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A Journey for Peace

Lamont regarded Kiara for a moment, almost bashfully. It was true that he wasn't used to interacting with a fairer-skinned Astorian, but he could not imagine Kiara any other way. In some ways her red hair and light skin made him compare her to a walking flame -- brilliant to behold, her presence a helpful blessing to end this war as a fire was to chase away the chills, but dangerous to touch, yet he was expected to somehow handle her, control her... if he didn't, she'd be like a wildfire, out of control, just as his father feared... Still, her appearance suited her. He considered himself merely a hunk of dried wood -- useless except to fuel the fire, either just enough to be comforting or too much.

Lamont smiled ruefully to himself. He didn't want to think about how he would control Kiara, though he felt certain it would be a topic of conversation his father would force him in a bit closer to the wedding. It was easier, and possibly more fun, to be on equal ground with Kiara right now. He barely knew her, but getting to know her little nuances, how she thought, and how she acted was so far more interesting than most of the books he read. What would they encounter on the streets of the capital city dressed as commoners? Would they be swept up by drama between peasants? Would they be taken by a grand adventure across town? Would the find espionage and intrigue in the alley shadows? It was exciting just to think about the possibilities, the repercussions never once crossing his mind.

"Do you intend to use magic to aid you in your disguise?" Lamont asked, genuinely curious now about Kiara's process of hiding her skin. Astora was always better-versed in magic, Lamont curious if they all knew a little spell work. Perhaps she'd merely wrap herself in a cowl, but that wasn't nearly as interesting to imagine as a bit of magic...

A Journey for Peace

*nod-nod* Real life has a tendency to do that, hehe. As long as it's all good and not terrible/stressful :)

Thanks for the heads-up!

A Journey for Peace

*snickers*

They're quite good at that!

And thanks :)

Vanish Into Light

Mind if I assume that Jeron survived his journey to the jail cell without getting impaled by an icicle and beat my idiots there? O:

Nope, don't mind at all!

And take your time :)

Also, what is "Pre-Sequel"? *is curious*

A Journey for Peace

Haha, alright cool :)

And thanks for the heads-up. Good luck!

A Journey for Peace

I'm trying to get a feel for how you like to pace character development.

Should I slow down the pace of some of these scenes to get in a lot of dialogue between the two characters? (For instance, should we have RP'd conversation between Kiara and Lamont as he showed her around the castle?) Or is the current pace and generic narration through some of the scenes appropriate?

This way, I'll gain a better grasp of the upcoming scene in the city, which I have a few mild plans for :)

A Journey for Peace

The more Kiara talked, the more inwardly excited Lamont became. Why hadn't he thought of doing this sooner? Now that the idea had presented itself, he felt foolish for overlooking such a simple thing. It would be a perfect way to really get to know his people.

"I'm not so sure about taverns," he said a little cautiously, remembering a time when a few of his brothers had convinced him to go out with them. After getting over the crowds, the rude patrons, and the awful-tasting ale, Lamont vaguely remembered having one of the best nights of his life... followed by two truly awful days in which his hangover had left him confined to his bed and unable to hold down even water. His heart ached at the memories -- it was one of the few times he had felt close to any of his brothers and they had learned that they were more alike with similar interests than any of them knew. Even while enduring his hangover, they had been sympathetic to Lamont instead of cruel because of all the fun they had together the night before. He would never create moments like those again. He wished he had more time to try to get to know the siblings that had teased him all his life.

Lamont tried to force those bittersweet memories from his mind. "I'm not sure what I want to do," he said. "I simply want to observe and mimic -- see where the day takes us. Browse the markets, eat commoner food, partake in various commoner activities. How do they spend their free time when they're not working?

"You and I will share breakfast tomorrow morning. We'll tell my parents that we will be spending time together around the castle, which will primarily be true. They'll probably have bodyguards accompany us -- I can bribe them off easily enough. We'll put on our disguises and have some fun. Does that sound like a plan to you?"

Vanish Into Light

Ugh, sorry for taking so long to respond. I didn't want to half-ass the post and it has been a busy week. Hopefully it is worth the wait! Thank you so much for your patience :)

Vanish Into Light

There were so many distractions. Waiting for the first Zhentarim guard to scale the wall to the rooftop was wearing off the adrenaline; Jeron's back throbbed with increasing intensity. Lashes were not a light matter. If he didn't do something soon, the pain alone would almost cripple him. But he could not leave without his journal, his single precious item. Brilliant, bright light reflecting off the walls of nearby buildings pulled the half-drow's mind in another direction. What was going on?

Despite the danger of turning his back on his only escape route, Jeron crept to the edge of the rooftop, peering over the side to identify the source of the light. His savior was in the crowd, courageously fighting scores of Zhentarim warriors. He thought it foolish as he held his breath with dread. She would die and it would be his fault. She was supposed to run for cover in reaction to his whistle, hide, sneak, something other than face her death directly in the form of vicious blades and cruel sneers. She would have surely perished, but she was not alone.

A bald man wielded power Jeron had not seen in quite some time, hurling ice spells at his foes with deadly efficiency. It reminded the half-drow of Maura's last moments. She, too, fought courageously against men meant to subdue her at the very least. She, too, had demonstrated tremendous power.

This man's magic combined with his savior's fighting prowess, however, seemed to be a good match. He could tell they had been fighting together for a while; it was as though they could read each other's thoughts. Each seemed to know what the other was going to do and reacted accordingly, thinning the Zhentarim numbers and making it look easy. Jeron, a fan of magic who could only long for such power, dreamed of wielding magic like the man below, to be so intimidating...

He felt a shift in the air, an acute skill he learned from a lifetime of hiding. Instinctually, he rolled, just missing the crushing downward slash of a sword as a Zhentarim guard attacked. Jeron screamed; rolling onto his back was not a good idea, blood staining the rooftop, but he had no time to submit to his body's pain. At once the guard was upon him, his sword seeking the prize of half-Drow flesh and bone. Jeron rolled again, this time tucking his legs under him to crouch, then sprang to the side to avoid another attack.

Jeron knew nothing about fighting, but he was very good at dodging and parrying. With startling agility, he avoided each and every one of the man's attacks through a duck, a bob, a shimmy, a turn, a side-step. Jeron's injuries slowed down his movements; several times he used the dagger he was given to deflect what would be a fatal blow. His arms ached from absorbing his opponent's swings, his wrists felt like they would crack, and his strength was being sapped fast, but if he did not give his all in the defense, he would surely die.

Another guard soon joined the fray, Jeron avoiding attacks in front and behind him. It almost seemed as though he had a sixth sense when it came to evasive combat, forcing his body to move and bend in ways that left him almost breathless with pain. in reality, he had excellent reflexes and had learned to read shadows, reflections off armor, and the gaze of his opponents to know what was going on behind him at a moment's notice. He had lived through so many encounters throughout his life this way; it was a wonder he had not died long ago.

If not for these injuries, he would have slipped away by now. As it was, he could not seem to make a clean getaway... There! Jeron stepped forward, the guard in front of him thrusting accordingly. The half-drow spun to the side, almost astonished that he managed to avoid the attack, and heard the satisfying cry of the other guard behind him impaled by his partner's blade. He did not turn to assess the damage, immediately sprinting for the edge of the rooftop that would lead him to his freedom.

A third Zhentarim guard stepped up before he could make it; Jeron skidded to a halt. This one held fire in his palm, his gaze gleaming with murderous intent. Jeron scooted back, wondering how he was to avoid magic at this state...

...when a giant ice rock slammed against this guard's head. The man was dead before his body hit the ground, the chunk of ice punching a hole through the roof.

Jeron gaped, then jumped as another ice crystal punctured the rooftop only inches from his body. He realized that it was raining ice all around him, villagers and Zhentarim alike running and seeking cover.

The half-drow scrambled for his exit, but he had to veer to the side, jump forward, or double back in order to avoid falling ice. That was when he noticed his savior on the rooftop with him, stealing a split second to assess the damage.

She came back for him! Nobody ever came back for him. Jeron had no time to ponder the implications of this. "The jailhouse!" he shouted, pointing to where his destination was, several rooftops ahead. "I must make it there!"

Finally, he managed to reach the proper edge of the roof. He scrambled down and began to sprint towards the jailhouse, not sure if he preferred dodging deadly chunks of ice to enraged Zhentarim guards. He felt like passing out, his legs heavy as lead, but he pressed on. He had to.

A Journey for Peace

Sad to say, bed time for me again! *waves*