served to clear her mind of all the less pleasant aspects of court life, and this had been a very enjoyable run through the woods indeed...

[JaisonJ97]

The Thief: Arrival

Lost at sea
The muffled sound of a splash underwater; the light of a raging fire and the inaudible screams of dying men above water. He was knocked unconscious straight away. The force of the explosion had knocked him clean of his feet, right into the water several metres away. The shock of the cold freezing water knocked him back into consciousness, but he was falling deep into the vast depths of the ocean. He couldn’t register what was happening straight away; he couldn’t comprehend anything.

Bodies surround him, as dark unconsciousness creeps in from the edges of his vision. He was drowning; he must reach the surface. Numb. His right arm isn’t working. His legs ache. Black…

Face to face
“Hello there, old friend”. A familiar voice. His own voice, but more menacing and sonorous. “Long time brother. I was wondering when you’d pay a visit.” Jain looked up, his face tensed as he recognised who is talking. Himself, specifically his other self, sitting shackled to the floor behind his cage. A menacing smirk spread across his ‘brother’s’ face; his red eyes glowing in the blackness of his subconsciousness. “Hello, Marid.” Replied Jain, “I think we’re dying.” Marid’s smirk widened at this remark. Giggling he replied, “I think not brother. You think I’d let that happen so easily? After all we’ve been through together? I think not.” The shackles that bound Marid’s hands fell off him. The cage opened. “I shall save us.”

The land of lost dreams
“We’re safe now Jain, brother.” said Marid with an unexpected, sad smile. “But I fear it may have cost you. you have some shrapnel in your head.” Jain looked at Marid and asked, “What was the cosss…” He trailed off and fell. “You see. You spent too much time in the water, Jain.” Marid replied. “I’ll keep them safe for you”. “Keep what?” whispered Jain. “Your memories.” Replied Marid. “I’ll see you again, Jain.”

Jain once again fell into blackness. This time further into unconsciousness. To a land where dreams and memories merge and form. He’d been here before. This was where he first met his darker persona, Marid. But something was different. He was in his hometown burning after a major battle took place here before his adoption into the Ifreet family. This is where his mind broke into two. And now, he’s right back. The scene shifts. Now he’s floating underwater again. This time the bodies are of his loved ones. The faces all turned featureless like that of mannequins one by one. He was losing his memories of his loved ones. Total blackness again.

A thief washes ashore
Jain woke up sputtering and coughing up the salty sea water from his lungs. He had washed up on a beach. Two men had spotted him on him on their patrol of the beach. One of them told the other to do something and he ran away shouting for someone else. He couldn’t understand their foreign language. The first man approached Jain and spotted his sword strapped on his back. In response he draw his own sword as he approached. He shouted a question at him. Jain tries to get up, but he falls onto his back instead winding himself.

A few minutes later a bunch of other men joins the first man, all with their swords drawn and shouting at him in their foreign language. Questions perhaps? Intimidation? He has no idea. Jain didn’t show any trace of being scared as he tried to gesture that he doesn’t understand, which probably pissed them off even more. Jain got up onto his knees and saw a tall large built man with pale skin, jet black hair, a dark hay-coloured beard, and a scar wrapping around his left eye, briskly walking down the beach towards him. As he reached Jain he also drew his sword as the men parted to let him through. Presumably their boss. One of the men said something to him and as he quickly shushed him. His grey eyes pierced into Jain as he, like the others, asked him something. Jain then gestured to him that he doesn’t understand. The man’s eyes seemed to soften somewhat. Perhaps he thought Jain was no threat? No. His eyes were very deceptive as he gestured to a man behind Jain and suddenly he was knocked out cold. Just before his mind faded back into the black, he thought “Oh, not this again”.

Beautiful Friendship: Conscription

The Dark Corner
The small dimly lit section of the cave was rarely visited by William or his crew as it was saved for special occasions when they found thieves loitering in there territory. But that rarely happened; the few who found the cove were unable to talk about the bounty of treasures they discovered. Some lost their tongues to the blade, the literate ones left missing there fingers also. And repeat offenders left as the tide washed there bodies further down the coast. It wasn't pleasant but it was safe.

As William entered the makeshift cell he saw a sight that took him back a bit. Not a thief terrified and panicked like a rabbit caught in a trap but a level of pride and confidence which William rarely experience when dealing with a thief. No, definitely not a thief. William could tell the man's atmosphere alone could chill a room to it's core, or make it roar with laughter.
And that was a concern.

"So tell me" shouted William, overcompensating upon realising this man was no common Akki thief, "who are you and most importantly who sent you". The man looked up between long knotted strands of sweat drenched hair and glared. "Oh so you’re not a talker, that's completely fine, you won't be speaking much after this little interview but I'd really appreciate it if you told me who hired you". The question a perfect balance between anger and charm. "Please, I don't like asking nicely but I'm making an exception".

He looked up again, Croaking through his dehydrated lips "Jain Surya". Jain knew what the man was asking but could not reply in their language. It was as if he knew the language but some part of his mind has forgotten how to speak it. He had forgotten how to speak it. Along with almost everything else.

"They didn't give you a drink, here take this", William handed a small flask full of a questionable fluid to Jain. With in a few seconds of gagging Jain had drank it all.
"So where you from and what can I do for you" Williams tone had greatly improved as he struggle to hold in a smile. Jain understood the question. How was he meant to answer them when he can’t speak. Will they understand? He replied in the language he knew how to speak, “ Thanks for the drink. I’ll tell you again, I absolutely have no idea who I am or how I ended up here.”

William flinched at those words. He understood some very basics of the Seikatsu language Jain was speaking, enough to understand the gist of what his guest was saying to him. "I'm William Flin, Merchant Lord, master trader, the man who is really trying to stay calm, so don't say that again". William was quick to understand that the guest understood what he was being asked but for some reason he couldn’t reply in the same language. How very curious.

Puzzled at his predicament, Jain peered through his hair again, "I meant no offense sir". William smiled at the politeness, "I just simply cannot remember anything except washing up here, and..." he paused patted his rags and suddenly his tone changed to almost a sinister growl, "Give it to me, the medallion I need it". His eyes shimmered in the light of the cave as green as the most pure emerald. William left his chair opposite Jain and turned his back. "Where is it?" Jain repeated, before he snapped out of his anger, "What are you going to do to me? I swear nobody sent me. You won't believe me I'm sure".

Suddenly, William returned with a familiar short blade about 30 inches long. Jain hung his head in anticipation of his inevitable end. With on quick swing it was over, Jain's bonds where cut and he was free. William handed Jain his medallion and said "This is yours as well" handing the sword to a surprised Jain. "But you thought I was a spy or a thief why would you free me instead of killing me." Jain questioned.

William began to laugh and so too did the crew watching Jain through a grid it the top of the cellar. Jain visibly flinched. "Well common thief's don't have glowing eyes, you're a mage, and a fairly potent one at that, I can tell. And trust me nobody would hire a spy so underprepared that they suffer dehydration and drink the latrine water so readily". Upon hearing this the crowds laughter increased further. "Welcome to the crew lad, I need a new first mate as the last one jumped overboard after 3 days" as the sniggers continued the crew, William and Jain made there way to the ship. In reality Jain had no idea what the hell just happened, but he liked it that, in a weird unexplainable way…

Travel: To the Capital

The Forgotten Soul
The sight of the monstrously huge carrack took away Jain’s breath. He’d never seen a ship so huge before, and it's design had a unique charm which was impressive to say the least. He knew he’s seen large ships before in the ports of his home country (not that he remembers any of them) but they were nothing compared to this huge beast. William was pleased at his new first mate’s reaction upon seeing his pride and joy, “This lad, is my pride and joy. The Forgotten Soul. Complete with a captain's cabin, crew quarters, crows nest and a lovely balcony on the back of the captains cabin where I can go drink with other people.” William was beaming with pride as he explained this to him. Once boarded William continued, “She’s the flagship of my fleet. 8 ships including my own, all travelling and trading around the world, independently buying and selling goods all...”

William’s explanation was suddenly cut off to his annoyance and much to the amusement of the crew by Jain’s stomach growling. “Of course you’re hungry. Let’s get you some food as soon as we set sail lad. We’ll go eat by the balcony I told you about.”

Jain was feeling faint, weak and hungry from his ordeals. He doesn’t even remember when he had last ate. At least he’s safe for now. As far he can tell. And what did William mean that he’s his first mate? He wanted to laugh but he was too weak from hunger to do so.

Lunch with the boss
The view over the balcony was amazingly beautiful. The whole ocean laying before him. It filled jain with a sense of wonder and adventure, and for some reason, a sense of dread. Jain knew to trust his instincts. Something major was about to happen when he reached the end of this journey. As much as he felt this dread, Jain couldn’t care less about what the future held. Only what laid before him now. Food. Good, warm food.

William watched with curious fascination at the man before him. “So Jain, You can understand what I’m saying but you don’t speak Formarothian. Why is that?” Jain stopped eating to consider his question. Truth be told he wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe he should try learning it while he was here on the ship. “I don’t know”, Replied replied Jain in his foreign language. “I feel like I used to be able to speak this language of yours, but I can’t seem to remember how to speak it. I don’t even remember much about myself.” William looked at him considering his reply. He didn’t know what to make of it. “You said I was a mage, Sir William.” continued Jain, “Truth is I don’t even remember how to cast spells.”

Suddenly Jain’s eyes rolled up and he fell to the floor, convulsing and bloor pouring out of his nose. William just sat there shocked at the sight before him. “What in all of Formaroth is going on here?” He jumped beside Jain and realised what was happening. Laying beside him was an open tin box that must have fallen out from Jain’s coat. Inside was the a familiar green/blueish herb that’s a common sight in the ports of Seikatsu. Blood Grass. His blood was tainted. Instead of the usual red of blood, he was seeing a slight dark green/blue tinge mixed in with it. Classic sign of addiction to blood grass. “Get the surgeon in here now!” William shouted.

As surprised as he was at what transpired before him, Willam was all smiles. He was wondering how he could use a man like Jain. How to control a man like Jain. William also now had an idea as to why he didn’t remember anything. He probably lost his memories because he washed up on our beach, probably shipwrecked. Add in the fact that he’s dependant on this drug, it probably messed with his head quite a bit, the reality was William probably knew the supplier. William also now had an idea as to who Jain might be, probably a battle mage from Seikatsu. Only them and alchemists knew how to make use of blood grass. And considering Jain’s outfit, probably the first. Blood grass is rumoured to be used to enhance their performance in battle. He must be taking quite a bit to turn his blood that colour.

William had an idea as to how to control Jain now. Simply save his life and he’ll be indebted William. Then gain his trust by ‘helping’ him get his memories back. And once he woke up from his poisoned sleep get his magic back. He’ll be honour bound to serve William. William smiled at his clever plans unfold before him, he knew he wasn't a bad man, but he couldn't pass up this business opportunity. This should be very interesting.

Poisoned Sleep
A profound sense of terror. Pain racking his body and mind. Thick Black darkness around him. “You’re safe. Do you hear me Jain?”, Marid asked. “Clam down. It’s just the poison leaving your body.” Jain calmed down upon hearing Marid’s voice. The pain was unbearable but he managed to stay still. “Marid? What’s happening?” No reply.

Thunder. The deep growls of thunder from afar. Jain was now suddenly standing on the deck of a familiar boat. Not the carrack he was on before the pain and blackness. The ship he was on now was the one he got shipwrecked from. Looking down he could see his medallion, the only thing that told him who he is. He remembered now. He remembered the oncoming storm. The clam breeze as the sky darkened around him before the waves turned turbulent and the gales rocked the ship violently. Thunder. Closer now and louder. Rain. Suddenly, an explosion, throwing him into the water. Falling deeper into the water. Awake.

Jain awoke a week later from his drug addled sleep drenched in sweat, below decks in a hammock. He knew what happened to him now. More questions. Questions upon questions. How did it happen? Why was he on that ship? “Who was he?.

“Well, look who's awake, you don't look half as bad as I expected” William announced happily looking in from a chair in a dim lit corner of the room. “Time to stop fever dreaming, we've got money to make, we'll be arriving in a few hours. Make yourself look a little better we've got a big day ahead”. Jain saw straight through William's over enthusiastic smile. He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about this.

By
@JaisonJ97 @Randyfourballs

[TheDuncanMorgan]

Siblings Reunited

A month had passed since Alasdair had announced the celebration and in that time the Miserth gardens had transformed; the once colourful and vibrant garden was now a orange hue. The trees were just about to shed the lasts of their leaves and the ground was a sea of brown and orange. The garden were filled with servants, musicians and entertainers. Among them was Cinereo Lupus, the famed illusionist, who was currently practising his magic that he would soon perform for the guests. Rows of long tables filled with food and drink were scattered around the garden with half a dozen servants at each, to wait on the numerous nobles too proper or too lazy to pour their own wine or peel their own grape. Alasdair and Isabel had arrived at the garden early to make sure that everything was ready for their guests arrival.

“How many wine casks have been brought up from the cellar, we must ensure we don’t run out before the night is done” Alasdair asked

“Around fifty” Isabel replied, she had taken it upon herself to organise the event and had made sure that every meticulous detail was perfect. Afterall if this party underwhelmed the nobility then it would reflect badly on their house.

“Perhaps we should bring up a couple more, afterall Claus will be here, and from what I gather than man can drain a tarven” Alasdair said dryly

“He’s just one man, how much can he possibly drink?!” Isabel exclaimed

“I assume we’ll find out” Alasdair replied as he looked over the immersive amount of food that had been gathered; stacked so high in some places that he couldn’t even see over it. “Did Lady Dionsia pay for all of this”?

“Indeed. I must confess she surprised me, I was almost certain that we would have to help pay. But she somehow managed to scrape together the funds, making this one of the cheapest events our family has ever had to organise” Isabel said with reluctance, she disliked having to compliment Lanaya even in private. After finishing her sentence came a voice from behind.

“That’s good to hear” Both Alasdair and Isabel turned around to see their brother Patrick walking towards them, a small smile on his face “Our vaults may be vast but their not endless”

“Brother” Alasdair called as he shook his brother’s hand before transitioning into a short semi embrace. Afterwards Patrick turned to Isabel and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek

“We were unsure if you would arrive for the celebration” Isabel said with a smile
“Indeed, the Uzgobian Population turned out to be harder to suppress than we thought, however with lord Azzam’s help we were able to root out the last of the dissidents. With Azzam acting as the warden of Uzgob, we will be able to keep the rest of the Uzgobian citizens palcated” Patrick said. Alasdair raised an eyebrow upon hearing this

“Are you sure brother? Until not long ago Nizaar Azzam was loyal to house Mandarass”

“Furthermore the man is a turncoat, how do you know if we can trust him” Isabel said

“As long as he believes that serving house De Reimer is in Uzgob’s best interest he will remain loyal. Besides he knows what I will do to him and his people should they betray us” Patrick replied, with severity in his voice “Anyway this is not the time to talk about such matters, now is the time for celebration” he continued in a slightly softer tone “we have won the war, this victory is ours. However try not to get too intoxicated, we mustn’t make a fool of ourselves in front of the other houses, particularly house Blackwell”.

“Don’t worry brother, we will control ourselves, afterall Isabel will be meeting her betrothed today, it would reflect poorly if she were in a drunken stupor upon meeting him” Alasdair said with a smug smile, to which both Isabel and threw him a look.

“While we’re on that subject” Patrick said firmly “try your best to be hospitable to him, as hard as it may be for you”.

“I intend to” Isabel said firmly “If this man is to take the De Reimer name then I wish for him to embrace it, not to resent it. Besides he should feel honoured to join the De Reimer bloodline”.

“If he meets you under your usual temperament he might disagree” Patrick said bluntly. Isabel opened her mouth to protest but Alasdair quickly intervened

“Perhaps we should head over to the king’s table, the guests will be arriving shortly” Alasdair said as he started to make his way to the far end of the garden, after a brief hesitation Isabel and Patrick followed in suit.

A party to remember

The Party had been going on for near two hours now and most of the guests had arrived. Nobles were greedly feasting on the food and drink that had been provided for them and the entertainers were performing their acts. For many of them this was the first time performing for royalty, and they were determined to make a good impression. The performer who attracted the most attention however was Cinereo who’s illusions left his audiences awe struck. His talent at illusion magic rivalled even that of Lanaya. Alasdair sat beside his Brother and sister at a table raised by a wooden stage bellow. At the table also were a number of the high council members as well as his niece Urd. Alasdair had been seated at the table since the party had begun, taking note and observing the guests who had arrived. In particular Alasdair was keeping his eyes on Eli Blackwell, he intended to speak to this man at some point today so as to get a better understanding of his rival, and potential future enemy. In front of Alasdair was a golden plated goblet filled with wine, Alasdair however refused to drink from it; lately he had been trying to cut back on his drinking habit as he was now having trouble controlling his drink. When he started he always drank more than he originally intended. As such he decided to remain sober for the event, he could not afford to make a fool of himself today nor risk dulling his wits. Instead he lifted the goblet and stood, it was time to make his announcement.

“My lords and ladies” He announced, he had to wait for a short while as the gathering hushed itself down. Unsurprisingly the last one talking was Jullon Greensworth who was so drunk that he didn’t even realise the king was trying to make an announcement. It wasn’t until he noticed his mother in law’s withering stare that he finally fell silent. “I thank all of you for being here on such a momentous occasion. Through valour and strength of arms we have vanquished the loathsome usurper Andris and his supporters” upon announcing Andris’s name many in the crowd booed “Today is for all of you, through the faithful supporters of the concord and our new founded allies” Alasdair said as he gestured towards the Blackwells “peace and prosperity has returned to Formaroth, and under our rule, it shall remain that way” Upon hearing this the crowd cheered, many of them raised their goblets waiting for Alasdair to call for a toast, however Alasdair wasn’t done “I thought I would take this time to announce something else. If this war has proven anything, it is that Formaroth is at its strongest when united. Together, under the guidance of a strong and stable leadership, we can accomplish much for the good of Formaroth” Alasdair paused for a moment as he waited for the words to sink into the half inebriated crowd “As such I, along with the other great houses of the concord have agreed to turn the Imperial concord, into the first Formarothian Empire, to provide the citizens of Formaroth with the wealth, strength and leadership they deserve” At this the crowd cheered again, though it was quieter than last time; many of them were unsure what this meant and were more interested in returning to their drinks. Though Alasdair had chosen the right time to make such a announcement, between the drink and the party atmosphere the crowd would have cheered near anything “However now is not the time to discuss such things, for now enjoy yourselves, you deserve this” At this Alasdair raised his goblet “A toast to formaroth, the concord and the empire” A finial cheer cried out as everyone drank simultaneously before returning to their focus to the party. Alasdair however set his drink down, and made his way from the table with Alenius following closely behind. It was time he got better acquainted with some of his guests.

[Fallenreaper]

~|Fond Memories and New Threats|~

Location: Nyhem
Time: During the Party
By: @Klomster & @TheDuncanMorgan & @Fallenreaper

---

Claus sat and took a hearty gulp out of his goblet as Alasdair held his speech, he applauded when he felt it was fitting and gestured for a servant to fill his cup some more.

Clearly enjoying the whole spiel, acting all high and noble for Claus had gotten a seat at the honour table as befit his status of royal advisor… or imperial advisor as it seemed after that one.

He’d even dressed up a bit and the only armour he was wearing was his black cuirass with the emblazoned white gauntleted fist of his company. A nice new black gambeson with red lining and a broad dark blue hat with red trim and silver bands with a white feather on top.

After Alasdair had finished Claus let out a voiced thought which could be heard by some of those near him.

-”Empire? That has a nice ring to it, let’s hope it works out.” He took another pair of hearty gulps of wine.

Mmmm, Orog wine he thought.

Patrick threw Claus a disapproving glare as he took yet another gulp of wine as he continued to make a fool of himself. Patrick was sat next to Claus and had watched him drink more than the rest of the high council combined, gulping wine as if it were water. Before Claus could take another swig Patrick grabbed the goblet from his hands and slammed it on the table.

“You are now a member of the high council now and you will act as such” Patrick growled under his breath “Whether you wish to drink yourself under the table during your private hours is your own concern but while you are here you will keep yourself presentable, at least in my presents, otherwise people will think me a fool for electing you to the high council”

With a shocked expression, Claus was cast from his good mood and into the angry remarks of a stern man.

He eyed Patrick for a moment before voicing his response.

-”It’s lucky you’re the kings… emperors brother, since otherwise what you just did is probably illegal somehow.” He finished off with a serious stare completely bereft of even an ounce of drunkenness straight into Patrick's eyes. Which quickly turned into a smirk.

-”But luckily I don’t care nor do I want to get on your bad sides. This is also far less than I can drink and still hold my manners about. It wouldn’t even be hard to drink all of these wimps under the table.” He finished by gesturing towards everyone present at tables.
Making another spiel of it, Claus gestured for a servant to wipe up the spilled wine from the table.

Patrick’s face remained unchanged. He was about to protest, though as he looked at the nobles that surrounded him he knew he needn’t bother; after the speech, the drinking had only intensified and a couple of nobles had already passed out, carried away by their servants under the commands of their disapproving family. Who would notice one more drunk fool? Still, the sight made Patrick angry; these were the elite of Formaroth, those who were responsible for keeping order and ruling throughout the concord. Yet they acted like drunkards and spoilt children. Until Alasdair had taken the throne many of them would have openly declared the De Reimer’s unworthy of their title and secretly many still did. At least he had earned their title and proved to be deserving of it, unlike the fools that now surrounded him, that only had their titles because of their birth. As he looked back at Claus his face, though still stern, softened.

“Very well, though I ask that you hold off on your drink until you have heard what I wish to say”

-”I am all ears when you have something to say, after all, your ideas have worked out wonderfully so far.” A massive grin was on his face while taking a sip of wine, but as a gesture, Claus put some water in his goblet as well.

“From what I gather you are still having trouble replenishing the steels fists forces and that most of the new recruits quit the moment training became challenging. I have the means to solve this problem, tell me to have you heard of Cawaport’s ‘Darktown’”?

Thinking for a moment Claus answered.
-”Not much, it’s a shithole, what of it?”

A shithole was an understatement, Darktown was not only the poorest area of Cawaport but the worst slum in all of Formaroth. Under the De Reimer’s rule, Cawaport’s wealth had increased greatly improving the lives of the cities majority. The same could not be said for Darktown. In improving the cities wealth the De Reimer’s also ended up increasing the wealth gap between the rich and the poor and both the population and squalor of Darktown had grown exponentially. Now the once poor yet safe slum was a crime infested pit of despair, segregated from the rest of the city by a stone wall to keep the rest of Cawaport safe.

“As you know, Darktown is the worst place someone could find themselves, with almost all of Cawaport’s crimes originating within it,” Patrick said “We are trying to find a way to deal with the problem and one such solution that has met with some success is conscripting these vagabonds into the military. Either they remain in the army where they are of some use or they are put to death for whatever crime they committed. If you wish I can send some of them your way, I can guarantee you no matter how hard your training the fear of what awaits for them back in Cawanor will ensure they will not quit”.

Claus answer was quick.

-”I am skeptical, the Steel Fist is built upon discipline, and many a common crook lack even the slightest sense of it. But if you want I can turn them into a decent militia force and cherry pick the ones I like.”

“Good, they will be far more useful as a militia than they will be plaguing the streets of Cawaport” Patrick said. Patrick’s attention was broken as a figure amongst the crowd caught his eye “I was unaware we had invited elves to this party” Patrick said with mild contempt.

Seeing what Patrick had spotted, Claus immediately recognized Dyril looking rather out of place at the right table.

-”That’s not just any elf, it’s a friend,” Claus said with happiness since he realized that he now had time to catch up with lost time with her.

He stood up with his goblet and boomed out with his usual disregard for proper etiquette.

-”Dyril! Still on your first cup?” He grinned and walked over and simply sat down opposite her on a stool he brought along, pushing some drunk person out of the way.

Dyril’s head turned to the sounds of Claus calling her. She shook it a little, clearly amused and unsurprised by his antics. Her eyes followed his figure lifting from his seat then plopping right across from her. Small delicate fingers twisted the goblet in place as she had been lightly sipping it. The taste wasn’t quite sweet enough for her compared to Elven wine.

“Yes, I am. Grandfather ensured I was not exposed to too much so I’m a lightweight. However, it’s nice to see things haven’t changed with you,” she said with a hint of enjoyment to it, “It’s interesting to see as someone of authority now. How did that happen?”

With one of his telltale smirks, Claus answered after a short thought.
-”Barely any idea honestly, but it has to do with that sour fella.” He motioned for Patrick with his goblet as he said it. Waving in a silly way with his fingers to the serious king.

Dyril expression had a subtle change, edging into disbelief, before evaporating altogether. Her head tilted into Patrick’s direction. Observing him for a moment, she then returned to her conversationalist, “He obviously didn't know you very well or made a hasty decision.”

A booming laugh was the answer which Claus stopped with a sip of wine.

-”Damn right you are, I have little to no idea what a military advisor does, but as the old saying goes, fake it ‘til you make it.”

-”So, what in the world are you actually doing here and not in a boring castle in Beilokias?”

“That’s complicated. I was hoping to reconnect with some family while trying to establish a trade agreement that would benefit both sides, but it appears war happened. My father never arrived leading me to believe they were no longer interested or didn’t have the time,” Dyril paused for a breath then continued, “Naturally grandfather wasn’t pleased, but several relatives were eager to get rid of their unsightly blight on the family name. So my uncle decided to allow me to take over his role within our family.”

Kiseo leaned in around Dyril, allowing Claus to catch sight of her as she removed her mistress’ partly empty goblet. She flashed the mercenary a gentle smile in a respectful manner then retracted back to dispose of the cup onto a nearby passing tray.

-”Hey there!” Claus said with a wave to Kiseo before returning to Dyril.

-”Long time since I saw a mao, nice to see one without scars as well. That was… Kisso? The men mentioned her and I know you did as well.”

Dyril fought hard not to roll her eyes at his mispronunciation of Kiseo’s name. Kiseo, on the other hand, stifled a giggle under her well-placed paw. Her eyes looked to Dyril for permission to speak before receiving a nod from the blue-skinned woman.

“Key-so,” the mao kindly corrected, careful to word her name in two easy to say words. As she let the soak into Claus’ drunken thoughts, she continued.

“Much pleasure to meet you, Claus. And yes. Very taken care of well by mistress I am. Formaroth is still getting… better?” At the last word, Kiseo looked to Dyril for guidance if she was using the correct word in its proper form.

“Yes, you’re getting better. Still needs a lot more improvement,” Dyril confirmed, “Yes, her mother served me before she did. Sadly, Shinx, her mother, was… disposed of during an errand for me.”

Both fell a bit silent at the memory.

Claus picked up on the gloomy thoughts and instinctively raised his goblet.

-”For a fine mao, a memory toast for Shinx.” He moved to let the goblets clink into Dyril's.

“And what is it that you are toasting for,” Patrick said; while Dyril and Claus had been talking Patrick had made his way from the honor table over to them. He would have remained at his seat, however, he had grown suspicious of Dyril; an elven woman making casual conversation with the new advisor of war. Perhaps she was an ambassador, hoping to gain valuable information for the Imperium.

Kiseo’s eyes lowered instinctively when Patrick arrived, glancing away from his direction. Dyril acknowledged him as frowned slightly, but said nothing.

-”We are toasting for a lost friend and a missed mother,” Claus responded to Patrick as he dragged out another stool for him to sit on.

“Yes,” Dyril said as she sized Patrick up, before she spoke, “I’ve not had the chance to meet you. I’m Híril Dyril Elian.”

“I see, I am Patrick De Reimer; ruler of Cawanor and brother to the High King” Patrick said as he slowly sat down on the stool Claus had offered, keeping his back straight so to remain taller than those who sat at the table “So Dyril, I assume your origins are from Beilokias? Tell me what business do you have here in Formaroth”?

“Yes, I was conceived, born and raised there. As I mentioned earlier to Claus, I was here originally to establish a trade with the human side of my family. Since they didn’t turn up, I assume they no longer held any interest and are no longer important,” she cleared her throat, trying to keep the distaste out of her voice, “I managed to get an audience with the High King then showed him some premade magical items. It ended up leading to a better trade negotiation.”

“Your human family?” Patrick said as he raised an eyebrow, he had heard that humans and elves were able to produce hybrids, though he imagined such pairings were rare, looking down on Dyril’s hands confirmed her claim. Patrick was always perturbed by the three claw-like fingers that most elves had, Dyril’s hands, however, were far more human-like “Who was your human family, do they share a name I may have heard of”? Patrick continued as he looked back at Dyril

“I only know a name, but it’s not important. Personally, they are no better than the family that raised me now,” Dyril stated bluntly, her words held a slight ice to it when thinking of her Elven side, “Hybrids aren’t… viewed fondly on. I was considered the very shame of my family that needed to often be reminded of her place. I prefer not to be reminded of it.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Patrick said bluntly, he did not like people avoiding his questions “What was their name”?

-”Now, let’s not dwell on unimportant things. Why not instead ask what kind of interesting things Alasdair is buying from her?” Claus interjected not wanting the mood to be ruined.

Patrick remained silent for a short while as he considered whether to pursue his question. Eventually, he decided against it, if he continued asking Dyril about her family he would be viewed as overly forward at best and desperate at worst. “Very well, what items have taken my brother’s interest”?

“Mandrakes and their unique ability to lengthen a natural lifespan,” Dyril said calmly, relieved he was dropping the subject.

Patrick’s interest peaked upon hearing this “Now that does sound interesting” he said as his stern expression softened slightly “Do say more, how long can these mandrakes increase one’s lifespan”?

“Without magical assistance, at the most tests have shown it to be one or two years at least,” Dyril truthfully repeated the same information as she did the High King, seeing the same strange interest.

“Interesting” Patrick said as he remained silent for a short while, contemplating what he had just been told, “You say without magical assistance if a magic specialist were to work alongside you, along with sufficient funding, would it make a difference”?

“It would. The increase would be about five at least, through additional research could improve it. However, I need to make arrangements to locate a suitable place to grow them and harvest a crop.”

Dyril thought a moment then continued, “It is difficult to tell without attempting it first. I do recall reading up on the theory, but for most Elves, that’s just a drop in the bucket for a natural lifespan.”

“I see,” Patrick said as he stood up from the table “This has been most...informative, I shall certainly remember to keep an eye on your work. For now, I must return to the honour table, gooday” Patrick said as he walked away, he had ascertained that Dyril was not working for the Imperium and any information that Claus may drunkenly share would not be reported back to them (though Patrick doubted he had anything of significant importance). But more importantly, it appeared this ‘half-blood’ may have the potential to increase one’s lifespan. It was certainly something he planned to inform Alice about.

As Patrick moved off, Claus leaned in towards Dyril and whispered in brutally broken elvish.
-”He has such a stick up his arse, just watch him waddle off.” To which he took a hearty gulp of wine.

Dyril fought not to snicker as she raised her hand to her face, her lips curled briefly into an amused smile at Claus’ comment. Her fixed expression softened slightly. She gently placed her hand back underneath the table while she replied in fluent Elven.

“He seems to wear that stick proudly. Are all De Reimer like that?” Her eyes spied his path heading back to the table, relieved there would be no more poking for her lineage.

Keeping in elven and now grinning like a fool.

-”Nah, Alasdair and the others aren’t as fat as him.” To which he snickered and drank some wine. He then stopped and returned to Formarothian.

-”It’s good to have a nice chat without your nasty relatives and old Doroka looming over, much more relaxed don’t ya think?”

Dyril paused for a moment, considering what Claus pointed out.

“It’s freeing almost, but I’m still waiting for Grandfather or one of my Aunts to suddenly appear. Then just sweep me away under the rug,” Dyril said with worry in her tone, remains of her less than ideal home life.

“Now, I’m just worried about things crumbling here and I being forced to return. Also, you do realize… I know you have better language skills than that, right?” She said with her head tilted in his direction, noting how he rarely changed since her childhood. Then again she didn’t expect him to because a few years were like days in an Elf’s lifetime.

Looking suspiciously guilty, Claus smiled and responded in fluent elven.

-”I know.” Followed with a wink, Claus had learned two phrases fluently in elve, one was that and the other was ‘i’d like some wine.’

He kept on in Formarothian.

-”You know I’m always ready to punch that old geezer if you want to. Never liked the old guy anyway.” Just realizing, Claus waved to a servant to come over before turning back to Dyril.

Her hand twirled with the fresh goblet, now replaced with water, on the table. Kiseo had left briefly to retrieve it since Dyril doubted any of the servants would actually offer anything other than wine, ale or other exquisite drinks.

“Punching him wouldn’t do anything. We both know that. In his eyes, I should’ve never been born. In my mother’s, I was merely a tool for manipulation and gaining some human connections to make our family’s life easier,” Dyril said with distaste while she sipped the better tasting water. She noted him getting more wine causing her to ask, “How can you stand that… bitter stuff? Especially after having the better quality drink at Beikolas?”

Her nose scrunched up in distaste at the rate he was consuming it.

With a wondering expression, bordering on poetic, he gazed into the bottom of his cup and thought of this deep question.

-”Good question, I guess it’s an acquired taste. Like that Keller root wine from the province south of where you grew up. I love the stuff, while all my men gag at the thought of it.”

-”Also I’m a bit of a party person, if there is booze, I drink it.” One of his smirks snuck into his face, revealing his easygoing attitude to all of this.

Flipping to the native language, she sighed softly, “Don’t drink too much or I might have to send Kiseo along to ensure your cups are watered down. I rather there wasn’t another incident. Your predecessor had to do some quick thinking in order to smooth things out with grandfather.”

-”Ah, but these ARE watered down, lord grumpy over there made sure of that.” Claus pointed casually towards Patrick without turning, making the gesture a bit less obvious.
Here the servant Claus had waved to arrived and made a polite bow.

-”Great, you, make sure to write an overly pompous and impressive letter to my father, Adolf Rotstein from Scassia that I have become royal advisor…. IMPERIAL advisor. Make it extra jolly as well, he’ll hate that.” The servant made a barely noticeable raising of an eyebrow, before bowing and beginning the task, or getting the proper people to do it.

-”It’s great to be an advisor, I’m practically nobility!” Claus raised his arms and was genuinely happy and leaned back on the table. A massive grin on his face.

-”Want some cider? I’m tired of this wine anyway, they probably have some weaker stuff.” He asked Dyril.

“And how many did you have before they were watered down?” Dyril asked accusingly.

She meant no harm by it as her lips curled into a small smile, showing her amusement at Claus’ disgruntled behavior. A subtle hint of surprise crossed her face at Claus’ statement over his father. It made her eyes tighten in thought before dismissing until later. Dyril shook her head at her friend’s reaction before reminding him of true facts.

“True, but what the High King gives, he can take away. You have to remember you only have power due to a title. Lose that and you might end up worse off than when you started. You’re also in a position of importance after all,” Dyril gently reminded him, then nodded at the offer of cider. It had to be better than what she was currently drinking.

A moment of contemplation came from Claus, with him stroking his chin in thought, followed with ignoring the tough question altogether.

-”Honest to Jykher, two cups. Sure it’s a goblet…” he stared into his goblet” I’m just surprised these fellows can’t handle their drinks better than this.” Almost on queue as he said it, a man passed out next to him and sort of slid off his right side. A pair of servants began to drag him off after apologizing to Claus.

With a loud shout, Claus ordered a servant over and asked her to bring some quality light cider.

-”Always preferred the taste of cider and beer to wine anyway,” Claus said as he turned towards Dyril once more, suddenly he had his rare darker tone to him, shadow over his face and a slight tilt of the head.

-”As for titles, my power comes from the fist, my connection to Timtos and my blade. If I want more…. I get hold of more.” His smirk wicked.

Dyril rarely saw him like this, but it had happened once or twice before.

Before she had time to answer, the cider arrived and Claus was back to his usual jolly mood, pouring drinks and smiling.

Dyril fell silent. She wouldn’t deny the expression on his face caused her to shiver in fear slightly. It felt like a different individual was holding the reins within his body whenever it happened, drawing out an instinctive need to recoil for protection. Quietly sizing him up, her attention was distracted by the servant’s arrival as she placed their drinks down.

Letting the uneasy feeling go, Dyril and Claus began to reminisce over their past. A long, enjoyable conversation that turned to their future too.

[Sundered Echo]

A Grand Entrance

“Magister Lanaya Triskell Dionisa, Advisor to the High King, Duchess of House Dionisa!”

The announcer bellowed her titles across the garden for all to hear. Lanaya was important now, and she wanted everyone to know it. Though the list of titles she held was not as long as some others in attendance, each one was meaningful and powerful in its own right, allowing her to more easily outshine her fellow guests with prestige.

A quick wave of her fingers as she crossed the threshold turned the sky a glittering gold for a moment, illusory gold leaf raining down upon the gathered Nobles, instigating sounds of awe, wonderment, and then disappointment as they realised they wouldn’t be walking away with fistfuls of gold. Lana smiled elegantly, hiding her amusement at the reactions of the nobles as she entered the party.

She had decided that, with so many people in close proximity, it would be better to wear a full length dress. Without illusion it was simply a fairly mundane blue, cut more for comfort than style. But that was not how everyone would see it - she had gone to a special effort on the illusions this night, in an effort to be the most radiant woman present. The fabric shimmered, appearing to be inlaid with impossibly fine detail of her house crest. The rich blue was accentuated by the crimson gem upon her breast, and her fiery hair - done up in an elegant style that was both understated and daringly different from current high fashion.

She noted many guests as she made her way to the High King’s table, nobles and petty Kings from across Formaroth were of course present, yet there were many more interesting attendees as well. Ser Lycaon Issorat was there, as well as the half elf merchant and her curious servant creature. Apparently even Urd had had been persuaded to attend. A scowl flashed across Lana’s face for just a moment when she noticed that her sky illusion was being hijacked by another mage… Cinero Lupus to be specific. She was not impressed with this, and it only added to her scathing opinion of him. In her eyes he was an uninspired hack coasting on natural talent.

For a moment she wondered if Alasdair had invited him just to spite her, but quickly dismissed the thought. Chances were slim Alasdair, or anyone else outside the magical community, knew what she thought of the ‘storyteller.’ Besides, it made sense. She could hardly be the one providing the entertainment now, it would be demeaning of the King’s Council and her position as magical advisor. Only an ignorant King used the mage on their council as a cheap party trick.

For a time, Lana sat at the high table, nursing a single goblet of wine and making small talk with the less important people at the table. It was mostly for show - to be seen being seen. Eventually, she became bored of it and decided to mingle amongst the more interesting people in the Gardens…. And the more sycophantic ones as well.

A Surreal Experience

“...and this is my good friend and colleague Lanaya.”

Lana turned gracefully as yet another noble introduced her as ‘a good friend’ despite barely knowing her at all. It was a little annoying that they kept doing this, but at the same time she couldn’t help but bask in the implications of importance that came along with it.

She nearly jumped in surprise when she saw that it was none other than Isabel De Reimer that was speaking to her. So unused to the idea of Isabel speaking pleasantly or sounding happy was she, that she hadn’t even recognised her voice. No doubt Isabel was counting on that, trying to make a fool of her.

But Lana would not be caught out at the party of the year - she was fully focused on social manipulation tonight. Her eyes moved quickly over Isabel, noting the extravagant dress, and the fact that she was arm in arm with Goodwin Wulfrick of all people, searching for an acceptable reason for her surprised expression.

She found it quickly, in the golden ring on Isabel’s finger, signifying her engagement.

“Isabel, my friend!” Lana exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you were getting married. That’s wonderful news!”

“Truly? I would have thought that it would have been known to someone as important as yourself” Isabel replied with a fake smile “This, as I am sure you know is Goodwin Wulfrick, my husband to be” on cue Goodwin stepped forward before taking Lanaya’s hand “Pleasure to meet you” before kissing it. Despite being a known womanizer, this act was simply common courtesy in Nash.

“The pleasure is all mine Lord Wulfrick.” Lana said, with a shallow curtsey and a demure smile, before turning back to Isabel. “Oh Isabel, you know I don’t have time to monitor the rumors at court anymore… I have just been so busy arranging to feed the whole city and ensure this event had bountiful food and drink.”

“I must say, I am surprised house Dionisa was able to find the funding to afford all of this” Isabel said as she gestured towards the table. While this was a concealed jab at Lanaya’s wealth, Isabel was genuinely curious as to where Lanaya ascertained the funds.

“Oh, I would be happy to tell you all about it later.” Lana said with a saccharine tone that clearly indicated she would be doing no such thing. “But we wouldn’t want to get into such a dull and lengthy topic during such a rare and wonderful time of celebration.” Lana was both indirectly calling Isabel boring for specialising in finance, and calling for this exchange to come to an end. As much as she enjoyed stabbing her fellow council member with words, she didn’t plan on spending the whole night doing so, nor did she want to escalate it into a scene if Isabel proved less calm and collected than she appeared…

Though she remained smiling Isabel’s eyes narrowed a bit, clearly angered by the comment that Lanaya had just made, “Indeed” Isabel said with a slight venomous tone “Well I shall not keep you from the celebration, who knows perhaps you will meet someone. I imagine it must get very lonely in that new manion of yours” as Isabel finished both she and Goodwin gave a courteous bow before leaving Lanaya to join the rest of the celebration.

An Expected Complication

The night was beginning to age when Alasdair finally deigned to make his speech. Lana knew what was coming, and was slightly surprised he had waited until half the crowd was drunk out of their heads to announce it. The perks of Council membership included knowing about virtually all major decisions Alasdair made before anyone else did. She waited patiently as he went through the motions, a long and tedious speech meant to justify his ultimate announcement.

And then there it was - the High King crowning himself Emperor of Formaroth.

She made the appropriate surprised and excited gestures and cheered with the crowd, but her heart was not in it. It was far too complex a thing to be happy for. On the one hand, it would make it harder for Eli to seize the throne if Alasdair could call on the united might of the Concord as Emperor. Yet it would likely also serve to split the Circle of Magi away from him, since it implied more direct control of the Summer Isles from Nyhem. And if she could somehow put herself in that new position, she could reap the benefits of control without dealing with the inevitable backlash of state reform...

That… And ‘Empress Lanaya’ did have a nice ring to it...

Credit:
@Sundered Echo @TheDuncanMorgan

[Randyfourballs]

A few too many

William found the environment of the royal party to be a little more withdrawn than he had hoped. When the messenger first approached him with the king's invention, William and Jain had barely had a moment to appreciate the dry land, that's the issue with having such noticeable ship. he'd expected a little more of an upbeat atmosphere, he'd drank almost triple the quantity of most of the other guests. And he was feeling it. He'd lost Jain about an hour ago, this is why he usually ignored plus one inventions but Jain needed to experience a little more of what the land had to offer after all he was a long way from home.
But where did he go, William pondered over his half full glass. to get food? a refill of alcohol? Or was it to chase a woman? Probably that one, William told himself with a gleefully childish smile. However he soon realised that his smiles and chuckling outbursts had attracted uncertain looks from some of the better dressed guests. William found the faces of the displeased nobles to be quite sobering, and with that he stood from his table, finished his drink. And walked through crowds of fine gowns, silks and cheerful voices. Until he heard what he was looking for. A complaining noble. Like a preacher to the wealthy, William stepped forth.

Mutually assured profit

Isabel had been separated from her betrothed after Goodwin had been called over by a servant to speak to his father, no doubt to ask how the current state of things were between him and his new wife to be. As far as Isabel could tell she had been successful in ‘seducing’ Goodwin; the man who had been incredibly surly upon meeting her now had difficulty leaving her side. It seemed he was a simple man, driven by his desires and would be easy for Isabel to manipulate towards the betterment of House De Reimer. She was currently in a conversation with Charles Du Paraquette and his wife Ellen Du Paraquette. Isabel had been working with both of them over the past couple months had had found a certain level of respect for their skills in regard to money handling.

“The slums have become a severe issue as of late” Charles said “as far as we can tell none of the residents living there are even attempting to look for work. They either choose to beg and pollute the streets of Nyhem with their stench or worst still they resort to crime making them an danger to the hard working citizens”

“If they were willing to work hard then they wouldn’t be in the slums in the first place” Isabel said with a laugh “we had the same problem in Cawaport and I say we deploy the same solution. We make begging illegal and press those caught breaking it into the army. That way they are at least of some use to the empire, even as arrow fodder”. While Ellen nodded in agreement Charles was less certain

“Surely there are other ways in which we can solve this problem, what if we set up some sort of industry within the slums themselves and force those vagrants to work for living”.

“Do you think I haven’t tried”? Isabel replied “No one willing to invest in that area, and who can blame them, what self-respecting person would want to invest in such a cesspool

It was at that moment William realised that this was not just idle chatter between nobles to reinforce their wealth. This was Isabel De Reimer, treasurer to the high council, one of the few people who could actually be an invaluable business partner to William. So with a drunken deep breath he stepped forth.
“My lady if I may interject” William had to bite his tongue it was very rare that he was the one going into a deal with someone richer and more powerful than him. “I wish to purchase the dockland within the slums despite the plethora of problems you have most graciously outlined”. Both Chalre’s and Ellen’s eyes widened as they questioned William's sanity, who was this man who thought he could so casually approach Isabel De Reimer.

Isabel turned to see a tall large built man with jet black hair held loosely in a greasy ponytail. From his appearance he almost looked like a commoner, surely not here!

“Who are you” Isabel said with no emotion in her voice, if this man had been invited to this party then he must of been of some importance, as such she would remain civil and wouldn’t order Ulf to throw him from the ramparts, at least not yet.

“William Flin, merchant Lord of Akki, you've probably heard of me my lady” William's confidence was starting to break above his drunkenness.

“No”, Isabel responded without hesitation, “i’ve never heard of you”. While the man appeared to have some status to him, the fact she hadn’t heard of him meant that he wasn’t important enough for her to be seen mingling with him. In response she turned her back and hoped he got the message.

This took William aback yet again, first Jain, now Isabel. He was starting to doubt his reputation. And he hated it, but this was just more motivation for William to proceed.
“My offer is to create a merchant guild, a hub for imported goods, bringing exotic goods to market places around the city, renovate the docks, clean up the beggars and give them work. I'd hire my own guards and pay all who get employed fairly, and give them a taxable wage.” William had found his flow, he knew that his offer was better than anything else that could be offered for the docks, and it was clear from the grumbles of the surrounding nobels that their opinion of William had changed.
“May I sweeten the deal by offering local farmers and produce makes double the standard rate for their goods, and the guild will also pay 3% of its annual income as taxes”.

Isabel was about to order the guards to remove this man from the party for daring to disturb her again. However as he spoke she became more and more intrigued, even Charles and Ellen had shown an interest in this strange man. Once William finished Isabel kept her back to him while she considered what he had said more closely. Finally she turned back around
“It would seem you have put a lot of thought behind this, and here I was thinking you were a drunken fool, you still might be, time will tell. How much are you willing to pay for the dockland”.

William reached into his pocket and removed a scrap of stained parchment and handed it to Isabel.

Isabel looked at the ragged parchment and hesitated for a moment, and then gestured to a nearby servant who took the parchment from Flin before handing it over to Isabel. Though she could have just taken it from him she needed to remind him of his place. Unfolding it slowly she stared at the yellowed rag.
“This is less than half what I'd expect for a piece of land this large. And you did not mention your logging permissions.” There was an undertone of anger behind her words.

“Think of it as an investment you will receive much more than you expect in the long run and as for the logging, as you said the docks are dilapidated.” William knew that this deal was his, but he had to keep his confidence to a minimum.

She pondered for a moment, on one hand this man could just be a overconfident merchant who would ulterly fail to deliver on his promises, on the other if this were the case Isabel had nothing to lose; if he did fail then all she needed to do was repurchase the land back off him once he became desperate enough. “your lucky I'm in a generous mood, it's better than any other option I have, I will send a messenger to you tomorrow with the rest of the details. This has been an unexpected pleasure, but if you please I surround myself with a certain caliber of people, and you are certainly not that.

With a loud laugh from both of the Du Paraquette’s and drunken bow from William, he turned, and walked the way he came, only this time he was a richer and happier man.
“I'll celebrate with a drink” William said cheerfully to himself, laughing loud not caring about the stares.

In collaboration with @TheDuncanMorgan

[Nib]

Collaboration with: @TheDuncanMorgan

Alasdair has only been away from the honour table for a few minutes and already he had been ‘ambushed’ by a number of different guests. He had only just escaped Anera Greensworth and her painfully dramatic ‘thankyou’ for allowing her family to maintain control over Ralda. Unfortunately there was only one noble who Alasdair was interested in having a lengthy discussion with and that was Eli Blackwell. Though it was already clear that this man was his new rival, he still knew very little about him.

Alasdair’s trail of thought was interrupted as he noticed a figure who stood out amongst the sea of nobles: A slender, gaunt and pale man dressed in black trousers, a light green tunic with a golden trim, high black boots and a long black coat. He was holding a goblet filled with a beverage unknown to Alasdair and presented himself with a certain degree of confidence. Alasdair immediately identified him as Ignocious Phlemonte, the master Alchemist; someone Alasdair had invited personally to the party. His work had not gone unnoticed by the crown and Alasdair had hoped to meet him during this event. With him was a older man with dark graying hair, kept in a braid and a goatee of the same color, though whoever he was it was of little concern to Alasdair.

“Ignocious I presume” Alasdair spoke as he strode up to him

At the sound of his name, Ignocious took a long drink from his goblet of wine before turning toward the voice. There stood the king himself. How interesting.

“Your grace,” Uncle’s shock was palpable as he hurriedly went into a deep bow, clicking his tongue at Ignocious to do the same.

“Your grace,” Ignocious said slowly before giving a small bow.

He could practically hear Uncle groan beside him at Ignocious’s shallow bow compared to his own. By this point surely the entirety of the court would know Ignocious would not pander to the gentry and their whims. Of course, that led to low funding and scarce backing for his projects.

Alasdair raised an eyebrow at desultory bow but decided against saying anything

“I am glad you decided to attend, from what I gather you are a hard man to reach. I must say I am surprised that such a skilled and accomplished Alchemist such as yourself is not better known amongst the nobility”. Alasdair turned to face Ignocious’s older companion “and you are”?

Ignocious chuckled at the mention of being hard to reach. It wasn’t so much he was hard to reach as he locked himself in his lab and refused most visitors.

“Ah, Your Grace, it’s not that I’m unknown rather that I have an… infamous reputation among the nobility of the court.”

“Lynus Galdrin, Your Grace. This young man’s mentor since he first joined our ranks,” Uncle went into another deep bow as he spoke.

“I pleasure to meet you” Alasdair said before turning his attention back to Ignocious “from what I gather you have been able to develop a form of explosive powder, independant of that which has been developed by the Riogail Sovereignty. Tell me despite the clear potential that such a technology holds, how is it that so few have chosen to invest in your research”?

“I have, Your Grace. That would also be due to my infamous personality amongst the court. They feel I am difficult to work with, and none of them wish to be a patron to my research either from their own experience or due to the words of others. I have managed to get some backing here and there but no regular and committed funding. I manage though.”

Ignocious gave a nod and took another drink from his wine. Uncle was looking uncomfortable as he spoke. He usually did when Ignocious spoke to the nobility, but this time it was the king himself.

“I see. Personally, on matters such as these, I always think it best to judge a man on his abilities, rather whether one likes one's personality, no? Such weapons could be used to help secure our new empire from those who would do it harm. Perhaps we could reach some sort of arrangement to which you will be satisfied”? Alasdair replied

Uncle nearly choked on his drink, but Ignocious barely blinked at the surprising offer.

“Oh, I agree, Your Grace. Which is why my infamous personality has not changed,” Ignocious smirked as he spoke, “Now that sounds like an interesting topic, Your Majesty.”

Ignocious raised his glass to the king and drank. He was glad he allowed Uncle to drag him to this party now and would have to thank him later. The king himself not only approached him but offered to fund his research to top it off.

While Alasdair’s face remained unchanged he was somewhat irked by the disrespectful nature that Ignocious was showing his king, it was likely this personality that has driven away so many potential investors. However what Alasdair had said earlier still held true, he didn’t have to like this man to get what he wanted from him.

“Tell me, with the correct funding how do you think you will best be able to utilize this technology”?

“An excellent question, Your Grace. With time and funding I believe I can take the idea of the Su Yuta with their explosive vases and make them more compact to be easier for infantry to carry on their person and lob at enemies. I also believe I could take the fireworks they use and make them longer lasting so a lost individual can fire them into the air and mark their location or a soldier to fire from afar and light something a blaze.”

Alasdair thought for a moment; while the flare did sound like a useful tool it was the explosive vases that truly interested him. He would like to see the famed Blackwell dragonguard try to fend off against explosives.

“This sounds very promising, very promising indeed. Perhaps we could come to some sort of an arrangement. I will fund your research; a Silver-Half Trite per week along with covering the cost of three alchemists of your choice. I will give you two months to produce something to encourage me to continue to support your funding. If I am not satisfied however then all funding to your project will be cut and your reputation will suffer so much that you will find it different to fund any research again. How does that sound to you”?

If by some chance he failed to impress the king then he would be back where he started in the first place. His reputation among the court was essentially already mud, but he still had ways of getting funding, so he wasn't worried about the minute chance of failure and the consequences that would come with it. The three alchemists were a bit much, but having underlings would be an interesting change of pace from his solitary work.

“That sounds excellent, Your Grace. My first choice is Uncle,” as he spoke he gestured to Lynus with his glass.

“Feel free to choose who you like, so long as if you produce results. Anyway I shall not keep you from the celebrations any longer” Alasdair said, while his conversation with Ignocious had proven to be a pleasant surprise he still had to find Eli before the parties end. “I shall send a messenger to you with the appropriate funding and in return you will give him a report of your work so I remain informed”.

“As you wish… Your Grace.”

Ignocious watched the king walk away from behind his glass. Beside him Lynus stood, face flushed and mouth agape.

“I’m as surprised as you are, Uncle. I must thank you for dragging me here now. I trust you to find two more capable bodies for this venture.”

“Of… of course, my boy. I will begin interviewing possible candidates tomorrow. Even with the King's own funding it may prove difficult to find anyone willing to work with you. You have got to do something about your attitude, my boy,” though it sounded like a scorn, Lynus smiled warmly as he said it.

“Yes, yes, I am all too aware of my reputation within the guild. It's not my fault they can't give or follow directions properly.”

[AndrewCooper]

Regret

The harsh Uzogobian sun was hotter than ever and Andris was walking as straight of a line as was possible. Every step came with burning pain and it didn’t help that his right arm was pulsing with pain, he touched the stump of where his arm had been it was almost unbearable. He checked his hand to see blood on his fingertips. He was bleeding again. Andirs couldn’t go any further. He was famished and hadn’t had anything to drink for days, he was completely exhausted. Soon he legs gave way and fell face first on the hot sand.

“What a pitiful sight.” a voice said.

The voice sounded strangely familiar, he looked up to see his younger self. He must have been in his late teens and was wearing a distinguishable noble suit. Andris looked like a pauper compared to him.

“Your country is in ruins, your friends are either dead or have turned their back on you, your allies have little faith in you and you nearly got your family killed. Look have far you’ve fallen.”

Then suddenly, blood started to seep from the sand, soon the desert became a lake of blood. Then the cries of all his fallen allies and countrymen became louder and louder until it became deafening. Andris couldn’t stand it and then he started to realise that the blood was rising, soon Andris started to sink down into the sea of blood. Swimming was hopeless with only his one arm. Andris soon accepted his fate and then everything went black.

A New Beginning

Andris woke up abruptly.

“Another bad dream.” Andris said to himself quietly. He looked around the empty cabin, there was barely anything in it except for the bed, a chair and small window looking out to the sea. On the chair was a set of clothes. Andris was alone in the cabin but he could hear the sailors working hard on the ship outside. Andris slowly got out of the bed. He realised that the pain in his right arm had finally subsided. But it was strange, he could still feel his fingers of his right hand. It was a strange sensation but he knew it was one he would get used to. It took some time but eventually Andris had all his clothes on. It was immediately clear to him that these robes did not come from Uzgob. The shirt was a dark blue and on top of that was a light grey jacket both were customised to better suit what was left of his arm. The trousers were black and accompanied with a smart pair of black boots that perfectly fitted his feet. To go with the trousers were a brown belt with an empty scabbard attached to it. He thought he was finished until he saw a white frilly cravat. He picked it up and put it on. He wasn’t particularly fond of it and it was a bit tight around his throat but he knew he would get used to it as well. It had been a while since he had worn something so formal. He soon set off to the deck.

The sun gleamed straight into his eyes but it truly was a sight. The sailors hard at work and the soldiers were training the best they could on the War Holk. The War Holk was largest sea vessel capable of being built by Formarothian shipbuilders, it could easily hold up to 300 infantry soldiers along with a few dozen crew members and catapult crew which consisted of a massive catapult and well armed boarding infantry. The Holk was propelled by three massive sails. The hull was sufficiently reinforced meaning that they would be ready if a battle was imminent.

“Uncle Andris!” a voice cried.

Andris turned to see Kabeera and Hamsa running straight towards them. The sheer force of them colliding into him knocked him over, all three of them laughed. Andris was glad to see the two of them so happy after all that happened, so many faces they knew were gone now, Nizaar, Saahir and now Lady Grim. After Andris had paid her for her services, Lady Grim had taken what remained of her company back to Seikatsu to replenish her loses. But all that was in the past.

“All better now it seems.” Said Fajera who slowly approached.

With the help of Kabeera and Hamsa, Andris stood up.

“Yes. All the better for seeing you now.” Said Andris embracing his wife and giving her a kiss. “But what about you? You need your rest.”

“I’ll be fine and besides someone needs to look after these two.”

“I’ll take care of them you head back to the cabin and get some rest. The baby could arrive at any moment.”

“Don’t worry about us Auntie!” said Kabeera.

“You’ve done above and beyond.” Added Hamsa “Let Uncle Andris do some work for once. He needs all the practice he can get before the baby comes.”

“Oh alright, but don’t be too long.” Said Fajera.

“I’ll be back at soon as I can.” Andris replied.

Fajera soon headed back to the cabin. Andris concern for her grew she had been working so hard in his stead when she should have been resting. She would need all the strength she could muster for when the baby came. It was now his turn to look after the kids.

“Alright you two, how about you show me around the holk.”

“Sure thing Uncle.” Said Kabeera excitedly.

Hamsa led the way whilst Kabeera took Andris’ hand.

Time had passed, Andris enjoyed the time he was spending with Kabeera and Hamsa it had been so long since he had spent any time with his family, not since he had left for Telmarion. He then realised that he hadn’t seen Hishma anywhere.

“Kabeera? Hamsa? Do you know where Hishma is?” asked Andris.

“Hishma’s at the bow of the Holk.” Said Hamsa.

“It’s all she ever does, that and training herself.” Added Kabeera.

“Alright I’ll go and find her, you go back to the cabin and check on your Aunt and tell her I’ll be back soon.”

“Yes uncle.” Replied Hamsa.

“See you soon Uncle.” Kabeera said as both walked back to the cabin.

Andrew found his way to the bow of the ship. He found Hishma looking out to the sea and what remained of the Uzgobain fleet.

“Mind if I join you.” Andris asked.

“Of course.” Said Hishma.

Andris joined and the two of them stood looking out to the sea.

“Uncle, I’m sor…” Hishma tried to say.

“You don’t need to apologise. You were right you know. Nizaar as well”.
“What do you mean?”

“I was selfish and arrogant. I lead the continent into a civil war just so I could get the throne, all under the pretense of righteousness. I was so focused on getting the crown that I lost sight what what was best for the kingdom and lost what truly mattered”.

“And what are those?”

“Well my country for a start, and most importantly my family. I lost one and I almost lost all of you too. I fooled myself into believing that I was saving the people of Formaroth from another tyrant, but I realise I was just driven by my own spit for the De Reimers. I did was wrong, if anyone needs to apologise it’s me. The past is the past and I’m just glad that you’re all safe.”

“Regardless of that if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have lost your arm.” Hishma said

“You did what you thought was right and it was my own bravado that caused me to lose my arm. But it’s fair to say that my fighting days are over. I heard you’ve been training.”

“Yes, but it’s been hard without Nizaar here to teach me.”

“Yes, well it’s fair to say that we’ll all miss him in a way. But since he’s not here, I’ll be your instructor to the best of my abilities.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, we’ll start first thing tomorrow.”

To Andris’ shock, Hishma gave him a big hug. He did the same in return as best he could. For the first time in long while he finally felt he was at peace. However this was to be interrupted as one of the crew members of the Holk approached the two of them.

“Ah Lord Mandarass, there you are.”

“Yes, what is it?” ask Andris.

“The war council have gathered together on the Caravel. They await your arrival.”

“Tell them I’ll be there momentarily.” Replied Andris.

“Of course.” Said the crew member as he went off to make the council aware.

“Now you go on to your cabin Hishma.” Said Andris “Your aunt and sisters are waiting for you there. Tell them I’ll be back after I’ve sorted this meeting out.”

“I will. She replied as she headed to the cabin.

A New Plan

Andris had arrived on the Caravel. It was slightly smaller than the Holk and less reinforced but it still served as a fine flagship for the navy. The caravel had been crafted in the Imperium and was far more advanced than any ship that could be made in Formaroth. Andris soon headed to the cabin to where the meeting was being held. As Andris entered the cabin he could see Maror Lanistark, Hemala Humber, both Freya and Robert Neptuna and Ian and Dilys Mazeltof who seemed to have taken charge whilst Andris was recovering. The group were deep in argument. It was understandable, most of them had their lands taken by either the Concord or the Blackwells.

“I’m telling you its chaos back home!” Yelled Maror. “My idiot of a cousin Iago is actually welcoming the Blackwells and now rioting is happening throughout the land. If we don’t do something, I’ll lose everything.”

“We can only do our best Maror but we have more pressing matters.” Replied Dilys.

“Yes we do.” Added Andris as he entered the cabin.

The whole cabin quieted down they were shocked to see him so soon. Some were shocked to see the stump of where his arm used to be. Andris could feel all the eyes on him.

“Dilys is right, I’m sorry Maror but with the current state that we are in we are no position to fight an army like the Blackwells. The main concern is that we need to find some land to make a new stronghold for our forces, we can’t live on this fleet forever. We need a place which has food and is safe for our people. Do any of you have any suggestions?

“We could always try to the south of Formaroth and try to ally with the Southern Alliance, if we went to them they may take us in, bolster our numbers and strengthen both of our Alliances.” Suggested Hemela.

“We could.” Replied Andris “But knowing the south they will never accept us into their territory and even if they did, we only attract the attention of both the Blackwells and the Concord. I’m sorry Hemela but it’s too risky. Anyone else?”

“We could always try the land of Seikatsu. We could offer our services to one of the Waring lords and maybe in return they would help us.” Suggested Freya.

“I’m sorry Lady Neptuna.” Interrupted Andris “But that is out of the question. I will not offer our services to war torn land, we have our own problems to deal with and we’re better than the common mercenary troupe.”

“Then what would you suggest then Lord Mandarass.” Asked Maror.

Andris pondered as he looked at the world map that was laid out in front of him “Here.” Said Andris as he pointed to the map. His finger had landed on the island of Deliverance. It had plenty of farmland during the summer season and there was plenty of space for the entire navy to dock.

“It does have everything that we need.” Said Robert.

“Then are we all agreed that this is the best course of action?”

The council members looked at each other they were weren’t convinced at first but with a little persuasion they all eventually agreed to the plan. Andris knew they would have to get there soon before either Alasdair or Giles decided to come for them.

“That land is owned by the pirate king Morian, if we want Deliverance, we will need to go through him first."

[JaisonJ97]

Location: Nyhem
Time: A few days before the party.

Awake

“Well, look who's awake, you don't look half as bad as I expected” William announced happily looking in from a chair in a dim lit corner of the room. “Time to stop fever dreaming, we've got money to make, we'll be arriving in a few hours. Make yourself look a little better we've got a big day ahead”. Jain saw straight through William's over enthusiastic smile. He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about this.

With that William stood up and left the room. Jain tried to to follow but as soon as he lifted his head, he started to feel very light headed and not soon after, he was retching on the floor into a bucket placed by the ship’s surgeon who had the foresight to know what was in store for a recovering addict.

Propping himself against the tiny cot that he’d spent the last week he pondered on what he did in his life to deserve this. Of course he didn’t know he’d lost a most of his memory. Then it suddenly hit him… “Where are my clothes?” thought Jain. He was too tired for this.

Not long after this the ships cook came in with some food for Jain. He hadn’t of course eaten since he was shipwrecked a week ago. He set the food down on a small table in one of the corners of his small room. And without warning, he opened the blinds on the small window looking out to sea. This was enough to trigger a second round of retching with an empty stomach and gasping from Jain. It took him a few minutes to get himself together.

The Chef didn’t say much. Or anything at all. Jain couldn’t remember. He was too busy dry retching into the bucket. But he left him some food; It didn’t look too appetising. Some porridge and what looked like piss to wash it down with. It wasn’t much but Jain was starving and food was food. As he was eating, again Jain thought, “Where in Draivim are my clothes?”Jain paused from eating his food. “Huh. So that’s where I’m from.” carrying on eating he, looked around the room and was pleased to see his personal belongings with the exception of his clothes were on a shelf next to the bed. “At least I have my sword and medallion.”

A couple of hours later, a boy, a cabin boy, came into room carrying what appeared to be a parcel. The man placed it on the table and looked at Jain, “Those are your new clothes Boss.” said the boy. “Boss?”, asked Jain confused. Then sudden realisation. “Oh yeah, I’m his first mate now”, thought Jain. “How in world did that happen?” Moaned Jain in his native tongue. The boy just stood there not understanding what he’s just said. Jain motined his had to tell him he can go now.

Upon looking at the package Jain realised that this was his clothes. Patched up and fixed. It seems the ship has a master tailor on board. Even a few of the hidden armour plating bent from the explosion seems to have been fixed up. It really was a miracle that Jain survived falling into the water even with such a heavy coat weighed down by the plates. “ Well. Better dress up now.” thought Jain.
Attention on Deck
Of course, as the new first mate (unbelievable) it was only natural that he should get familiar with new role. Jain ventured out onto the main deck of the ship, his new home for near foreseeable future. Jain sighed at the ridiculousness of situation. “ATTENTION ON DECK” Came a shrill shout calling all the men on the deck to attention. Jain looked up to see where the order came from and eyed his new boss standing next to who must be the helmsman. It was the helmsman who shouted.

William then motioned for Jain to come to him. Addressing the crew, “Well then! Men, let me introduce you to my new First Mate. This is Jain! Now. I know he doesn’t speak our tongue but he can understand what we’re saying. You’ll figure him out eventually.” Jain just stood there with a dumbfounded expression on his face at this introduction. Acceptance. I guess I’ll need to learn formatothian properly now.

The next day was a flurry of activity on the ship. They were less than a few hours away from port. Jain was doing his best not to get in anyone’s way as they all rushed around on deck preparing for port. Jain did not know the first thing about being a first mate, and definitely not a single thing about running a ship's’ crew.

Arrival at the Capitol.

William and Jain had barely had stepped off the ship before they were approached by one of the kings messengers’ who handed William an invitation to attend a party in 3 days. “Well then lad. It seems we must attend this party. A lot of money to be made from this I bet.” said Wiliam with a smirk. And with that William tossed a bag of coins to Jain and told him to spend the evening however he wished but to come back by sunset. He knew Jain didn’t have anywhere else to really go, so the best thing was to stick close to his new boss and not to look a gift-horse in the mouth. And so Master William went about his business.

Jain really had no idea what to do with himself and so just spent the rest of the day in the vicinity of the ship and trying to learn about the crew of the ship by keeping an eye on them as well as exploring the ship itself. Seeing as he’ll be helping run the ship it stood to reason to get to know it as well. He was paying particular attention to how the crew spoke so he can learn how to speak himself.

Come sunset, it was wasn’t long before he was called into to williams room to have chat. “Well lad.” William said slyly, “I come baring gifts for my new mage friend.” Jain looked on with a skeptical expression before replying in very broken Formarothian. “And what would that be?”. William was pleased that Jain was making an effort to speak the language. It showed that Jain was adapting. William reached for a box and just handed it to Jain. “Go and have a peek. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.” William said very still in his sly tone. “Just make sure you don't destroy the ship with it.” And with that Jain was kicked out of the room before he even got a chance to respond. Jain was as perplexed as ever at his situation but decided to take it in stride.

He decided to take the ‘gift’ to his room and immediately opened it and was immediately pleasantly surprised. In the wooden box was a small collection of old scrolls and books and upon closer inspection they appeared to do have something to do with magic. “Well, This certainly is very interesting.” thought Jain.

Jain picked up one of the scrolls and tried started to go through it and was surprised to find it very familiar. The scroll appeared to be some sort of very basic magic tutorial and more specifically basic illusion magic and how to start manipulating mana. The rest of the day was just spent going through the contents of the box. Overall 5 scrolls on basic spells and 2 very large expensive looking tomes with thick pages. One of them appeared to be a manual on advanced spells after looking at the first page. Upon picking up the second book, a small note fell out of it signed by William.

This book is a history of the major families in Formaroth, it might be a good idea to parse through it before the party and get familiar with them.

It had a rather unimaginative long winded title of , “The Rise and Legacy of the Great Houses of Formaroth - Volume V”. Well whatever it is it might be a good idea to learn about the people he’ll be mingling with.

The Party.

The party itself was a bit boring to Jain and it wasn't long before Jain decided to slink away from the main party. The foreign foods and drink didn't look all too appetising to him and his very rough Formarothian was only going to annoy the pompous guests.

So he decide to slink away to a quiet corner of the room and decided to cast a very simple illusion spell he just learned from his little present from William. The spell itself basically made him for all intents and purposes invisible to the non magically inclined. Very useful to blend in with the crowd and not be disturbed. After he cast it, he decided to eavesdrop on people’s conversations. Jain found it surprisingly easy to seamlessly move around without being noticed by anyone in a room full of people. This was a very excellent place to test out such spells.

Jain finally ended up moving near Isabel and Charles (without realising who they were) as they were talking about a certain slum in Cawaport and how it’s such a horrible place. Of course William happened to be nearby and no sooner had Isabel said, “what self-respecting person would want to invest in such a cesspool.” William practically pounced on her and said he will. Jain could almost sense them practically recoil in horror at this as their eyes widened.

Jain moved so he could see both of their faces. Of course the spell rendered him unnoticeable so they ignored Jain. Isabel asked, “Who are you?” no emotion in her voice. “William Flin, merchant Lord of Akki, you've probably heard of me my lady.” William replied. Jian could sense his usual confidence starting to break from how drunk William sounded. “No”, Isabel responded bluntly without hesitation, “I’ve never heard of you.” William looked genuinely taken aback from this.

After a bit of back and forth between them, Jain was becoming increasingly anxious. Isabel was clearly someone of importance and she was not looking happy at William’s interjection. But Jain could see that William practically had this deal in his hand. What worried him most was he just hoped this wouldn’t get put in his hands to deal with. After the deal was done and a drunken bow, william he turned, and walked the way he came. “I'll celebrate with a drink” William said cheerfully to himself with a loud laugh and not caring about the stares.

Jain was shaking his head and not entirely happy at his uncertain foreseeable future. I have a very bad feeling about this. After this Jain went out to a quiet corner of the garden opened to the guests and started looking at the book he had in his bag on the history of the great families. It was then that Jain saw an illustration of a very young Isabel De Reimer and stared at it in disbelief. Jain was certain William was very close to leaving his head at the palace tonight. “What are you getting me into Master William?” thought Jain.

[ZB1996]

The Party

Lycaon had arrived at the party with little fanfare. Then again, he would not have preferred to have had it any other way. There were times when he was prepared to make a grand entrance, but Lycaon felt he had already made enough of an impact here in Nyhem already that there was scarcely any reason for him to make himself more noticeable. He was not the sort to be so garish. He entered the party in his suit of plate armor, for in general he did not look as imposing without it.

As time passed as the guests celebrated Lycaon simply waited and bided his time. It was a more raucous affair than he was expecting, considering the high stature of the drinks. For his part Lycaon dared not take a sip of wine, for he did not want his judgement to be impaired in the slightest. In fact, he felt more vulnerable right now than he ever did in his entire life. As he waited, he watched Alasdair declare himself emperor of Formaroth. Lycaon’s expression did not change, but this declaration worried him. This was an incredibly grandiose statement on his part, to declare himself as an equal of the Elven slaver-despot of the east. Likely, he would claim to every land that the Remonnets had ever controlled. It was a worrying development, but for now Lycaon would focus on the task at hand. He had to make sure that everything he had tried to build had not been undone. Lana was here, and Lycaon had tried his best to ally with her. She was, for him, the most eminent of mages in the sphere in politics and the best individual in which he could attempt to create amiable relations between the Church and mages, traditional rivals and enemies.

“It seems we have been given the chance to meet once again, Lady Dionisia,” Lycaon said. “Though much has changed since we last met. Yet that is all the more reason for us to appreciate what remains. When we last met we made an agreement. Though the times have been difficult and tumultuous, we are more committed than ever.”
Lana eyed Lycaon carefully. When last they had talked, she had viewed him as a convenient pawn at best. She had not seen the lengths he was willing to go to in putting down the heretical rebellion. But that was no reason not to be polite...

"Well met Sir Lycaon." She replied. "Indeed. My people are in more danger now than ever before. Our continued friendship means a great deal to me." Her tone was sincere, even if she was wary of what an alliance with Lycaon meant now.

Putting on the appropriate tone and expression for what followed, she continued. "My condolences for the loss of Sir Hansen. He died valiantly defending my house. when I discover who it was that broke in and slew him and Lord Thale, I will be sure to visit justice upon them."
He did not know – could not know – what it was that Lanaya was thinking. However, whatever she may think of him, she was the closest link he had to the Circle, and all his contact with them came through her. He did not expect her to believe that he would be a dependable, just as he did not believe she would be good a dependable ally. He listened to her words carefully. She gave him no important information, and so he would continue.

“Your words do him honor, Lady Dionisa. He was a brave warrior, and his loss bereaves me. I will remember our agreement, and send another knight to guard you.” Yet this was not what Lycaon wished to discuss with Lanaya. “Let us hope his death, and the unnecessary deaths of many other good men and women, was not in vain. The Church has been too long separated from the mages of Formaroth. I aim to bring the two in harmony again. The Church has its own centers of learning, but, unfortunately, they have no place for the magical arts. I am to change that. There are challenges ahead, but making the institutional changes will be simple enough. No one important within the Church would oppose it now. I thought that you would like to know, for after all this is simply an extension of our agreement.”
Lana listened as the pleasantries were exchanged, nodding were appropriate. She was pleased to find that Lycaon planned to continue honoring their original agreement, though she did not feel the need for an armored knight in her home anymore. Since the riot, it had been a simple task to justify growing the size of her house guard.

Lycaon's next suggestion, however, took her by surprise. Mages being taught the arts in churches? It was such an unexpected idea that it broke her normally perfect composure, leaving a brief flicker of bewilderment to cross her face. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived however, as her mind raced to consider the implications.

"I am always happy to discuss the establishment of hubs of magical learning..." Lana began cautiously. "Yet I cannot help but wonder how the curriculum in a Church run school would look. I know the church has many learned men, but can you find the specialists needed to foster a new generation of skilled mages?"
Lycaon wondered if Lanaya would really be happy to have more hubs of magic establish. He did not believe that the Circle wished for mages to extend beyond themselves. Nonetheless, here objection was true. It would be the great problem for any attempt to create a program for mages within the Church. The Church could probably never matched the Circle, no matter how many years past.

“I cannot deny this problem,” Lycaon said. “It will be many years before a workable program within the Church could be made for the training of mages. It will be one of the Church’s great challenges, and it shall take many years of hard work. There will not be an immediate change. However, there are those within the Church, who are part of us in one sense or another, who shall be glad to see this through. We will not try to replace the Circle, only create places of magical learning outside of it."
"I admire your dedication to the idea." Lana began, sounding sincere but still not entirely convinced.

"But I am afraid that I am not the one you must convince of this plan. Without the permission of the Circle, such a widespread endeavor could never flourish. I will send word of your request to them, but I suggest you send an advocate to the Summer Isles to convince them personally."

It was rare for Lana to pass agency on to anyone else, but in this case it was still every bit as selfish a move as ever. The Circle could still mandate her replacement as Advisor to the King - now Emperor - if they thought she was overstepping her bounds.

"Yet, I am willing to trial the concept here in Nyhem." She continued tentatively. "As long as I have significant oversight for the curriculum and selection of teachers, I will give you my blessing to start a school in the City."
A keen eye would have viewed a look of alarm on Lycaon's face. It was gone in a split-second. The Church actually knew very little about the Circle. There was very little knowledge of the inside, and “Church Mages” educated within the Circle were not at all keen to spy on the place they considered to be their second home, and were in general not particular close to the authorities in the Church anyhow. Still, Lycaon knew one thing. If there was to be a program for mages within the Church, it would never be under the control of the Circle. The Church would be extinguished before it would allow such a thing to pass. Lycaon certainly would not

“I will certainly inform you when the proper measures have been taken to take the next step,” Lycaon said. “I thank you for your goodwill. This conversation has been most fruitful. I shall take my leave of you, for I’m sure you have better things to do than to talk to me. After all, this is a party in celebration of our new emperor.”
"Indeed it is... Long may he rule our lands." Lana acknowledged in a tone that suggested she might not be as happy about the idea of an Emperor as she was supposed to be.
"I thank you for your continued support of my kind Sir Lycaon. We do not forget our friends." Lana stated seriously, before smiling politely and turning away. Lycaon was making things more complicated as usual, but as long as he continued to do so in her favor she didn't mind.

(Collab by me and @Sundered Echo)

[Fallenreaper]

Kiseo, Dyril, Lana and Arianna

Location: Party in Celebration of War’s Victory
Time: Month after the Riots
Collab with: @Sundered Echo

---

The Sun was sinking below the Horizon, the last vestiges of gold disappearing from the sky. Lana was considering returning home, or perhaps taking a circumspect trip to where Eli was staying… But as the crowd thinned ever more, she noticed Dyril was alone, and an idea came to her. Also present at the party was Arianna Zerrikan, a prominent Tide Master from the Summer Isles.

Arianna was looking decidedly out of place, currently being talked at by some fawning noble. Lana suddenly felt terrible for not helping her friend fend off admirers who only knew of the famous Zerrikan name. Seeing an opportunity to perhaps make up for her negligence, she gracefully entered into the one-sided conversation, expertly dismissing the noble with a glance before leading Arianna towards the elf.

Above them, a number of illusory lights appeared suddenly, illuminating the gardens to ensure that those still present would not have to cease their reveling due to darkness.

“Dyril, Kiseo.” Lana said as she approached the pair. “It is good to see you again. I trust you are enjoying the festivities?” At her side, Arianna could not help but stare a little, particularly at Kiseo.

Dyril had been about to suggest to leave when a voice spoke. It caught her attention causing the half-elf to turn and look. Naturally Kiseo peered over her mistress’ shoulder where she noted the Magister approach them with another individual.

As the woman started, the Mao’s tail flickered from behind her. Her mixed lips curled in what she hoped was a friendly gesture as she allowed Dyril to speak for both of them.

“There’s slightly better company than those in the Elven courts,” Dyril had considered tacking on a mention of ‘especially the priests’ but thought better of it. Lana might’ve found the comment insulting depending on her views.

She noticed Arianna stare at her servant as she smiled, “Magister, I see you brought a friend. Would you kindly introduce her please?”

“This is Arianna Zerrikan, Tide Master of the Summer Isles. Arianna, this is Híril
Dyril Elian, a trader from Beilokias, and Kiseo her… servant.” Lana’s command of the foreign titles and names was, she thought, adequate.

“A pleasure.” Arianna said, bowing slightly as she would for Formaroth minor nobility, just to be safe.

“Tide Master is a title denoting esteemed mage-captains in Formaroth.” Lana added, by way of explanation. She knew the elf wasn’t familiar with some of the more esoteric terms in this land, and did not want to waste time with polite questions.
“I recall having your name being recommended to me as an option for sea trade services,” Dyril stated, actually happy she could do business in a far less ridge settings. It also saved her time tracking the woman down as she returned a small nod in acknowledging the bow.

“I hope you don’t find me rude for asking a few questions? I’m interested to see if you would both be willing and suitable for ferrying magical items across the sea from Beilokias.”

“Not rude at all.” Arianna said. “Indeed, i’d much rather speak of seabound business than answer questions about my father. He seems to be all everyone else in Nyhem is interested in…” She sounded terribly frustrated as she spoke of that particular subject. It was clear in her tone that Nyhem was not the only place she had to deal with that problem.

“I’ve not been in Formorath for long, right now your name was recommended to me and I intend to see if I can do business with you,” Dyril reaffirmed as she felt her liking toward the woman grow. They both were left underneath someone else’s shadow and that drew a connection to encourage they could meet a good bargain for rendered services.

Dyril cleared her voice then continued, “What type of ship does your business use? Most seabound businesses usually have a ship most suitable either for their captain or their purposes.”

Arianna listened with a growing smile. Lana’s quick explanation of her title had left out a fairly critical aspect of her job, and it had resulted in an amusing misconception on Dyril’s part.

“I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong impression.” She said mirthfully, then cast a mock scathing gaze at Lana. “I’m a warship captain. I command a catamaran that wouldn’t last ten seconds on the open ocean.” She laughed then a genuine, but not mocking sound.

“I do, however, know some of the best traders the Isles have to offer. For a free Zephyr fleet escort they will go anywhere in the world. What are you planning to trade?”

“That’s why I asked questions. I felt there was more to it than what was given,” Dyril attempted to recover from her mistake as she nodded.

“I was aiming on shipping some mandrake seeds and magical items. On my way here, we had a run in with a particularly nasty pirate that burned our escort ship.”

“I see. Perhaps it will soon be time to send the fleet to Akki for a purge…” Arianna mused. “I will inform my father of that, and see what he thinks. But no such fate will come to any ship under a Summer Isles flag. Unless the pirates wish to risk our wrath…”

Arianna thought for a moment, considering the possibilities. She could no doubt charge the elf quite a bit, but she was not really concerned with money, and she liked the idea of a friend who might get to know her, instead of judging her on her last name.

“I have an offer. I will arrange a trade route and escort with one of the Holk captains I know. He will no doubt have a fee, but with guaranteed escort it will be low. In exchange, you can tell me of your land and stick around here for a while.” Such an altruistic offer would no doubt see generations of traders in her ancestry rolling in their graves, but she didn’t care.

Dyril blinked for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to say or think primarily because most individuals, when their business was complete, left or wanted nothing farther to do with her. In fact, few ever stood in her presence beyond public if they could help it. This unusual request caused Dyril to mentally stumble over her words.

---

Meanwhile, Kiseo had casually shifted over beside Lana where the two were able to quietly converse without interrupting.

“Thank you,” Kiseo said gratefully, through she wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not.

“What for?” Lana said, genuinely bewildered for a moment. Then it dawned on her. “Oh.” She said quietly. “There are no slaves in Formaroth.”

“Oh, not that. Dyril has...had trouble making friends here. It seems she likes this one,” Kiseo corrected Lana as her feline lips widened in a smile, her tail swaying in place. She noticed it coming dangerously close to the Magister’s personal space before her arm reached out to collect it, pulling it around her front to avoid another incident.

“Good. I am happy to help.” Lana said. “How have you been faring these last few days? Enjoying your time in Formaroth I hope?” Lana continued, making small talk while Arianna talked business.

“It better than a month ago during the riots. I ended up meeting Dyril’s old childhood acquaintance, Claus. It was interesting to watch her control his drinking,” Kiseo chuckled, recalling how her mistress lite up and interacted with the jolly individual.

“She knew Claus before? Interesting. It seems you two are quickly making friends with the great and powerful of the land.” Lana observed.

“Claus is fond of her, like a little sister I think. I heard he tried to teach her to use a crossbow before her grandfather discovered it and isolated Dyril in her room for the following years,” Kiseo’s eyes lowered to hide her slight discomfort of being locked away like that.

“I met a friend of yours one day in the market, Drevala. She was nice enough to help me with some butcher trying to… how do you say it? Cheep me?”

At the mention of Drevala, Lana looked away. No matter how much she tried to get the memory of their last meeting out of her head, it was so vivid and shocking that it would not go away. Her cheeks burned and she was filled with great sorrow. Only with a monumental effort of will was she able to hide it all under illusion and turn back, doing her best to act like nothing had happened at all.

She was unaware of a now heightened pulsing glow from the gem upon her breast.

“Yes, she mentioned something to that effect. And it is ‘cheat’ you.” Lana focused on correcting Kiseo’s use of common to change the subject. “You have definitely improved your command of the language however. That is good.”

“There is still a lot to work on. Common is not easy. Not like Elven or Mao,” Kiseo pointed out, noticing the discomfort in Lana’s posture. For a moment, her words fell silent to the pulsing glow coming from the Magister’s chest.

“That is an interesting piece you are wearing. Does it always pulse like that?”

Lana looked blankly at Kiseo for a moment, wondering what she was referring to. All her jewelry was an illusion, and she hadn’t set any of it up to pulse.

Kiseo pointed to indicate what she was seeing.

Slowly, it seemed to dawn on Lana what Kiseo was referring to. The realisation crept over face slow enough that none could miss it, and then she simply said “Oh.” She gently plucked the gem from where it hung in two finger and raised it up to where she could see it. “No, it doesn’t usually do that.”

“Where did you get it from?” Kiseo, not liking the fact it was activated without a command from its owner. Most magical items that acted of their own violation lead to dangerous consequences.

Lana narrowed her eyes then, looking suspiciously at Kiseo and dropping the gem to let it hang in its usual place. “Why?” She asked. She was not about to tell the servant of an elf about a magical breakthrough even the elves could never manage.

“From what Dyril has told me, if a magical item acts of its own free will… it’s dangerous or defective,” Kiseo replied, her ears pinned back defensively. She didn’t like the tone the Magister had suddenly taken with her over a simple question.

“I see. Well, pay it no mind. I know what I am doing.” Lana said haughtily.

“Ignoring it might damage it worse. Even the Elven Priests refer to Dyril’s family when it comes to magical items and their status is far above them. Magic in an item isn’t the same as magic in a living creature,” Kiseo tried once more, but aimed to pull back without another word.

“Are you questioning my magical expertise?” Lana snapped. She was getting angry now - Kiseo’s words were starting to feel a little too patronising, something she only expected from pureblood elves. “Formaroth is not as far behind Beilokias in the art of magic as the elves seem to believe. You would do well to stop your prying into this subject.”

“It’s not your magical knowledge I question, but your caution,” Kiseo found herself saying, then sighed.

Letting the moment pass and she added, in a softer tone,“I don’t want to see you hurt or worse, dead. So please, get another opinion that knows about this. If what you said is true, there’s individuals that know about magical items and can confirm what I said is true.”

Lana looked carefully at Kiseo for a long moment, then relented, calming a little. “I will consult my peers.”

“Thank you,” Kiseo’s smile returned.

Her ear flickered to return upon Dyril, catching Arianna’s generous offer and Dyril uncharacteristically caught off guard. She flashed an apologetic expression before she excused herself.

“Your offer is unusual and…,” Kiseo, stepping in, struggled with the next word.

Dyril promptly snapped out of her stun to correct the Mao, “But and the last word is generous. We need to work more on your common, Kiseo. Remind me later.”

She quickly reined in her composure then continued, “As my servant said, your offer is unusual purely because most individuals want to only engage in business. However, I would be happy to talk with you and stick around in exchange for you offer.”

“Good. It’s a deal then.” Arianna said. “Come see me at the docks tomorrow, I’ll be on my ship. You can't miss it - it is the only Catamaran there.”

Kiseo casually slipped back into the background when Dyril started to take the conversation’s reins again.

Arianna settled into describing her ship for a time, speaking to Dyril into the night about ships. Meanwhile, Lana slinked away and found something more to drink. With the night growing older, and being reminded of Drevala, she felt the need to get a little more drunk than she had planned...

[TheDuncanMorgan]

A Duel of words

The sun was setting over nyhem and the parties atmosphere was starting to calm; the more rambunctious guests had left (or rather been carried away by their relatives) and most of the entertainers had retired for the evening. Alasdair had already talked to a number of important guests from Ignocious to, rather begrudgingly, Anera Greensworth. However he still had not gotten the opportunity to talk to Eli Blackwell, as far as Alasdair could tell Eli was not present within the larger crowd and had likely gone to a quieter area of the garden. Now that the party had died down and he wasn’t being hounded by the endless hordes of guests, Alasdair had taken the opportunity to escape in a attempt to speak with the self proclaimed king of Alenius.

As Alasdair walked through the gardens he was almost blinded by the sinking sun that was illuminating the already bright orange garden. However his assumption had been right, as he found Eli standing by a row of Red Maple trees looking over a small pond. It appeared he was staring at something though Alasdair couldn’t tell what.

“Lord Blackwell” Alasdair said with a half smile “I looked for you during the celebration, and yet you were not there. It seems strange that you would travel so far only to be absent”

Eli feigned ignorance of the fellow King, continuing to stare into the inky depths. He was perhaps the only one in the world that could get away with ignoring Alasdair now, and he knew it.

A long moment passed, and just as it seemed he might not reply at all, he spoke in a soft, measured tone. “On the contrary.” He said before turning to face his fellow King. “I have seen and heard a great deal of note… Lord De Reimer.”

He intentionally refused to acknowledge any of Alasdair’s greater titles - a calculated insult that matched his opponents refusal to address him with his own proper title.

A slight anger swelled in Alasdair as Eli refused to call him by his true title, though Alasdair could hardly blame him, he had done the exact same thing.

“Truly” Alasdair said with a raised eyebrow hiding his annoyance behind a fake smile “Anything in particular, or do I simply impress easily”

Eli let a slight smirk twist his lips then. “Blackwells are not easily impressed… But I admit that you have succeeded tonight. It is a rare Emperor so eager to celebrate only half of an Empire.”

“Better than I third it would seem” Alasdair replied with a sly smile, he moved on quickly so that Eli didn’t have time to respond “It would seem that house Blackwell’s borders have grown during the war. I imagine it must be difficult for you to manage it all. Afterall Glarmion isn’t exactly welcoming to outsiders”

“And yet they pose no challenge to a true King.” Eli replied. He was enjoying this verbal duel far too much. “So tell me, Alasdair. How does the Empire of Formaroth feel about the Dragonslayers?”

Alasdair paused for a moment as he considered what he was about to say, as he spoke he turned away from Eli and looked over the gardens “I feel that they are a group of extremely talented individuals, who have great potential” Alasdair paused for a moment as he allowed what he had just said to sink in, before adding “who’s lack of shared vision will ultimately be their own undoing. I imagine there's a reason why you are the only Blackwell who attended this gathering” Alasdair bluntly replied, his tone of voice changing drastically as he looked back at Eli. Normally Alasdair would avoid speaking in such a forward manner, but it was just he and Eli, and he imagined the Blackwell would prefer a more direct way of talking “Ever since you declared yourselves an independent nation, I have admittedly been very interested in the Blackwells. From swordmasters to shapeshifters you truly are a force to be reckoned with. However as far as I can tell there is only one of you who actually shows any interest in being a king. And that is you”.

Eli listened impassively, taking in his fellow monarchs analysis of the situation. When Alasdair finished Eli smiled wryly and responded.

“Then you misunderstand everything. My family is united behind me, and my people are not simple followers. I direct my Kingdom, yes, but the spirit of the Dragonslayer is bigger than Kingdoms. You will see that in time.”

Eli turned away then, standing between Alasdair and the ruddy glow of the setting sun on the distant horizon. He spoke loud enough that the other King would hear, despite having his back turned. There was a note of warning in his tone. “You should know, that my Kingdom does not recognise you any more now than when you were merely a High King. I rule my lands, and I answer to no-one. As long as you do not dispute this… We may have peace...”

For a time… Eli added in his mind.

Despite his original eagerness to meet Eli, Alasdair had quickly grown tired of the Blackwell, however he was determined to get the last word and as he turned to leave he added “For your sake let’s hope it remains that way” Alasdair replied with another sly smile, this one even more venomous than the last “I needn’t remind you what happened to the last self proclaimed king who tried to usurp me” Alasdair finished as he walked away from Eli and back to the rest of the party.

---

Summary of Eli and Lanaya’s meetings in Nyhem

Eli arrived in the city early, with plenty of days to spare. Lanaya met with him late at night, traveling to him in the form of a songbird and only shape shifting back to her natural form once they were alone together.

During these meetings they initially updated each other on the recent goings on of their respective cities, sharing plans and information. Lana was initially somewhat uncomfortable, and avoided speaking of Drevala entirely, but after a few days she returned to her familiar nature with Eli, and they spent personal time together.

Eli did not notice the presence of the Gem, or anything out of the ordinary regarding it.

Later, during the Party, Lanaya danced with Eli, however throughout the entire event she acted as though he was only an acquaintance. She concealed her feelings well, until the very end, once she was drunk, whens he gave him several long, loving stares. Eli was professional about the entire affair, holding up the charade of formality better than even Lana could.

By @TheDuncanMorgan & @Sundered Echo