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‘I’d like to see a Colovian sky one last time before I die.’ – Bloodies-His-Face, when asked what he’d want to do before the end.
6 yrs ago
"Yeah I've been dancin' with the devil, I love that he pretends to care." MARINA, Forget
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6 yrs ago
"It is a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver." Machiavelli
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8 yrs ago
"A true dragon knows no fear."
8 yrs ago
"Tell me something I can hold on to forever and never let go." - "Let go." Adaline Bowman and Ellis Jones, Age of Adaline
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Bio
I need to be stopped.
My TES Archive, about a dozen Argonians live rent free in my head. Posts at least once every day at 6pm (AEDT): conversations, quotes, letters, excerpts.
@Estylwen Anton caught a sliver of gray in the dim tavern light, for a bare moment. It reminded him of the Greymont Monarch from his homeland, now lost to the spectral curse.
"My, my, a Ravenfellian. One of the last human ones at that.”
Anton turned in the direction of the voice, and came face to face with a young woman-- or rather a next-to flawless facsimile of one. The way the light hit her porcelain flesh, Anton saw unnatural beauty. It was both unnerving and remarkable, especially when she moved to curtsy before him.
”Baron of Marceilles, what brings you to Arrowfell?”
'I--' Anton began as the doll adjusted her dress, before pressing her palms together and resting her tilted head upon them.
”Don't answer that, I know.” She then closed her eyes ever-so-slightly and recited: "To His Grace, the Duke of Rhinecliff. I won't presume you've heard of us, so let me start with an introduction: we are the Braves of the Orchards.”
Anton said nothing as the girl laced her hands at her waist. He saw the balled joints of her wrists, but thought not to comment on it. It honestly made it more comforting, paired with her flawless skin, that she was clearly not a being of flesh. And there were certainly worse things Anton had to set eyes upon over the years.
Instead, he sighed and rolled his eyes. 'That's what I get for paying the courier double for privacy and urgency,' he remarked, 'Honestly, you can't send letters reliably anymore.'
”It won't work… Your plan.” Anton let go of levity and looked back at her, not at all surprised at her assessment. ”But I'm here to propose an alternative to you.”
'As you wish, but since you know who I actually am,' Anton pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, along with a matchstick, 'perhaps you might do me the courtesy and tell me who you are.'
”My name is Ryllae Evoek of the Order of the Looking Glass. May I… sit with you?”
Anton nodded and motioned for her to do so. 'Please do, Miss Evoek.'
He pulled over an ashtray and then raised his cigar. 'I imagine you don't have lungs,' he commented, 'but would you permit the privilege of me ravaging mine?'
Description: Sylrael has long blonde hair and emerald eyes, and an athleticism that betrays his seemingly lithe frame which he often silhouettes with flowing fabrics. He is the finest shot with a longbow at distance, and a capable combatant in melee. Often, Anton plays as shield for Sylrael while he lets loose arrow after arrow.
He is Anton's second-in-command of the Braves of Marceilles, and often relays his orders to the other Braves. In the past, Sylrael briefly aided Anton during Lamont's Rebellion where they liberated the city of Artois; Sylrael's connections and grounded knowledge of forest and swampy terrain helped destroy the slave trade that Durant had been permitting in the region.
Sylrael departed Ravenfell for a time on his own personal quests, but fate reunited Anton and Sylrael when he first started serving as envoy for the Ghost King. Anton had told him the truth of the matter, and Sylrael sympathised with him. Seeking to comfort his friend and comrade who was suffering from profound loneliness, Sylrael suggested forming a band of sellswords together: the Braves of Marceilles.
Sylrael believes he is Anton's closest confidant, but there is always more that Anton holds back about whatever he confides in him about.
A forlorn wind blew through the orchards, caressing the withering leaves of barren apple trees like nature's graves lining each dirt path. A chill sat in the air, heralding a terrible winter to pass in the coming months. But such worries did not plague the ghosts of Ravenfell, not for short of two decades. Anton shivered in his armour as he walked through the dead orchard, the clank of plate mingling with the rustle of fallen leaves. His bones felt weary; either from age, the cold, or a mix of both. The colours of his plume, cloak, and divided longskirt- once a royal blue trimmed with white, the colours of House Marceilles- were now faded to a dull dark shade. He looked through his visor at the tragic scene once more, and the faintest memories of better times stirred.
But recollection blurred when he remembered how he struggled. For the first month since the spectral curse took hold, Anton tended to the apple orchard all by himself. The caretaker who had looked after it originally had departed, no longer interested in the well-being of the apple crop. Anton was a skilled warrior, but a farmer he was not. Tried as he might on his own, he could not save the apple trees as they died off one by one. In the end, Anton gave up and watched as trees like memories died and faded away. The least he could do instead was make the manor house nearby a homely place.
After a short walk through the orchard, Anton came to a halt before two gravestones beneath a dead tree. From there, Anton could see all of the city and its outskirts; he could just spot the spectral figures of his people wandering the streets. He looked back at the headstones: one was slightly more worn than the other, and upon its head the name 'Celeste Agravaine' was carved. Anton bowed his head, offering a prayer to his mother. He then turned to the other headstone, upon which was carved 'Phillip Agravaine'.
Anton sighed and took a seat on the same familiar large rock next to his father's grave. He paused, holding up the White Flower on its chain around his neck. A terrible burden. 'I am to depart Ravenfell soon,' Anton spoke aloud, 'I am being sent southward to distant lands, where she plays "Wizard Queen".' He then sat as the chill breeze rippled through his thick woollen cloak, and pondered for a while. 'I know not what awaits me, but I know nothing else remains here for me. Perhaps I will finally meet my end, but either way...' Anton rose wearily to his feet with a groan, '... One day soon I will see you again, father.' He rested his gauntleted hand on the headstone, before turning to take his leave.
Two Days Ago...
Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey
'Anton? Anton!' Anton awoke from his daydream to Sylrael looking at him, the noise and merrymaking of the inn coming back into focus. 'Sorry. I was just thinking.' Sylrael's lips shifted to the side for a second. 'The others want to know what our next move is,' he said, 'I am all for helping people, but the Wizard Queen surely knows of our movements by now.'
Anton took a sip of his cider, ignoring how not-as-crisp it was, as he watched people socialising near the bar. It had been several weeks since Anton and his Braves had arrived in Arrowfell. They had traveled from place to place, never lingering for too long, and helping whoever was in need. And given the absolute state of Evelyn's rule, there were many people in need. Though he was bound by oath, Anton's kindness did little for his fatigue.
'She knows,' Anton replied somewhat flippantly, 'she was always one to be in control of knowing what went on in a kingdom.' 'Which makes it even more important that we have a direction,' Sylrael stated, worry dripping into his tone. 'I've already sent a letter of introduction,' Anton replied calmly before sipping again. 'T-To the Queen...!?' Sylrael hissed. 'No, to the Duke of Rhinecliff.'
Sylrael sat back, his face relaxing, but Anton could see the cogs working behind those emerald eyes. Boisterous laughter came from another table, and patrons applauded the minstrel playing the fiddle on stage. 'You said it yourself, Sylrael,' Anton added reassuringly, 'We need a direction. There's no overthrowing a queen on our own, as romantic as that sounds. I think Laurent Rhinecliff will be a good step in the right direction; he cares for Arrowfell's people as much as I care--' Anton stopped himself for a moment and cleared his throat as he stared into the puddle of cider left in the mug. 'As much as I cared about Ravenfell.'
Sylrael mercifully did not comment on the comparison, and instead steered the topic with a low voice. 'So what's the plan, captain?' A small smile tugged at Anton's lips as his face lifted. 'He won't just let us swing by and say hello, and I only introduced us as a "philanthropic warband".' 'Philanthropic warband...?' 'I wasn't about to say "ragtag adventurers with ties to a ghostly kingdom". Doesn't have the same snappy appeal,' Anton joked.
'Point taken. So, we prove ourselves then?' 'Exactly. I have arranged a meeting on the outskirts of Odonfield in a week's time,' Anton explained, 'I don't expect the good Duke to turn up personally. But before that meeting, we're going to steal from the Glasic Fields.' 'I always knew you had a deathwish.' They paused as waitress took Anton's mug, and he nodded graciously. 'What's life without a little risk?' Sylrael stood, shaking his head. 'I'll tell the others you said those exact words before I tell them the plan.'
Anton chuckled as Sylrael took his leave. When he was gone, Anton looked back longingly at the onlookers watching the minstrel perform. The cider, the music, and the liveliness were all desperate love letters to a world lost to him. He thought of Lamont, his hand reaching instinctively toward the burden at his neck. But then he curled his hand into a fist and rested his chin upon it.
My loyalty to my liege is second to my oath to the people. But what do I do if my lord no longer cares for the people?
Alexios listened to the various responses: from the Reachwoman saying nobody would believe their cover story, the Dark Elf suggesting a combined approach where the Militia posed as a merchant caravan, to the other Argonian also saying they would stick out like a 'swamp jelly in Elsweyr' before calling him a 'lukiul'. Whatever that meant.
Alexios put on his helmet and folded his arms, now regretting that he bothered to offer his suggestion. 'Right. Well, in the Elder Council's infinite wisdom, you lot were chosen and I am only making do with what Akatosh has given me.' The Argonian subsequently apologised for her harsh tone, to which Alexios inclined his head. However, Alexios said nothing to her comments on the Dark Elf's newest suggestion, as it was she who suggested the merchant caravan story to begin with.
The Argonian continued: she introduced herself as Meen-La, then looked to Alexios when remarking on her own notoriety. He shrugged. 'I must have missed the Legion-wide memo with your name on it, my apologies,' he replied. She then brushed over his comment and proposed a new two-pronged approach: kill the bandits, tell the populace there's a hunt for the would-be bandit-killer bandit. Alexios mulled it over; it was a sensible approach. 'I'll take my squad to Bruma then, turn up the streets thoroughly for this brutal lizard Meen-La.'
The High Elf of the group stepped forward and asked if there was a preference to diplomacy or force, to which the Confessor advocated for diplomacy. The High Elf's concerns were merited, which made Alexios all the more committed to writing his message to Fort Pale Pass. Already his opinion of this 'Hidden Militia' was not high. He can appreciate units of irregulars as much as any other officer or commander in the Legion; military history mentions more than a few groups with odd talents that have changed the odds in any struggle. But this group had only adventurers and outlaws of all stripes; there was nothing yet for Alexios to regard as a good-omen for their mission.
When the Confessor gave them leave, Alexios waited and listened to see what the Militia decided to do.
'Don't take from me the chance to see my father again, I beg of you...'
Goal: To serve in the name of Lamont DuFairre and what remains of the kingdom of Ravenfell. To bring Evelyn Keove to justice. To protect the people.
History: The only son of Phillip and Celeste Agravaine, Anton is a foreigner in a strange land with a solemn purpose.
'To protect the innocent and help the weak.'
For the longest time, Anton has heard this tenet in his father's voice. Whenever his father told old war stories; when Anton went against Phillip's wishes and joined the chevaliers; and especially during the darkest moments of the rebellion against the False King. Stubborn and unyielding just like his father, Anton has enshrined it as his own moral code.
When Damien DuRant usurped the throne, Anton left the crown-chevaliers and returned to his father's side in Marceilles. Phillip, loyal to the DuFairre lineage, refused to bow to DuRant's tyrannical tax regimes and shielded his own people from the greed of the Crown. It was there that fate brought Lamont and Anton together. They were young men back then, with dreams of liberating a fallen kingdom. Though he stood to be the first baron to support Lamont's claim to the throne, Phillip treated Lamont as though he were his own son and Anton as though he were a brother.
When the time finally came, after a grueling campaign across the province: Phillip, Anton, and Lamont lead the siege of Arthroyeaux. With the False King's strength weakened and his allies scattered, the trio sought to defeat Damien himself. With no intent to surrender, Damien ordered the last of his crown-chevaliers to the defense while Baron Lucius Garthois, his right hand man, remained at his side. Breaking through, Anton held off the fighting while Phillip and Lamont raced up the steps of the White Palace.
Anton finally secured the steps of the White Palace, and approached the Throne Room. In his heart, he thought they had won the battle.
And they had, but at a heavy price.
Lucius had been slain by Phillip, and Damien, in his desperation, had confided in dark powers that transformed him into a being of unimaginable horror. Phillip had jumped in the path of a deathblow meant for Lamont, saving him. Lamont, lifting up his rapier, struck down the abomination and brought an end to the tyranny of the False King. It was there, as Anton and Lamont consoled one another at the loss of their father, the seeds of Ravenfell's end were planted.
When Lamont began the ritual to strip him and his people of their mortal flesh, Anton begged him not to go through with it. But the fear of Damien's fate and the pain of losing Phillip was too much for Lamont to bear. Only out of respect for his closest friend did Lamont spare Anton the spectral curse. Anton watched as the man he knew like a brother faded away, along with the kingdom he loved and served. As every other chevalier had been taken by the spectral curse, Anton became known as the Last Chevalier of Ravenfell. With his new title, he served as the eyes, mouth, and hand of the king. He became an envoy, a champion, to other lands where the spectral curse would not have been welcomed.
He now comes to Arrowfell, seeking to protect its innocents from the horrors of war that he is all too familiar with.
Seed:'The White Flower', a ring with a small floral-shaped crystal of pearl-white, this Seed was the signet ring of the DuFairre lineage and was imparted upon Anton.
'This holds the weight of my oaths sworn, and it is a crushing burden.'
This Seed conjures a halo of up to twelve floating swords made of white light, capable of dealing with both physical and magical weapons and armour. They are exceptionally fast and can be controlled, dissipating if they leave the immediate area around the user. Each sword can be controlled independently, but doing so requires splitting focus to a point that requires standing tranquilly still.
Magic: x Shield - A common spell for self-defense. Anton has mastered a 'sword-and-ward' combat style that uses this as his 'shield', rather than as a bubble. x Light - A simple spell for exploration. Anton imbues an item (normally his sword) with a spell that causes it to illuminate his surroundings with white light. x Sparks- A simple spell. Lets loose a sustained spark of lightning from the hand. x Lightning Bolt - A common spell. A bolt of lightning lashes out at a target in an instant; Anton can charge the bolt up with both hands. x Mending - A common spell with utilitarian use. Can be used to repair moderate damage to an object that Anton lays hands upon. x Dash Sigil - An uncommon spell for mobility. Anton creates a straight or curving path of sigils that he or another he chooses can use; the sigils allow for safe and faster-than-normal movement, and can even facilitate moving up walls. x Message - A simple spell. Anton can communicate telepathically with someone he knows and can focus on. This doesn't expend much life force, but the message becomes simpler over distance if he isn't able to meditate.
x Sanctuary - A complex defensive spell. Anton focuses his energy to create an impenetrable shelter of light, big enough for Anton and seven others. He can only hold it for seven seconds before losing consciousness. x Counterspell - A complex reactionary spell. Anton grasps at the fabric of a spell, smothering and nullifying it. The stronger the spell, the more lifeforce he expends. x Swords of the Crown - A complex summoning spell. Anton calls upon memories of chivalrous heroes from Ravenfell to take form as bright spectres and come to his aid. He can only summon five entities and they last for only a few minutes.
Skills: x Horseback riding - A must for every chevalier. Anton is accompanied most places by his steed, Bristelle II. x Mounted combat - He's no 'Lance-Commander' like his father, but Anton can hold his own in the saddle. x Swordsmanship - Anton is perhaps the only man alive who could challenge Lamont to a fair duel. x Leadership - Anton was once commander of the crown-chevaliers, and before that lead the battalions that helped Lamont secure the throne. x Provisioning - If you want to make sure your rations are tasty and untainted, you should always cook it yourself. x History - Before he became a chevalier, Anton dreamed of becoming a worldly scholar. x Lute - There were happier times, when Anton played the lute in the apple orchard of the Summer Palace.
Faction: His personal retinue, The Braves of Marceilles, is made up of professionals of all stripes and colours that Anton has met on his travels. Adventurers, mercenaries, travellers; all with different skillsets. They are diverse, but all know their way around a weapon. In a way, they have become Anton's second family.
City: As the Baron of Marceilles (whatever authority that title still holds), Anton has stewardship over the city of Marceilles on Ravenfell's southeastern border. Ever since the spectral curse took hold, Anton and his Braves moved from the castle to live at the Summer Palace overlooking the city. In an apple orchard neighboring a small village, the graves of Anton's parents are situated beneath a lone tree. Whenever he gets the chance, Anton visits to play his lute and tell his father what mischief Lamont has been getting up to.
Assets: Before the spectral curse, Marceilles was famed for its vast apple orchards and selection of artisanal ciders.
Lamont DuFairre
Served as crown-chevalier to Lamont DuFairre during and after his rebellion against the False King. They were best friends- basically brothers in all but blood. Now, Anton simply serves as the Last Chevalier of Lamont DuFairre, seeking to further his liege's interests in revenge.
________________________ ________________________ ________________________ 'I have watched as my liege became distant to match his otherworldly nature-- like he is above mere mortal concerns. I don't think he even hears my voice anymore when I reminisce upon the days we spent together with my father in the apple orchards of Marceilles.'
Faith Lancaster
A loyal supporter and mentor of Lamont, Faith was just as much a valuable friend to Anton for his years of service to House Marceilles. They had often fought back-to-back, whenever Anton needed a capable caster at his side. Eventually, Anton learned magic in the same lessons that Lamont had taken. Anton trusted Faith implicitly, ever since the day they overthrew the False King.
________________________ ________________________ ________________________ 'He would always hate when I would say that I had faith in him.'
Evelyn Keove
When she was court mage to Damien DuRant, Evelyn played as his left-hand in controlling the underworld and coffers of Ravenfell. She had once organised a heist that was meant to rob and bankrupt Baron Phillip Agravaine when he was supplementing the exorbitant taxes with his own coffers. As such, she became a personal enemy to House Marceilles.
________________________ ________________________ ________________________ 'I always thought she was dangerous. I just never knew how much.'
"A practical suggestion, though I wonder if such a visible military presence might not draw more attention to our activities? The sight of additional Legion forces might make the locals wonder what's important enough to warrant such protection."
Alexios held a slight frown, though he appreciated the diplomatic tact of the Dark Elf. "What do you suggest, then?'
"Perhaps we could combine your approach with something more subtle? The Legion's presence could serve as a visible distraction, while some of us... Work more discreetly to ensure the delegates' safety? My experience with illusion magic could help us move through the city unnoticed, if needed."
Alexios listened as he rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword. He was much inclined to agree; as it was one of his first thoughts. 'I could approach the mayor on behalf of the Legion, say there's intel on remnants of the Mythic Dawn still hiding in the region,' he pondered aloud, 'that would perhaps justify the active Legion presence in County Bruma.'
"You seem familiar with Bruma's defenses. What's your assessment of the most discrete routes through the city? I've spent some time there, but a Legion perspective would be invaluable."
The Legionary took pause to consider Bruma in his mind's eye. Already he could see the frosty reception of the Nord populace. 'The city still remains vigilant of strangers, ever since the Oblivion Crisis. If you enter officially, you can expect to be scrutinised and noted down in the records,' Alexios explained, bringing his free hand up to idly stroke his chin, 'There were caverns that ran beneath the city, but they were sealed up for security. The only way in is through the gates.'
Alexios then looked down at his helm and had a thought. 'Perhaps we could use both a distraction and disguise,' Alexios added, 'I could requisition Legion gear, and your group can pose as part of the efforts to secure the city.'
"Kiffar will take the green woman's blessing. The Empire is good work, for stray kitties, hm?"
The newcomer Khajiit and his escorts were certainly out of the ordinary. As if this Hidden Militia could be any more odd bunch. Alexios tried to maintain a passive composure, but a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his maw. He then listened as the Dark Elf in the group spoke and outlined her thoughts on the situation, citing her experience of Morrowind. Alexios nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.
"Regarding the situation in Bruma - I'm familiar with the city's Nordic population. Their pride runs deep, and they're unlikely to welcome change easily. Perhaps we should discuss strategies for maintaining discretion while moving through the city? I'd rather avoid any riots if possible."
Alexios cleared his throat and took a step forward. 'If I may,' he finally began, his voice bearing a deepness many officers in the Legion possessed, 'The Legion won't want any riots to occur if we can help it. Might I suggest that I request reinforcements from Fort Pale Pass? Give the mayor and the Nords something else to focus on while you act, and in the worst case the rioting can be contained.' Alexios offered his suggestion. Bruma wasn't his concern so much as his charges as assigned by his superiors, but he knew they would not appreciate anarchy.
I need to be stopped.
[url=https://andrevalias-tes.tumblr.com/]My TES Archive[/url], about a dozen Argonians live rent free in my head. Posts at least once every day at 6pm (AEDT): conversations, quotes, letters, excerpts.
[img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/572b01781de1aa39c2589421023af502/546921a319d98b84-0c/s1280x1920/25a04d4a74eaec903dcf7c31c4d76ab23cc192e5.png[/img]
Stops and Bloodies, my beloved
I've published an [url=https://andrevalias.wordpress.com/a-bloody-name-2nd-edition/]origin story for Bloodies[/url], if it pleases you.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I need to be stopped.<br><br><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://andrevalias-tes.tumblr.com/">My TES Archive</a>, about a dozen Argonians live rent free in my head. Posts at least once every day at 6pm (AEDT): conversations, quotes, letters, excerpts.<br><br><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/572b01781de1aa39c2589421023af502/546921a319d98b84-0c/s1280x1920/25a04d4a74eaec903dcf7c31c4d76ab23cc192e5.png" /><br><br>Stops and Bloodies, my beloved<br><br>I've published an <a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://andrevalias.wordpress.com/a-bloody-name-2nd-edition/">origin story for Bloodies</a>, if it pleases you.</div>
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