Do note that things are always happening behind the scenes, but you won't know about it unless you investigate about it. Just a friendly tip. ^_^
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[IC] World of Telduria [Reboot]
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- Post-Apocalyptic
- Fantasy
- 18+
- Advanced
- Medieval
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Zhaliora Fallen Angel
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
The world of Telduria
The world is ever changing. The world never stops for a single person. No matter how powerful someone gets; there is always someone more powerful. The powerful laud over those without power. While some try to hide this fact, it is just that, an undisputed fact of the world. And the most powerful in the world, is the world itself. Or so it seems at least. Whenever a country grows too powerful, something always seems to happen. The Ool incident, the Protectorate breakaway, the extinction of the dragons. Something disrupts and changes the balance of power so that it returns to equality. This strange balance seems to be kept out of nowhere, but it's absolute, or at least so far.
The biggest changes in recent memory are quite numerous and had big consequences to the world. Or at least in their part of the world. The Protectorate declaring independence with the assistance of Kron-Nesis' rivals. While Kron-Nesis refuses to acknowledge their independence and still call them rebels in their correspondence; it is a pretty established fact that the Protectorate acts and works like it's own country. The various guilds have been...reluctant to proclaim the Protectorate due to a lot of the guilds having their headquarters in Tarantis. However they don't denounce it either. The guilds have taken a neutral stance, officially, towards it all. But they've started to build establishments in the Protectorate just like any other country.
The Southern Jewel Palace Hallways
"Indeed." a male voice sounded in the hallway. A pair of boots clacking against the floor accompanied the voice. It was a slow stride with heavy footfalls echoing throughout the marble hallway. The sound of the footfall could tell you that it was a large figure, an imposing figure to behold. The voice itself carries the air of authority. A deep rumbling like thunder despite it's low tone. "Eamonvale has been...persuaded to grant our forces passage. As much as it loathes me to admit, we can't break through by force or ferry our troops with the navy. Not without crushing losses at least." The person almost spat out the last few words.
A second pair of footsteps, these armoured and clanking against the marble floor. "While I trust in your wisdom, my King, is it wise to send our forces through those lands?" This voice sounded older, but no less powerful. "When we have sent scouts through before they've been met with open hostility, as you're fully aware, my King. Why would that change now?" The first person, stopped and was quickly followed by the second.
"Because I made them an offer which they could hardly refuse. After we're done with the rebels; we are to provide them with assistance in their own issues with the Crow King." He chuckled. "Not like we're actually going to do that. After we're done with the rebels; it'll be your task to subjugate Eamonvale under the pretence of allies and then proceed to Nyrae and bring them to heel too."
He turned towards his companion and handed him a sealed scroll. "These are your orders Grand Marshal. Do not fail me in this." He turned around again and started walking towards his chambers. "Oh..also...bring that daughter of your with you. A Knight of her...prowess needs to gain some experience on the front lines. The same goes for my dearest Azymn. She needs to experience the real world." And hopefully they both die there too. he thought to himself with a smirk. His daughter was too soft, and that blasted knight of her's was not making it any better. Luckily enough another heir was to be born soon. One he could groom from birth to become what the Grand Kingdom needed.
The Grand Marshal bowed gracefully before taking his leave. He had been given his orders and were going to follow them to the letter, the King knew that much. He shook his head and started walking once again. "Always been a good and honourable man that one." The King said to no one in particular.
"It's a shame then what might happen if we have to go with plan C" a voice replied out from a corridor. "It would be so sad to see him fall after all of his hard work." The voice, distinctly female, continued.
"Indeed. Which is why I hope plan B works if she doesn't die like a good little girl, like she is supposed to." The King turned towards the voice. "I do hope that mercy will come if she suffers? It would be quite crude of me to want my dear daughter to suffer after all."
"Don't worry my dear, the sisters are up for the task. Mercy shall be granted to the princess, and Gia will clean up the mess after all is said and done. Just like we agreed on."
"You better not fail me, Matron."
"I never have, Ezekiel dearest."
The Southern Jewel
Rumours had been circulating the streets of the capital for weeks now. The army was gearing up for something. Everyone could tell. They conducted more exercises than normal. More and more troops flooded into the surroundings. Their prized knights were summoned and infantry followed. The army itself and its commanders had been kept out of the loop so far. They didn't even know that their sister legions had also been summoned until they saw the mass of tents, with accompanying banners, that littered the plains. No one knew the extent of the operation. Even the Grand Marshal himself, as he surveyed the armies gathering before him, had been kept out of the loop until earlier this morning.
He had to commend the King for being able to keep it so hush-hush until now. He once again looked over the scroll he had been given, sighing. This plan would lead to casualties, he knew that much. But unless the Protectorate got word of it or Eamonvale went back on their words, he also knew that the days of the Protectorate were numbered. What he didn't like though was that the order he had been given included verbal commands for his daughter to partake, along with the Princess in the campaign. If they survived, they would come out of it stronger than ever. But that was if..
"Adjutant...summon my daughter along with her Royal Princess. I'm sure our Highness has already sent word to them to report here, but just in case. Also, recruit willing hunters, builders, miners, and 'extra personnel' as per standard protocol." He said and threw the scroll into the fire. As per the customs he had to commit everything to heart then burn the orders lest they get stolen.
The order went out in quick haste. Orders were posted in the guilds that the army was recruiting their services. Even the unofficial guilds were sent letters. It was a stupid commander that didn't utilize every mean available to secure victory. As long as it didn't hurt the civilians Lenius wasn't above using the services of the guilds of ill repute. Most of the time though, he didn't even need to give them tasks because they'd win without them anyway.
Bradles Worth
Life in the small town was as peaceful as life could be in a bordertown between two countries which one was at war. Most had gotten used to how life was. They were mostly ignored. Neither side of the conflict saw great strategic value in the town itself and due to the location there were people from both sides meeting daily. No one really cared that one was from one side and one from the other. They were not soldiers. They were simple farmers and fishermen. Who cares what the countries did? Sure, they were a lot happier under the rulership of Eamonvale as their country was now called. The Crow King had a few screws loose and they all knew it. Neither did it bother their neighbouring neutral country.
Until the ruling bodies decided that their small town was worth the effort; they'd stay out of the war. With the exception of the drafted, no one really cared or were effected. They were far away from the main battlefields.
But even here the rumors of the movements in Kron-Nesis were starting to take ahold. Large convoys of grain and produce were heading south-west towards the Grand Kingdom. Everyone with some brain power could figure out that they were about to do something big. Even here in this small town barrels of salted fish were being shipped out.
Sure, all the shipments of grain, produce, fish and more had been sent out little by little and in unmarked trader wagons. But since most of it seemed to be heading towards the Grand Kingdom, it was not the hardest to deduce. It looked like the Grand Kingdom was going to try another push against the Protectorate. Which by itself wasn't that big of a surprise. What they didn't know though was that the shipment of supplies had been going on for months already. But with the coming storm soon approaching, secrecy wasn't as big of a factor any longer. Less so now that more and more carriages started stopping in the small border town, building up a storage of supplies.
Heyitsjiwon
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
The sound of horseshoes, clattering against the road of the Southern Jewel was muted in the din of the city. There were people in a rush everywhere. It was clear that the Grand Kingdom was preparing for an offensive war. Lothar had long been confused and concerned when he first got his letter, but when he arrived at his family's holding at Attolia it soon became clear. The King has called upon his nobles to muster men and join his campaign and House Wolff were no exception. In fact, they had to somehow maintain the appearance of being related to the Royal Family and could not cheap out on raising an army. They had to save face despite the Duchy of Attolia being one of the poorer Duchies in the Kingdom. It was a near insult to "gift" the Wolff family the Duchy as its fields were rough and not suitable for farming. Most of Attolia's economy is from fishing and whatever trade passes by on the way to the Capital. But fish was only so valuable... yet the Wolff Family had ruled over the land for generations, maintaining the prestige of the family name and the image of the Royal Family.
Thus, as his father was too old to be charging into war, Lothar found himself in the company of 5 of his family's Knights, 20 Mounted Men at Arms, and 300 Infantry. However... the infantry was... substandard in training. Almost half the infantry were slaves who were promised their freedom for joining the campaign. The rest were poor fishermen, sailors and peasants trying their luck on the field of battle. After all, the spoils of war were substantial and if there was an opportunity for people to rise in status... it would be during war. But, many of the slaves and peasants would never return home as Lothar knew that they would likely be sent first by the Grand Marshal to soak up most of the danger.
Then depending on how House Wolff's family's levies were received, Lothar also brought some gold with him to hire additional mercenaries to boost their numbers and maybe get the levies some training. But he did not have much money with him. It was a back up in case others saw the Duchy of Attolia's army as lacking. Regardless, Lothar knew that the Grand Marshal would have final say and overall command, which is why he made his way to meet with the Marshal so that he could report in and represent the Wolff Family in this war. He just hoped that the war would end as quickly as possible as he approached the Marshal's camp.
Thus, as his father was too old to be charging into war, Lothar found himself in the company of 5 of his family's Knights, 20 Mounted Men at Arms, and 300 Infantry. However... the infantry was... substandard in training. Almost half the infantry were slaves who were promised their freedom for joining the campaign. The rest were poor fishermen, sailors and peasants trying their luck on the field of battle. After all, the spoils of war were substantial and if there was an opportunity for people to rise in status... it would be during war. But, many of the slaves and peasants would never return home as Lothar knew that they would likely be sent first by the Grand Marshal to soak up most of the danger.
Then depending on how House Wolff's family's levies were received, Lothar also brought some gold with him to hire additional mercenaries to boost their numbers and maybe get the levies some training. But he did not have much money with him. It was a back up in case others saw the Duchy of Attolia's army as lacking. Regardless, Lothar knew that the Grand Marshal would have final say and overall command, which is why he made his way to meet with the Marshal so that he could report in and represent the Wolff Family in this war. He just hoped that the war would end as quickly as possible as he approached the Marshal's camp.
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
Member
Seen
19 days ago
Ithell
The Phossos Mountain Range
Mt. Iris
The Grand Observatory of Ithell
The Personal Quarters of the High Astronomer
"...fittingly enough, to this day it is still referred to by the experimental notation given to it upon its first observation a hundred and forty-odd some years ago. The Red Anomaly."
The still image of that monstrous light wavered and wobbled as it was cast upon the rear wall of office; a stark, gray edifice of featureless and nearly perfectly smooth concrete built expressly for the purpose. From near the top of the chamber, the High Astronomer's personal telescope reigned over the interior, a length of brass, with dwarven mechanisms and an organ-like pewter panel of controls in the form of ivory keys. It was not as large or intricate as the Observatory's main telescope in the Depths Rotunda, but as it had been made from the refurbished hulk of the previous main telescope - as had much of the High Astronomer's chamber, as it occupied the former Great Rotunda of the Observatory prior to its renovation - it remained one of the largest, most sophisticated, and terribly expensive mechanical instruments on the entire island.
The eyepiece used for personal viewing had been clasped shut, and a dilating iris-like seal over a secondary opening in the side of the massive apparatus had been opened. A thin line of precisely engraved runes and sigils surrounded the opened port, gleaming with traces of silver. Immediately behind the opened port was a thick plate of solid lead, seated and slanted at an angle within a circular, adjustable bellows-like frame. At the plate's center was a circular latch, holding in place a thin sheet of opalescent crystal which covered an infinitesimal pinhole opening in the plate's surface. The view of the nighttime sky above was projected through that immaculate pinhole at a downwards angle, the light expanding rapidly into a cone that then fell - perfectly - upon the backdrop of concrete near the rear of the room.
"In the recent past, viewing it in this manner with as much clarity and field of depth as you see here would have been impossible. Traditional techniques of lens-derived refraction, as you are likely already aware, are subject to tremendous aberration in viewing, especially at greater distances. The Red Anomaly's portfolio renders the very aether around it birefringent, refracting the light it emits at the source long before it reaches us - and of course, the light that it emits is curiously red-shifted beyond what a Judgment of its profile should emit, its twenty-six rather fantastic blazar jets create geodesic tides that redirect it even further, the fact that it is hidden behind the mass of the Unbraided Sentinel, not to mention its rather naughty tendency to flash-vaporize the viewer's body on direct observation, made it almost impossible to see as anything other than a dim orange smear."
A ripple of nervous laughter chorused through the darkened chamber.
"Oh, that's not a joke. If we were not viewing it indirectly via an obscura projection we would all be piles of rapidly disintegrating slop on the floor right now. The Red Anomaly is hideously malign and in the past, Augurs usually only had enough time to scream that it was torturing them via psychic influence before their tongues dissolved. Their spirits vanished without undergoing soulhome collapse, the remains cannot be reanimated even with the most powerful Necromancy, and Demonic magic is unable to wring any pretense out of the impression of their instar. The Red Anomaly just really, really hates us all."
The laughter died.
"Shouldn't the reflected light still kill us?" A concerned voice echoed in the expansive room.
"Oh, it would. That's what the obscura technique is for. The image we're looking at is technically upside-down, reversed, and depth-inverted, and these measures have been demonstrated to be sufficient to dissuade the Judgment from knowing we are looking at it. And of course, with the recent development of our mirror-based reflecting telescopes, the image we get is much clearer. We can plainly see the concentric trophic field lines around the Judgment's horizon. We still have no idea what its innate characteristics are! And of course, while it is still technically the least coherent observable celestial object to date, examination of dilation-worn stone baths makes it evident that even beyond the darkness of the furthest reaches of the void, there are still more Judgments - simply too far away, and their light too obscured by those we can see, to be seen as anything other than near-complete darkness even at the furthest reaches we can peer to. Be certain, there are more wonders in the heavens than there are or ever will be amongst the conceited imaginings of us mortals."
There was a single emphatic cough in the pitch-black room.
"And you immortals too, Adept Siddhartha. The youngest Judgment is a million times your age, so revel in your own insignificance just this once."
There was a faint clapping noise, and a number of braziers blazed to life about the chamber. The splendid light erupting from the bellowing flames caused the wavering image of the distant Judgment to dim, then fade.
The chamber was occupied by eight figures adorned in gray robes, Human, Elven, and Beastfolk Men and Women amongst them, all standing in a loose semi-circle around the concrete backdrop. Standing just off to its side was the High Astronomer.
Werrill Ormoneric was adorned in a neatly cut, black mantle over a dim-gray robe. Marking his station as the High Astronomer was a lustrous, silken midnight blue split-skirt sash that glittered with silver points of light, representing the nighttime sky. The zenith was crowned by the full moon, and towards the hem the silk turned from deep blue to a orange, with a hint of dawn's majesty shining over the horizon. Ormoneric himself was a diminutive man with a slim build, and the tall and narrow features of his face would have been unremarkable were it not for the curiosity that were his pale orange eyes.
"The lesson here, of course, is that innovation brings danger with it. Cavemen of the dawn-times did not have to worry about accidentally looking upon the visage of an obscene Judgment from untold space and melting." Ormoneric stated dryly. "They would just chart the stars you could see with the unaided eye and consider themselves the height of learned scholars. Nowadays, with all of the new mechanisms and magicks that let you stare unflinchingly at death, one almost wishes Hyperion's Interdict was never disjoined. You adepts have all been tasked with funding and seminary goals to investigate new, more effective safety methods in contemporary Astronomy that will protect our ignorant minds from the merciless rancor of the unfettered cosmic tapestry. Your work will not be without risks. As you blindly stumble and peer into the dark, there is always the chance you will peer upon another Red Anomaly, or worse. So you will follow experimental procedure to the letter. You will keep immaculate project logs in triplicate. You will gain institutional board approval for every spare breath you draw, and of course, you will notify your next of kin." He smiled thinly at the assembled adepts. "But I look forward to the results of your studies, regardless of whether you live or die. Your experimentation will teach us ever more in either success or failure, and you will be richly compensated by the Court of Stars for your work."
Five Minutes Later...
"The Court of Stars doesn't richly compensate me for my work!" Hecuba grumbled with irritation once the lecture had ended and the Adepts had left, leaving her and Ormoneric alone in the well-appointed office, now with the ceiling shutter for the telescope closed. She was a young, silver-haired women with ever-so-faintly pointed ears indicative of Elvish heritage, wearing a dark turquoise tunic underneath a long light-gray robe. Around her neck was a choker emblazoned with a badge of the Grand Observatory and the inner mark of the High Astronomer - The Mythical Leaden Spear of the Prophet and Augur Chalarensis. She leaned irreverently against Ormoneric's desk, covered with enough contraptions and bric-a-brac to turn a Dwarven Craftlord green with envy, some of it in various states of disassembly, with a long leatherbound case filled with craftsman's tools splayed across one corner, its contents missing and scattered across the surface.
"That is because you technically work under me, assisting me with my own personal projects, and are thus richly compensated by way of proxy through the Court of Stars richly compensating me for my work, to then compensate you in turn!" Ormoneric retorted as he breezed past her and settled into the high-backed seat behind the desk.
"I would dispute the 'richly' part of that analysis..." She muttered before straightening up. "So, are we off to Kron-Nesis now? I can't help but notice you aren't dressed for travel. Please don't tell me I got into my work clothes just for the trip to get delayed again."
"Not delayed, we're still going tonight." Ormoneric assured her as he opened one of the desk's drawers and began rummaging inside with one hand. "But I received correspondence recently that suggests a location for one of the materials. I'll be with you on and off in Kron-Nesis, but I will be under much closer scrutiny where I will be additionally visiting, and unable to readily move back and forth without rousing suspicion. You still have my letter of introduction, so it shouldn't be an issue as long as I make the occasional appearance." He finally fished out a wax-sealed envelop, which he handed to Hecuba.
"That's to explain my 'unfortunate delay' due to being momentary detained by agents of the Archclericy." He explained.
"Alright. What should I do if I have to follow up on a field-lead and you aren't around?" Hecuba asked tentatively. Ormoneric shrugged.
"Impress humbly and perhaps go solo for a while. Or else find yourself a helper. Make do. And you have the carboys if you ever need to come back for supplies or to escape. Remember, we've been stocking up on extras down below just for this occasion."
"That's..." Hecuba gave Ormoneric a somewhat plaintive look. "...Rather trusting of you. To let me do this on my own. Thank you."
Ormoneric very carefully did not look back at her as he retrieved a second envelop from the drawer, which he tucked away in the vest-pocket of his robe before standing up. "If you say so." He said flatly. He got up and began walking towards the door out of the rotunda, ignoring the hurt expression on her face and her clenched fists. "Now. You were awfully impatient to get going a moment ago. Let's depart."
Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
An Hour and a Half Later
Hecuba wrinkled her face in disgust at the sight of the Jewel of the South. The exterior of the city's walls were not actually encrusted with gems, as popular rumor would have it. But just past the Western Gate's portcullis, the paving stones alone were carved and polished marble. Windows with actual glass - exorbitantly expensive in most regions - lined the sides of every building, set in copper frames. The frames of doors were capped with electrum, and every guard in the city had brilliantly gleaming silver ceremonial armor and weapons with hilts of actual gold, and gemstone pommels. The entire city was one of the most extravagant and impractical displays of wealth and power in all of Telduria, and Hecuba had never in her life ever seen a scene as tacky as it before.
"State your business mongrel - and wipe that look off your face. This is Tarantis, and you will display the appropriate respect for the Royal Family." The Gate Captain cuffed her across the shoulder brusquely to regain her attention as she peered around his shoulder.
"Sorry, sir." She said demurely as she reached into her pack and retrieved Ormoneric's letter. "I'm High Astronomer Ormoneric's personal assistant; he's visiting from Ithell in order to meet with the Court Wizard and to conduct a few matters of business. He sent me ahead since he is going to be slightly delayed."
The Captain gazed at her levelly for a few moments before taking the envelop and breaking the wax seal. He called over one of his Sergeants, who was literate, to assist him in reading the letter.
After perhaps ten minutes of muttered whispers between the two as they puzzled over the contents of the letter, the Captain finally folded it and placed it back in the envelope before handing it off to the Sergeant. "We'll have that run over to the Palace to see if you're actually expected, miss." He said, his voice now approximating a token degree of courtesy. "I would like you to wait in the guardhouse until we receive word back. Security purposes, you understand."
"I understand..." Hecuba said lightly as she glanced between the Captain and the Sergeant as the latter motioned for her to follow him inside.
"You had better actually have business at the palace mongrel, or else my men will enjoy the consequence a lot more than you will." The Sergeant quipped idly as he guided Hecuba by the shoulder into the guardhouse and shut the cast-iron door behind them.
The Jeweled Plains
Outer Province of Tarantis
Off The Beaten Path
"Hey Nailtooth, get this. I just heard word from the last baggage train that came through, and get this. Apparently the Crown Princess and her personal retainer are mustering with the army in preparation for the renewed efforts to suppress the 'rebellion.'"
"Interestin'. Why bring that to me, exactly?"
"You know the boss better. Honestly not sure how she'll react to the news. A Princess is an awfully tempting victim, but...you know."
"I get it. You relax, go and tell her yourself, she'll be fine with it. Might not even think much of it really, she might not be interested in the Princess of all people, but she won't get angry over being told."
"Alright, that's generous of you. Thanks. Speakin 'o which, do we have a hit tonight?"
"Yeah, but nobody terribly nobby. Just another shit-faced junior Knight out for a bit of drinking and whoring."
"Normally I wouldn't complain, but the last few haven't even been putting up any kind of fight, and the boss has been looking more and more...irksome of late. Is that going to be a problem?"
"Nah. That just means she's thinkin'. Back when I was under her command in the army, she would get that way right before a big skirmish. You just wait. Once she gets it all together, whatever she has in mind is going to make all the nobs shit bricks."
The Northlands
The Fortress-Monastery of Atan
Ormoneric walked unflinchingly, but with a suppressed slogging motion as he trudged along the snow-laden path leading up the mountain - seemingly unaffected by the frigid Oceanic Winds of the Cold Sea, but nonetheless hindered by the thick snowfall.
Unlike Hecuba, he would not have the advantage of any advance message - in part, because any message he sent might well have been destroyed without having been read. Or at least, read by the right people. The Order of the Frozen Heart and the Observatory of Ithell, and Ormoneric specifically, did not enjoy enviable relations between each other. They would not be pleased to see him - but he had brought with him a gift with which would permit him entrance, and perhaps more importantly, an excuse that would entitle him to entrance.
And however cold the comfort might have been for it, Ormoneric could already tell that as much trouble as this excursion was for him personally, it would cause all the more trouble within the ranks of the order.
The Phossos Mountain Range
Mt. Iris
The Grand Observatory of Ithell
The Personal Quarters of the High Astronomer
"...fittingly enough, to this day it is still referred to by the experimental notation given to it upon its first observation a hundred and forty-odd some years ago. The Red Anomaly."
The still image of that monstrous light wavered and wobbled as it was cast upon the rear wall of office; a stark, gray edifice of featureless and nearly perfectly smooth concrete built expressly for the purpose. From near the top of the chamber, the High Astronomer's personal telescope reigned over the interior, a length of brass, with dwarven mechanisms and an organ-like pewter panel of controls in the form of ivory keys. It was not as large or intricate as the Observatory's main telescope in the Depths Rotunda, but as it had been made from the refurbished hulk of the previous main telescope - as had much of the High Astronomer's chamber, as it occupied the former Great Rotunda of the Observatory prior to its renovation - it remained one of the largest, most sophisticated, and terribly expensive mechanical instruments on the entire island.
The eyepiece used for personal viewing had been clasped shut, and a dilating iris-like seal over a secondary opening in the side of the massive apparatus had been opened. A thin line of precisely engraved runes and sigils surrounded the opened port, gleaming with traces of silver. Immediately behind the opened port was a thick plate of solid lead, seated and slanted at an angle within a circular, adjustable bellows-like frame. At the plate's center was a circular latch, holding in place a thin sheet of opalescent crystal which covered an infinitesimal pinhole opening in the plate's surface. The view of the nighttime sky above was projected through that immaculate pinhole at a downwards angle, the light expanding rapidly into a cone that then fell - perfectly - upon the backdrop of concrete near the rear of the room.
"In the recent past, viewing it in this manner with as much clarity and field of depth as you see here would have been impossible. Traditional techniques of lens-derived refraction, as you are likely already aware, are subject to tremendous aberration in viewing, especially at greater distances. The Red Anomaly's portfolio renders the very aether around it birefringent, refracting the light it emits at the source long before it reaches us - and of course, the light that it emits is curiously red-shifted beyond what a Judgment of its profile should emit, its twenty-six rather fantastic blazar jets create geodesic tides that redirect it even further, the fact that it is hidden behind the mass of the Unbraided Sentinel, not to mention its rather naughty tendency to flash-vaporize the viewer's body on direct observation, made it almost impossible to see as anything other than a dim orange smear."
A ripple of nervous laughter chorused through the darkened chamber.
"Oh, that's not a joke. If we were not viewing it indirectly via an obscura projection we would all be piles of rapidly disintegrating slop on the floor right now. The Red Anomaly is hideously malign and in the past, Augurs usually only had enough time to scream that it was torturing them via psychic influence before their tongues dissolved. Their spirits vanished without undergoing soulhome collapse, the remains cannot be reanimated even with the most powerful Necromancy, and Demonic magic is unable to wring any pretense out of the impression of their instar. The Red Anomaly just really, really hates us all."
The laughter died.
"Shouldn't the reflected light still kill us?" A concerned voice echoed in the expansive room.
"Oh, it would. That's what the obscura technique is for. The image we're looking at is technically upside-down, reversed, and depth-inverted, and these measures have been demonstrated to be sufficient to dissuade the Judgment from knowing we are looking at it. And of course, with the recent development of our mirror-based reflecting telescopes, the image we get is much clearer. We can plainly see the concentric trophic field lines around the Judgment's horizon. We still have no idea what its innate characteristics are! And of course, while it is still technically the least coherent observable celestial object to date, examination of dilation-worn stone baths makes it evident that even beyond the darkness of the furthest reaches of the void, there are still more Judgments - simply too far away, and their light too obscured by those we can see, to be seen as anything other than near-complete darkness even at the furthest reaches we can peer to. Be certain, there are more wonders in the heavens than there are or ever will be amongst the conceited imaginings of us mortals."
There was a single emphatic cough in the pitch-black room.
"And you immortals too, Adept Siddhartha. The youngest Judgment is a million times your age, so revel in your own insignificance just this once."
There was a faint clapping noise, and a number of braziers blazed to life about the chamber. The splendid light erupting from the bellowing flames caused the wavering image of the distant Judgment to dim, then fade.
The chamber was occupied by eight figures adorned in gray robes, Human, Elven, and Beastfolk Men and Women amongst them, all standing in a loose semi-circle around the concrete backdrop. Standing just off to its side was the High Astronomer.
Werrill Ormoneric was adorned in a neatly cut, black mantle over a dim-gray robe. Marking his station as the High Astronomer was a lustrous, silken midnight blue split-skirt sash that glittered with silver points of light, representing the nighttime sky. The zenith was crowned by the full moon, and towards the hem the silk turned from deep blue to a orange, with a hint of dawn's majesty shining over the horizon. Ormoneric himself was a diminutive man with a slim build, and the tall and narrow features of his face would have been unremarkable were it not for the curiosity that were his pale orange eyes.
"The lesson here, of course, is that innovation brings danger with it. Cavemen of the dawn-times did not have to worry about accidentally looking upon the visage of an obscene Judgment from untold space and melting." Ormoneric stated dryly. "They would just chart the stars you could see with the unaided eye and consider themselves the height of learned scholars. Nowadays, with all of the new mechanisms and magicks that let you stare unflinchingly at death, one almost wishes Hyperion's Interdict was never disjoined. You adepts have all been tasked with funding and seminary goals to investigate new, more effective safety methods in contemporary Astronomy that will protect our ignorant minds from the merciless rancor of the unfettered cosmic tapestry. Your work will not be without risks. As you blindly stumble and peer into the dark, there is always the chance you will peer upon another Red Anomaly, or worse. So you will follow experimental procedure to the letter. You will keep immaculate project logs in triplicate. You will gain institutional board approval for every spare breath you draw, and of course, you will notify your next of kin." He smiled thinly at the assembled adepts. "But I look forward to the results of your studies, regardless of whether you live or die. Your experimentation will teach us ever more in either success or failure, and you will be richly compensated by the Court of Stars for your work."
888888888888
Five Minutes Later...
"The Court of Stars doesn't richly compensate me for my work!" Hecuba grumbled with irritation once the lecture had ended and the Adepts had left, leaving her and Ormoneric alone in the well-appointed office, now with the ceiling shutter for the telescope closed. She was a young, silver-haired women with ever-so-faintly pointed ears indicative of Elvish heritage, wearing a dark turquoise tunic underneath a long light-gray robe. Around her neck was a choker emblazoned with a badge of the Grand Observatory and the inner mark of the High Astronomer - The Mythical Leaden Spear of the Prophet and Augur Chalarensis. She leaned irreverently against Ormoneric's desk, covered with enough contraptions and bric-a-brac to turn a Dwarven Craftlord green with envy, some of it in various states of disassembly, with a long leatherbound case filled with craftsman's tools splayed across one corner, its contents missing and scattered across the surface.
"That is because you technically work under me, assisting me with my own personal projects, and are thus richly compensated by way of proxy through the Court of Stars richly compensating me for my work, to then compensate you in turn!" Ormoneric retorted as he breezed past her and settled into the high-backed seat behind the desk.
"I would dispute the 'richly' part of that analysis..." She muttered before straightening up. "So, are we off to Kron-Nesis now? I can't help but notice you aren't dressed for travel. Please don't tell me I got into my work clothes just for the trip to get delayed again."
"Not delayed, we're still going tonight." Ormoneric assured her as he opened one of the desk's drawers and began rummaging inside with one hand. "But I received correspondence recently that suggests a location for one of the materials. I'll be with you on and off in Kron-Nesis, but I will be under much closer scrutiny where I will be additionally visiting, and unable to readily move back and forth without rousing suspicion. You still have my letter of introduction, so it shouldn't be an issue as long as I make the occasional appearance." He finally fished out a wax-sealed envelop, which he handed to Hecuba.
"That's to explain my 'unfortunate delay' due to being momentary detained by agents of the Archclericy." He explained.
"Alright. What should I do if I have to follow up on a field-lead and you aren't around?" Hecuba asked tentatively. Ormoneric shrugged.
"Impress humbly and perhaps go solo for a while. Or else find yourself a helper. Make do. And you have the carboys if you ever need to come back for supplies or to escape. Remember, we've been stocking up on extras down below just for this occasion."
"That's..." Hecuba gave Ormoneric a somewhat plaintive look. "...Rather trusting of you. To let me do this on my own. Thank you."
Ormoneric very carefully did not look back at her as he retrieved a second envelop from the drawer, which he tucked away in the vest-pocket of his robe before standing up. "If you say so." He said flatly. He got up and began walking towards the door out of the rotunda, ignoring the hurt expression on her face and her clenched fists. "Now. You were awfully impatient to get going a moment ago. Let's depart."
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Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
An Hour and a Half Later
Hecuba wrinkled her face in disgust at the sight of the Jewel of the South. The exterior of the city's walls were not actually encrusted with gems, as popular rumor would have it. But just past the Western Gate's portcullis, the paving stones alone were carved and polished marble. Windows with actual glass - exorbitantly expensive in most regions - lined the sides of every building, set in copper frames. The frames of doors were capped with electrum, and every guard in the city had brilliantly gleaming silver ceremonial armor and weapons with hilts of actual gold, and gemstone pommels. The entire city was one of the most extravagant and impractical displays of wealth and power in all of Telduria, and Hecuba had never in her life ever seen a scene as tacky as it before.
"State your business mongrel - and wipe that look off your face. This is Tarantis, and you will display the appropriate respect for the Royal Family." The Gate Captain cuffed her across the shoulder brusquely to regain her attention as she peered around his shoulder.
"Sorry, sir." She said demurely as she reached into her pack and retrieved Ormoneric's letter. "I'm High Astronomer Ormoneric's personal assistant; he's visiting from Ithell in order to meet with the Court Wizard and to conduct a few matters of business. He sent me ahead since he is going to be slightly delayed."
The Captain gazed at her levelly for a few moments before taking the envelop and breaking the wax seal. He called over one of his Sergeants, who was literate, to assist him in reading the letter.
To Firh Wystan Auleaus Caliean Aibek Sirroc, Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, and whomever else it may concern;
As discussed in prior correspondence, I will shortly be arriving in Kron-Nesis for my personal visit. However, whilst traveling, I unfortunately came across complications involving agents of the Valon Archclericy. As of this writing I have been detained, but as a matter of procedure and due to my status I will doubtlessly be released soon, especially once the Ithellan Embassy has been informed. I write to you now to let you know that while I may be a few or several days late, I have sent my personal assistant, Miss Hecuba Amaranth, to conduct and see about my business in my stead until my arrival. I fully entrust her with all aspects of my business and interest in the Grand Kingdom, and request that you afford her every due and available courtesy.
Trusting that this letter finds you in good health and spirits, I wish both you and her good fortune in your respective endeavors, and hope to meet with you in person soon.
After perhaps ten minutes of muttered whispers between the two as they puzzled over the contents of the letter, the Captain finally folded it and placed it back in the envelope before handing it off to the Sergeant. "We'll have that run over to the Palace to see if you're actually expected, miss." He said, his voice now approximating a token degree of courtesy. "I would like you to wait in the guardhouse until we receive word back. Security purposes, you understand."
"I understand..." Hecuba said lightly as she glanced between the Captain and the Sergeant as the latter motioned for her to follow him inside.
"You had better actually have business at the palace mongrel, or else my men will enjoy the consequence a lot more than you will." The Sergeant quipped idly as he guided Hecuba by the shoulder into the guardhouse and shut the cast-iron door behind them.
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The Jeweled Plains
Outer Province of Tarantis
Off The Beaten Path
"Hey Nailtooth, get this. I just heard word from the last baggage train that came through, and get this. Apparently the Crown Princess and her personal retainer are mustering with the army in preparation for the renewed efforts to suppress the 'rebellion.'"
"Interestin'. Why bring that to me, exactly?"
"You know the boss better. Honestly not sure how she'll react to the news. A Princess is an awfully tempting victim, but...you know."
"I get it. You relax, go and tell her yourself, she'll be fine with it. Might not even think much of it really, she might not be interested in the Princess of all people, but she won't get angry over being told."
"Alright, that's generous of you. Thanks. Speakin 'o which, do we have a hit tonight?"
"Yeah, but nobody terribly nobby. Just another shit-faced junior Knight out for a bit of drinking and whoring."
"Normally I wouldn't complain, but the last few haven't even been putting up any kind of fight, and the boss has been looking more and more...irksome of late. Is that going to be a problem?"
"Nah. That just means she's thinkin'. Back when I was under her command in the army, she would get that way right before a big skirmish. You just wait. Once she gets it all together, whatever she has in mind is going to make all the nobs shit bricks."
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The Northlands
The Fortress-Monastery of Atan
Ormoneric walked unflinchingly, but with a suppressed slogging motion as he trudged along the snow-laden path leading up the mountain - seemingly unaffected by the frigid Oceanic Winds of the Cold Sea, but nonetheless hindered by the thick snowfall.
Unlike Hecuba, he would not have the advantage of any advance message - in part, because any message he sent might well have been destroyed without having been read. Or at least, read by the right people. The Order of the Frozen Heart and the Observatory of Ithell, and Ormoneric specifically, did not enjoy enviable relations between each other. They would not be pleased to see him - but he had brought with him a gift with which would permit him entrance, and perhaps more importantly, an excuse that would entitle him to entrance.
And however cold the comfort might have been for it, Ormoneric could already tell that as much trouble as this excursion was for him personally, it would cause all the more trouble within the ranks of the order.
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Heyitsjiwon
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The Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
Encampment of the Grand Marshall
A Terminal-Heyitsjiwon Collab
The retinue of Lord Wolff set up camp and began to wait for the orders to march. Until then... many of the men wouldn't give up the chance to explore the Southern Jewel while they had the chance. Among those men were Sir Archibald who wanted to visit some of the local escort establishments and meet some of the ladies of the capital. Admittedly, this was his first time in the grand city as most Attolians rarely have the opportunity to leave the archipelago. So, he seemed to be almost walking in circles as many of the buildings just looked the same to him. He wasn't completely lost since he could see the top of the royal palace in the distance, but he didn't really know where to go. He was just exploring for now.
"Hey there friend." Came a muffled voice from behind him. Looking around, he saw a member of the soldiery - obviously not a slave or an enscripted serf. They had an actual light-steel cuirass and greaves - they were not wearing any chain, and the cuirass had been polished to a spotless gleam worn over a relatively clean work-shirt. That and the absence of gauntlets and only a small dirk in his belt for a weapon indicated the man was just trying to look impressive for the peasantry without having to wear his entire ensemble. He has a plumped, rounded face with several scars and gouge-lines running through the tissue of the cheeks, and in his open mouth sat a deformed tongue with a missing chunk to it - explaining his muffled voice. He was fortunate not to have a lisp.
"I saw you coming in with House Wolff. If you're looking for the best places, I can show you around. If you can be a friend to me, yeah?" He gave Archibald a beaming smile, his deformed tongue momentarily hidden from view.
Sir Archibald was a bit taken back by the man. He seemed a bit out of place being so friendly. Given his appearance, and his lack respect to nobility... no wonder he had so many scars. He likely got hit around quite a bit for disrespecting his Lord. "If you saw me come in with House Wolff, then you should know that I am a Knight, and that you should be calling me 'Sire'. Now, vanish before I teach you a lesson for being so disrespectful to a noble. The mere sight of you offends me, Cur." Sir Archibald spat with disgust and he turned to continue to walk. He just wanted a place to get some decent wine and some company, not have some maimed... mercenary try to get on his good side.
"Well sire," Came the man's muffled and now hurried voice. "You'll have to forgive me but I only saw you come in on horseback, you were not all in plate, I just sort of assumed you were an officer like me. And begging your pardon - sire - but given your state of dress and what how this city is practically encrusted with glitz, unless you have somebody to announce you I fear the same mistake is going to be made again...But I could show you a few establishments that cater to more patrician men of class such as yourself, who would never make that sort of mistake."
Sir Archibald's brows furrowed slightly. The guy was a bit too friendly, but perhaps that was what people were like in the Southern Jewel. They do say that luxery and comfort make people soft. He sighed and said "Very well, then. Although as an officer, you should be more familiar with the heraldry that people bear. A mistake like that.... and well let's just say that I know a lot of nobles and knights who aren't too forgiving." He then reached out for a handshake and said "I am Sir Archibald of Attolia. What are you called, soldier? Where do you hail from?"
"The name is Nalon Tret, I came into the service of our Grand King from the Bloody Cape." He clasped Archibald's hand firmly - he was no longer smiling widely as he had been before, but his demeanor still was not unfriendly. "And I do beg your pardon sire; speaking truthfully I am a non-comissioned officer. I am not as familiar with the heraldry as others might be. My captain entrusts me with the responsibility of making rounds in whatever locale to ensure the company's revelry does not get out of hand. How would you like to start the evening off, sire?"
"Bloody Cape you say? Can't say I'm too familiar with the region." Sir Archibald replied. "Anyways, I was just looking for a local watering hole so to speak. Don't let me keep you from your duty, Nalon. I don't know who your Captain may be, but I sure as hell know that some of the officers in the Grand Army are certainly no pushovers. Just... if you could point me towards the direction of a decent bar, I can figure out the rest myself."
"Well sire, you will want to avoid most of the places near here and too far into the city. Here in the outskirts most of the bars are for tourists; they just serve piss poured from a boot and call it ambrosia." Nalon leaned in conspiratorially as he confided in the knight. "You also want to avoid the inner-city bars. They do the same thing, but they charge you more for it, and they fine you if you get the seat dirty. Not really the sort of place for a knight who's been riding all day, sire. If you want my recommendation, there are two bars a ways from here - the Well of Nirn and the Buried Hilt. Both are owned by ex-veterans. The first is a drinking hole with a little bit of gaming, the second is for the discerning customer who might be interested in negotiable affection. I was about to head in to both myself to check on the men, I could guide you there, introduce you to the owners mebbe, get you the special rates."
Sir Archibald replied "Well, that does sound intriguing, but how far a ways are we talking about? I don't think it would be wise to stray too far from the camp when we're bound to start heading off to whatever bloody war we're supposed to fight."
"The Well of Nirn is just about three blocks to the Northeast, sire."Nalon supplied.
"Three blocks? What are we doing just standing around here when we could be drowning ourselves in God's nectar? Take the lead Nalon! First round's on me." Sir Archibald eagerly interjected.
Nalon led Sir Archibald to the Well of Nirn as promised, and introduced him to the owner, who was more than pleased to let Archibald have the special rates to then be generous with. There was much merriment that night, and the Knight found himself not only buying drinks but receiving drinks from others.
Many, many drinks.
He did not recall the remainder of the night, save for an indistinct nightmare filled with fire, pain, and the soft words of rage whispering promises of oblivion into his ear.
He awoke with a start, his vision blurry and indistinct. There were voices nearby, and he couldn't feel anything. Not the worst sign, as he had woken up with worse hangovers. Slowly, he tried to get up and realized he could not move his arms. The voices nearby grew in volume, sounding startled. Faces swam into his field of vision, and he heard them speak to him. Their words reached him as though spoken through a thick wooden door.
"Archibald...ire...us?"
A swath of fabric briefly covered his face. It was damp with cool water as somebody wiped at his brow, and then they spoke again, their voices a little clearer.
"Sir Archibald, can you hear us?" They tried again. Their faces were now starting to swim into focus. One of his attendants was dressed all-in-white, one of the Field Camp's physics no doubt. The other appeared to be one of the Grand Marshall's Colonels, strangely enough. What could he be doing here?
"W-where in the bloody hell am I?" Sir Archibald moaned. He felt worse than ever before... almost like he got ran over by a bull or something. "I-I should cut down on the merriment... I'm certainly no longer as young as I once was." He moaned once more and then realized that the Colonel was still standing there. "How can I help you, Colonel?"
The two figures glanced at each other. "Sir Archibald, you are in he medical pavillion." The physician answered, cautiously. "It is very important that you try not to move, and to stay calm."
"Do you remember anything about last night, Knight?" The Colonel asked, his gaze seeming to run over Archibald's body. The dull, throbbing sensation of pain was starting to hammer its way back into Archibald's reality - and he realized, he was not wearing a shirt or tunic. He was bear-chested for some strange reason, but at the same time it felt like something was pressed down against his chest.
Sir Archibald looked down and noticed what looked like splints as his arms rested on top of him. "That was one heck of a night..." He muttered. "Last night? I was walking around, looking for a tavern or something when I bumped into a random NCO. What was his name....Talon? No.... no....AH, Nalon. The cheeky lad... took me to a bar named the Well of Nirn and he drank me under the table!" Sir Archibald tried to look around and see where Nalon was. "Where's the lad? He have a rough night like I did?"
The Colonel and the Physician shared another look.
"...That is presently what we are trying to determine." The Colonel answered briefly. "As hesitant as I am to say this, physician, perhaps we should move his arms so he can see?"
"That might set him off." The Physic muttered in reply. "He's doing remarkably well so far, thanks to all the poppy juice, but he really needs to rest..."
"Poppy juice? Is that what I drank last night? Knocked me onto my arse! That's some dangerous stuff" Sir Archibald interjected.
"Knight, I am afraid..." The Colonel began, then stopped with a frown as he considered. He tried again. "I am concerned that this man you met, this Nalon you called him, might not have been who you thought he was. We're going to move your arms now so you can see what happened to your chest, but I want you to promise to remain calm. There will be some pain. Understand?"
"Huh? Uhh, you may do so." Sir Archibald replied.
The Colonel nodded at the Physic, who gently began to sidle Archibald's splintered arms off to the sides of his bodies, without endeavoring to actually pick them up to move them. The pain was suddenly exquisite - Archibald felt as though there were untold burrowing insects deep inside the flesh of his arms, laying eggs of fire in the marrow of his bones, and nothing came of his spasmodic efforts to move any of part of either. But worse was the glimpse of what lay under them, as the first of the charred, blackened scarring was revealed by the wood and cloth of the first splint being moved, and then the second. Covering his chest was lettering, carved into his flesh with some implement and then roughly cauterized afterward, leaving his entire chest a patchwork of burnt scars and seared black flesh. He could not even make out the words from the orientation of his head, but the moment he saw those letters in full, the anguish bloomed from merely exquisite to become the new Demiurgic master of his new reality of torment.
As Archibald's pained screams pierced through the confines of the cloth pavillion while the Physic tried to calm him down and while the Colonel looked on gravely, passer-by and the guards at the tent's opening could not help but peer in and stare at what they saw emblazoned upon the body of the Knight with the shattered, maimed limbs. And so the message was known.
Lothar stood outside the entrance to a nice little bar with a slightly faded old sign that read, 'The Well of Nirn.' "So, this is the place, Sir Henry?" "Yes, my Lord. I went around the city, trying to retrace Sir Archibald's steps last night. This, I can assure you, is the place that he first went to with the fellow who called himself 'Nalon'". Lothar nodded. One of his other Knights, with a mailed fist, knocked loudly on the wooden door.
"We're open! It's early, but come on in!" A voice drifted from inside.
The Knight shoved the door open and drew his sword as he entered as did the other two Knights to secure the room while Lord Wolff followed in behind them calmly. The Knights looked around the bar but it seemed... like a normal bar. Nothing was out of place, but they still stood with their swords ready in case anything happened.
"Well. Not sure what this is all about mi'lord." The barkeep said in a graveled voice as he peered at all the assembled men. He was on the shorter side, but with a broad build. His hair was rapidly graying but still had traces of color to it. He wore an eyepatch over his right socket, and was missed the upper half of his index finger from his right hand - and there was a distinctive, wavery and waxen texture of burnt and healed skin on his cheek. Immediately behind him, mounted on the wall behind the bar, was a pike and shortsword of a Kron-Nesis infantryman.
As if to confirm his past, the barkeep gave Lothar a grim smile. "Y'think you brought enough men?" He laughed hoarsely.
"If I wanted to, there could be an entire cavalry squadron here as well, but no need to digress too far from the topic. Barkeep, one of my Knights came here last night with a fellow named 'Nalon.' I require you to tell me everything you know about this fellow who supposedly had scars all over his face, a part of his tongue missing, and claimed to be an NCO." Lothar bluntly replied.
"I imagine the Knight you're referring to was Sir Archibald? Eye, I remember those two comin' about. His fellow didna introduce himself as Nalon though. Called himself Tret, and Archibald didn't seem ta think that was of issue." The Barkeep crossed one arm across his body and used it to prop up the other as he idly traced the fingers - and one stump - of his right hand over his burn mark, in some kind of habitual stance as he thought.
"This fellow - Nalon or Tret or what have you - he came in, said he had been with sixth-division sectional infantry and that his lord was looking for some cheer. Persuaded me to give Archibald a rate. Wasn't a bad deal, that knight spent coin like it were garbage on rounds for the house. He 'twere well appreciated, let me tell you." He nodded slowly. "Didna see much of Tret after that. Think he may have just left. Last I saw the Knight, some soldier was helping him slog and stumble 'is way out of the bar onto the street. Could have been Tret, but might not 'o been. Didn't really pay it much mind at the time."
"Unfortunately Barkeep, you're going to have to think a bit harder. What else do you know of this 'Tret' or the Sixth Division?" Lothar inquired. "Ahh, and as incentive, I'll let you know why I ask all this. Sir Archibald was assaulted last night and maimed. The penalty for attacking a Knight DURING wartime, I can imagine, is rather steep. Thus, as the owner of this cozy establishment, you do have the duty of watching out for your patrons. It would be a shame to think that people might start thinking that this establishment is... lacking in consideration for its clients."
The barkeep gave him a toothy smile.
"Well, mi'lord, for one ting, the common law sayeth I do not owe spit to nobody the second the set one foot out on the other side of the threshold." He indicated the door behind Lothar. "And second, make all the threats of bad-mothin' you want. This is an old hole I made to give me old friends and other veterans some comfort, even if they wert the only ones to ever come again I'd be fine with that. I'll tell you what I can, mi'lord, but don't ye trying to pin whatever it is that happened on me. I'll sleep just fine either way."
"Unfortunate for you, common law tends to... not have as much standing during war, but like I said. You help me get to the bottom of this, then surely people will hear about your upstanding nature and concern for your clients. It's not every day that a Knight gets assaulted." Lothar replied.
"Fine, fine. Well, let me see..." The barkeep returned to his prior stance for a moment. "Well, sixth division were my own division at some point. Not sure if it's still what they do, but when I was a fightin' man we were up in the mountains, fighten them dwarves in skirmishes and such. Thinkin' on it now, seein' a man claiming to be from sixth division sectional infantry all the way out here is a twee bit strange. Not unheard of, what with leave and the like, and all the rumors of this new war risin' up. He certainly looked the part 'o sectional infantry though, and I 'eard him speakin wit some of the others. Said his tongue was that way 'fore dwarven trap. Sent shrapnel right up through the underside of his jaw and through his tongue. He's lucky his voice is only what muffled a bit for it. Said his friends called him Nailtooth."
Lothar nodded and said "Well, that's certainly helpful. Say, Barkeep, I know it's probably been a while since you saw service, but do you still have friends in the Sixth?"
"...I might." The barkeep said slowly, taking a good look at Lothar with his one eye, tracing up and down his armor and settling on the hilt of his sword.
"Give me three names. I'll personally see to it that those three are transfered from the division before the war starts." Lothar said
"Transferred where, mi'lord? If you don't mind me asking."
"Anywhere else, but the Sixth. I plan to have the war potentially deal with my issue for me and see to it that the Sixth is the vanguard for this upcoming war. They will serve their Kingdom honorably and be decorated with all the posthumorous accolades they deserve for giving up everything on behalf of the Grand Kingdom. Course... I do have a need for three... guides and messengers for my men."
"Well mi'lord," The barkeep said after a brief moment of consideration. "I think we both be knowin' the true worth of your posthumous accolades. 'An rest assured, the soldiers in the Sixth know it too. Ye can take your threat and make good on it, those men and women swore 'n oath, same as I did, and they'll be your van. Don't need me savin' any of them." His one good eye narrowed.
"But be sure your sins will find you out."
Lothar shook his head "Another metalhead who buys the Grand Kingdom's lies. I genuinely thought that you would be smarter than that, but I guess not. Although, I do wonder... what sins have I committed?"
"Y'know, when I saw that sword, for a wee second I thought maybe you'd get it. But ye don't, do you?" The barkeep slammed on the surface of the tableide before him fiercely with what remained of his right hand. "You think we all don't know we're throwin' our lives away for naught? But an oath is an oath is an oath, in the eyes of the gods. Men like you may be pissant, scum-suckin' bottom feeders, but you got our mettle all the same. Unlike some, we dona fight for glory. The men and women of the sixth all get that."
"Funny, the same men and women who would maim and torture a random man just because of his title? I see what it is that you think of nobility, but do not pretend to sit upon a higher moral seat when you do not know the experiences of Sir Archibald and his trials and tribulations just like I do not under-estimate your experiences in the field. You bare your scars with pride, and yet I am disgusted by them because you believe that following an 'oath' is honorable and just in the eyes of the gods. Whatever gods that you believe in are not the ones I would want to follow if those same gods want you to suffer along with the thousands of others in the Sixth. I ask one more time as a favor to you and your few friends still in the Sixth. Do you have three names to provide me before they go off on this god-forsaken war for some god-forsaken piece of dirt?" Lothar rebuttled.
"I just told you honor don't come into it. It were never about honor. It were about giving our word, sometin a noble prick like you would never understand. I bear my scars because I have no choice other than to bear them, and damn you for sayin' otherwise. But if you be wantin' so fiercely for names, you'll have them." The barkeep glowered.
"Peiro Halbadain were a Sergeant in the sixth division some time ago. Not sure if that still be the case, but he's been doin' nothing but your bidding since 'e were born. Canam Argider and Feldis Agate are both scouts; if they still live they deserve better than to muck about in trenches and tunnels like rats waitin' to get crushed."
Lothar nodded and said "You just saved three lives. More than what the gods have done as of late. I will request that they serve me personally, and I have to confess something. I do not have such authority or power to order the Sixth to the very front... but this war... it will claim lives ruthlessly and without concern. If they serve as messengers instead of fighting in the trenches... I hope that you will all be able to share a drink together once this war is over... at least the chances of that happening are a lot higher. That said, thank you for all the information, but I must do what I must to bring Sir Archibald some justice... he had been... eager to serve the Grand Kingdom despite my warnings." With that, Lothar nodded to his Knights as they sheathed their swords and began to walk out of the bar.
Lothar began to depart with some final words. "Perhaps, one day... all this madness will end, but until that day... I will continue to carry this sword. That is the only reason I carry it. But, I pray that you will never have to lift yours anymore."
The Capital City of Tarantis
Encampment of the Grand Marshall
A Terminal-Heyitsjiwon Collab
The retinue of Lord Wolff set up camp and began to wait for the orders to march. Until then... many of the men wouldn't give up the chance to explore the Southern Jewel while they had the chance. Among those men were Sir Archibald who wanted to visit some of the local escort establishments and meet some of the ladies of the capital. Admittedly, this was his first time in the grand city as most Attolians rarely have the opportunity to leave the archipelago. So, he seemed to be almost walking in circles as many of the buildings just looked the same to him. He wasn't completely lost since he could see the top of the royal palace in the distance, but he didn't really know where to go. He was just exploring for now.
"Hey there friend." Came a muffled voice from behind him. Looking around, he saw a member of the soldiery - obviously not a slave or an enscripted serf. They had an actual light-steel cuirass and greaves - they were not wearing any chain, and the cuirass had been polished to a spotless gleam worn over a relatively clean work-shirt. That and the absence of gauntlets and only a small dirk in his belt for a weapon indicated the man was just trying to look impressive for the peasantry without having to wear his entire ensemble. He has a plumped, rounded face with several scars and gouge-lines running through the tissue of the cheeks, and in his open mouth sat a deformed tongue with a missing chunk to it - explaining his muffled voice. He was fortunate not to have a lisp.
"I saw you coming in with House Wolff. If you're looking for the best places, I can show you around. If you can be a friend to me, yeah?" He gave Archibald a beaming smile, his deformed tongue momentarily hidden from view.
Sir Archibald was a bit taken back by the man. He seemed a bit out of place being so friendly. Given his appearance, and his lack respect to nobility... no wonder he had so many scars. He likely got hit around quite a bit for disrespecting his Lord. "If you saw me come in with House Wolff, then you should know that I am a Knight, and that you should be calling me 'Sire'. Now, vanish before I teach you a lesson for being so disrespectful to a noble. The mere sight of you offends me, Cur." Sir Archibald spat with disgust and he turned to continue to walk. He just wanted a place to get some decent wine and some company, not have some maimed... mercenary try to get on his good side.
"Well sire," Came the man's muffled and now hurried voice. "You'll have to forgive me but I only saw you come in on horseback, you were not all in plate, I just sort of assumed you were an officer like me. And begging your pardon - sire - but given your state of dress and what how this city is practically encrusted with glitz, unless you have somebody to announce you I fear the same mistake is going to be made again...But I could show you a few establishments that cater to more patrician men of class such as yourself, who would never make that sort of mistake."
Sir Archibald's brows furrowed slightly. The guy was a bit too friendly, but perhaps that was what people were like in the Southern Jewel. They do say that luxery and comfort make people soft. He sighed and said "Very well, then. Although as an officer, you should be more familiar with the heraldry that people bear. A mistake like that.... and well let's just say that I know a lot of nobles and knights who aren't too forgiving." He then reached out for a handshake and said "I am Sir Archibald of Attolia. What are you called, soldier? Where do you hail from?"
"The name is Nalon Tret, I came into the service of our Grand King from the Bloody Cape." He clasped Archibald's hand firmly - he was no longer smiling widely as he had been before, but his demeanor still was not unfriendly. "And I do beg your pardon sire; speaking truthfully I am a non-comissioned officer. I am not as familiar with the heraldry as others might be. My captain entrusts me with the responsibility of making rounds in whatever locale to ensure the company's revelry does not get out of hand. How would you like to start the evening off, sire?"
"Bloody Cape you say? Can't say I'm too familiar with the region." Sir Archibald replied. "Anyways, I was just looking for a local watering hole so to speak. Don't let me keep you from your duty, Nalon. I don't know who your Captain may be, but I sure as hell know that some of the officers in the Grand Army are certainly no pushovers. Just... if you could point me towards the direction of a decent bar, I can figure out the rest myself."
"Well sire, you will want to avoid most of the places near here and too far into the city. Here in the outskirts most of the bars are for tourists; they just serve piss poured from a boot and call it ambrosia." Nalon leaned in conspiratorially as he confided in the knight. "You also want to avoid the inner-city bars. They do the same thing, but they charge you more for it, and they fine you if you get the seat dirty. Not really the sort of place for a knight who's been riding all day, sire. If you want my recommendation, there are two bars a ways from here - the Well of Nirn and the Buried Hilt. Both are owned by ex-veterans. The first is a drinking hole with a little bit of gaming, the second is for the discerning customer who might be interested in negotiable affection. I was about to head in to both myself to check on the men, I could guide you there, introduce you to the owners mebbe, get you the special rates."
Sir Archibald replied "Well, that does sound intriguing, but how far a ways are we talking about? I don't think it would be wise to stray too far from the camp when we're bound to start heading off to whatever bloody war we're supposed to fight."
"The Well of Nirn is just about three blocks to the Northeast, sire."Nalon supplied.
"Three blocks? What are we doing just standing around here when we could be drowning ourselves in God's nectar? Take the lead Nalon! First round's on me." Sir Archibald eagerly interjected.
Nalon led Sir Archibald to the Well of Nirn as promised, and introduced him to the owner, who was more than pleased to let Archibald have the special rates to then be generous with. There was much merriment that night, and the Knight found himself not only buying drinks but receiving drinks from others.
Many, many drinks.
He did not recall the remainder of the night, save for an indistinct nightmare filled with fire, pain, and the soft words of rage whispering promises of oblivion into his ear.
He awoke with a start, his vision blurry and indistinct. There were voices nearby, and he couldn't feel anything. Not the worst sign, as he had woken up with worse hangovers. Slowly, he tried to get up and realized he could not move his arms. The voices nearby grew in volume, sounding startled. Faces swam into his field of vision, and he heard them speak to him. Their words reached him as though spoken through a thick wooden door.
"Archibald...ire...us?"
A swath of fabric briefly covered his face. It was damp with cool water as somebody wiped at his brow, and then they spoke again, their voices a little clearer.
"Sir Archibald, can you hear us?" They tried again. Their faces were now starting to swim into focus. One of his attendants was dressed all-in-white, one of the Field Camp's physics no doubt. The other appeared to be one of the Grand Marshall's Colonels, strangely enough. What could he be doing here?
"W-where in the bloody hell am I?" Sir Archibald moaned. He felt worse than ever before... almost like he got ran over by a bull or something. "I-I should cut down on the merriment... I'm certainly no longer as young as I once was." He moaned once more and then realized that the Colonel was still standing there. "How can I help you, Colonel?"
The two figures glanced at each other. "Sir Archibald, you are in he medical pavillion." The physician answered, cautiously. "It is very important that you try not to move, and to stay calm."
"Do you remember anything about last night, Knight?" The Colonel asked, his gaze seeming to run over Archibald's body. The dull, throbbing sensation of pain was starting to hammer its way back into Archibald's reality - and he realized, he was not wearing a shirt or tunic. He was bear-chested for some strange reason, but at the same time it felt like something was pressed down against his chest.
Sir Archibald looked down and noticed what looked like splints as his arms rested on top of him. "That was one heck of a night..." He muttered. "Last night? I was walking around, looking for a tavern or something when I bumped into a random NCO. What was his name....Talon? No.... no....AH, Nalon. The cheeky lad... took me to a bar named the Well of Nirn and he drank me under the table!" Sir Archibald tried to look around and see where Nalon was. "Where's the lad? He have a rough night like I did?"
The Colonel and the Physician shared another look.
"...That is presently what we are trying to determine." The Colonel answered briefly. "As hesitant as I am to say this, physician, perhaps we should move his arms so he can see?"
"That might set him off." The Physic muttered in reply. "He's doing remarkably well so far, thanks to all the poppy juice, but he really needs to rest..."
"Poppy juice? Is that what I drank last night? Knocked me onto my arse! That's some dangerous stuff" Sir Archibald interjected.
"Knight, I am afraid..." The Colonel began, then stopped with a frown as he considered. He tried again. "I am concerned that this man you met, this Nalon you called him, might not have been who you thought he was. We're going to move your arms now so you can see what happened to your chest, but I want you to promise to remain calm. There will be some pain. Understand?"
"Huh? Uhh, you may do so." Sir Archibald replied.
The Colonel nodded at the Physic, who gently began to sidle Archibald's splintered arms off to the sides of his bodies, without endeavoring to actually pick them up to move them. The pain was suddenly exquisite - Archibald felt as though there were untold burrowing insects deep inside the flesh of his arms, laying eggs of fire in the marrow of his bones, and nothing came of his spasmodic efforts to move any of part of either. But worse was the glimpse of what lay under them, as the first of the charred, blackened scarring was revealed by the wood and cloth of the first splint being moved, and then the second. Covering his chest was lettering, carved into his flesh with some implement and then roughly cauterized afterward, leaving his entire chest a patchwork of burnt scars and seared black flesh. He could not even make out the words from the orientation of his head, but the moment he saw those letters in full, the anguish bloomed from merely exquisite to become the new Demiurgic master of his new reality of torment.
As Archibald's pained screams pierced through the confines of the cloth pavillion while the Physic tried to calm him down and while the Colonel looked on gravely, passer-by and the guards at the tent's opening could not help but peer in and stare at what they saw emblazoned upon the body of the Knight with the shattered, maimed limbs. And so the message was known.
YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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Lothar stood outside the entrance to a nice little bar with a slightly faded old sign that read, 'The Well of Nirn.' "So, this is the place, Sir Henry?" "Yes, my Lord. I went around the city, trying to retrace Sir Archibald's steps last night. This, I can assure you, is the place that he first went to with the fellow who called himself 'Nalon'". Lothar nodded. One of his other Knights, with a mailed fist, knocked loudly on the wooden door.
"We're open! It's early, but come on in!" A voice drifted from inside.
The Knight shoved the door open and drew his sword as he entered as did the other two Knights to secure the room while Lord Wolff followed in behind them calmly. The Knights looked around the bar but it seemed... like a normal bar. Nothing was out of place, but they still stood with their swords ready in case anything happened.
"Well. Not sure what this is all about mi'lord." The barkeep said in a graveled voice as he peered at all the assembled men. He was on the shorter side, but with a broad build. His hair was rapidly graying but still had traces of color to it. He wore an eyepatch over his right socket, and was missed the upper half of his index finger from his right hand - and there was a distinctive, wavery and waxen texture of burnt and healed skin on his cheek. Immediately behind him, mounted on the wall behind the bar, was a pike and shortsword of a Kron-Nesis infantryman.
As if to confirm his past, the barkeep gave Lothar a grim smile. "Y'think you brought enough men?" He laughed hoarsely.
"If I wanted to, there could be an entire cavalry squadron here as well, but no need to digress too far from the topic. Barkeep, one of my Knights came here last night with a fellow named 'Nalon.' I require you to tell me everything you know about this fellow who supposedly had scars all over his face, a part of his tongue missing, and claimed to be an NCO." Lothar bluntly replied.
"I imagine the Knight you're referring to was Sir Archibald? Eye, I remember those two comin' about. His fellow didna introduce himself as Nalon though. Called himself Tret, and Archibald didn't seem ta think that was of issue." The Barkeep crossed one arm across his body and used it to prop up the other as he idly traced the fingers - and one stump - of his right hand over his burn mark, in some kind of habitual stance as he thought.
"This fellow - Nalon or Tret or what have you - he came in, said he had been with sixth-division sectional infantry and that his lord was looking for some cheer. Persuaded me to give Archibald a rate. Wasn't a bad deal, that knight spent coin like it were garbage on rounds for the house. He 'twere well appreciated, let me tell you." He nodded slowly. "Didna see much of Tret after that. Think he may have just left. Last I saw the Knight, some soldier was helping him slog and stumble 'is way out of the bar onto the street. Could have been Tret, but might not 'o been. Didn't really pay it much mind at the time."
"Unfortunately Barkeep, you're going to have to think a bit harder. What else do you know of this 'Tret' or the Sixth Division?" Lothar inquired. "Ahh, and as incentive, I'll let you know why I ask all this. Sir Archibald was assaulted last night and maimed. The penalty for attacking a Knight DURING wartime, I can imagine, is rather steep. Thus, as the owner of this cozy establishment, you do have the duty of watching out for your patrons. It would be a shame to think that people might start thinking that this establishment is... lacking in consideration for its clients."
The barkeep gave him a toothy smile.
"Well, mi'lord, for one ting, the common law sayeth I do not owe spit to nobody the second the set one foot out on the other side of the threshold." He indicated the door behind Lothar. "And second, make all the threats of bad-mothin' you want. This is an old hole I made to give me old friends and other veterans some comfort, even if they wert the only ones to ever come again I'd be fine with that. I'll tell you what I can, mi'lord, but don't ye trying to pin whatever it is that happened on me. I'll sleep just fine either way."
"Unfortunate for you, common law tends to... not have as much standing during war, but like I said. You help me get to the bottom of this, then surely people will hear about your upstanding nature and concern for your clients. It's not every day that a Knight gets assaulted." Lothar replied.
"Fine, fine. Well, let me see..." The barkeep returned to his prior stance for a moment. "Well, sixth division were my own division at some point. Not sure if it's still what they do, but when I was a fightin' man we were up in the mountains, fighten them dwarves in skirmishes and such. Thinkin' on it now, seein' a man claiming to be from sixth division sectional infantry all the way out here is a twee bit strange. Not unheard of, what with leave and the like, and all the rumors of this new war risin' up. He certainly looked the part 'o sectional infantry though, and I 'eard him speakin wit some of the others. Said his tongue was that way 'fore dwarven trap. Sent shrapnel right up through the underside of his jaw and through his tongue. He's lucky his voice is only what muffled a bit for it. Said his friends called him Nailtooth."
Lothar nodded and said "Well, that's certainly helpful. Say, Barkeep, I know it's probably been a while since you saw service, but do you still have friends in the Sixth?"
"...I might." The barkeep said slowly, taking a good look at Lothar with his one eye, tracing up and down his armor and settling on the hilt of his sword.
"Give me three names. I'll personally see to it that those three are transfered from the division before the war starts." Lothar said
"Transferred where, mi'lord? If you don't mind me asking."
"Anywhere else, but the Sixth. I plan to have the war potentially deal with my issue for me and see to it that the Sixth is the vanguard for this upcoming war. They will serve their Kingdom honorably and be decorated with all the posthumorous accolades they deserve for giving up everything on behalf of the Grand Kingdom. Course... I do have a need for three... guides and messengers for my men."
"Well mi'lord," The barkeep said after a brief moment of consideration. "I think we both be knowin' the true worth of your posthumous accolades. 'An rest assured, the soldiers in the Sixth know it too. Ye can take your threat and make good on it, those men and women swore 'n oath, same as I did, and they'll be your van. Don't need me savin' any of them." His one good eye narrowed.
"But be sure your sins will find you out."
Lothar shook his head "Another metalhead who buys the Grand Kingdom's lies. I genuinely thought that you would be smarter than that, but I guess not. Although, I do wonder... what sins have I committed?"
"Y'know, when I saw that sword, for a wee second I thought maybe you'd get it. But ye don't, do you?" The barkeep slammed on the surface of the tableide before him fiercely with what remained of his right hand. "You think we all don't know we're throwin' our lives away for naught? But an oath is an oath is an oath, in the eyes of the gods. Men like you may be pissant, scum-suckin' bottom feeders, but you got our mettle all the same. Unlike some, we dona fight for glory. The men and women of the sixth all get that."
"Funny, the same men and women who would maim and torture a random man just because of his title? I see what it is that you think of nobility, but do not pretend to sit upon a higher moral seat when you do not know the experiences of Sir Archibald and his trials and tribulations just like I do not under-estimate your experiences in the field. You bare your scars with pride, and yet I am disgusted by them because you believe that following an 'oath' is honorable and just in the eyes of the gods. Whatever gods that you believe in are not the ones I would want to follow if those same gods want you to suffer along with the thousands of others in the Sixth. I ask one more time as a favor to you and your few friends still in the Sixth. Do you have three names to provide me before they go off on this god-forsaken war for some god-forsaken piece of dirt?" Lothar rebuttled.
"I just told you honor don't come into it. It were never about honor. It were about giving our word, sometin a noble prick like you would never understand. I bear my scars because I have no choice other than to bear them, and damn you for sayin' otherwise. But if you be wantin' so fiercely for names, you'll have them." The barkeep glowered.
"Peiro Halbadain were a Sergeant in the sixth division some time ago. Not sure if that still be the case, but he's been doin' nothing but your bidding since 'e were born. Canam Argider and Feldis Agate are both scouts; if they still live they deserve better than to muck about in trenches and tunnels like rats waitin' to get crushed."
Lothar nodded and said "You just saved three lives. More than what the gods have done as of late. I will request that they serve me personally, and I have to confess something. I do not have such authority or power to order the Sixth to the very front... but this war... it will claim lives ruthlessly and without concern. If they serve as messengers instead of fighting in the trenches... I hope that you will all be able to share a drink together once this war is over... at least the chances of that happening are a lot higher. That said, thank you for all the information, but I must do what I must to bring Sir Archibald some justice... he had been... eager to serve the Grand Kingdom despite my warnings." With that, Lothar nodded to his Knights as they sheathed their swords and began to walk out of the bar.
Lothar began to depart with some final words. "Perhaps, one day... all this madness will end, but until that day... I will continue to carry this sword. That is the only reason I carry it. But, I pray that you will never have to lift yours anymore."
Strange Rodent Rodent of Unusual Size
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
At the Gates of Tarantis
"Next!"
The word resonated from the guardsman's mouth and down the gatehouse hall. The man next in line walked to the booth, everyone else taking one step after him. Nar was the next in line, after this fellow. He'd been standing on the road into Tarantis for what felt like longer than he'd been traveling there. All those who get here early are smart.
The man who had just been called was a strange one indeed, as Nar had found out when he talked with him in line. He called himself the Jack of Hearts, and wore a bone white mask with a red heart painted over one eye, which he was currently taking off for the first time since Nar saw him. He walked off, and Nar was called up. His boots made a horrendous clacking as the metal studs in the leather sole crashed into the marble floor and his ragged robes trailed behind him, but due to his air of confidence, all those who watched were sure that this man was the height of dignity.
"Who are you, and what business do you have in Tarantis?", asked the guardsman.
"My name is Nar Zalaam, and I'm here on family business", Nar replied, never breaking eye contact with the guard.
Checking his ledger, the guard looked Nar in the eye and smiled grimly, "Hm. Good luck.". He stepped aside, allowing Nar through to the gleaming white city. The sun reflected off of the buildings far too harshly, the crowds were practically a solid mass, and it stank. Nothing had changed, apparently. He began to walk, and only felt a visitor, despite his near perfect memory of the streets. Warm waves of sorrow flooded his mind as he turned every corner, each one growing more powerful. It didn't take long for Nar to reach his old house. He was facing the door, and all he could think when he saw the "For Sale" sign was Why wasn't I here earlier?.
He stood, paralyzed by the words. This could mean only one thing: his parents died, and he didn't know when. Sorrow turned to rage as he cast blame on those who didn't tell him. He placed his hand on the wooden door, which immediately burst into flames, settling into ash within seconds. He stepped inside, touring himself around the rooms. Every step he took made him feel like his wretched legs would drop into the void. With no small effort, he made it to the second floor. Straight down the hall he saw it. A scene straight from a distant and forgotten, yet highly disturbing dream. He could feel himself overwhelmed with fear as he gazed upon the familiar hallway which had been irreversibly tainted by the lack of identity. Where once hung a painting, there now was bare wall. A patterned rug used to hide the disturbingly bare floorboards. Worst of all, to his right was meant to be the door to his old bedroom and, later, study. He'd carved words into that door, which had served as a portal to another realm for Nar for years. Now, there only sat a large slab of wood on hinges. He wanted it all to burn. He held his hand in front of his face, and from his fingers spewed wicked lengths of a bright yellow flame.
The tongues flickered, and started to pull together with a magnetic attraction. The tip of the flame rolled down to Nar's palm, and in less than a second he was holding a small ball of fire, about the size of a grape. It was only when the walls began to smoke that Nar came to. The flame flickered out, dropping a veil of darkness over the hall, allowing Nar the courage he needed to flee.
Twenty minutes later
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After far too much running, Nar was comfortably seated in a bar with no affiliation to his past. His knees were screaming at him, and he'd skinned his sooty hands more than once. He was using his third cold pint of lager to soothe the grazes when a military looking man walked in with a few guards. They argued with the barkeep for a while about some knight named Archibald, who had apparently been maimed the previous night. To Nar, it looked like the barkeep was hiding something, but not everybody could be so shrewd. After they'd finished, Nar decided to pipe up. He looked up from his pint, and said in a tired voice, "You know, to the average customer, this looks a whole lot like intimidation and besmirching an old veteran... I don't mean any threat, but I can't speak for the rest of these customers, or even the barkeep. Maybe, to save yourself a bit of grief down the road of time, you could apologise to this man.". He looked the armed man right in the eye the whole time, then gave a pointed look to the bartender. "I don't know who you are or where you're sleeping tonight, but there may be some who do".
I swear, some people put so much stock into honour that they don't consider their lives... was the thought running through Nar's mind.
Bradle's Worth
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
The first few raindrops were cold and fat, and they bounced off Adrian's red curls and pasty nose as she looked up at the gloomy sky. They were on horseback; a phenomenon that Adrian wasn't too accustomed to just yet, so she sat in front of Victor and clutched the wiry mane apprehensively.
“Rain, Victor,” Adrian pointed out, still staring gormlessly up at the sky.
Victors eyes were glued to the road, listening onto any noise that wasn’t his mounts hooves hitting the ground. “Good, we’re here..” he pointed out as he slowed their pace down to a trott, entering the miniscule village through one of its two entrances.
The villagers were amidst gathering their goods, drying clothes, and leading the barely existing stock into their sheds to shelter them from the impending rain. A sign that it was going to be more intense further on through the night. The road was barren of any pavement, forcing his horse to trudge through a muddying mainstreet to whatever building here passed as a tavern. Adrian petted the horse as they wandered through the streets. She peered across the scene, squinting at the wooden boards hanging beside the buildings. When she spied one with a flagon of ale and a stable next door, she tugged on Victor's arm and pointed at it.
Victor followed her gaze and spotted the indicated building. “Nice.” he noted before steering the reigns towards it. Guiding towards the makeshift stables near what the tavern he was the first to hop off and hitch it to a post before moving to help Adrian off its back and onto the mud. Adrian wiggled her boots slightly to get the best squelch when she tried to lift her feet, resulting in around a half inch of mud circling the perimeter of the shoe soles. With this solemn and essential task completed, the duo wandered into the tavern.
It was a smoky, crowded yet pleasant establishment. A myriad of characters filled the chairs and tables, leaving Victor some bar space to occupy. Adrian, as she is wont to do when she enters a tavern, stood at the entrance and stared at the patrons unashamedly until Victor gave her a little nudge towards the bar. As Adrian dragged a seat towards the sticky countertop and went about her duty to stare unashamedly at the bartender, Victor eased himself gingerly against the bartop and flagged the bartender down.
“Anything I can get you two?” Called out the ruddy faced fellow who came over, giving a brief smile to Adrian (which was not reciprocated) before focusing his attention on Victor.
“Please, a room and whatever you’ve got cooking tonight.” he motioned at what appeared to be a pot of unknown stew atop of the fire behind the bartender. Victor didn’t waste time and picked out his coin purse, precariously selecting a several of them at the bartenders demand. Adrian watched the interaction between the pair of them carefully and, as the bartender jostled his way through his own crowded bar to pick up two rough hewn bowls, she turned to look up at Victor.
“The metal discs - the coins - you use them instead of trading objects,” she stated, more of a fact than a question, “and the other person uses those little things to get other objects, so the worth of the object isn't lost or unfairly bargained, right?” She wriggled her fingers into the coin pouch to pick out a coin and examine it.
“What do they do where you come from?”
“Nothing,” murmured Adrian, engrossed in the way the surface catches the light. “We traded goods. But how do you assign worth to something? A bison lives for years and makes milk and wool. How many blankets is it worth? If you trade in food, what do you do when it goes rotten within the week? I like your idea better. Metal does not spoil…”
“Well we’ve been doing it here before we even began to write history. Value of it just comes from the material from which it’s made.” he replied, trying to come up with the most simple way to convey it, peering at her somewhat curiously. “I think.” he added, after he had some time to mull it over.
Adrian nodded, distractedly, placing the coin back into the weathered palm of her travelling companion just as a thick brownish stew slid across the bar towards the travellers. She scooped up the bowl and held it against her clammy arms in an attempt to warm up. Finally she took the spoon and tried some of the mixture. It didn't give her much of a reaction. “I think I prefer cold meat,” she commented idly, and left it at that. “What do you want to do here, Victor?”
“Work, of course. Death attracts monsters, and with the fighting nearby there’s probably a lot of contracts passed around in these parts. It’s more dangerous of course but works a plenty.” he explained, grabbing a spoon and lifting a mouthful of the broth.
“For more coins?”
“Yes, for more coins.” he admitted. “Eat up, we won’t be having anything more tonight.” Adrian obeyed and ate in silence. Her gaze flickered back and forth with the patient, methodical approach she took to absorbing the conversation, quietly compartmentalizing the things she has learned.
In the din of the chatter, the clink of the glasses and the crackle of the fireplace, two largely unremarkable individuals lapsed into a comfortable silence and waited, bowls half empty, for their rented room to be prepared for them.
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
The first few raindrops were cold and fat, and they bounced off Adrian's red curls and pasty nose as she looked up at the gloomy sky. They were on horseback; a phenomenon that Adrian wasn't too accustomed to just yet, so she sat in front of Victor and clutched the wiry mane apprehensively.
“Rain, Victor,” Adrian pointed out, still staring gormlessly up at the sky.
Victors eyes were glued to the road, listening onto any noise that wasn’t his mounts hooves hitting the ground. “Good, we’re here..” he pointed out as he slowed their pace down to a trott, entering the miniscule village through one of its two entrances.
The villagers were amidst gathering their goods, drying clothes, and leading the barely existing stock into their sheds to shelter them from the impending rain. A sign that it was going to be more intense further on through the night. The road was barren of any pavement, forcing his horse to trudge through a muddying mainstreet to whatever building here passed as a tavern. Adrian petted the horse as they wandered through the streets. She peered across the scene, squinting at the wooden boards hanging beside the buildings. When she spied one with a flagon of ale and a stable next door, she tugged on Victor's arm and pointed at it.
Victor followed her gaze and spotted the indicated building. “Nice.” he noted before steering the reigns towards it. Guiding towards the makeshift stables near what the tavern he was the first to hop off and hitch it to a post before moving to help Adrian off its back and onto the mud. Adrian wiggled her boots slightly to get the best squelch when she tried to lift her feet, resulting in around a half inch of mud circling the perimeter of the shoe soles. With this solemn and essential task completed, the duo wandered into the tavern.
It was a smoky, crowded yet pleasant establishment. A myriad of characters filled the chairs and tables, leaving Victor some bar space to occupy. Adrian, as she is wont to do when she enters a tavern, stood at the entrance and stared at the patrons unashamedly until Victor gave her a little nudge towards the bar. As Adrian dragged a seat towards the sticky countertop and went about her duty to stare unashamedly at the bartender, Victor eased himself gingerly against the bartop and flagged the bartender down.
“Anything I can get you two?” Called out the ruddy faced fellow who came over, giving a brief smile to Adrian (which was not reciprocated) before focusing his attention on Victor.
“Please, a room and whatever you’ve got cooking tonight.” he motioned at what appeared to be a pot of unknown stew atop of the fire behind the bartender. Victor didn’t waste time and picked out his coin purse, precariously selecting a several of them at the bartenders demand. Adrian watched the interaction between the pair of them carefully and, as the bartender jostled his way through his own crowded bar to pick up two rough hewn bowls, she turned to look up at Victor.
“The metal discs - the coins - you use them instead of trading objects,” she stated, more of a fact than a question, “and the other person uses those little things to get other objects, so the worth of the object isn't lost or unfairly bargained, right?” She wriggled her fingers into the coin pouch to pick out a coin and examine it.
“What do they do where you come from?”
“Nothing,” murmured Adrian, engrossed in the way the surface catches the light. “We traded goods. But how do you assign worth to something? A bison lives for years and makes milk and wool. How many blankets is it worth? If you trade in food, what do you do when it goes rotten within the week? I like your idea better. Metal does not spoil…”
“Well we’ve been doing it here before we even began to write history. Value of it just comes from the material from which it’s made.” he replied, trying to come up with the most simple way to convey it, peering at her somewhat curiously. “I think.” he added, after he had some time to mull it over.
Adrian nodded, distractedly, placing the coin back into the weathered palm of her travelling companion just as a thick brownish stew slid across the bar towards the travellers. She scooped up the bowl and held it against her clammy arms in an attempt to warm up. Finally she took the spoon and tried some of the mixture. It didn't give her much of a reaction. “I think I prefer cold meat,” she commented idly, and left it at that. “What do you want to do here, Victor?”
“Work, of course. Death attracts monsters, and with the fighting nearby there’s probably a lot of contracts passed around in these parts. It’s more dangerous of course but works a plenty.” he explained, grabbing a spoon and lifting a mouthful of the broth.
“For more coins?”
“Yes, for more coins.” he admitted. “Eat up, we won’t be having anything more tonight.” Adrian obeyed and ate in silence. Her gaze flickered back and forth with the patient, methodical approach she took to absorbing the conversation, quietly compartmentalizing the things she has learned.
In the din of the chatter, the clink of the glasses and the crackle of the fireplace, two largely unremarkable individuals lapsed into a comfortable silence and waited, bowls half empty, for their rented room to be prepared for them.
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Bradle's Worth Tavern
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The night rolled in, and with it came the swollen rainstorm clouds. Soon the sky was tipping water in sheets, sending a frothy river down the edges of the buildings, picking up the muck and filth on its way downhill. The quantity of patrons has swollen too, but many of them either retired to their rooms or braved the storm to hurry up the main street towards their waiting families. This left Adrian and Victor sat on one of the tables by the fire, the latter doing some pretty coin tricks that mesmerised the former. Every so often she'd mumble “how…” and make to grab the coin, as if separating it from its host would lift the spell.
Each time it happened, Victor amusedly sat back and let her thoroughly inspect the coin until she was sure there was no hint of magic, then allowed her to clumsily jam it between her fingers in an attempt to replicate the trick, before frustratedly pushing it back towards Victor's waiting palm. Then Victor would perform another coin trick and watch all the frustration immediately melt off Adrian's face as she leant forward and watched, wide-eyed and silent, either willing herself to unravel the secrets or simply losing herself in the fluidity of the sleight of hand.
But time passed on, the rain continued to pelt the tavern shingles in droves, and Victor ran out of coin tricks. Feeling a thirst coming on, and all too aware of the quality of water around these parts, Adrian’s fingers crept out to claw at the coin. “I want to try to buy beer,” she insisted, quiet yet firm in her resolve.
Victor stared at her intensely, mulling over the request: “Ok, bring it here.” And dropped the coin in front of her. Adrian's face lit up as she grabbed the coin and scurried over to the emptying bar, weaving in between the chairs and their occupants. She stared at the barkeep until he eventually caught on and came over with a slight smile, asking Adrian what she would like.
At this, Adrian proudly brandished the coin and said “beer,” hopefully. The barkeep gave her a baffled look - not so much at the request but the way it was emphasised. At Adrian's insistence he took the coin but smiled apologetically.
“I'm sorry, this isn't enough. You're going to need another 1.50 for a beer.” At this, Adrian looked mildly annoyed as she slipped off the bar stool and back to Victor.
“I need a hundred and fifty more coins,” Adrian reported solemnly.
Victor stared at her incredulously before forming out another coin and placing it before her. “Try that.”
Taking the little object in her hand, Adrian shot back the same incredulous look - it was like many of the others, only larger and inscripted with different numbers. Not that this was of any concern to the youngling, who was wholly illiterate and certainly sceptical of Victor’s latest offering. She mumbled something about needing a lot more than one before breaking off towards the bar once more and, to her amazement, finally obtaining a flagon of ale which she carried back to the table and set down carefully. “If you drink too much you’ll lose control,” warned Victor. Or could. He wasn’t quite sure how intoxication would affect a werebeast, only that he’d rather not take any chances. Adrian mulled over these words for a while before taking the flagon in her delicate fingers and hoisting it up to her mouth, taking measured but hearty sips. She shuddered at the taste.
“It cannot harm me,” Adrian responded with the calm clarity of reasoning, “I had no control to begin with.”
“You’re talking a lot.” He scowled at her, annoyed at her persistent curiosity. Adrian decided that it'd be best if she kept slugging back the tankard of ale, opting to stare at him unnervingly instead. Their staring contest ended early, with the tavern keep wandering over to their table to announce that their room is ready and hand them the keys.
As far as tavern rooms went, this one wasn't too shabby; the smell of damp most likely came from the leaky attic, and there weren't any visible traces of rats. Adrian immediately started to pick the place apart, opening every cupboard drawer, peeking under the sheets, digging a finger into the straw of the mattress.
“Stop messing around. Sit still,” Victor demanded, his tone growing stricter as a sudden surge of tiredness washed over him. “I’m going to be downstairs talking with the barkeep for work. You’re going to stay here and sleep.” He sighed, placing his supplies in one of the corners. Adrian watched him, then peered at the pile of supplies, then up to the bed. Victor gestured vaguely towards the bed. “Go on, get. I'll be back later.” On that note, the door shut with a dull clunk, leaving Adrian in the half light of the moon through the gaps in the rainclouds.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
Victor found himself talking to the barkeeper about the locale and rumours late into the night, about how men of his profession were needed northwest in Dun Eamon or east of it by the lakes. Bradle’s Worth seemed to remain steadfast regarding issues pertaining monsters specifically. Allegedly even Kron Nesis was in aid of slayers due the mobilisation of its forces. All of these were viable options; under normal circumstances he would have lunged at a chance to work in more civilised regions, but ever since he stumbled across Adrian forging plans had been tricky. He was still unsure why he was committing so much of his time and effort into guiding her to a safe homestead but there was something unnerving about her. Everything about her seemed off, from the way she ate her meals…
...To the way she slept in a tavern. Adrian had commandeered the blanket for herself but she had gathered it up around her and slept on top of it, on the floor. Victor instead opted to planting himself in the chair for a short slumber.
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The night rolled in, and with it came the swollen rainstorm clouds. Soon the sky was tipping water in sheets, sending a frothy river down the edges of the buildings, picking up the muck and filth on its way downhill. The quantity of patrons has swollen too, but many of them either retired to their rooms or braved the storm to hurry up the main street towards their waiting families. This left Adrian and Victor sat on one of the tables by the fire, the latter doing some pretty coin tricks that mesmerised the former. Every so often she'd mumble “how…” and make to grab the coin, as if separating it from its host would lift the spell.
Each time it happened, Victor amusedly sat back and let her thoroughly inspect the coin until she was sure there was no hint of magic, then allowed her to clumsily jam it between her fingers in an attempt to replicate the trick, before frustratedly pushing it back towards Victor's waiting palm. Then Victor would perform another coin trick and watch all the frustration immediately melt off Adrian's face as she leant forward and watched, wide-eyed and silent, either willing herself to unravel the secrets or simply losing herself in the fluidity of the sleight of hand.
But time passed on, the rain continued to pelt the tavern shingles in droves, and Victor ran out of coin tricks. Feeling a thirst coming on, and all too aware of the quality of water around these parts, Adrian’s fingers crept out to claw at the coin. “I want to try to buy beer,” she insisted, quiet yet firm in her resolve.
Victor stared at her intensely, mulling over the request: “Ok, bring it here.” And dropped the coin in front of her. Adrian's face lit up as she grabbed the coin and scurried over to the emptying bar, weaving in between the chairs and their occupants. She stared at the barkeep until he eventually caught on and came over with a slight smile, asking Adrian what she would like.
At this, Adrian proudly brandished the coin and said “beer,” hopefully. The barkeep gave her a baffled look - not so much at the request but the way it was emphasised. At Adrian's insistence he took the coin but smiled apologetically.
“I'm sorry, this isn't enough. You're going to need another 1.50 for a beer.” At this, Adrian looked mildly annoyed as she slipped off the bar stool and back to Victor.
“I need a hundred and fifty more coins,” Adrian reported solemnly.
Victor stared at her incredulously before forming out another coin and placing it before her. “Try that.”
Taking the little object in her hand, Adrian shot back the same incredulous look - it was like many of the others, only larger and inscripted with different numbers. Not that this was of any concern to the youngling, who was wholly illiterate and certainly sceptical of Victor’s latest offering. She mumbled something about needing a lot more than one before breaking off towards the bar once more and, to her amazement, finally obtaining a flagon of ale which she carried back to the table and set down carefully. “If you drink too much you’ll lose control,” warned Victor. Or could. He wasn’t quite sure how intoxication would affect a werebeast, only that he’d rather not take any chances. Adrian mulled over these words for a while before taking the flagon in her delicate fingers and hoisting it up to her mouth, taking measured but hearty sips. She shuddered at the taste.
“It cannot harm me,” Adrian responded with the calm clarity of reasoning, “I had no control to begin with.”
“You’re talking a lot.” He scowled at her, annoyed at her persistent curiosity. Adrian decided that it'd be best if she kept slugging back the tankard of ale, opting to stare at him unnervingly instead. Their staring contest ended early, with the tavern keep wandering over to their table to announce that their room is ready and hand them the keys.
As far as tavern rooms went, this one wasn't too shabby; the smell of damp most likely came from the leaky attic, and there weren't any visible traces of rats. Adrian immediately started to pick the place apart, opening every cupboard drawer, peeking under the sheets, digging a finger into the straw of the mattress.
“Stop messing around. Sit still,” Victor demanded, his tone growing stricter as a sudden surge of tiredness washed over him. “I’m going to be downstairs talking with the barkeep for work. You’re going to stay here and sleep.” He sighed, placing his supplies in one of the corners. Adrian watched him, then peered at the pile of supplies, then up to the bed. Victor gestured vaguely towards the bed. “Go on, get. I'll be back later.” On that note, the door shut with a dull clunk, leaving Adrian in the half light of the moon through the gaps in the rainclouds.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
Victor found himself talking to the barkeeper about the locale and rumours late into the night, about how men of his profession were needed northwest in Dun Eamon or east of it by the lakes. Bradle’s Worth seemed to remain steadfast regarding issues pertaining monsters specifically. Allegedly even Kron Nesis was in aid of slayers due the mobilisation of its forces. All of these were viable options; under normal circumstances he would have lunged at a chance to work in more civilised regions, but ever since he stumbled across Adrian forging plans had been tricky. He was still unsure why he was committing so much of his time and effort into guiding her to a safe homestead but there was something unnerving about her. Everything about her seemed off, from the way she ate her meals…
...To the way she slept in a tavern. Adrian had commandeered the blanket for herself but she had gathered it up around her and slept on top of it, on the floor. Victor instead opted to planting himself in the chair for a short slumber.
GM
Zhaliora Fallen Angel
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Southern Jewel
The captain took his time sending the letter along the chain of command. He quite enjoyed looking at the halfling. Thinking of the things he would do to this little pretty one if she was rejected by the palace. She didn't look rich or important enough to stay away from. Sure the letter was all fancy, but Ithell was far away. If nothing else those scholars would just send a letter of objection. After all, it was common decency to pay for time wasted. The captain grinned dangerously, almost licking his lips as he looked the girl up and down.
It took around an hour for Sirro to get the letter. Unannounced visitors tended to get the snailmail treatment in the palace. If you were not important enough for the guards to be notified prior of your visit, your visit was probably not that important. Or that was at least how they saw things themselves. That, and that the guards were hesitant to disturb the Court Wizard. A being of great power, resources, and sometimes quite erratic behaviour. Rumors has it that a few unfortunate guards had disturbed his experiments and ended up being used instead. All hogwash of course, but Sirro saw no reason to correct the rumors. It just left him more time to do his own things.
"His assistant? Hmm...yes I remember Werrill mentioning her.." Sirro didn't look up from his work as the page informed him of the letter. "I'm almost done so I'll go down and collect her in a bit." Sirro smiled as the slave in front of him ceased struggling as the collar clasped around her neck. "Perfect..finally succeeded.." He walked around her, slapped her across the face and received no reaction. Sirro's smile was from ear to ear as he continued. "I'm your new master, you'll treat me with utmost respect and do whatever I command. You'll not speak without being spoken to. Now go and welcome our guest." The empty eyes of the beastkin slowly gained focus before she bowed deeply and walked down the hallways towards the barracks.
The guards had eventually got bored as they were waiting for a reply from higher up. The boredom was broken though as a female beastkin with a golden collar around her neck walked in. Her gaze scanned the room before settling on Hecuba. She walked up to her and bowed slightly. "I assume you're Miss Amaranth. My master will receive you now. If you please would follow me." She raised her head again and indicated for Hebuca to follow before leading her through the palace hallways to the basement under a tower in the northern part of the palace. While walking the woman would tell Hebuca about the palace history and point out particular pieces of art or other things of interest like a guide until they reached a door that oozed of magic. The woman knocked on the door before opening it, leading Hecuba inside.
"Aaahhh...Miss Personal Assistant; what can I do for you? I hope that my servant gave you the proper tour on the way here. Marvellous collar I must say. My own invention. Eliminates any resistance and eventually makes the wearer want it themselves, removing the need them to wear it. Truly amazing don't you think? But where are my manners. I'm Firh Wystan Auleaus Caliean Aibek Sirroc, Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, but most just call me Sirro." He gave a quick bow before continuing.
"I must say we don't see too many Halflings, or perhaps more distant, with your particular looks around here. Perhaps an older bloodline..
Hmmm.." he said while inspecting Hecuba like a specimen. "Would you care to leave me with a blood sample? It would be interesting to see what I can find in there." He gave her a smile before the beastkin coughed gently.
"Oh yes, I'm sorry. Your visit. How much has the old codger told you about the visit?" Sirro walked over to his desk and indicated for Hecuba to sit across from him.
Girlie1Bomba Now with new and improved tongue!
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
~The Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis
It was an exhausting two weeks of prep and ritual but well worth it.
Her name was Moon. And she was on time.
A well built and quite exquisite female Dark Elf sauntered into the crowds of the 'prized Jewel' of all of Telduria, so she was told. Shoulder length wheat gold hair swished this way and that as her head quickly darted in seemingly too many directions at once. Big bright red eyes took in the hustle and bustle and golden glory that was the Crown of Kron-Nesis. An awe-struck expression held upon the dusky skinned face of Moon, in part playing her role and in part true overstimulation.
How long had it been since she had been here last? Such changes. Such splendour. Such over-indulged excess. The Assassin of the Underhanded should sneer in great distaste with even greater hypocrisy; she was getting paid by such people neck deep in over-indulged excess afterall. But as Moon? No, Moon would be a stranger here in a strange land.
Perhaps she stood out. She was a tall Dark Elf dressed in full Hunter gear and garb, complete with stereotypical bow, arrows, woodland trinkets and facial tattoos. Even the way she moved was more wild and feral when she move through the masses of civilized and cultured folk here. But that was Moon; she would be who she was even outside and away from the comfort of her forests. A small human child wandered up to the blonde elf and just stared. And here was where she found herself at odds with being who she was supposed to be.
A cold hearted assassin would never have their emotions betray them. But this little thing melted that ice in her veins and heart just a bit. Every persona the Assassin took from roots of her very being; it was how she learned to sell her act and actions as someone else. The Assassin never cared for it but Moon? Moon always wanted a daughter. And so Moon could not help but smile at the child, bright red eyes glowing with much warmth and welcome. The tall Hunter lowered herself to eye level with the redheaded and freckle-faced cuteness.
“Toh-bat hannath. Nos ta kawentha, thoshus-mi…” said Moon warmly, no trace of the Assassin in her voice at present, “Hail to you. What is your name, Miss Girl?”
“You have red eyes. Are you evil…?” responded the seven year-old redhead.
A nervous and lingering chuckle fell from Moon’s mouth. “No, child,” said Moon, heavy in Dark Elf accent, “not right now. But… maybe later…?”
“Oh. Okay. But you’re still a stranger…” said the pretty girl levelly.
“Hmmm… let’s fix that. My name is Moonthasa Kolhelena Mi-Valiantis. My Mother is Kolhelena Faselnthan Mi-Valiantis. We are Hunter caste of the extinct Valiantis Clan. Toh-bat hannath. You may call me Moon. What shall I call you, pretty girl?”
“Aye, a pretty girl, I am. Pffff... I know, I know. And I’m En. Me mum is Carol—”
“Enna! Come away from that... that thing! Get over here now!” called out Carol, En’s mum.
“Aye, mum! Comin'! I have to go. Fair tidings, Ms. Moon.” An adorable curtsy did the little redhead give the red-eyed elf before giggling and bounding off back towards Mum.
There should be no pang in her heart, but there was. The seven year-old girl’s name was Enna. The Assassin knew another girl named Enna once upon a time in Bradles Worth. Bright, pink heat rose at her cheeks as she slowly stood to her full six-foot tall height. A wistful smile she held upon her lips as she just merely nodded at the back of the redhead as the girl scampered back to the safety of mum’s arms.
Little did the Assassin know just how much she looked like her birth-father right at this moment. But then again, she did know that to alter her physicality, she needed to tap into her ancestry and bloodline during her rituals and prep. And as her birth-father would have done, she closed her eyes, shrugged with palms up to the heavens above, and let out a small laugh before continuing along her way.
~~~
~The Southern Jewel
The information and instructions given by Gia led her to two more contacts, one of which was another planted member of her brethren Underhanded. She was a burly, medium-height and pretty halfling; the dwarf/human, Tannae. This auburn headed halfling was actually a stationed royal guard and Moon’s pure token into the Southern palace. The two acted as if they had just met but of course they had known each other for near two decades now. And to this day, the Assassins never had the pleasure of bedding each other. Yet.
“Still no? Hmph. Too stubborn as always…” whispered Moon before parting from the Royal Guard.
“Nay. Too straight, love…” whispered Tannae with a small scoffing laugh.
“Given the chance, I will have you ‘bent’ for me…”
“Hmph. Tis known that this here lass is quite… flexible…” a coy wink with a glint in Tannae’s dark eyes.
“Oooohhhh reeeeeally… For the best you stretch first then. Do not want to break you after all…”
“You cannae handle all of this, sister. You will not be able to sit right for weeks…”
Both chuckled softly, resisted the urge to embrace, and merely nodded at each other as they parted ways.
Past the pond and into the grotto she went, senses all upon high alert, yet face placid with lips hinting at a small smile. It was here where she was told to meet with the Grand Marshal. And here she would wait. Matron was rather particular when it came to the Underhanded dealing with those from Kron-Nesis.
For the most part, political intrigue and subterfuge was not this Assassin’s particular specialty but when she was told to do what she was told to do from Matron herself, there was no denying her. That and all of the Underhanded were absolutely loyal and representative for Matron; she had not once led them astray. Unless of course, they deserved it. Failure in Matron’s eyes was only pardoned and forgiven with a stilled heart afterall.
That and she knew that when Gia was involved, Matron would always allow her stars to shine. Gia was always there for her to clean-up after Mercie was done. Gianna was one of the best in the business to execute a cover up. Mercaidi was one of the best in the business to just execute.
Footfalls she could hear coming towards her. Red eyes closed slowly, allowing her to calm her heart and focus in on the cadence and gait of the person coming towards her. Red eyes opened just as slowly. She recognized who was fast approaching. A hint of a smirk pulled up at her lips and hands slid to weapons at her hips as she made ready to greet them.
~~~
The 'meet and greet' went better than expected.
Near a low hung torch she stood now and ignited a rolled parchment and used it to light up her pipe. As she took several puffs to stoke the herbs, flowers, hair and dried blood in the bowl of her pipe, she watched as the parchment became completely engulfed in flame. Red eyes reflected the bright flames and at the last second, she dropped the remaining bit of parchment. She had to ensure the scripture penned upon the scroll was never seen by another pair of eyes ever again.
For ten full minutes she stood, eyes rolled up into her head, trembling everyso often as if only to let an onlooker know that she was still alive. And when she was done, she finally took a strained inhale and fell to her knees. Her only act for the next few minutes was to make soft sobs and gulps of air as she rolled onto her side, a death grip upon her pipe in one clenched fist. The other hand clawed and scratched at the earth as if such action would increase the airflow back into her body.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk... looks painful, that does. So. Found what ye seek, love...?"
A bemused, almost teasing voice, whispered hot breath at her dusky and pointed ear. It was Tannae.
"Aye. Aye I did. I have seen her. It is done. She has been sighted. Now, please take me to the Grand Marshal, sister."
"Of course. Deep breath then, love. Aaaaaand..."
Tannae cleared her throat then immediately the Royal Guard snatched Moon and pulled her up by the hair with a very rough yank, "Whacha' think yer doin' out here?! Get y'arse up, girlie!"
"Umph..! I'm lookin' for the encampm-- Urkkk!!" Moon found herself being guided away by a vice grip of a shoulder lock.
"Tis not where I tol'ya t'go! Right then... I'll show ya whacha lookin' for! Let's go, girlie!" A rather solid and no-holding-back kick from a steel tipped boot planted square in Moon's rear end and the Dark Elf let out a genuine yelp.
"Oi! Unneccessarily over done embellishment, sister...!"
"For the sake of 'authenticity...'! Aaaaaaand oh besides, love... but ya always knew you had that comin' fer yeeeeears!"
"Cur! You're enjoyin' this...?!?! Ooohhhh... you just wait-- Urkkkk!"
Another swift kick. And oh yes, did Tannae ever enjoy roughing up her pervie Underhanded sister all the way to the Grand Marshal's whereabouts.
~~~
Heyitsjiwon
Member
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4 yrs ago
Lothar turned to look at the stranger who interrupted him. "To a stranger, this looks awfully looks a lot like a commoner speaking without manners and intruding in a matter that is not related to him nor has any knowledge of. I highly suggest that you watch your tongue for there are many out there who would have you hanging from the pillory or even whipped for your careless tongue."
With a slight pause, Lothar then continued to speak. "Regardless, if I truly wanted to punish the barkeep, then I would have no reason to resort to cowardly attack him while he sleeps. Nay, I have no need to hide nor sneak around like a footpad or bandit. But other than having a bit of disrespect, he has done nothing to deserve punishment and has been rather helpful in my investigation. So, unless you have additional knowledge as to who maimed one of my Knights, then it would be best to return to tending to your drink."
With that, Lothar planned to meet the Grand Marshall and see what he had to say on the matter or if he had anything for Lothar to do in the meantime before the campaign began. That is, if the stranger had nothing substantial to say or tell Lothar.
With a slight pause, Lothar then continued to speak. "Regardless, if I truly wanted to punish the barkeep, then I would have no reason to resort to cowardly attack him while he sleeps. Nay, I have no need to hide nor sneak around like a footpad or bandit. But other than having a bit of disrespect, he has done nothing to deserve punishment and has been rather helpful in my investigation. So, unless you have additional knowledge as to who maimed one of my Knights, then it would be best to return to tending to your drink."
With that, Lothar planned to meet the Grand Marshall and see what he had to say on the matter or if he had anything for Lothar to do in the meantime before the campaign began. That is, if the stranger had nothing substantial to say or tell Lothar.
coGM
Delta44 Back In The Game. / Mostly.
Member
Seen
5 mos ago
Duel for a Future - A collab between Claw2k11 and Delta44 | 27,765 Characters
AND 
T R A I N I N G H A L L
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N N E S I S
The marble walls and polished floors did little to conceal the true purpose of the arena, an area so out-of-touch with the rest of the castle it was like stepping into a whole other world. Stands lined the sides of the rectangular room, a faint circle painted over the center to create an impromptu stage, as well as various chests and wall mounts with wooden weaponry, enchanted to feel like those they represented. It was currently empty, however soon it would be filled with the knights of Kron-Nesis who had the day off, so they could watch the coming fight.
A much anticipated fight, between Maryvale Reyes and Syllia Myriavin.
The Dark Knight was already in the room, her blade and armor for practice ready. Her regular armor would do well enough for the duel, though she wouldn't be using Dark Vibrance for the coming fight. Like all the knights of Kron-Nesis, she had her own enchanted wooden blade, aptly titled "Dark Stick", which was a suitable enough counterpart to use. That way there wouldn't be any fatal severing, simply painful beatings and bludgeonings. The enchantments were only made to replicate the original blade's properties, from weight to width, and all things in between. Magic was never really allowed during such duels, and just like today the king has arranged for no exception. A group of mages did their best to enforce magical barriers around the arena, which would help onlookers keep track of the battle, displaying numbers and testing audio signals.
She stood off to the side, close to one of the rows of stands, furthest from the entrance. Her focus was on her sword, simply adjusting to the minute differences in how it felt, though for the most part it was exactly as the original. Proper credit should be given to whoever made these, for if there was ever need of a blade replicator, Maryvale would recommend whoever it was who made her own wooden replica.
And her opponent, the elf Syllia had just moved inside the arena as well with a a similar wodden copy of her two shortswords, her "talons" as it were. Unlike her opponent, she wore no armor save a light gambeson to protect her from the worst parts of what damage a hit from Maryvale could mean for her. Unlike her opponent's calm demeanor, Syllia seemed to have a more confident air to her, perhaps sure that her agility would give her the victory that she desired.
Meanwhile, in the front seat stood another elven figure, fully arrmored save for the helmet. This one, unlike the few knights that were already there and prepared to cheer for either of the two ladies, had a rather displeased look on his face, fully knowing the stakes of the duel for both of the two fighters on the stage.
With the fight's beginning now minutes away, it left the Dark Knight to wonder just who would show up? Surely her liege, Princess Azymn, would do so, and perhaps some other members of the royal family, no doubt. She had promised, and already made arrangements with her father, so she was free from the Kron-Nesian courts for today. Her father, the Grand Marshal, could potentially make it, though it all depended on whether he was still suffering an extensive workload. She had wished to see him, but had been unable to for days, given a number of recent events that kept the two away from one-another. Though it did not distract her, part of her wished to display to her father the fruits of what she had learned; they hadn't sparred in a good while, and he had not witnessed her recent growth.
There was one person, however, who had already made himself present, whose expression drew a glance from the corner of Maryvale's eye.
She couldn't help it, his look was far too displeased for her liking - she had to speak up. "Illyarion," she began, not quite facing him, "you look upset. I take it you're worried about the defeated party?"
She had an awful habit of putting things bluntly, but one had to admit her senses were keen. Even if it was written all over the Elve's face.
"Quite so." Illayrion answered, as unlike most people, he had grown quite used to her blunt demeanor. "I care about both you quite a bit and you both have quite a lot on the table for this match." He said, his expression relaxing a bit. "To be honest, I didn't think the king was that smart. This way, he wins no matter who wins and who loses this match." A hint of rage appeared on the man's face the more he pondered about the situation.
However, after a few moments of intensity in his expression, he sighed to calm himself down. "However, even so, I expect both of you to fight as hard as you can!" This time, he turned towards Syllia as well. "No underestimating your opponent, understand?"
Syllia nodded wordlessly at her master and turned towards Maryvale, now with a large excited grin on her face. "Ready, Maryvale?" She asked, forming up into her combat stance as the time for the start of the duel drew near. It seemed that she was not nervous at all about the results of the duel, or if she did, she hid it really well.
People started to pour in given a couple more seconds, knights of varying repute, including Konrad, the second strongest knight in the realm. And one of these knights entered the arena, having woodden weaponry on him as well. This selected knight was to be as a sort of referee and to stop the fight should one of the two fighters become a bit too overzealous in their combat. Maryvale could recognize this knight as one of the king's bodyguards, she had never quite caught his name, though she did know that he was a quite skilled swordsman himself.
As he reached the edge of the arena, this knight raised his hand and awaited for a few moments so that both Syllia and Maryvale would have time to enter their favored stance, or just do some last second preparations.
"We're getting this started sooner than expected." Quipped the Dark Knight as she entered a deceivingly defenseless stance, blade at her side rather than holding it in front of her, only wielding it with one hand. It tended to put others off-guard, how easily she could wield her blade, heavy as it was, with only one hand. Two was always better, but if need be, one would suffice. "I am prepared."
She caught the sight of the last entrant, blue cape standing out as much as her marble hair. It was a habit one had to develop as retainer: always know how to locate your liege in a crowd. It made Maryvale smile. "My name is Maryvale Reyes, first daughter of Grand Marshal Lenius Reyes, of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis. As retainer to Princess Azymn and current occupant of the realm's greatest knight, it is by my honour that I must accept your challenge, Syllia Myriavin. May we battle fair; glory to the victor, and honour to the defeated." With her little speech out of the way, Maryvale awaited either Syllia or the referee to speak next, be it to prove one's honour, or the other to start the duel.
As Maryvale proclaimed her readiness, Syllia's smile twitched slightly before she herself started to speak. "My name is Syllia Myriavin, first daughter of Illayrion Myriavin. As a knight candidate, I am honored that you would accept my challenge and I hope that no matter who the victor will be, we will stay on good terms! " She said, and seeing Maryvale's relaxed stance, she herself relaxed her stance, lowering her swords and she herself seemingly dropping her stance.
She had studied Maryvale's fighting, she had even had a few mock duels with her in the past, she knew not to be fooled by this seemingly defensless stance, so she had to be ready for any sort of movement. She turned towards the referee and simply nodded towards him, signifying her readiness.
He himself gave a quick nod, and raised his arm out in front of him, letting it stay. He looked to his left, then his right, before dropping his arm with force.
"Fight!" The referee shouted from the edge of the arena.
The battle had finally begun.
Where once Syllia might have charged, she just slowly walked towards Maryvale with a confident smile on her face and stopped just outside what she considered to be Maryvale's reach would be, staying there and daring Maryvale to make the first move and if possible, the first mistake.
Her predictions were made easy, for as she approached, the Dark Knight raised her blade in Syllia's direction, so to not let her get too close. She showed no real emotion, no sign of happiness or excitement or sadness or anger; serious as always. Though most knights would consider Maryvale's stance too open and entirely foolish, there were a few who knew that her way of fighting was never so simple. She didn't fight using just her sword, after all.
Not too keen on letting an opportunity pass, she lunged forward, pressing her body into her blade, which was suddenly across her body rather than extended outwards. In what seemed like a second, she had gone from completely relaxed to battle ready, and no lesser knight would have seen the subtle hints to her shift in weight to accomodate for her forward momentum. While her sword was between both their bodies, it looked as though she intended to bodyslam Syllia, her charge filled with force.
Of course, her opponent was no lesser knight. She too remembered the few duels and sparring sessions they had done, though few were actually official. Though there were times where the Elven Knight had beaten her, it wasn't as though she could beat every other knight as Maryvale could, so it was hard to say who would be the victor of this duel. With the stakes as high as they were, it would keep everyone, especially the two in the ring, on their toes.
Thankfully, the duels that the two had been a part of, had shown in part a few of the Dark Knight's moves and as such, Syllia fully expected a charge, though at the speed that Maryyvale had charged almost took the elven fighter by complete surprise, sidestepping from the charge by less than an inch. She dreaded to think what would have happened if she had taken that charge full force, it may have ended the duel moments after it had began.
She did not dwell on it, though, the charge made the Maryvale defenseless and unable to parry an attack. With amazing speed, Syllia quickly threw two quick lunges towards Maryvale, both aimed at the back of her legs, hoping to force her opponent to her knees and perhaps open a few more strikes for her.
It wasn't entirely unexpected that Syllia would dodge and try to make a counterattack. She had faced off against Illyarion enough times to get the gist of how quick and cunning an opponent could be. Thankfully her forward momentum carried her just enough to avoid one blade, though unfortunately not the other, as it sunk into the back of her leg armor. In knocking out one knee and not the other, it caused her to almost stumble forwards, only just able to catch herself with her other leg. The weight of her armor or sword didn't help, but it was far from a death blow.
She quickly pressed off of her forward leg, using it to get some backwards momentum, swinging her sword around in an arc with anticipation. Even if it failed to connect with Syllia, it would lead into whatever she could try to hit Syllia with next. After all, that was Maryvale's fighting style in a nutshell:
Momentum.
Yet, Syllia did not seem to back down from the attack that would be fairly easy to dodge, however, as she did not to lose her momentum she budged not one inch and instead instead, she used one of the two things that defined her fighting style, speed and flexibility. She lowered her torso in order to dodge to attack and at the same time, she fought to keep herself on her feet.
Thankfully, she had been trained by Illayrion for most of her life, so this was not something very difficult to do for her and in the moment the sword passed her by, she steadied herself and charged straight for the now vulnerable Maryvale, striking with both her shortswords towards any human's most vulnerable point, their throat.
As she attacked, a large confident grin could be seen on Syllia's face and if one were to look in to the crowd of knights gathered there, the few that supported her sported the same grin as they knew that a strike to the throat would be severely damaging to the Dark Knight, if not incapacitating, should they properly hit.
Maryvale saw just how close Syllia truly was, and used the opportunity to spin arond full force, so she could land a devastating punch, preferably to the face. However, it would seem she was too aggressive for her own good, as Syllia avoided the attack entirely, and struck directly in the neck with both her blades, seemingly in an instant. It made the Dark Knight freeze in place, caught winded by the surprise move, completely throwing away her previously accumulated momentum. She caught herself on her sword, though it wasn't without a small stumble, forcing her to reaffirm her stance.
'That... hurt...' She thought to herself as the ache of her throat, only barely finding room to breath, immediately put Maryvale in a disavantage. She wasn't out of the fight, but it surely had made its mark, which served only to fuel the fire of Maryvale's rage. 'Not yet... Don't get angry yet...'
Syllia was smarter than many of her opponents, but she fought like Illyarion, which meant she didn't have to worry about being surprised so much. It was a pain that she couldn't just use her magic to corner the little snitch, but, as were the rules of the duel, she was not allowed. She'd have to focus more-so than usual to win, and guide her blade true, rather than use overwhelming force.
Not that she would forsake overwhelming force if she could.
The Princess, who had found her own purchase besides Illyarion, was analyzing the fight to pick up any useful information about the two fighters. In spite of the stakes involved she couldn't help herself, wanting to know just what kind of skills each of them had in store for the other. In her mind, it was natural for Syllia to target points of weakness that Maryvale had, such as the legs or the throat, and would likely go for the head multiple times, as the Dark Knight wasn't wearing a helmet. Her retainer, on the other hand, seemed more likely to go for the dualist's body, being the easiest part to hit and also the best way to knock her opponent down in as few strikes as possible. While her gaze never shifted from the fight, her words were clearly meant for the Elven man who sat beside her.
"The stakes for this battle are high, are they not...?" She had a somber tone in her voice as she spoke. Almost grim. "In the end, no matter who wins, the other will be forced out of the palace at best, and out of the city at worst. As much as I would like to be excited for this fight, I can't shake this sense of unease..."
Her shuddered sigh was a typical sign of Azymn beginning to tear up, though she didn't look as though she would just this very second. Still, she was undoubtedly sad, for no matter how this fight turned out, the princess would lose a friend; a lose-lose scenario. "But... I'm glad you're here, to make sure she won't back down, for my sake. I would not forgive myself if I simply let Syllia go and leave, just so Maryvale could stay. This is how it should be... It's... the fair way of doing things. Even if I'd rather it not happen in the first place..."
Illayrion, who was not even looking at the princess, placed a hand on her shoulder as she spoke. He knew how close she and Maryvale were and he knew how heartbroken she would be were the Dark Knight lose her title as the strongest knight and forced to leave.
"I would be happy as well, my lady since I have been a teacher to both, but the stakes make me sick to my stomach when I think of the consequences and angry when I think of the one who caused this." Illayrion would have said more, he would have complained more about the king, he would have cursed the king even more, but the respect he had for the princess prevented him from doing this, instead he sighed and kept his hand on her shoulder to try his best to reassure her.
"Just know, that whoever loses will enter my Ravenguard and they won't be lost to you forever." He said and quickly realized that this was a poor way of consoling the princess, as the Ravenguard was allowed to enter the capital only once a year and not stay for more than a month.
Instead of saying anything more, Illayrion just kept his hand on her shoulder and spoke no more, for a little fear of saying something even worse.
"That... makes me happy."
She turned to face him now, an honest look of gratitude on her face.
"Thank you, Sir Myriavin. That would make me very happy, to even be able to see them at all. I can live knowing I'd be able to see one of them again, as they are in your capable hands."
The princess turned her attention back to the fight, and fell silent as the battle continued.
Meanwhile, Syllia, who was woefully unaware of the consequences the duel had, decided to press her advantage and launched another flurry of blows, directed at her legs and aimed to knock the Dark Knight off her legs and end this duel once and for all.
But, if there was one mistake Syllia could make, it was thinking anything would be easy when fighting Maryvale.
In her haste to end the duel as quickly as possible, it would become incredibly apparent that haste was not something to take when fighting the Dark Knight. As she rushed forwards to strike her, Maryvale spun around, her force overwhelming in spite of the heavy armour she wore, sword tearing through the air like some massive club. It came from below, where she was attacking from, and though Syllia was able to land one blade, the other was sent hurtling across the arena and into a wall right by one of the knight's heads in the top row stands. Maryvale's blade had made direct contact with the shortsword, and if Syllia hadn't let go when she did, her arm would at minimum be dislocated.
Either way, with Syllia so close it wouldn't do to have her getting in a free slash, so kicking with her foot was the most effective way at trying to shoe off her attacker. If she didn't move then she'd get a kick to the face, most likely, though she could probably back away in time to avoid the hit. Though it was starting to annoy Maryvale that she still hadn't gotten a single hit in yet...
In a swift attack, Syllia was reminded that Maryvale was not just some random brute and realized that not only had she had just lost her initiative, but any advantage she may have had over the Dark Knight.
However, the fact that she had just lost one of her weapons did not make Syllia any confident in her chances of winning, it had just made her a bit more cautious with her attacks. She jumped back, avoiding Maryvale's kick and any potential damage that might have done to her. Now realizing that her regular stance would not work with just one sword, she entered a duelists stance, placing her free hand at her back at holding the shortsword forward.
Though the stance itself was more effective with a rapier or a sword with a longer reach, it was the only thing she could do at the moment until she would be able to either disarm Maryvale as well, or perhaps even incapacitate her, though she struggled to think how she would be able to do that. Now, Syllia was focused on her defense, ready to dodge any attack that the Dark Knight might have against her and hopefully be able to exploit that opening enough for her to finally claim victory.
But was Maryvale inclined to give her that opening?
No.
And she sure as all Hell wasn't about to let Syllia rest for even a moment, either. With a small amount of her esteem reinvigorated, the knight let her blade fall into both her hands, now targeting with precision as opposed to raw power. Her opponent was undoubtedly skilled at avoiding attacks from larger foes, so she had one of two options avaliable to her, and frankly, Maryvale disliked that second option, what with her recent luck.
Her eyes narrowed on approach, looking to go for an arcing slash from above. However, within the last moment or two she let go of the blade with one hand, using it to counter her previous attack - a feint attack. Her real attack, another body-centered attack, had the full force of her best arm and a spin behind it, as well as Maryvale's ambition to get just one goddamn hit in!
For a moment, Syllia's mind imagined what the hit would do as she often tended to do. It kept her on edge enough for her not to become too complacent with her skills again. Thankfully, Syllia's luck had come back as fast as it had disappeared and she was able to sidestep Maryvale's charge at the last moment and leaving the Dark Knight open to attack once more.
And attack she did.
With Maryvale behind her at the moment and unable to block the strike in time, using all of her strength and all of her knowledge of the human body, Syllia swung her shortsword with all of her force at the back of the head of the Dark Knight hoping to knock her out for good this time.
So confident in her own feint attack she was, Maryvale didn't expect Syllia to dodge out of the way, let alone counter. In a rush faster than she could have anticipated, her opponent landed a devastating blow to the back of her head, causing her to tumble forwards. Nausea was creeping up on her, a roaring headache rippling through her head, not only from the attack itself, but from the sheer rage that she felt towards her opponent.
"I'll... kill you..." She muttered with searing venom in her tone, now staggering to keep upright. She was breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded, like some kind of reanimated undead. Her sword kept her upright, though soon enough she got to her own two feet, eyes reengaging with her opponent. She was absolutely enraged, ready to jump into a frenzy at any moment.
But she wasn't mad at Syllia. She wasn't enraged at her opponent.
No. Maryvale was angry at herself.
The arena seemingly caught its breath as the Dark Knight, the strongest knight in the realm, collapsed onto the dirty floor in a heap. She had been knocked unconscious. Syllia Myriavin was the victor. Though the princess rushed forward to her friend's aid, little could be done about her conscious state, as she felt herself fade into the darkness...
Meanwhile, the rest of the arena held their breath, thinking that Maryvale would jump back up and fight once more, but that moment never came. Even the referee raised his hand, but waited for a few moments as well to see if the Dark Knight would get back up to her feet, but once more to no avail.
"The victor is Syllia Myriavin and as per the conditions of this duel, not only has she become a knight, but she has taken the title of Strongest Knight in Kron-nesis at the same time!"
Syllia felt a flush coming to her cheeks and her smile turning into a grin just from the sheer wave of emotions that the victory had caused. Soon, the crowd of knights began to cheer, though some did still keep quiet for their own reasons, either because they had supported Maryvale, or that they simply did not like elves. She looked through the crowd, searching for the smile of the only person she really cared about, her own father, Illayion.
However, it seemed that her expectations were shattered as Illayrion entered the arena itself. He didn't have a smile, he was not happy for her, he was sad, frowning that Maryvale had lost instead of being happy that she had won. He did not even come to congratulate her first, he joined the princess over the Dark Knight's unconscious body.
Rage boiled within her and she wanted to catch her fathers attention, had the referee not continued speaking, nearly having to shout to cover some of the still ongoing cheers of the knights in the stands.
"Also, as per the conditions set, Maryvale Reyes having lost the title of Strongest Knight, is no longer fit to be the bodyguard of Princess Azmyn and as such, she shall relinquinsh the position to the current holder of the title, Syllia Myriavin!" The referee shouted, followed by another wave of cheers from the crowded knights.
However, she could not be happy right now, she finally realized that she had just separated two lifelong friends. She fought only for the attention of her father, for she did not care for the knighthood itself or the city that much. She would be sad that she would not be able to see Azmyn anymore, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world, she could always go back to Illayrion's castle near the mountains. Meanwhile, Maryvale had fought with her entire livelyhood at stake... and lost.
Syllia turned towards Maryvale and the princess and fell to her knees next to the two, placing a hand on the princess' shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that..." Was all Syllia could muster to say. Her mouth was still open, yet, no words were coming out of it, all of them were stuck in the back of her throat at the realization of what she had done.
And yet, the princess shook her head, wrapping her arms around Syllia and pulling her close.
"According to the rules of someone omnipotent, this is how it must be. It's OK, Syllia. I'm glad to see you didn't back down, and throw away your own life for my sake." Undoubtedly the princess was upset, but she was doing her best to keep herself together. She couldn't help herself. If Maryvale was gone, then...
"I-it's... OK. I might be losing a friend v-very soon, but it's a chance to become closer with another. We haven't known each other very long, Syllia, b-but I hope... we can be close friends."
Syllia had handled demons torturing her and doing all sorts of things to her without shedding a tear, yet, she could not handle the princess' kindness at all. She wrapped her arms around Azmyn as well and simply started to cry her eyes out like she had not done in a long time.
Though the display itself was fairly touching, the duel had concluded and many of the knights present there slowly started to exit the arena itself, speaking to each other about the parts of the fight they loved, or that they hated, should they have been Maryvale's supporters. In through the crowds snuck through someone, not a knight, but a messenger here for Maryvale and Azmyn, not knowing what had just happened in the arena.
Illyarion Myriavin
and
Syllia Myriavin
AND T R A I N I N G H A L L
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N N E S I S
The marble walls and polished floors did little to conceal the true purpose of the arena, an area so out-of-touch with the rest of the castle it was like stepping into a whole other world. Stands lined the sides of the rectangular room, a faint circle painted over the center to create an impromptu stage, as well as various chests and wall mounts with wooden weaponry, enchanted to feel like those they represented. It was currently empty, however soon it would be filled with the knights of Kron-Nesis who had the day off, so they could watch the coming fight.
A much anticipated fight, between Maryvale Reyes and Syllia Myriavin.
The Dark Knight was already in the room, her blade and armor for practice ready. Her regular armor would do well enough for the duel, though she wouldn't be using Dark Vibrance for the coming fight. Like all the knights of Kron-Nesis, she had her own enchanted wooden blade, aptly titled "Dark Stick", which was a suitable enough counterpart to use. That way there wouldn't be any fatal severing, simply painful beatings and bludgeonings. The enchantments were only made to replicate the original blade's properties, from weight to width, and all things in between. Magic was never really allowed during such duels, and just like today the king has arranged for no exception. A group of mages did their best to enforce magical barriers around the arena, which would help onlookers keep track of the battle, displaying numbers and testing audio signals.
She stood off to the side, close to one of the rows of stands, furthest from the entrance. Her focus was on her sword, simply adjusting to the minute differences in how it felt, though for the most part it was exactly as the original. Proper credit should be given to whoever made these, for if there was ever need of a blade replicator, Maryvale would recommend whoever it was who made her own wooden replica.
And her opponent, the elf Syllia had just moved inside the arena as well with a a similar wodden copy of her two shortswords, her "talons" as it were. Unlike her opponent, she wore no armor save a light gambeson to protect her from the worst parts of what damage a hit from Maryvale could mean for her. Unlike her opponent's calm demeanor, Syllia seemed to have a more confident air to her, perhaps sure that her agility would give her the victory that she desired.
Meanwhile, in the front seat stood another elven figure, fully arrmored save for the helmet. This one, unlike the few knights that were already there and prepared to cheer for either of the two ladies, had a rather displeased look on his face, fully knowing the stakes of the duel for both of the two fighters on the stage.
With the fight's beginning now minutes away, it left the Dark Knight to wonder just who would show up? Surely her liege, Princess Azymn, would do so, and perhaps some other members of the royal family, no doubt. She had promised, and already made arrangements with her father, so she was free from the Kron-Nesian courts for today. Her father, the Grand Marshal, could potentially make it, though it all depended on whether he was still suffering an extensive workload. She had wished to see him, but had been unable to for days, given a number of recent events that kept the two away from one-another. Though it did not distract her, part of her wished to display to her father the fruits of what she had learned; they hadn't sparred in a good while, and he had not witnessed her recent growth.
There was one person, however, who had already made himself present, whose expression drew a glance from the corner of Maryvale's eye.
She couldn't help it, his look was far too displeased for her liking - she had to speak up. "Illyarion," she began, not quite facing him, "you look upset. I take it you're worried about the defeated party?"
She had an awful habit of putting things bluntly, but one had to admit her senses were keen. Even if it was written all over the Elve's face.
"Quite so." Illayrion answered, as unlike most people, he had grown quite used to her blunt demeanor. "I care about both you quite a bit and you both have quite a lot on the table for this match." He said, his expression relaxing a bit. "To be honest, I didn't think the king was that smart. This way, he wins no matter who wins and who loses this match." A hint of rage appeared on the man's face the more he pondered about the situation.
However, after a few moments of intensity in his expression, he sighed to calm himself down. "However, even so, I expect both of you to fight as hard as you can!" This time, he turned towards Syllia as well. "No underestimating your opponent, understand?"
Syllia nodded wordlessly at her master and turned towards Maryvale, now with a large excited grin on her face. "Ready, Maryvale?" She asked, forming up into her combat stance as the time for the start of the duel drew near. It seemed that she was not nervous at all about the results of the duel, or if she did, she hid it really well.
People started to pour in given a couple more seconds, knights of varying repute, including Konrad, the second strongest knight in the realm. And one of these knights entered the arena, having woodden weaponry on him as well. This selected knight was to be as a sort of referee and to stop the fight should one of the two fighters become a bit too overzealous in their combat. Maryvale could recognize this knight as one of the king's bodyguards, she had never quite caught his name, though she did know that he was a quite skilled swordsman himself.
As he reached the edge of the arena, this knight raised his hand and awaited for a few moments so that both Syllia and Maryvale would have time to enter their favored stance, or just do some last second preparations.
"We're getting this started sooner than expected." Quipped the Dark Knight as she entered a deceivingly defenseless stance, blade at her side rather than holding it in front of her, only wielding it with one hand. It tended to put others off-guard, how easily she could wield her blade, heavy as it was, with only one hand. Two was always better, but if need be, one would suffice. "I am prepared."
She caught the sight of the last entrant, blue cape standing out as much as her marble hair. It was a habit one had to develop as retainer: always know how to locate your liege in a crowd. It made Maryvale smile. "My name is Maryvale Reyes, first daughter of Grand Marshal Lenius Reyes, of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis. As retainer to Princess Azymn and current occupant of the realm's greatest knight, it is by my honour that I must accept your challenge, Syllia Myriavin. May we battle fair; glory to the victor, and honour to the defeated." With her little speech out of the way, Maryvale awaited either Syllia or the referee to speak next, be it to prove one's honour, or the other to start the duel.
As Maryvale proclaimed her readiness, Syllia's smile twitched slightly before she herself started to speak. "My name is Syllia Myriavin, first daughter of Illayrion Myriavin. As a knight candidate, I am honored that you would accept my challenge and I hope that no matter who the victor will be, we will stay on good terms! " She said, and seeing Maryvale's relaxed stance, she herself relaxed her stance, lowering her swords and she herself seemingly dropping her stance.
She had studied Maryvale's fighting, she had even had a few mock duels with her in the past, she knew not to be fooled by this seemingly defensless stance, so she had to be ready for any sort of movement. She turned towards the referee and simply nodded towards him, signifying her readiness.
He himself gave a quick nod, and raised his arm out in front of him, letting it stay. He looked to his left, then his right, before dropping his arm with force.
"Fight!" The referee shouted from the edge of the arena.
The battle had finally begun.
Where once Syllia might have charged, she just slowly walked towards Maryvale with a confident smile on her face and stopped just outside what she considered to be Maryvale's reach would be, staying there and daring Maryvale to make the first move and if possible, the first mistake.
Her predictions were made easy, for as she approached, the Dark Knight raised her blade in Syllia's direction, so to not let her get too close. She showed no real emotion, no sign of happiness or excitement or sadness or anger; serious as always. Though most knights would consider Maryvale's stance too open and entirely foolish, there were a few who knew that her way of fighting was never so simple. She didn't fight using just her sword, after all.
Not too keen on letting an opportunity pass, she lunged forward, pressing her body into her blade, which was suddenly across her body rather than extended outwards. In what seemed like a second, she had gone from completely relaxed to battle ready, and no lesser knight would have seen the subtle hints to her shift in weight to accomodate for her forward momentum. While her sword was between both their bodies, it looked as though she intended to bodyslam Syllia, her charge filled with force.
Of course, her opponent was no lesser knight. She too remembered the few duels and sparring sessions they had done, though few were actually official. Though there were times where the Elven Knight had beaten her, it wasn't as though she could beat every other knight as Maryvale could, so it was hard to say who would be the victor of this duel. With the stakes as high as they were, it would keep everyone, especially the two in the ring, on their toes.
Thankfully, the duels that the two had been a part of, had shown in part a few of the Dark Knight's moves and as such, Syllia fully expected a charge, though at the speed that Maryyvale had charged almost took the elven fighter by complete surprise, sidestepping from the charge by less than an inch. She dreaded to think what would have happened if she had taken that charge full force, it may have ended the duel moments after it had began.
She did not dwell on it, though, the charge made the Maryvale defenseless and unable to parry an attack. With amazing speed, Syllia quickly threw two quick lunges towards Maryvale, both aimed at the back of her legs, hoping to force her opponent to her knees and perhaps open a few more strikes for her.
It wasn't entirely unexpected that Syllia would dodge and try to make a counterattack. She had faced off against Illyarion enough times to get the gist of how quick and cunning an opponent could be. Thankfully her forward momentum carried her just enough to avoid one blade, though unfortunately not the other, as it sunk into the back of her leg armor. In knocking out one knee and not the other, it caused her to almost stumble forwards, only just able to catch herself with her other leg. The weight of her armor or sword didn't help, but it was far from a death blow.
She quickly pressed off of her forward leg, using it to get some backwards momentum, swinging her sword around in an arc with anticipation. Even if it failed to connect with Syllia, it would lead into whatever she could try to hit Syllia with next. After all, that was Maryvale's fighting style in a nutshell:
Momentum.
Yet, Syllia did not seem to back down from the attack that would be fairly easy to dodge, however, as she did not to lose her momentum she budged not one inch and instead instead, she used one of the two things that defined her fighting style, speed and flexibility. She lowered her torso in order to dodge to attack and at the same time, she fought to keep herself on her feet.
Thankfully, she had been trained by Illayrion for most of her life, so this was not something very difficult to do for her and in the moment the sword passed her by, she steadied herself and charged straight for the now vulnerable Maryvale, striking with both her shortswords towards any human's most vulnerable point, their throat.
As she attacked, a large confident grin could be seen on Syllia's face and if one were to look in to the crowd of knights gathered there, the few that supported her sported the same grin as they knew that a strike to the throat would be severely damaging to the Dark Knight, if not incapacitating, should they properly hit.
Maryvale saw just how close Syllia truly was, and used the opportunity to spin arond full force, so she could land a devastating punch, preferably to the face. However, it would seem she was too aggressive for her own good, as Syllia avoided the attack entirely, and struck directly in the neck with both her blades, seemingly in an instant. It made the Dark Knight freeze in place, caught winded by the surprise move, completely throwing away her previously accumulated momentum. She caught herself on her sword, though it wasn't without a small stumble, forcing her to reaffirm her stance.
'That... hurt...' She thought to herself as the ache of her throat, only barely finding room to breath, immediately put Maryvale in a disavantage. She wasn't out of the fight, but it surely had made its mark, which served only to fuel the fire of Maryvale's rage. 'Not yet... Don't get angry yet...'
Syllia was smarter than many of her opponents, but she fought like Illyarion, which meant she didn't have to worry about being surprised so much. It was a pain that she couldn't just use her magic to corner the little snitch, but, as were the rules of the duel, she was not allowed. She'd have to focus more-so than usual to win, and guide her blade true, rather than use overwhelming force.
Not that she would forsake overwhelming force if she could.
The Princess, who had found her own purchase besides Illyarion, was analyzing the fight to pick up any useful information about the two fighters. In spite of the stakes involved she couldn't help herself, wanting to know just what kind of skills each of them had in store for the other. In her mind, it was natural for Syllia to target points of weakness that Maryvale had, such as the legs or the throat, and would likely go for the head multiple times, as the Dark Knight wasn't wearing a helmet. Her retainer, on the other hand, seemed more likely to go for the dualist's body, being the easiest part to hit and also the best way to knock her opponent down in as few strikes as possible. While her gaze never shifted from the fight, her words were clearly meant for the Elven man who sat beside her.
"The stakes for this battle are high, are they not...?" She had a somber tone in her voice as she spoke. Almost grim. "In the end, no matter who wins, the other will be forced out of the palace at best, and out of the city at worst. As much as I would like to be excited for this fight, I can't shake this sense of unease..."
Her shuddered sigh was a typical sign of Azymn beginning to tear up, though she didn't look as though she would just this very second. Still, she was undoubtedly sad, for no matter how this fight turned out, the princess would lose a friend; a lose-lose scenario. "But... I'm glad you're here, to make sure she won't back down, for my sake. I would not forgive myself if I simply let Syllia go and leave, just so Maryvale could stay. This is how it should be... It's... the fair way of doing things. Even if I'd rather it not happen in the first place..."
Illayrion, who was not even looking at the princess, placed a hand on her shoulder as she spoke. He knew how close she and Maryvale were and he knew how heartbroken she would be were the Dark Knight lose her title as the strongest knight and forced to leave.
"I would be happy as well, my lady since I have been a teacher to both, but the stakes make me sick to my stomach when I think of the consequences and angry when I think of the one who caused this." Illayrion would have said more, he would have complained more about the king, he would have cursed the king even more, but the respect he had for the princess prevented him from doing this, instead he sighed and kept his hand on her shoulder to try his best to reassure her.
"Just know, that whoever loses will enter my Ravenguard and they won't be lost to you forever." He said and quickly realized that this was a poor way of consoling the princess, as the Ravenguard was allowed to enter the capital only once a year and not stay for more than a month.
Instead of saying anything more, Illayrion just kept his hand on her shoulder and spoke no more, for a little fear of saying something even worse.
"That... makes me happy."
She turned to face him now, an honest look of gratitude on her face.
"Thank you, Sir Myriavin. That would make me very happy, to even be able to see them at all. I can live knowing I'd be able to see one of them again, as they are in your capable hands."
The princess turned her attention back to the fight, and fell silent as the battle continued.
Meanwhile, Syllia, who was woefully unaware of the consequences the duel had, decided to press her advantage and launched another flurry of blows, directed at her legs and aimed to knock the Dark Knight off her legs and end this duel once and for all.
But, if there was one mistake Syllia could make, it was thinking anything would be easy when fighting Maryvale.
In her haste to end the duel as quickly as possible, it would become incredibly apparent that haste was not something to take when fighting the Dark Knight. As she rushed forwards to strike her, Maryvale spun around, her force overwhelming in spite of the heavy armour she wore, sword tearing through the air like some massive club. It came from below, where she was attacking from, and though Syllia was able to land one blade, the other was sent hurtling across the arena and into a wall right by one of the knight's heads in the top row stands. Maryvale's blade had made direct contact with the shortsword, and if Syllia hadn't let go when she did, her arm would at minimum be dislocated.
Either way, with Syllia so close it wouldn't do to have her getting in a free slash, so kicking with her foot was the most effective way at trying to shoe off her attacker. If she didn't move then she'd get a kick to the face, most likely, though she could probably back away in time to avoid the hit. Though it was starting to annoy Maryvale that she still hadn't gotten a single hit in yet...
In a swift attack, Syllia was reminded that Maryvale was not just some random brute and realized that not only had she had just lost her initiative, but any advantage she may have had over the Dark Knight.
However, the fact that she had just lost one of her weapons did not make Syllia any confident in her chances of winning, it had just made her a bit more cautious with her attacks. She jumped back, avoiding Maryvale's kick and any potential damage that might have done to her. Now realizing that her regular stance would not work with just one sword, she entered a duelists stance, placing her free hand at her back at holding the shortsword forward.
Though the stance itself was more effective with a rapier or a sword with a longer reach, it was the only thing she could do at the moment until she would be able to either disarm Maryvale as well, or perhaps even incapacitate her, though she struggled to think how she would be able to do that. Now, Syllia was focused on her defense, ready to dodge any attack that the Dark Knight might have against her and hopefully be able to exploit that opening enough for her to finally claim victory.
But was Maryvale inclined to give her that opening?
No.
And she sure as all Hell wasn't about to let Syllia rest for even a moment, either. With a small amount of her esteem reinvigorated, the knight let her blade fall into both her hands, now targeting with precision as opposed to raw power. Her opponent was undoubtedly skilled at avoiding attacks from larger foes, so she had one of two options avaliable to her, and frankly, Maryvale disliked that second option, what with her recent luck.
Her eyes narrowed on approach, looking to go for an arcing slash from above. However, within the last moment or two she let go of the blade with one hand, using it to counter her previous attack - a feint attack. Her real attack, another body-centered attack, had the full force of her best arm and a spin behind it, as well as Maryvale's ambition to get just one goddamn hit in!
For a moment, Syllia's mind imagined what the hit would do as she often tended to do. It kept her on edge enough for her not to become too complacent with her skills again. Thankfully, Syllia's luck had come back as fast as it had disappeared and she was able to sidestep Maryvale's charge at the last moment and leaving the Dark Knight open to attack once more.
And attack she did.
With Maryvale behind her at the moment and unable to block the strike in time, using all of her strength and all of her knowledge of the human body, Syllia swung her shortsword with all of her force at the back of the head of the Dark Knight hoping to knock her out for good this time.
So confident in her own feint attack she was, Maryvale didn't expect Syllia to dodge out of the way, let alone counter. In a rush faster than she could have anticipated, her opponent landed a devastating blow to the back of her head, causing her to tumble forwards. Nausea was creeping up on her, a roaring headache rippling through her head, not only from the attack itself, but from the sheer rage that she felt towards her opponent.
"I'll... kill you..." She muttered with searing venom in her tone, now staggering to keep upright. She was breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded, like some kind of reanimated undead. Her sword kept her upright, though soon enough she got to her own two feet, eyes reengaging with her opponent. She was absolutely enraged, ready to jump into a frenzy at any moment.
But she wasn't mad at Syllia. She wasn't enraged at her opponent.
No. Maryvale was angry at herself.
The arena seemingly caught its breath as the Dark Knight, the strongest knight in the realm, collapsed onto the dirty floor in a heap. She had been knocked unconscious. Syllia Myriavin was the victor. Though the princess rushed forward to her friend's aid, little could be done about her conscious state, as she felt herself fade into the darkness...
Meanwhile, the rest of the arena held their breath, thinking that Maryvale would jump back up and fight once more, but that moment never came. Even the referee raised his hand, but waited for a few moments as well to see if the Dark Knight would get back up to her feet, but once more to no avail.
"The victor is Syllia Myriavin and as per the conditions of this duel, not only has she become a knight, but she has taken the title of Strongest Knight in Kron-nesis at the same time!"
Syllia felt a flush coming to her cheeks and her smile turning into a grin just from the sheer wave of emotions that the victory had caused. Soon, the crowd of knights began to cheer, though some did still keep quiet for their own reasons, either because they had supported Maryvale, or that they simply did not like elves. She looked through the crowd, searching for the smile of the only person she really cared about, her own father, Illayion.
However, it seemed that her expectations were shattered as Illayrion entered the arena itself. He didn't have a smile, he was not happy for her, he was sad, frowning that Maryvale had lost instead of being happy that she had won. He did not even come to congratulate her first, he joined the princess over the Dark Knight's unconscious body.
Rage boiled within her and she wanted to catch her fathers attention, had the referee not continued speaking, nearly having to shout to cover some of the still ongoing cheers of the knights in the stands.
"Also, as per the conditions set, Maryvale Reyes having lost the title of Strongest Knight, is no longer fit to be the bodyguard of Princess Azmyn and as such, she shall relinquinsh the position to the current holder of the title, Syllia Myriavin!" The referee shouted, followed by another wave of cheers from the crowded knights.
However, she could not be happy right now, she finally realized that she had just separated two lifelong friends. She fought only for the attention of her father, for she did not care for the knighthood itself or the city that much. She would be sad that she would not be able to see Azmyn anymore, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world, she could always go back to Illayrion's castle near the mountains. Meanwhile, Maryvale had fought with her entire livelyhood at stake... and lost.
Syllia turned towards Maryvale and the princess and fell to her knees next to the two, placing a hand on the princess' shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that..." Was all Syllia could muster to say. Her mouth was still open, yet, no words were coming out of it, all of them were stuck in the back of her throat at the realization of what she had done.
And yet, the princess shook her head, wrapping her arms around Syllia and pulling her close.
"According to the rules of someone omnipotent, this is how it must be. It's OK, Syllia. I'm glad to see you didn't back down, and throw away your own life for my sake." Undoubtedly the princess was upset, but she was doing her best to keep herself together. She couldn't help herself. If Maryvale was gone, then...
"I-it's... OK. I might be losing a friend v-very soon, but it's a chance to become closer with another. We haven't known each other very long, Syllia, b-but I hope... we can be close friends."
Syllia had handled demons torturing her and doing all sorts of things to her without shedding a tear, yet, she could not handle the princess' kindness at all. She wrapped her arms around Azmyn as well and simply started to cry her eyes out like she had not done in a long time.
Though the display itself was fairly touching, the duel had concluded and many of the knights present there slowly started to exit the arena itself, speaking to each other about the parts of the fight they loved, or that they hated, should they have been Maryvale's supporters. In through the crowds snuck through someone, not a knight, but a messenger here for Maryvale and Azmyn, not knowing what had just happened in the arena.
webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love
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3 hrs ago
Judge Kalon's Residence
The Southern Jewel, Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis
"Remember, keep your arm bent when resting... blade out. Never extend your arm when defending."
Darius' stature hovered over Talos Caron, a young elf-human halfling boy. He was the son of Judge Kalon's mostly-elven maid, and the maid and her son were not at all treated as the slaves they technically were. Judge Kalon's insistence in having the boy trained in the art of swordsmanship was just a confirmation of the obvious for Darius. He didn't need 27 years of training to understand what was going on.
The boy gripped his wooden sword with both hands, adjusting his grip so his arms remained somewhat bent. He was ready to defend, planting his feet as Darius swung the sword towards the boy's right shoulder. This time, the grip and sword held... a successful block. The boy's face lightened, before furrowing into a quizzical glance.
"Why did that work?"
Darius gave a small smile, setting his own practice sword on the ground as he knelt in front of the boy to be on his level. "Bending your arm... it lets your arm carry the weight of the blow. Keeps your defense strong, which is what matters most." As he spoke, his eyes turned up towards his proper student. She had her arms folded, wearing a casual outfit of mostly a tunic and trousers. Her gaze was knowing and sarcastic, her eyebrows raised at the little speech Darius was giving. In response, he quickly patted the boy on the shoulder to send him off to see his mother.
"So... a strong defense is what's most important, huh? What happened to-"
"Don't start with me, Cress. He's a weak kid and a slave. He's not going to be a bodyguard to the Royal Family."
Cressida rolled her eyes, walking over to the rack of practice sword against the wall of the courtyard in the midst of the Judge's estate. She tossed a secondary sword towards Darius, who caught it in the air, before grabbing one for herself. Darius gave a small smile. It was clear his apprentice had some emotions to work out. She wasn't the only one.
Cressida struck first, only to find wood instead of flesh. Her swings had a surprising amount of strength behind them, but nothing Darius hadn't seen before. Darius' swings had little strength behind them, which was clear as a small flurry of swings were wildly blocked by Cressida. The precision was what was key. Every swing was calculated, near every block anticipated. Darius was well within his element.
It was no surprise, then, when one of Darius' swings managed to hit Cressida's blade just appropriately enough to disarm the Junior Justice. The next three swings met Cressida's form, the audible cracks of wood against barely padded flesh ringing out in the courtyard.
Then Cressida did something that managed to surprise him. As Darius' practice sword bounced off her ribcage, Cressida grabbed what would be the blade. She ripped the sword away, rushing in to swing at her master's face. A smile began to form on the edge of Darius lips. He, of course, was prepared for this. His left arm rose up to grab Cressida's fist, providing just enough force to stop it. Simultaneously, he lifted his remaining blade up towards her neck, and she stopped in her tracks.
The two simply looked each other in the eye, and the conversation was understood but not spoken. Cressida knew her mistakes and her inadequacies. Darius knew her determination and grit. It was the most they could have gained from the spar thus far. With a short nod in unison, Darius fetched his practice sword while Cressida grabbed her own. They squared up in the courtyard, getting into their stances and preparing for the next round.
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Hour Error A Visitor of Strange Hours
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5 yrs ago
Cold Hands
The Northlands
The Fortress-Monastery of Atan
Cold Hands sat with her back against the parapet of the great tower. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts were still, and her soul was alive. She did not feel the cold bite of the wind that swept over her. It was freezing she knew, but instead it felt like a warm, gentle caress, a welcoming reminder that she was home. She had left her companions, a party of roguish adventurers behind in the Jewel of the South. Cold Hands had felt a stirring, a desperate longing to return to the monastery, and she knew well-enough to listen to such guidance. After months on the road, the familiar snow-capped mountains were a welcome respite. At least for a moment...
"Cold Hands," Brother Elgot loudly ordered, stirring the young acolyte from her gentle thoughts. Hunched over the ancient spyglass affixed to the parapet, he was wrapped in several thick robes. His one good eye staring through the skillfully polished glass.
"Yes, Brother?"
"Are we awaiting any pilgrims?"
"Not to my knowledge, Brother."
"Well then...why is there a robed figure trudging up the mountain?"
"I don not know, Brother," Cold Hands replied, eying the Elgot with a single open eye.
"Of course. Those symbols, those gaudy colors. That misplaced sense of pride and disgusting arrogance. And that terrible choice in robes. It's the Grand Observatory of Ithell," the older monk hissed, slapping a gloved hand angrily against the stone.
Cold Hands forced herself to smile in response. Unlike a great many of her fellow acolytes, she did not bear any strong feelings towards the astronomers of the distant tower. There were many paths that led to enlightenment and Cold Hands had always been facilitated by the theories that the stargazers produced. She hoped to one day visit the Grand Observatory of Ithell. Within the great library of the observatory were a number of rare books that she wanted to read. Wonderful tomes of theological knowledge that she was unable to find within the walls of Atan.
Rising fluidly to her feet, Cold Hands bowed politely to the older monk. "Rest easy, Brother. I will go greet the traveler. They must be weary after such a long climb through the snow."
"No, Cold Hands, wait! Come back! Don't let them in—" Brother Elgot shouted.
Cold Hands pretended not to hear him over the rising howl of the wind. All visitors were welcome, all seekers were invited, and provided the price required for true knowledge was paid, Cold Hands saw no reason to deviate from respected tradition.
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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19 days ago
Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
Southern Gate Watchhouse
Hecuba shivered in the warm confines of the guardhouse, studiously examining the rough flagstone floor so she could at least pretend she was not aware of the lecherous looks the Sergeant and his men whenever they passed by. She had not really anticipated being cloistered like this. While she had been standing in line she had seen more than a dozen people in front of her who had been cleared to move through the city gates, even without any documentation. She wasn't sure why the Captain had even had her set aside like this as opposed to letting her enter the city normally so she could present her invitation to the Royal Guards at the palace proper.
Well. Not entirely sure. The looks he had given her and the occasional muttered promises - threats really - from the sergeant made it clear they thought the letter was a fake and that they intended to take full advantage of the predicament. That the letter was genuine was a cold comfort to her, given all the things that could go wrong. Maybe the runner would fall into a ditch or get pulled into an alleyway and robbed. Or maybe it would reach the palace and get sorted onto a mail shelf where it would would remain for weeks before getting opening while she was left to the tender mercies of the guardsmen. Or maybe it would actually get delivered but the Court Mage had died the previous day and his replacement knew nothing about the matter.
Or, perhaps more realistically, the runner had taken the letter just out of sight before shredding it, giving the guards all the pretense they needed. Kron-Nesis was a long way from Ithell, and if anything were to happen to her the worst that the Grand Observatory would do would be to send a strongly worded letter of complaint.
And although she was anxious about what the guards might do to her, she was more worried about what they might do with her belongings - particularly the carboy and its contents, or the marbles of enchanted pitchblende. If the guards started messing with them, the former would be...particularly compromising, the latter would be catastrophic and most assuredly get them and her killed. All in all, this complication was as unwelcome as it had been unforeseen.
Her fears were thankfully alleviated with the arrival of a scantily-clad beastkin from the palace. The guards had gawked and stared in equal parts disbelief and disappointment. At first it looked like the sergeant was going to object - who did this beastkin whore think she was, barging into the guardhouse like that? But his mouth snapped shut when he saw the emblem of the Court Wizard on the surface of her collar and heard her announce her arrival from the palace. Hecuba felt a surge of relief and practically skipped after the beastkin messenger as they led her out of the guardhouse, and beamed excitedly at her surroundings as she was led through the streets of the capital. It was still immensely tacky and gaudy to her eyes, but a near-brush with misfortune had a way of aggrandizing how one perceived their surroundings after the fact.
...But only for a moment. Less than a block later, Hecuba noticed all the stares and murmurs the two of them were getting as they walked down the streets, and her face perceptibly reddened as she realized what they were saying. She was used to the same accusations being muttered about her back at the Grand Observatory, but those were spread by singularly malicious rivals and jealous apprentices. Here, she was suddenly being judged by complete strangers due to her exotic appearance in conjunction with her proximal presence to her scandalously dressed guide. It was an altogether different twist of the unpleasantness she usually had to deal with, if not faintly worse since she could not even run away in this circumstance! What if somebody tried to proposition them in the street? Was this beastkin women really even a messenger from the palace, let alone an assistant of the Court Wizard? Hecuba did recognize the emblem on the collar, but why would anybody with this women's profession dress like that during the regular course of business? Hecuba had seen enough tribal beastkin to know some of them genuinely dressed like that, but civilized city beastfolk - like seen in the cities of the island of Kelnore and elsewhere - wore more conventional garments.
After nearly half an hour of uncomfortable walking later, during which time Hecuba had occupied herself by consciously endeavoring not to grind her teeth together due to some of the catcalls she and the beastkin messenger had received - they arrived at the palace. The royal guardsmen at the front gates let them both in without any issue, but Hecuba was immediately tipped off that something was off when the palace staff kept throwing the both of them askew glances and odd looks as the messenger gave her a tour of the palace interior. They were clearly not familiar with her guide - perhaps she was new? Hecuba was halfway tempted at multiple junctures to stop the tour so she could abandon this strange woman and look for anybody else to show her the way to the Court Wizard, but at the same time she recognized that despite the irregularities, the women had gotten her inside the palace, her collar had the emblem of the Court Wizard, and she actually seemed to know what she was talking about. Hecuba's receipt of the beastkin's anecdotes and historical references went largely undigested as she simply strove to understand what exactly the deal with her was. Her inflection seemed regularly, but her eyes looked a little glassy and unfocused.
Eventually they arrived at the Court Mage's chambers.
"Oh my goodness!" Hecuba exclaimed, hunching over and exhaling deeply. "So that's why!" She exclaimed with equal overtones of realization and relief. She then realized where she was and who she was speaking with and hurriedly corrected her posture before returning Sirroc's bow with one of her own, ending it with a stylized flourish customary in the lands of the Court of Stars - touching the lower half of her chin with her left hand whilst raising her right arm and making the arcane gesture of the starcaller. "I am Hecuba Amaranth, apprentice at the Grand Observatory of Ithell and personal assistant to High Astronomer Ormoneric. May Dawn's Law favor you, Wizard."
"I am afraid I have been instructed not to offer any substance of my own vigor for any particular purpose during our endeavors, my lord." Hecuba offered apologetically. "As for our arrangement, the High Astronomer has fully informed me as to most of our purposes here, save of course for his scheduled audience with his Grand Majesty of course. He apologizes profusely for having to request the King reschedule, but the agents of the Archclericy are singularly unreasonable. As I suspect you know." She smiled at Sirroc conspiratorially. "In fact, he even told me a little about this compulsory magical experiment of yours, back when he arranged to have certain texts from the Grand Archives shipped to you. The results are very good! Even knowing that you were working on it, I had no idea your assistant was being controlled until you told me just now. Her eyes are a little dull, but there were no other residual signs of influence that other forms of indoctrination might create. " She paused emphatically for a moment as she moved to open a satchel hanging from her shoulder just under her traveling cloak, and fetched her tines and the striking rod for them.
"Although I must say, dressed the way she is, I am afraid certain members of the palace staff and the commoners who saw us may conclude this women is your chatelaine. One moment please..." Hecuba then raised the tines and struck across both of its prongs with the accompanying rod, filling the room with the clear purity of its reverberating tone. Hecuba craned an ear in the direction of Sirroc's unwilling assistant.
"Hm. I see. That's a very recent enchantment on the collar, isn't it?" She remarked. "Is that why she's dressed like that? I thought I was going crazy, thinking she was wearing that of her own volition in broad daylight!"
"Is the enchantment a work in progress? Its coherency seems pretty tenuous. It almost came unraveled when I dowsed it just now. Err." Hecuba momentarily looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I got a little over-eager. But uh...you claim eventually the enchantment will allow her to serve you without the need for the collar? Have you even had time to test the long-term effects of the enchantment to be certain there are no attenuating effects?" After a brief pause while she looked at the Court Wizard expectantly, she suddenly seemed to realize who she was speaking too a second time. Her face flushed as she realized she might have offended her with her presumptions.
"My apologies, my lord. The work is yours, not mine, and I imagine you are much more intimately familiar with its workings than I am. I should not have been so forward. Perhaps we should discuss a matter I have actually been fully entrusted with." She hurriedly put her tines and rod away as she spoke, her expression clearly embarrassed.
"As you already know from prior correspondence, the High Astronomer is in need of large quantities of Black Blood of the Earth. Such large quantities and in such specific cuts, in fact, that we have given up entirely on natural harvests and have turned to getting the necessary circuits cast using molds. We considered consignment with the Darakeene Prot-" She caught herself from making yet another faux-pas at the last moment, stopping in the middle of her sentence and starting again. "with the Darakeene REBELS due to their clear expertise in such matters, but the High Astronomer was concerned that they might object to such procedures due to cultural and traditional values concerning the living blood of the earth. I was informed that the Kingdom's pursuit of such an investment would necessarily be contingent upon matters of discussion between the High Astronomer and his Grand Majesty that I am not aware of, but that you would be willing to assist us with some of the geomantic uncertainties due to the potential for personal mutual benefits, apart from any agreement made with the Grand Kingdom proper. If you are still interested, we would of course need a purpose for the very first Black Blood matrix ritual performed in known history - and as this is your home region, the High Astronomer will naturally defer to your own preference and seniority."
Elsewhere...
Nalon Tret - Nailtooth - veteran of the Sixth Division of the Grand Army of Kron-Nesis turned brigand and confidence-man, grimly tossed a dreg of meat into the campfire and took a deep swig out of his canteen, only slightly spiked with ale. This would probably be the last chance he had for a proper sit-down and rest for a long while. When it had just been ambushing nobs on roads there was usually time and safety with which to celebrate properly at the nearest tavern their blood money, either stolen or made by pawning stolen items. Now they were at the point of no return. Surrounded by the enemy at every angle, and they would be on the move soon, heading towards the Aemonvale.
Andromache still expected to carry out her will. She expected many things. Having been an infantryman in her section back when she had still been a Sergeant, the idea of carrying out the impossible did not cause him to balk. No, like any good soldier, he was simply annoyed over how exhausting the ordeal would be and how much running around it would entail. He was practically going to have to be in two places at once at every hour of every day in order to cover everything that needed covering, and that was even without assuming that the Grand Marshal and the attending nobility were not about to ream through their entire retinue with steely-eyed focus and watchfulness to root the band out.
As he glumly dwelt on the future of misery that awaited them, Trennor - a lad who audaciously claimed that he was eighteen summers old when Nailtooth was fairly certain his balls had not even dropped yet - came up to the fire looking as exhausted as Nalon imagined he was going to be when this was all said and done. He sat on one of the stools at the opposite side of the fire, clenching the sides with both hands nervously as he stared into the flames. Remembering what had transpired earlier, Nailtooth said nothing and idly poked at the wood in the campfire with a stick, waiting for the boy to speak first.
"Hey Tret. How do..." Trennor began, then paused. His face was equal parts bleary and terrified. He did not resume.
After waiting a minute, Nailtooth finally spoke up. "You know, before you came along, nobody else other than Andromache actually had the guts to brand any of the nobs we tuckered." He voice was low and stated matter-of-factly, as though he were speaking of the weather. Trennor visibly flinched, the grip of his hands tightening until his fingers were white.
"Nobody." Nailtooth repeated. "She would always do it herself, like you saw the time before. Never asked anybody else to do it for her. But somebody else always could have. She's never minded anybody else handling the iron, or even brandishing it. One time, a ways back, a fellow even tried to intimidate one of the fuckers when we had 'em pinned down. Had it floating over their chest when Andromache came up and started doing her thing. When the time came, he couldn't do it, it had just been bluster. Once she finished he just...drew it back and handed it to her."
"Not..." Trennor began haltingly. "...Not even you?"
"Not even me. Sort of been going out of my way to avoid being too close to that action." Nailtooth admitted, his voice slow and even. "I believe just about everything Andromach has told us. But nobody gets by on just faith, Tren. There is a boundary between what a man can accept, what a man can want, and what a man can actually do." He tipped the stick he had been prodding at the fire with so that it fell headlong into the flames. Several minutes of silence stretched out between the two, Trennor looking sick as he rocked lightly back and forth on his stool while Nailtooth simply weighed his canteen in one hand. Eventually, Nailtooth spoke up again.
"You were never in the army like you said you were, Tren." He stated. Trennor did not attempt to correct him. "So you probably got caught up in this on principle. You got her message. Well boy, let me tell you. Lot of people agree with the principle of things like Kings and Wars, killing other people for a cause and dying for it. Because of course they do, as long as they only have to say it and not do it. Anybody whose fought in the frontlines has felt what you're feeling right now. That sort of awning sensation of disgust and dread, not just with yourself but with the entire universe. Like you're standing on top of a bottomless chasm, and you're not sure whether you want to throw yourself or the entire world down it just because of how fucked up everything is." He took in an airy breath. Trennor was staring at him like he was a wizard, with eyes wider than the full moon.
"Right now, you're feeling uncertain. Just know, you're not the first. There was another man with us, around two full moons ago, name of Feldis. Now Feldis, he was...he was really good with words. Natural speechifying type, probably would have done well for himself if he'd been a priest. Nobody was ever more behind what Andromache was doing than he was. Not an hour of the day would go by where he wouldn't parrot somethin' she'd said or be telling the rest of us why and how she was right about everything. Was pretty damn annoying actually, but necessity makes for annoying bedfellows." He raised his canteen and took another brief swig from it, mulling over his words for a moment.
"He left us the very night after a hit. He was all gung-ho up until the moment he watched Andromache break that nob's arms with her mace, so hard you could heard the bones getting shred into bits. He couldn't even get up to the knife, the moment she took out the dagger he just split. Couldn't bear the mere thought of what she was about to do. Found him sobbing underneath a tree. Begged us to forgive him, said he just couldn't live with all the anguish we were doing to others. Pleaded with us not to kill him, said he still knew we were in the right, that he was just a coward."
Nailtooth finally looked up over the fire, straight at Trennor.
"You could leave right now. I wouldn't say a thing. Nobody would say a damn thing. Because we've all been exactly where you've been right now. And it ain't such a bad thing to not want to be here. It's ugly, bloody work. A whole lot of bad and misery coming out of it, and the only good that will ever come of it is going to be in principle. And Andromache's word ain't nice or good. It's hard, and a whole lot of bad will probably come out of it more'n anything else. So while you're asking yourself what the hell you're doing during the night, wondering if it's all worth it..." Nailtooth fetched the cap for his canteen and screwed it back on casually as he spoke. "Ask yourself if the principle on its own could be better than what we have now. Just ask any king or priest." Nailtooth got up, brushing off his legs as he did as he gave one last look at Trennor.
"Nothing important ever got decided without a war, and no cause ever got around unless you had steel behind your words." He turned and began to walk off. "You take the watch, boy. If you're not here by the time next shift gets in, they'll just assume I was just being lazy."
The Capital City of Tarantis
Southern Gate Watchhouse
Hecuba shivered in the warm confines of the guardhouse, studiously examining the rough flagstone floor so she could at least pretend she was not aware of the lecherous looks the Sergeant and his men whenever they passed by. She had not really anticipated being cloistered like this. While she had been standing in line she had seen more than a dozen people in front of her who had been cleared to move through the city gates, even without any documentation. She wasn't sure why the Captain had even had her set aside like this as opposed to letting her enter the city normally so she could present her invitation to the Royal Guards at the palace proper.
Well. Not entirely sure. The looks he had given her and the occasional muttered promises - threats really - from the sergeant made it clear they thought the letter was a fake and that they intended to take full advantage of the predicament. That the letter was genuine was a cold comfort to her, given all the things that could go wrong. Maybe the runner would fall into a ditch or get pulled into an alleyway and robbed. Or maybe it would reach the palace and get sorted onto a mail shelf where it would would remain for weeks before getting opening while she was left to the tender mercies of the guardsmen. Or maybe it would actually get delivered but the Court Mage had died the previous day and his replacement knew nothing about the matter.
Or, perhaps more realistically, the runner had taken the letter just out of sight before shredding it, giving the guards all the pretense they needed. Kron-Nesis was a long way from Ithell, and if anything were to happen to her the worst that the Grand Observatory would do would be to send a strongly worded letter of complaint.
And although she was anxious about what the guards might do to her, she was more worried about what they might do with her belongings - particularly the carboy and its contents, or the marbles of enchanted pitchblende. If the guards started messing with them, the former would be...particularly compromising, the latter would be catastrophic and most assuredly get them and her killed. All in all, this complication was as unwelcome as it had been unforeseen.
Her fears were thankfully alleviated with the arrival of a scantily-clad beastkin from the palace. The guards had gawked and stared in equal parts disbelief and disappointment. At first it looked like the sergeant was going to object - who did this beastkin whore think she was, barging into the guardhouse like that? But his mouth snapped shut when he saw the emblem of the Court Wizard on the surface of her collar and heard her announce her arrival from the palace. Hecuba felt a surge of relief and practically skipped after the beastkin messenger as they led her out of the guardhouse, and beamed excitedly at her surroundings as she was led through the streets of the capital. It was still immensely tacky and gaudy to her eyes, but a near-brush with misfortune had a way of aggrandizing how one perceived their surroundings after the fact.
...But only for a moment. Less than a block later, Hecuba noticed all the stares and murmurs the two of them were getting as they walked down the streets, and her face perceptibly reddened as she realized what they were saying. She was used to the same accusations being muttered about her back at the Grand Observatory, but those were spread by singularly malicious rivals and jealous apprentices. Here, she was suddenly being judged by complete strangers due to her exotic appearance in conjunction with her proximal presence to her scandalously dressed guide. It was an altogether different twist of the unpleasantness she usually had to deal with, if not faintly worse since she could not even run away in this circumstance! What if somebody tried to proposition them in the street? Was this beastkin women really even a messenger from the palace, let alone an assistant of the Court Wizard? Hecuba did recognize the emblem on the collar, but why would anybody with this women's profession dress like that during the regular course of business? Hecuba had seen enough tribal beastkin to know some of them genuinely dressed like that, but civilized city beastfolk - like seen in the cities of the island of Kelnore and elsewhere - wore more conventional garments.
After nearly half an hour of uncomfortable walking later, during which time Hecuba had occupied herself by consciously endeavoring not to grind her teeth together due to some of the catcalls she and the beastkin messenger had received - they arrived at the palace. The royal guardsmen at the front gates let them both in without any issue, but Hecuba was immediately tipped off that something was off when the palace staff kept throwing the both of them askew glances and odd looks as the messenger gave her a tour of the palace interior. They were clearly not familiar with her guide - perhaps she was new? Hecuba was halfway tempted at multiple junctures to stop the tour so she could abandon this strange woman and look for anybody else to show her the way to the Court Wizard, but at the same time she recognized that despite the irregularities, the women had gotten her inside the palace, her collar had the emblem of the Court Wizard, and she actually seemed to know what she was talking about. Hecuba's receipt of the beastkin's anecdotes and historical references went largely undigested as she simply strove to understand what exactly the deal with her was. Her inflection seemed regularly, but her eyes looked a little glassy and unfocused.
Eventually they arrived at the Court Mage's chambers.
"Aaahhh...Miss Personal Assistant; what can I do for you? I hope that my servant gave you the proper tour on the way here. Marvellous collar I must say. My own invention. Eliminates any resistance and eventually makes the wearer want it themselves, removing the need them to wear it. Truly amazing don't you think? But where are my manners. I'm Firh Wystan Auleaus Caliean Aibek Sirroc, Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, but most just call me Sirro."
"Oh my goodness!" Hecuba exclaimed, hunching over and exhaling deeply. "So that's why!" She exclaimed with equal overtones of realization and relief. She then realized where she was and who she was speaking with and hurriedly corrected her posture before returning Sirroc's bow with one of her own, ending it with a stylized flourish customary in the lands of the Court of Stars - touching the lower half of her chin with her left hand whilst raising her right arm and making the arcane gesture of the starcaller. "I am Hecuba Amaranth, apprentice at the Grand Observatory of Ithell and personal assistant to High Astronomer Ormoneric. May Dawn's Law favor you, Wizard."
"I must say we don't see too many Halflings, or perhaps more distant, with your particular looks around here. Perhaps an older bloodline..Hmmm...Would you care to leave me with a blood sample? It would be interesting to see what I can find in there. Oh yes, I'm sorry. Your visit. How much has the old codger told you about the visit?"
"I am afraid I have been instructed not to offer any substance of my own vigor for any particular purpose during our endeavors, my lord." Hecuba offered apologetically. "As for our arrangement, the High Astronomer has fully informed me as to most of our purposes here, save of course for his scheduled audience with his Grand Majesty of course. He apologizes profusely for having to request the King reschedule, but the agents of the Archclericy are singularly unreasonable. As I suspect you know." She smiled at Sirroc conspiratorially. "In fact, he even told me a little about this compulsory magical experiment of yours, back when he arranged to have certain texts from the Grand Archives shipped to you. The results are very good! Even knowing that you were working on it, I had no idea your assistant was being controlled until you told me just now. Her eyes are a little dull, but there were no other residual signs of influence that other forms of indoctrination might create. " She paused emphatically for a moment as she moved to open a satchel hanging from her shoulder just under her traveling cloak, and fetched her tines and the striking rod for them.
"Although I must say, dressed the way she is, I am afraid certain members of the palace staff and the commoners who saw us may conclude this women is your chatelaine. One moment please..." Hecuba then raised the tines and struck across both of its prongs with the accompanying rod, filling the room with the clear purity of its reverberating tone. Hecuba craned an ear in the direction of Sirroc's unwilling assistant.
"Hm. I see. That's a very recent enchantment on the collar, isn't it?" She remarked. "Is that why she's dressed like that? I thought I was going crazy, thinking she was wearing that of her own volition in broad daylight!"
"Perfect..finally succeeded.."
"Is the enchantment a work in progress? Its coherency seems pretty tenuous. It almost came unraveled when I dowsed it just now. Err." Hecuba momentarily looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I got a little over-eager. But uh...you claim eventually the enchantment will allow her to serve you without the need for the collar? Have you even had time to test the long-term effects of the enchantment to be certain there are no attenuating effects?" After a brief pause while she looked at the Court Wizard expectantly, she suddenly seemed to realize who she was speaking too a second time. Her face flushed as she realized she might have offended her with her presumptions.
"My apologies, my lord. The work is yours, not mine, and I imagine you are much more intimately familiar with its workings than I am. I should not have been so forward. Perhaps we should discuss a matter I have actually been fully entrusted with." She hurriedly put her tines and rod away as she spoke, her expression clearly embarrassed.
"As you already know from prior correspondence, the High Astronomer is in need of large quantities of Black Blood of the Earth. Such large quantities and in such specific cuts, in fact, that we have given up entirely on natural harvests and have turned to getting the necessary circuits cast using molds. We considered consignment with the Darakeene Prot-" She caught herself from making yet another faux-pas at the last moment, stopping in the middle of her sentence and starting again. "with the Darakeene REBELS due to their clear expertise in such matters, but the High Astronomer was concerned that they might object to such procedures due to cultural and traditional values concerning the living blood of the earth. I was informed that the Kingdom's pursuit of such an investment would necessarily be contingent upon matters of discussion between the High Astronomer and his Grand Majesty that I am not aware of, but that you would be willing to assist us with some of the geomantic uncertainties due to the potential for personal mutual benefits, apart from any agreement made with the Grand Kingdom proper. If you are still interested, we would of course need a purpose for the very first Black Blood matrix ritual performed in known history - and as this is your home region, the High Astronomer will naturally defer to your own preference and seniority."
The Black Blood of the Earth was an obvious academic reference to volcanic Obsidian, the frozen remnant of lava-flows (academically referred to in turn as the Blood of the Earth, as well as by most Dwarven cultures). One of the many proposals and topics of discourse between Ormoneric and the Court Wizard concerned the arrangement of matrices of Black Blood as material components of ritual circles. The benefits were evident enough - a stable Black Blood ritual matrix would have channeling throughput efficiency and arcane amelioration several orders of magnitude greater than any other known physical material short of Divine Ichor. It would even exceed the arcane utility of materials such as Kelnore Slade, the metal from which the Dark Knight's weapon and armor were made.
The tricky part, of course, would be arranging obsidian - a notoriously tricky substance - into a stable ritual matrix in the desired configuration. Mages had been trying and failing for millenia to come up with workable piecemeal configurations using obsidian powder, chips, and totems with varying degrees of success that inevitably still fell short of expectations. Cutting natural slabs of obsidian in such intricate patternings, in addition to being outrageously expensive and prone to disastrous failure, would still have left one with an incoherent channeling path due to the manner in which obsidian naturally cleaved when cut. But if one could cast obsidian in the needed shapes using a pre-made mold with foundry-grade precision...
The tricky part, of course, would be arranging obsidian - a notoriously tricky substance - into a stable ritual matrix in the desired configuration. Mages had been trying and failing for millenia to come up with workable piecemeal configurations using obsidian powder, chips, and totems with varying degrees of success that inevitably still fell short of expectations. Cutting natural slabs of obsidian in such intricate patternings, in addition to being outrageously expensive and prone to disastrous failure, would still have left one with an incoherent channeling path due to the manner in which obsidian naturally cleaved when cut. But if one could cast obsidian in the needed shapes using a pre-made mold with foundry-grade precision...
888888888888
Elsewhere...
Nalon Tret - Nailtooth - veteran of the Sixth Division of the Grand Army of Kron-Nesis turned brigand and confidence-man, grimly tossed a dreg of meat into the campfire and took a deep swig out of his canteen, only slightly spiked with ale. This would probably be the last chance he had for a proper sit-down and rest for a long while. When it had just been ambushing nobs on roads there was usually time and safety with which to celebrate properly at the nearest tavern their blood money, either stolen or made by pawning stolen items. Now they were at the point of no return. Surrounded by the enemy at every angle, and they would be on the move soon, heading towards the Aemonvale.
Andromache still expected to carry out her will. She expected many things. Having been an infantryman in her section back when she had still been a Sergeant, the idea of carrying out the impossible did not cause him to balk. No, like any good soldier, he was simply annoyed over how exhausting the ordeal would be and how much running around it would entail. He was practically going to have to be in two places at once at every hour of every day in order to cover everything that needed covering, and that was even without assuming that the Grand Marshal and the attending nobility were not about to ream through their entire retinue with steely-eyed focus and watchfulness to root the band out.
As he glumly dwelt on the future of misery that awaited them, Trennor - a lad who audaciously claimed that he was eighteen summers old when Nailtooth was fairly certain his balls had not even dropped yet - came up to the fire looking as exhausted as Nalon imagined he was going to be when this was all said and done. He sat on one of the stools at the opposite side of the fire, clenching the sides with both hands nervously as he stared into the flames. Remembering what had transpired earlier, Nailtooth said nothing and idly poked at the wood in the campfire with a stick, waiting for the boy to speak first.
"Hey Tret. How do..." Trennor began, then paused. His face was equal parts bleary and terrified. He did not resume.
After waiting a minute, Nailtooth finally spoke up. "You know, before you came along, nobody else other than Andromache actually had the guts to brand any of the nobs we tuckered." He voice was low and stated matter-of-factly, as though he were speaking of the weather. Trennor visibly flinched, the grip of his hands tightening until his fingers were white.
"Nobody." Nailtooth repeated. "She would always do it herself, like you saw the time before. Never asked anybody else to do it for her. But somebody else always could have. She's never minded anybody else handling the iron, or even brandishing it. One time, a ways back, a fellow even tried to intimidate one of the fuckers when we had 'em pinned down. Had it floating over their chest when Andromache came up and started doing her thing. When the time came, he couldn't do it, it had just been bluster. Once she finished he just...drew it back and handed it to her."
"Not..." Trennor began haltingly. "...Not even you?"
"Not even me. Sort of been going out of my way to avoid being too close to that action." Nailtooth admitted, his voice slow and even. "I believe just about everything Andromach has told us. But nobody gets by on just faith, Tren. There is a boundary between what a man can accept, what a man can want, and what a man can actually do." He tipped the stick he had been prodding at the fire with so that it fell headlong into the flames. Several minutes of silence stretched out between the two, Trennor looking sick as he rocked lightly back and forth on his stool while Nailtooth simply weighed his canteen in one hand. Eventually, Nailtooth spoke up again.
"You were never in the army like you said you were, Tren." He stated. Trennor did not attempt to correct him. "So you probably got caught up in this on principle. You got her message. Well boy, let me tell you. Lot of people agree with the principle of things like Kings and Wars, killing other people for a cause and dying for it. Because of course they do, as long as they only have to say it and not do it. Anybody whose fought in the frontlines has felt what you're feeling right now. That sort of awning sensation of disgust and dread, not just with yourself but with the entire universe. Like you're standing on top of a bottomless chasm, and you're not sure whether you want to throw yourself or the entire world down it just because of how fucked up everything is." He took in an airy breath. Trennor was staring at him like he was a wizard, with eyes wider than the full moon.
"Right now, you're feeling uncertain. Just know, you're not the first. There was another man with us, around two full moons ago, name of Feldis. Now Feldis, he was...he was really good with words. Natural speechifying type, probably would have done well for himself if he'd been a priest. Nobody was ever more behind what Andromache was doing than he was. Not an hour of the day would go by where he wouldn't parrot somethin' she'd said or be telling the rest of us why and how she was right about everything. Was pretty damn annoying actually, but necessity makes for annoying bedfellows." He raised his canteen and took another brief swig from it, mulling over his words for a moment.
"He left us the very night after a hit. He was all gung-ho up until the moment he watched Andromache break that nob's arms with her mace, so hard you could heard the bones getting shred into bits. He couldn't even get up to the knife, the moment she took out the dagger he just split. Couldn't bear the mere thought of what she was about to do. Found him sobbing underneath a tree. Begged us to forgive him, said he just couldn't live with all the anguish we were doing to others. Pleaded with us not to kill him, said he still knew we were in the right, that he was just a coward."
Nailtooth finally looked up over the fire, straight at Trennor.
"You could leave right now. I wouldn't say a thing. Nobody would say a damn thing. Because we've all been exactly where you've been right now. And it ain't such a bad thing to not want to be here. It's ugly, bloody work. A whole lot of bad and misery coming out of it, and the only good that will ever come of it is going to be in principle. And Andromache's word ain't nice or good. It's hard, and a whole lot of bad will probably come out of it more'n anything else. So while you're asking yourself what the hell you're doing during the night, wondering if it's all worth it..." Nailtooth fetched the cap for his canteen and screwed it back on casually as he spoke. "Ask yourself if the principle on its own could be better than what we have now. Just ask any king or priest." Nailtooth got up, brushing off his legs as he did as he gave one last look at Trennor.
"Nothing important ever got decided without a war, and no cause ever got around unless you had steel behind your words." He turned and began to walk off. "You take the watch, boy. If you're not here by the time next shift gets in, they'll just assume I was just being lazy."
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VeridianSeeker Because I like colours and seeking things.
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@DinoNuts
“...Northwest in Dun Eamon…”
“...Even Kron Neiss...”
Maellinn’s ears perked, eavesdropping on the gritty voice of the bartender and his adventurer patron. She sipped loudly from a wooden spoon, letting the warm tomato based bisk run down her throat as she listened more. Admittedly the thought forming in her mind would have been best executed if she had done it then and there, but she couldn’t help but not focus. After every slurp she would stare back down in the red puddle of soup before her and pictured a grand adventure forming in its ripples.
By time she was satisfied with the ending of her day dream, she found the stranger long gone, having retired upstairs. She let the wooden spoon fall back into an empty bowl stained red and slowly excused herself from an otherwise empty table, and gently pushed in the chair. She straightened her forest green tunic and wiped dust from the lap of her dark woolen trousers.
Tugging blonde hair from her otherwise plain, yet warm and friendly face, she tied it in a knot behind her head using a leather strap. And with finishing her primping with a gentle clearing of the throat, she spun on a booted heel towards the bartender. Casually walking up to the hairy tree trunk of a man she smiled. The man gave her a obligatory smile and tucked away the washcloth he was working with.
“Gettin’ late, ma’am,” He not so carefully reminded her.
“I know,” Maellinn nodded, “could you, in the morning I mean, let that adventurer type you were just talking to come my way?”
“Sure…” The bartender trailed his words, “come your way? Aren’t you renting a room?”
“Oh!” Maellinn shook her head, “send him to the stables at the end of the street, tell him it’s really important.”
The disgruntled bartender picked up his clothe and started rubbing down the bar once more, no longer interested, “sure, whatever, lady.”
Maellin placed a few coins on the bar, accidentally smudging the wax. The bartender just stared at the coins with a festering annoyance. Maellinn smiled and slowly backed away, “once again, thank you!” She spun and walked as quickly as she casually could out from the tavern.
Bradle’s Worth Tavern
Maellinn
“...Northwest in Dun Eamon…”
“...Even Kron Neiss...”
Maellinn’s ears perked, eavesdropping on the gritty voice of the bartender and his adventurer patron. She sipped loudly from a wooden spoon, letting the warm tomato based bisk run down her throat as she listened more. Admittedly the thought forming in her mind would have been best executed if she had done it then and there, but she couldn’t help but not focus. After every slurp she would stare back down in the red puddle of soup before her and pictured a grand adventure forming in its ripples.
By time she was satisfied with the ending of her day dream, she found the stranger long gone, having retired upstairs. She let the wooden spoon fall back into an empty bowl stained red and slowly excused herself from an otherwise empty table, and gently pushed in the chair. She straightened her forest green tunic and wiped dust from the lap of her dark woolen trousers.
Tugging blonde hair from her otherwise plain, yet warm and friendly face, she tied it in a knot behind her head using a leather strap. And with finishing her primping with a gentle clearing of the throat, she spun on a booted heel towards the bartender. Casually walking up to the hairy tree trunk of a man she smiled. The man gave her a obligatory smile and tucked away the washcloth he was working with.
“Gettin’ late, ma’am,” He not so carefully reminded her.
“I know,” Maellinn nodded, “could you, in the morning I mean, let that adventurer type you were just talking to come my way?”
“Sure…” The bartender trailed his words, “come your way? Aren’t you renting a room?”
“Oh!” Maellinn shook her head, “send him to the stables at the end of the street, tell him it’s really important.”
The disgruntled bartender picked up his clothe and started rubbing down the bar once more, no longer interested, “sure, whatever, lady.”
Maellin placed a few coins on the bar, accidentally smudging the wax. The bartender just stared at the coins with a festering annoyance. Maellinn smiled and slowly backed away, “once again, thank you!” She spun and walked as quickly as she casually could out from the tavern.
---
---
Seriously, not usually my thing.
Village Square (Dawn)
Adrian Westley
A set of bony fingers grabbed the plant by the stem and pulled sharply, uprooting the whole thing. Shaking the clumps of dirt off the stringy roots, Adrian gave the bushel a little sniff before tentatively biting into one of the leaves and chewing. Shuddering at the bitter taste, she tore all the leaves off and tossed them into the little burlap bag she had brought with her this morning. It was full of strange items - bulbs, weeds, nuts and fruit - some recogniseable, others torn from their defining features.
Once she had filled the bag, Adrian went down to the village well and stood still until someone came by for water. They looked at her, then tentatively brought the bucket up using the crank. Adrian watched all of this with interest. She waited her turn, and did the same; but instead of pouring it into a subsidiary bucket, Adrian dumped the pail of water directly into the sack and gave it a good shake until the water ran out of it muddy, and the contents within were significantly cleaner than before. A few of the villagers laughed, for they were used to basins and cooking, and did not understand why Adrian risked covering her front with water just to wash a few foraged vegetables.
But Adrian was not listening to them. She was looking at the wagon in the stables at the end of the street. From all the stares, the one coming from there (and there was one coming from there, even though she could not see it clearly from this distance or make out who it is) set her on edge. Adrian was good at staring though. She stared back until she felt that uncomfortable feeling subside, then scurried up the path and into the inn.
Bradle’s Worth Tavern
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
Victor was not a morning person. Adrian had been capable of slipping out in the dark, once she had woken up, to go on her little foraging trip unattended. Now that she had secured enough food for breakfast she was a little less subtle in her approach, and though the shutting of the door did not awaken her companion, the thump of one of the many roots and tubers she had scavenged made the disheveled, greasy man jolt in his chair.
The sight that awaited him was Adrian with her clothes soaked down the front. She was sat before a generous heap of foliage and was quite complacently chewing her way through the leaves first. She stared at him blankly. Victor stared back for a silent moment letting her crunching noises fill the air before asking with a worried tone: “Adrian. What’re you eating- what’s in your mouth?”
“Leaf,” came the muffled reply.
“Adrian spit it out you don’t know-“ he cut himself off, pushing the chair aside and then reaching for her and squeezing her cheeks and holding a hand before her mouth to get her to spit out whatever it was. “Adrian- Adrian. Spit it out. Stop.” He egged her on. A soggy clump of green reluctantly slid out onto his palm.
“Hungry, Victor...” Mumbled Adrian confusedly.
“By god- you don’t just go picking random plants, Adrian! The book! You read up on them, all these common ones are documented!” He grimaced at the clump of leaf on his hand before tossing it out of the window. Adrian closely followed him, peeking over his shoulder.
“Book? What book?”
Victor stared at her in disbelief before slowly presenting her with the handbook he was using for himself - a common guide to Telurian herbs. Adrian stared at it in her palm. She turned it around then back again, and leafed through the pages. She gave it a sniff then started to rip one of the pages out.
Victor let out an audible yelp, too late to react to the tearing of the first page he managed to snatch it away before anymore damage could be done. “-NO-!” he scolded, sticking the torn page back into its place and shutting the book. “Don’t do that again.” he regained his composure and standing off his chair with a groan.
“Okay.” There was a pause. Tentatively, Adrian decided to investigate. “Why? How do you use it?”
Victor gave Adrian a long pregnant stare, unsure of how to treat her question. “... you read it.” he lowly whispered in disbelief.
“I do not know how to do that,” Adrian replied nervously. “Everything I know was dem-..de-...” She stumbled over the word for a moment. “ It was shown to me. Or told to me.”
“Okay, well maybe one day someone with more patience can teach you.” he tried moving the situation on. “Go, pack your things. And don’t eat unknown plants.”
Adrian stared at the food she had gathered wistfully, and packed it up into her bag, for it was one of the few belongings she had. She opted to munch on some of the smaller berries and nuts on the sly when Victor wasn't looking but it didn't stop her stomach from gurgling. This was exactly what she endeavoured to do whilst Victor went into conversation with the somewhat begrudging barkeep, and she quickly hid her bag behind her back when Victor distractedly called her to his side. She chewed on some roots as they wandered down the street, towards the stables where Adrian felt those eyes on her back. She jogged to catch up with Victor and tugged gingerly at his sleeve. “Be careful,” she suggested.
Victor didn’t need Adrian to tell him that. Even though he’d faced similar situations before, it was always a sometimes pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant thrill to be beckoned by a stranger. Obviously with Adrian in his care this all felt too suspicious but that didn’t prevent him from approaching the wagon parked at the end of the stables. “We’ll see what she wants.” he notified Adrian.
As they neared the wagon Victor voiced out: “Hello?” in an attempt to catch the mysterious stranger's attention.
(@VeridianSeeker)
Adrian Westley
A set of bony fingers grabbed the plant by the stem and pulled sharply, uprooting the whole thing. Shaking the clumps of dirt off the stringy roots, Adrian gave the bushel a little sniff before tentatively biting into one of the leaves and chewing. Shuddering at the bitter taste, she tore all the leaves off and tossed them into the little burlap bag she had brought with her this morning. It was full of strange items - bulbs, weeds, nuts and fruit - some recogniseable, others torn from their defining features.
Once she had filled the bag, Adrian went down to the village well and stood still until someone came by for water. They looked at her, then tentatively brought the bucket up using the crank. Adrian watched all of this with interest. She waited her turn, and did the same; but instead of pouring it into a subsidiary bucket, Adrian dumped the pail of water directly into the sack and gave it a good shake until the water ran out of it muddy, and the contents within were significantly cleaner than before. A few of the villagers laughed, for they were used to basins and cooking, and did not understand why Adrian risked covering her front with water just to wash a few foraged vegetables.
But Adrian was not listening to them. She was looking at the wagon in the stables at the end of the street. From all the stares, the one coming from there (and there was one coming from there, even though she could not see it clearly from this distance or make out who it is) set her on edge. Adrian was good at staring though. She stared back until she felt that uncomfortable feeling subside, then scurried up the path and into the inn.
Bradle’s Worth Tavern
Victor Strade and Adrian Westley
Victor was not a morning person. Adrian had been capable of slipping out in the dark, once she had woken up, to go on her little foraging trip unattended. Now that she had secured enough food for breakfast she was a little less subtle in her approach, and though the shutting of the door did not awaken her companion, the thump of one of the many roots and tubers she had scavenged made the disheveled, greasy man jolt in his chair.
The sight that awaited him was Adrian with her clothes soaked down the front. She was sat before a generous heap of foliage and was quite complacently chewing her way through the leaves first. She stared at him blankly. Victor stared back for a silent moment letting her crunching noises fill the air before asking with a worried tone: “Adrian. What’re you eating- what’s in your mouth?”
“Leaf,” came the muffled reply.
“Adrian spit it out you don’t know-“ he cut himself off, pushing the chair aside and then reaching for her and squeezing her cheeks and holding a hand before her mouth to get her to spit out whatever it was. “Adrian- Adrian. Spit it out. Stop.” He egged her on. A soggy clump of green reluctantly slid out onto his palm.
“Hungry, Victor...” Mumbled Adrian confusedly.
“By god- you don’t just go picking random plants, Adrian! The book! You read up on them, all these common ones are documented!” He grimaced at the clump of leaf on his hand before tossing it out of the window. Adrian closely followed him, peeking over his shoulder.
“Book? What book?”
Victor stared at her in disbelief before slowly presenting her with the handbook he was using for himself - a common guide to Telurian herbs. Adrian stared at it in her palm. She turned it around then back again, and leafed through the pages. She gave it a sniff then started to rip one of the pages out.
Victor let out an audible yelp, too late to react to the tearing of the first page he managed to snatch it away before anymore damage could be done. “-NO-!” he scolded, sticking the torn page back into its place and shutting the book. “Don’t do that again.” he regained his composure and standing off his chair with a groan.
“Okay.” There was a pause. Tentatively, Adrian decided to investigate. “Why? How do you use it?”
Victor gave Adrian a long pregnant stare, unsure of how to treat her question. “... you read it.” he lowly whispered in disbelief.
“I do not know how to do that,” Adrian replied nervously. “Everything I know was dem-..de-...” She stumbled over the word for a moment. “ It was shown to me. Or told to me.”
“Okay, well maybe one day someone with more patience can teach you.” he tried moving the situation on. “Go, pack your things. And don’t eat unknown plants.”
Adrian stared at the food she had gathered wistfully, and packed it up into her bag, for it was one of the few belongings she had. She opted to munch on some of the smaller berries and nuts on the sly when Victor wasn't looking but it didn't stop her stomach from gurgling. This was exactly what she endeavoured to do whilst Victor went into conversation with the somewhat begrudging barkeep, and she quickly hid her bag behind her back when Victor distractedly called her to his side. She chewed on some roots as they wandered down the street, towards the stables where Adrian felt those eyes on her back. She jogged to catch up with Victor and tugged gingerly at his sleeve. “Be careful,” she suggested.
Victor didn’t need Adrian to tell him that. Even though he’d faced similar situations before, it was always a sometimes pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant thrill to be beckoned by a stranger. Obviously with Adrian in his care this all felt too suspicious but that didn’t prevent him from approaching the wagon parked at the end of the stables. “We’ll see what she wants.” he notified Adrian.
As they neared the wagon Victor voiced out: “Hello?” in an attempt to catch the mysterious stranger's attention.
(@VeridianSeeker)
Opposition 𝕋𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕟𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕪
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6 mos ago
Ishtar Astarte Resheph
The Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
“The next book… Finally one of interest…” Ishtar remarked with a certain degree of insolence maintained in her voice as she brought the heavy leather bound grimoire down onto her cart wheeled throughout the archives of the Southern Jewel. It was just the title Ishtar— or rather the court wizard, her superior, was looking for. She spent a moment slipping a hand over the weathered cover to reveal to herself the title hidden behind a layer of dust: On the Nature of the Dead and the Risen, Volume IV: Liches, Wights, and other Immortals in the Darkness; By Lacerus Golgathya.
It was certainly pertinent to Ishtar, but to Sirro the book meant something different entirely. The aged wight spent a long moment staring at the volume and recalling the meeting she had with the wizard only a few hours before:
“We have a Wight 'problem' actually." Sirro said as his eyes flashed purple for a moment and looked towards Ishtar with a knowing grin. "Word has come from the Archclericy that a high ranking official has recently been outed as a Wight and sealed Valon’s Forbidden Archives." He waved his arms around dramatically. "Sounds like a veeery dangerous individual. Don't you agree child? Of course, those simple minds turned to someone who could solve all their bloody issues for them." Sirro sighed and rolled his eyes overdramatically. "Thusly, I’ll be 'searching' for the identity of the now missing creature to find and deal with it and others of its kind in the area..”
“And—” Ishtar started up only to be swiftly cut off.
“And yes, you’ll be helping me, obviously. This will be on top of your current tasks, and you’ll mention this to no one. Else…” The elder man trailed off sending Ishtar a lecherous gaze while quirking a brow. "I'll just recall my protection and have a bit of fun before sending you back there. Don't lose that charm, its in your best interests after all." He said and chuckled before looking through some notes. He knew of her true form, and had been holding it against her for a number of weeks now. In exchange for the silence of the powerful wizard and the solace his mentoring provided, Ishtar would work as an apprentice. Along with her work as a personal recordkeeper, Ishtar was a bit of an expert on the dark threats that the wizard dealt with on a daily basis. Her more clandestine purpose was to assist in thwarting various undead and vile threats around Kron-Nesis. It seemed the Archclericy was trying to keep things hushed and deal with things themselves. How vainly expected of them.
“And what of the archives? Shall we be helping break the barrier as well?” A certain hunger overtook Ishtar’s voice. She wasn’t as good at hiding things as she’d first imagined. The thought of breaking back into the Archclericy’s Forbidden Archives held a great deal of momentous benefits for the weakened Wight. The wizard chuckled at her query.
“Perhaps… I’m sure you’d love to deviate and peek back inside, is that it? It seems dealing with the Wights that are apparently now running rampant about the south may be more paramount, at least for appearances sake. However I'd love to take a look at those archives as well.” As the court wizard spoke, Ishtar tapped her gauntlets along the edge of his desk rhythmically producing a set of excited clacking sounds. Finally, it seemed Ishtar may have had a shot of rising back up to greatness. Her ultimate goal was finally charted with a path. Of course, these pinnacle achievements were still a long way off. The wizard made sure to remind her of that with his next comment.
“But that’s a conversation for another day. Gather the texts on the list and deliver them to myself or a servant once you are done. I have some matters to attend to for now and can’t be bothered.” With that, Ishtar’s superior was already out of his chair and leaving her behind. This was how things were, and this was why the Wight wanted things changed. Ishtar could have sworn she felt the unconscious clenching of her fist as Sirro stepped off and out of the room. She sighed. It was so difficult to feel simple sensations these days. With her vile form slowly twisting into something even more demented by the day, Ishtar was somewhere along the way to losing all of her humanity. Unfortunately, that deadline that was ever approaching was not so easily discerned.
“And—” Ishtar started up only to be swiftly cut off.
“And yes, you’ll be helping me, obviously. This will be on top of your current tasks, and you’ll mention this to no one. Else…” The elder man trailed off sending Ishtar a lecherous gaze while quirking a brow. "I'll just recall my protection and have a bit of fun before sending you back there. Don't lose that charm, its in your best interests after all." He said and chuckled before looking through some notes. He knew of her true form, and had been holding it against her for a number of weeks now. In exchange for the silence of the powerful wizard and the solace his mentoring provided, Ishtar would work as an apprentice. Along with her work as a personal recordkeeper, Ishtar was a bit of an expert on the dark threats that the wizard dealt with on a daily basis. Her more clandestine purpose was to assist in thwarting various undead and vile threats around Kron-Nesis. It seemed the Archclericy was trying to keep things hushed and deal with things themselves. How vainly expected of them.
“And what of the archives? Shall we be helping break the barrier as well?” A certain hunger overtook Ishtar’s voice. She wasn’t as good at hiding things as she’d first imagined. The thought of breaking back into the Archclericy’s Forbidden Archives held a great deal of momentous benefits for the weakened Wight. The wizard chuckled at her query.
“Perhaps… I’m sure you’d love to deviate and peek back inside, is that it? It seems dealing with the Wights that are apparently now running rampant about the south may be more paramount, at least for appearances sake. However I'd love to take a look at those archives as well.” As the court wizard spoke, Ishtar tapped her gauntlets along the edge of his desk rhythmically producing a set of excited clacking sounds. Finally, it seemed Ishtar may have had a shot of rising back up to greatness. Her ultimate goal was finally charted with a path. Of course, these pinnacle achievements were still a long way off. The wizard made sure to remind her of that with his next comment.
“But that’s a conversation for another day. Gather the texts on the list and deliver them to myself or a servant once you are done. I have some matters to attend to for now and can’t be bothered.” With that, Ishtar’s superior was already out of his chair and leaving her behind. This was how things were, and this was why the Wight wanted things changed. Ishtar could have sworn she felt the unconscious clenching of her fist as Sirro stepped off and out of the room. She sighed. It was so difficult to feel simple sensations these days. With her vile form slowly twisting into something even more demented by the day, Ishtar was somewhere along the way to losing all of her humanity. Unfortunately, that deadline that was ever approaching was not so easily discerned.
While Ishtar wasn’t one to fancy combat as much as the common warriors of the Southern Jewel, she would still relish in the vanquishing of her lesser undead counterparts. In her weak form, however, she recognized the difficulty in such a prospect. The aged creature had seen her fair share of obstacles though, and she wasn’t one that was easily thwarted, but Ishtar’s prowess stemmed not from strength, but resilience and intellect. As such, she was already devising her own schemes outside of Sirro’s plans. In between the massive shelves of the extensive library, Ishtar found herself propping open the grimoire, flipping to a specific chapter— one which surprisingly had nothing to do with Wights like herself, and carefully bisecting a page from the binding with the sharp tips of her gauntlets. In her slow and cautious procedure, Ishtar spent a great deal of effort leaving no trace.
Before anyone knew, the recordkeeper was wheeling her cart back out of the archives, a hidden page carefully rolled and concealed beneath her cloak. One step closer… It was a thought for another time, though. For now, Ishtar was concern with the duty at hand. By the time she had managed to bring the number of books back towards the quarters of the court wizard, she paused. Another moment of peace before dealing with the erratic man was always pleasant. Unfortunately, Ishtar’s momentary respite allowed a pair of individuals to walk into the magical door of the court wizard. Ishtar had presumed it was another of his meetings. While she would often be uninterested by his daily toilings, Sirro’s recent task had offered Ishtar quite a bit of intrigue.
With haste, Ishtar moved with the sly and vile agility of her Wight heritage as she stepped to the door. The human and the beastkin had just entered by the time Ishtar managed to pushed the metallic length of one of her gauntlets into the door’s crack, preventing it from fully shutting. Once she had ensured her ability to listen in, the servant Wight poised herself against the adjacent stone wall, remaining in utmost silence. Ishtar was a gatherer of information— an archivist. This was her art, and should she be able to gather intelligence on any of Sirro’s vile projects, she may accrue an upper-hand in a future scenario. For all she knew, he could have been fully aware of her presence with all of his magical prowess, but the Wight cared not. Should she not be stopped she would remain. Just listening…
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love
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3 hrs ago
Judge Kalon's Residence
The Southern Jewel, Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis
Darius reclined upon a couch within a sitting room, rubbing the base of his neck with a pained expression as the pains of age bothered him. Cressida, clearly in more pain as some clear bruising marked the skin not covered by her clothing, sat upright at the edge of the couch. They were both awaiting Judge Kalon, who was in the office marked by two intricately-carved mahogany doors set into the Western wall of the sitting room. A messenger, sent on behalf of the Grand Marshall, had arrived to speak with the Judge. The Justicar and his apprentice were rather invested in picking up some sort of work. The grandness of the manor in which Judge Kalon resided meant little to the two servants of the Order of Justice. Cressida often felt more at home in a more rustic environment, and Darius was often more interested in staying busy than relaxation.
The doors opened, and Darius' eyes followed the messenger hurriedly leaving the room, rubbing his pocket. He was carrying a letter, most certainly one sealed by Judge Kalon with orders. It took a moment before Judge Kalon entered the sitting room, his furrowed brow breaking as he saw his two guests waiting for him. He gave a bright smile, his portly figure seeming to expand as he opened his arms in acknowledged greeting. "Ahhh, my guests. You appear to be quite comfortable, so I see no issue in speaking here." With a clap of his hands, a butler quickly appeared in the room. With a simple nod towards the chair, the Judge had wordlessly commanded the Butler to strain himself in lifting a practical throne of a chair and moving it close to the couch where Darius and his apprentice sat. Once finished, the butler rushed out of the room. Judge Kalon took his seat and leaned back comfortably, the smile beginning to fade. "I am afraid there has been a sharp rise in... illicit activity. A knight, Sir Archibald, was drugged and maimed last night."
Before the Judge finished speaking, Darius was already positioning himself to stand up. He was ready to get out there and begin an investigation. But the raising of the Judge's hand stopped him. "I have already sent orders for a local Justicar to investigate. Given your history, Justicar Stormhawk, I felt it best to send a Justicar that is more... diplomatic to handle this matter and bring them in for justice."
"I deliver results, and have logged more arrests than any-"
"You have certainly logged more executions than any Justicars here. This is Tarantis, the Jewel of the South... not the battlegrounds of Nyrae." Darius grit his teeth slightly, lowering himself back into a reclined position as a sign of defeat. "There is a grave matter that has come to the attention of the Order, based on a message sent out to the Guilds. The army is recruiting those with special skills. Grandmaster Veranis believes that it would be advantageous to mobilize roaming members of the Order to aid the army in an auxiliary capacity. It is his opinion that the act of insurrection is a cause worthy of retribution... and..."
Darius practically rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming. "And Grandmaster Veranis wants us to aid the army of Kron-Nesis in an unofficial capacity to aid in the war effort."
Judge Kalon gave a slight nod, scratching the beard upon his chin before continuing. "...Officially, no request was made. But Grandmaster Veranis has made it clear he would prefer your services to be used in the war... but that such actions are not the command of the Order at large. The only actions permitted by the Order would be to ensure that Justice is upheld in war, and to protect the dignity and justice of prisoners. Though the Order would not reprimand you if more direct action was taken in the conflict."
Cressida looked like she was practically going to burst before finally interjecting, her voice slightly louder than she intended. "That is against the vows taken by the Order! We are to remain impartial observers, doing any more would violate everything the Order of Justice stands for! How could the Grandmaster-"
The slap rang out the sitting room. Darius had jumped to his feet with incredible speed, and swung the back of his gloved hand into the cheek of Cressida before she could register what had happened. She raised a hand to meet the mark of impact, her eyes raising to meet Darius' glare. They simply stared into each others' eyes for a moment, and then Cressida silently rose to her feet and left the sitting room, nearly knocking over the Butler as he carried a tray with three goblets into the room. Darius quietly sat down once again, beckoning the Butler over to give him some wine. The Judge himself took some wine, seeming unaffected by the incident. After another moment of silence, Darius bowed his head slightly. "I apologize for the insolence of Cressida. She is young and idealistic, but she will comply with the request of Grandmaster Veranis. As will I, though I suspect that no other members of the Order are being sent. At least, none that are in good standing. Veranis is hoping I die in the war."
"I don't doubt it, Darius. I wish I didn't have to do this, but you’re welcome to stay here for now. I even have an assignment for you if you please, though it is below your level of abilities.”
Darius gave a nod in acceptance, his palm opening up for an outward swing as he awaited the details. ”Arson at a home in the city. Reports of someone running from the scene. No severe punishment is warranted, and the officials here want to know for certain it was deliberate arson instead of a freak of nature. A simple fine should be taken.”
Darius rose without a word, making his way towards the exit. It was a menial assignment, but work was work. And right now, he needed something to keep himself occupied.
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It was a bright and sunny day much to Aldons annoyances. It did little to him at this point in his life, it was more like a nagging mosquito hovering around him. Looking up at the blue sky above he thought it was odd how beautiful and peaceful it was as if it had no idea the storm that was brewing in the world. Lowering his face back down to guard it against the sun under the hat he wore. As he scanned his surroundings in the forest he could tell they were arriving closer to his destination.
After a short while longer he stepped out from the tree line and entered a clearing that was empty save for what looked to be the ruins of an ancient temple. “Hmm. Ironic really, a demon living in an old temple. You really are asking for it aren't you?” he had said out loud to himself. He didn't need to fear if anyone heard him considering he would have noticed them following him. As he approached the crumbled remains of some old forgotten god he began throwing massive chunks of stone out of the way as he searched for any kind of door or secret passage. As he continued to look he found what looked like a normal stone floor but with his sharp vision, he saw the slightest lines in between the stone slab and the rest of the floor. With a smirk on his face, Aldon brought down his foot with all his force shattering the stone floor as it gave way to a set of stairs that descended deep into the earth. As he continued down the steps he was engulfed in the dark as he could feel the irritation leave him. Finally, at the bottom of the steps, he rounded the corner and entered into a large room with a single bed in it. “You really are a sloth aren't you?” he said out loud as he drew closer to the bed that had a figure sleeping in it. Looking at the man that was sleeping in the bed his eyes narrowed. “I could kill you without the slightest sweat and you wouldn't realize it until you woke up in hell.” raising his hand slightly he smacked the sleeping man across the face with a force that would possibly kill a normal man. “Wake up Zakhul.”
The trading post had been fairly busy since the summer solstice, which had happened around two weeks ago. People of all kinds were passing through, coming from the south on their way to the North. With the rivers slowing down, a lot more crossings were available for the next few weeks. Throughout the trading post, a motley collection of sounds could be heard constantly. Dogs barked, horses whinnied and people shouted. Merchants comparing stock and deciding on prices for the coming months. There were even some purchases happening between the merchants themselves. Near the entrance, two figures could be seen in an animated argument.
“I don't care how hard it was to get that cask of ale, you can't just double the price!”
The other voice was relaxed and soothing as it spoke, “It is not merely the difficulty of obtaining the product, but the rarity of it as well that raises its price. This is one of the last casks from a very specific batch that was said to be much better than normal.”
“I know exactly what that is, but you are still charging a ridiculous amount for it. If you don't want to sell it, then I'll just buy it somewhere else.”
With the other merchant stomping away Zakhul let out a soft laugh. Every year they went through this same routine without fail. Turning back to his wares he placed the cask back into its original position on the cart. Humming a simple song while closing up the cart he felt a tug in his head. Immediately the world around him stopped moving and the light of the sun dim. Talking to no one, in particular, he looked up towards the sky. “It seems as if someone plans to wake me from my sleep.” The world around him collapsed as a single tunnel of light appeared around him. Reaching out a hand he pulled himself through the tunnel. As he opened his eyes he felt a strong force hit him across the face.
“Ow.”
“Please, I barely put any force behind that strike.” He said in an even and serious tone. “Come on, it's time for you to get up. You’ve been asleep for far too long.” He said as he turned around ready to leave when Zakhul was done getting ready. “And don’t take forever will you.”
Zakhul slowly stood up from the bed and stretched his limbs. Grabbing a sword that had lain beside the bed he strapped it to his side. He began to follow Aldon up the stairs while he pulled his shirt on. “What is it that you require me for? I can't imagine you woke me up to have a chat.”
Smirking slightly at his friend's sarcasm Aldon replied “of course not. There are some interesting things happening in the world now that I thought you would want to see.” Taking a moment to pause he continued “there’s talk of a large war breaking out that could be of interest.”
“What interest is there in the squabbling of children? Why are you so interested in this conflict, like so many others?”
“Because these sort of things always bring out the best and the worst of humanity and I want to see which takes precedence over the other. And I believe this world has done without us for far too long.”
“That just sounds like an excuse to go to war if you ask me, but what do I know.” As he said those words Zakhul took his first step into the sun in centuries. He felt the warmth on his skin and the light wash over him. Taking a pause to relish the feeling he just stood there for a few seconds. Glancing out of the corner of his eye Zakhul flashed a devilish grin, “Doesn't the sun just feel great?”
Making sure his hat was securely on Aldon looked forwards at Zakhul who was soaking in the sunlight. “Yeah, it’s fantastic.” He said with a deep sarcasm in his voice at the obvious. As he began to walk forwards he stopped as his ears twitched a bit. Scanning around he narrowed his vision at what looked like a normal tree line. “You can come out if that tree line now. I know you're there.” He yelled out as four armed personal made their way towards himself and Zakhul.
As the four made their way out towards the pair they spread out a bit until coming to a stop a “safe distance away. “How did you know we were standing there?” The leader of the men asked while place of a hand on his sword. “No man has that good of sight that I’ve heard of.”
“Come now you must have known what I am. After all, that is why you been watching. But if you're still confused, allow me to show you.” As soon as he finished Aldon looked straight at the man as he let out some of his Vampiric power. His once ice blue eyes became a deep blood red and his fangs began to show. Just the little bit of power he was showing was enough to frighten the younger members of the group but the man only drew his sword awaiting the fight. “I hope that answers your question.” He finished with a smirk that said he had already won. Turning to his friend he whispered, “you take the two on the right I’ll take the leader and the one on the left.” Before drawing his own sword and wright at the man to the far left in blinding speed.
Zakhul watched Aldon charge the man on the left with apathy. Turning to his “targets” he slowly began to walk towards them. Drawing his sword he suddenly dashed towards his enemies. He managed to get a good hit on the foe to his left before they reacted and began to fight back. Zakhul quickly swung at one foe as he ducked from the other’s blow. The fight only lasted about fifteen seconds, but for the combatants, it felt like hours. Zakhul stepped away from the fight with a hairline cut on his abdomen, but not much more. Finished with his fight he looked to see how Aldon did.
Aldon had flashed behind his opponents swinging his sword straight at them. They managed to barely dodge out of the way before they had their heads cut off. Aldon focused on the more expire fed of the two knowing it would be child’s play to finish off the youngster. As their swords locked Aldons smirked evilly as he pushed through with all his might as his opponent's sword broke along with his spirits. As the sword drove deep in his chest Aldon looked behind him to see the younger hunter running straight for him with a dagger. Aldon simple vanished and appeared right behind him as he grabbed the boys head snapping his neck in an instant. Aldon was pleased with his work as he began walking towards Zakhul who had also finished his fight in about the same time. Pointing to the slight cut on his chest “you losing touch with all that sleep?”
“I am not losing my touch, I am merely rusty from sleeping for a century. Not using your muscles for that long of a time tends to do that to a person.” Looking at the horizon where the sun was setting he could feel his heart beat a small bit faster. “So, where are we going first."
Turning towards around Aldon looked out to the distance thinking of where exactly he should begin to head. “Kron-nesis,” he said matter of factly. “They are attacking a small kingdom that once belonged to them. It's a decent trip but with our speed, we should make it there it time to see the troops moving.” he paused for a moment before adding. “They will be looking for warriors on their way I'm sure perhaps we can weasel our way in.” after finishing both Aldon and Zakhul vanished from sight as they made their way towards their destination.
After a short while longer he stepped out from the tree line and entered a clearing that was empty save for what looked to be the ruins of an ancient temple. “Hmm. Ironic really, a demon living in an old temple. You really are asking for it aren't you?” he had said out loud to himself. He didn't need to fear if anyone heard him considering he would have noticed them following him. As he approached the crumbled remains of some old forgotten god he began throwing massive chunks of stone out of the way as he searched for any kind of door or secret passage. As he continued to look he found what looked like a normal stone floor but with his sharp vision, he saw the slightest lines in between the stone slab and the rest of the floor. With a smirk on his face, Aldon brought down his foot with all his force shattering the stone floor as it gave way to a set of stairs that descended deep into the earth. As he continued down the steps he was engulfed in the dark as he could feel the irritation leave him. Finally, at the bottom of the steps, he rounded the corner and entered into a large room with a single bed in it. “You really are a sloth aren't you?” he said out loud as he drew closer to the bed that had a figure sleeping in it. Looking at the man that was sleeping in the bed his eyes narrowed. “I could kill you without the slightest sweat and you wouldn't realize it until you woke up in hell.” raising his hand slightly he smacked the sleeping man across the face with a force that would possibly kill a normal man. “Wake up Zakhul.”
The trading post had been fairly busy since the summer solstice, which had happened around two weeks ago. People of all kinds were passing through, coming from the south on their way to the North. With the rivers slowing down, a lot more crossings were available for the next few weeks. Throughout the trading post, a motley collection of sounds could be heard constantly. Dogs barked, horses whinnied and people shouted. Merchants comparing stock and deciding on prices for the coming months. There were even some purchases happening between the merchants themselves. Near the entrance, two figures could be seen in an animated argument.
“I don't care how hard it was to get that cask of ale, you can't just double the price!”
The other voice was relaxed and soothing as it spoke, “It is not merely the difficulty of obtaining the product, but the rarity of it as well that raises its price. This is one of the last casks from a very specific batch that was said to be much better than normal.”
“I know exactly what that is, but you are still charging a ridiculous amount for it. If you don't want to sell it, then I'll just buy it somewhere else.”
With the other merchant stomping away Zakhul let out a soft laugh. Every year they went through this same routine without fail. Turning back to his wares he placed the cask back into its original position on the cart. Humming a simple song while closing up the cart he felt a tug in his head. Immediately the world around him stopped moving and the light of the sun dim. Talking to no one, in particular, he looked up towards the sky. “It seems as if someone plans to wake me from my sleep.” The world around him collapsed as a single tunnel of light appeared around him. Reaching out a hand he pulled himself through the tunnel. As he opened his eyes he felt a strong force hit him across the face.
“Ow.”
“Please, I barely put any force behind that strike.” He said in an even and serious tone. “Come on, it's time for you to get up. You’ve been asleep for far too long.” He said as he turned around ready to leave when Zakhul was done getting ready. “And don’t take forever will you.”
Zakhul slowly stood up from the bed and stretched his limbs. Grabbing a sword that had lain beside the bed he strapped it to his side. He began to follow Aldon up the stairs while he pulled his shirt on. “What is it that you require me for? I can't imagine you woke me up to have a chat.”
Smirking slightly at his friend's sarcasm Aldon replied “of course not. There are some interesting things happening in the world now that I thought you would want to see.” Taking a moment to pause he continued “there’s talk of a large war breaking out that could be of interest.”
“What interest is there in the squabbling of children? Why are you so interested in this conflict, like so many others?”
“Because these sort of things always bring out the best and the worst of humanity and I want to see which takes precedence over the other. And I believe this world has done without us for far too long.”
“That just sounds like an excuse to go to war if you ask me, but what do I know.” As he said those words Zakhul took his first step into the sun in centuries. He felt the warmth on his skin and the light wash over him. Taking a pause to relish the feeling he just stood there for a few seconds. Glancing out of the corner of his eye Zakhul flashed a devilish grin, “Doesn't the sun just feel great?”
Making sure his hat was securely on Aldon looked forwards at Zakhul who was soaking in the sunlight. “Yeah, it’s fantastic.” He said with a deep sarcasm in his voice at the obvious. As he began to walk forwards he stopped as his ears twitched a bit. Scanning around he narrowed his vision at what looked like a normal tree line. “You can come out if that tree line now. I know you're there.” He yelled out as four armed personal made their way towards himself and Zakhul.
As the four made their way out towards the pair they spread out a bit until coming to a stop a “safe distance away. “How did you know we were standing there?” The leader of the men asked while place of a hand on his sword. “No man has that good of sight that I’ve heard of.”
“Come now you must have known what I am. After all, that is why you been watching. But if you're still confused, allow me to show you.” As soon as he finished Aldon looked straight at the man as he let out some of his Vampiric power. His once ice blue eyes became a deep blood red and his fangs began to show. Just the little bit of power he was showing was enough to frighten the younger members of the group but the man only drew his sword awaiting the fight. “I hope that answers your question.” He finished with a smirk that said he had already won. Turning to his friend he whispered, “you take the two on the right I’ll take the leader and the one on the left.” Before drawing his own sword and wright at the man to the far left in blinding speed.
Zakhul watched Aldon charge the man on the left with apathy. Turning to his “targets” he slowly began to walk towards them. Drawing his sword he suddenly dashed towards his enemies. He managed to get a good hit on the foe to his left before they reacted and began to fight back. Zakhul quickly swung at one foe as he ducked from the other’s blow. The fight only lasted about fifteen seconds, but for the combatants, it felt like hours. Zakhul stepped away from the fight with a hairline cut on his abdomen, but not much more. Finished with his fight he looked to see how Aldon did.
Aldon had flashed behind his opponents swinging his sword straight at them. They managed to barely dodge out of the way before they had their heads cut off. Aldon focused on the more expire fed of the two knowing it would be child’s play to finish off the youngster. As their swords locked Aldons smirked evilly as he pushed through with all his might as his opponent's sword broke along with his spirits. As the sword drove deep in his chest Aldon looked behind him to see the younger hunter running straight for him with a dagger. Aldon simple vanished and appeared right behind him as he grabbed the boys head snapping his neck in an instant. Aldon was pleased with his work as he began walking towards Zakhul who had also finished his fight in about the same time. Pointing to the slight cut on his chest “you losing touch with all that sleep?”
“I am not losing my touch, I am merely rusty from sleeping for a century. Not using your muscles for that long of a time tends to do that to a person.” Looking at the horizon where the sun was setting he could feel his heart beat a small bit faster. “So, where are we going first."
Turning towards around Aldon looked out to the distance thinking of where exactly he should begin to head. “Kron-nesis,” he said matter of factly. “They are attacking a small kingdom that once belonged to them. It's a decent trip but with our speed, we should make it there it time to see the troops moving.” he paused for a moment before adding. “They will be looking for warriors on their way I'm sure perhaps we can weasel our way in.” after finishing both Aldon and Zakhul vanished from sight as they made their way towards their destination.
VeridianSeeker Because I like colours and seeking things.
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6 yrs ago
Adrian, Maellinn, and Victor
---
“...hello?…”
The word hung in the air. Only after a ringing silent second was it suddenly answered by a vicious snort. Two large black eyes stared at the intruders, unblinking. The eyes belonged to a jet black oxen. It’s hair was short and revealed a thick muscular body, unbridled by rope or restraint and with mighty horns fitting for such a strong creature.
Suddenly a pile of hay by the wagon and ox erupted. Maellinn stumbled out, her hair tangled with dried grasses, and hay poking out of her clothes. Her face was wild, as if just awaked, and her eyes were tired.
“Sorry,” Maellinn yawned as she collected herself, “I must’ve overslept.”
Blinking away sleep her eyes adjusted on the bizarre child and her companion. “The adventurer from the pub?” Maellinn quickly pointed at Victor.
Victor was taken aback by the woman suddenly springing out in front of him. He nodded, still cautious over the nature of the meeting he replied: “Yes, that’d be me. The bartender didn’t exactly tell me much.” he then motioned over at Adrian “This is my uh- my companion.” Adrian peeked out from behind Victor and waved, not smiling. She approached the oxen warily, trying to extend a hand out to pet its velvety nose.
The ox snorted and stamped a hoof as Adrian approached. Maellinn quickly scooted between the young girl and the beast, "this is John, you'll have to excuse him, he isn't fond of strangers.." Adrian blinked and backed up, scurrying behind Victor again.
Maellinn's words trailed as she looked back at Victor, "but that's not what I asked you to be sent here for."
"I heard you are heading north," Maellinn explained, pointing up, "so am I. I also have a wagon, do you have a wagon?"
Maellinn peaked behind Victor, "because I do, one that can be shared."
Victor takes a moment in silence to mull over the situation and offer. His face contorts into one of deep thought, “You know… my first thought would be that you’ve got people waiting to rob us on the road outside. Because if that’s the case, we really don’t have much but my gear.” he thought out loud, giving her a once-over to try and dispel any doubts. Meanwhile, Adrian continued to peer thoughtfully at the oxen, not paying much attention to the conversation.
“Victor, bison,” she pointed out to him, making sure to tentatively motion towards the ox so he can truly appreciate it.
Victor shot a scowl at Adrian, unsure of what point she was trying to make. “Yea- yes. I see it.” he said dismissively before turning his attention back to Maellinn.
"If I robbed you, you could easily come back and report me to the city. I'd be easy to find, there are not a lot of lone women hauling baking equipment across Teldura with a single ox." Maellinn paused, "I'm more likely to be robbed --or worse-- than you in fact."
Maellinn leaned back against John, who stood unamused.
"That's why I need you two," Maellinn continued, "I can't keep traveling alone in a world like this. I've been lucky, and I can only assume your legs are tired. It's nearly a fair deal, just toss a few coins on top of it and we have a square business transaction. You get transport, I get to sleep at night knowing I won't be--"
Maellinn's eyes squinted and she stared at Victor, "unless you're the type I should be avoiding, who would..." Her voice turned almost accusatory.
“No, no. We have no ill intent. I just have to be cautious. Especially now that I have to drag her around too.” he tried defending himself. “Who even are you?” he tried to redirect the questions back onto Maellinn.
"Maellinn, my name is Maellinn," Maellinn answered, her eyes flickering towards Adrian. "You mention your friend like I should be worried.” Adrian perked up at this and went about staring at Maellinn instead of her Ox.
“She’s foreign. At least I think she is. Had her dropped in my lap, i’m just trying to get her back to where she says her family is.” he explained, as briefly as possible. “And how much room do you have back there?” he nodded his chin up at the wagon.
“Could easily fit you two, I never ride in back for obvious reasons. Leg room may be cramped though, lot's of pans.” Maellinn walked over to the wagon and pulled back the canvas cover.
While it was by no means a wagon you'd expect a team of horses to pull, it wasn't too small. The interior was plain and wooden, with pots, pans and other cooking supplies hanging from the ceiling and walls. A small clay oven was placed in the top front most left corner, taking up a good amount of space. A bag of clothes and bedding was stuffed in the other front corner, to which Maellinn directed their eyesight away from and to the much more spacious first few half meters of the wagon, fitted with benches along the walls to sit on, easily seating Victor and Adrian, one on each side.
“See?” Maellinn questioned, “not exactly the caravan of a bandit ‘neither.”
Victor nodded along as she described each part of her ride, becoming more and more convinced. He looked down at Adrian who had placed herself behind him again. “What do you think?”
“Bison,” Adrian repeated emphatically.
With a sigh, victor turned back to Maellinn. “And you don’t expect any payment? Again, I have little to offer.” he asked to reassure himself one last time.
“I mean, I would like a little, since I'll be forced to sleep outside, but if you got nothing, you got nothing. Can't bleed a rock and I need company.” Maellinn answered, looking at Adrian with a slight concern. John snorted.
“I’d like to pickup work on our way north as well. I hope you don’t mind the odd stop here and there… i’m Victor, this is Adrian.” Victor added, remembering he had forgotten to introduce himself. Adrian waved at Maellinn from her spot behind Victor’s back, still engrossed in the wagon and its beast of burden.
“I'm not in a rush, take as many stops as you'd like,” Maellinn idly waved back at Adrian, sporting a warm smile, “maybe toss a coin or two at the driver though, hm?”
“If you can spare it, from those jobs I mean,” Maellinn quickly added. She paused, “what sort of work do you do, anyways?”
She looked Victor over, “carpenter?”
“No, that makes no sense.. A traveling carpenter.” She mused to herself.
“I slay monsters. From giant rat to haunted crypts.” he stated, almost bragging under the circumstances.
“Oh!” Maellinn exclaimed, her voice genuinely shocked and eyes wide with a certain wonder, “really!?”
Victor, surprised at her interest, replied: “Yes. Really. Apparently there’s a bit of work north as well. Do you mind if we put our belongings in there?” he added, flicking a thumb at the rucksack strapped on his back. Adrian looked up at Victor and wandered off, up the street and towards the tavern again.
“Oh! Yes, yes of course!” Maellinn hurried out of their way, “do you need to use a lot of silver? I hear there are some beasties that only die by silver. I don't have any silver though,” her voice turned from excited to apologetic, “sorry, I mean we could get some if you need to.”
Victors brows furrowed at Maellinn, unsure if she was truly this excited by the subject or taking him for a fool. “Some of them yes. Sometimes it’s just a boring ritual from a decrepit book.” he took slipped the straps of his rucksack off and lumbered his way to the back of the wagon to slot his pack into.
Adrian came back, leading Victor's horse by the reigns. “You forgot Victor 2,” she chided, as she set to work taking the saddle bags and pieces of assorted monster hunting equipment to squeeze into the wagon.
“Oh- yes. I almost forgot about the runt. He’s no mighty steed, but i’d rather tie him along if that’s fine with you.” he spoke to Maeillinn.
“We can eat him if he's too slow,” Adrian added helpfully.
“Oh, no…” Maellinn shook her head slowly, her voice soft “I don’t want to eat-- no, why?”
She stared at Adrian with a look of friendly worry, “don’t go eating Victor 2.”
“He can come,” She looked back at Victor, “could help take some of the fuss off of ol’ John’s shoulders too if he is fit to help tug.”
Victor scowled and shook his head at Adrians comment but refused to argue. “If he’ll be good for one thing, then that’d be it.” he grabbed the reins off of Adrian and passed it onto Maellinn. “Your wagon. You know where to best put him.”
John eyed the horse with suspicion as Maellin lead Victor 2 to the head of the wagon. John snorted and Maellinn shot him a look, “oh stop it!”
Maellinn easily hooked the horse to one of the wagon arms, using its saddle as a harness. She then called over to John by clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. John hoofed the dirt and Maellinn growled until, reluctantly, the ox stomped over to her. With a huff Maellinn picked his yolk off the ground and lifted it over him. She looked over her shoulder at Victor as she situated John, “I assume you want to head out now?”
“Absolutely. You know the roads here?” Victor moved to plant a hand on Adrian shoulder and physically pry her off of staring at the ox. “There room up front or you want us at the back?” Adrian made a little agitated noise as she is prevented from gawping at the animals.
“The benches in the back is fine,” Maellinn shrugged, “but if you want to sit up front with me, that’s fine too. As for knowing the roads-- I have a map!”
“Good enough. I’ll be up front for a bit. I think Adrian here could go for a few more hours of sleep.” Victor began guiding Adrian to the back to help her up into the wagon. Adrian continued to make agitated grunts of protest as she was guided into the back, but quickly quieted down when Victor absentmindedly tossed his cloak on her before making his way to the front beside the driver’s seat where Maellinn was wrestling a large map, hay still tangled in her hair.
“Where to first?”
“Eomanvale. Word is there’s plenty of contracts up there.” He nodded as he hoisted himself besides her.
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