Andre Valias

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

@Andre Valias My next post will likely be around January 2nd, if that's alright? :>

@Estylwen

Estylwen... That is completely, utterly and ABSOLUTELY

fine. <3

Enjoy the New Year holiday, my dear!

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

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Anton eyed Ryllae as she paused to pick up the butterfly on her cheek and inspect it. She then raised her hand. Anton heard heavy armoured footsteps and turned slightly in its direction. He hadn't recalled there being such a distinctive knight, though he and Sylrael had been in the tavern a while. The dark knight approached, taking position beside Ryllae before giving a solemn bow.

”This is Gervese, my partner. The only other member of the Order of the Looking Glass. He doesn't speak much. Prefers dealing with issues using his sword and his magic.”

Ryllae

'I see. Well met then, Sir Gervese.'

Ryllae gestured again, and with one small bow Gervese left their company to take place next to the tavern's entrance.

When Anton asked his second question, he saw the way the butterflies quivered mid-flight before taking perch all over the living doll. Ryllae, with her knowing smile, looked almost painterly as she regarded at Anton. The noise in the tavern died down just slightly, highlighting the next words she spoke.

”Why, your goal to topple the Wizard Queen, of course.”

Ryllae

The cigar was held on stand-by above the ash tray, wisps of smoke from paper and plant curling up into the air. Anton was almost still, for unlike the doll he still needed to breathe. But his lips were pressed together in neither frown nor smile as his unblinking eyes stared into the doll's own. Years of watching his father play the great game of politics in the Cour Royale had rubbed off on Anton.

'Admittedly not the kind of allies I expected,' Anton said after the pause, offering a slight smile, 'though perhaps it does credit to Evelyn's true power: making enemies of many different people.' The fiddler drew the last note on the song, and took a bow as the audience cheered and tossed coins onto the stage.

As the noise died down, Anton took a long drag of the cigar and tipped the ashes as he exhaled. 'I accept your terms, Miss Evoek,' Anton said summarily, 'I suppose now I should tell my Braves we have time to kill. Unless you and your partner have another suggestion, perhaps?'

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

I lied, I finished it early. ^^; New post is up!

@Estylwen

Not Anton failing to clock the brooding dark knight by the entrance like:

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

As they talked, the Khajiit wandered through the group before passing Alexios. He prodded his cuirass with a claw, not-so-gently, and Alexios stood against. The Khajiit then flopped on one of the pews.
"That one... Thinks ill of us. Kiffar thinks that one is wise," he commented.

Alexios listened as Kiffar went on to discuss the 'fancy ideas' they all had, before boiling it down simply to meeting with the diplomats and killing whatever tries to kill them. If anything, Alexios was grateful for the simplification. He showed it just to Kiffar by bowing his head to him by the end, whether he noticed or not.

Next, the Redguard spoke up and introduced herself as Khaliya al-Rihad. An Alik'r far from home. Like the the others before her, she also went through each of the ideas with a comb. She circled back to the merchant suggestion and offered her experience in working with merchants. She added that the Legionaries could remain a safe but discreet distance behind. She went through the logistics in detail, and Alexios nodded thoughtfully. He was waiting for some further discussion when the Confessor piped up once more.

"Indeed; it would be good for this motley fellowship to decide on a leader. As you do not seem to be offering yourself for that position, who would you suggest? I will be blunt - Most of the group have disadvantages; Meen-La is a planner but is a condemned criminal, while Alexios is too obviously tied to the Imperial Legion."

Alexios scoffed, somewhat annoyed the Confessor even bothered to mention him. 'To be clear: I'm no more part of this "Militia" any more than one of you being a decorated legionary.'

The Confessor then continued undeterred and outlined the depth of the plan. She then suggested the Nord named Arnvidr to be the leader of the Militia. But then she asked for the Militia's thoughts. Meen-La was first to pipe up among them, and Alexios gave her the time to say her piece before deciding he'd heard enough.

'Thank you for your time, esteemed Confessor,' he said promptly, 'I'll leave the good Militia to figure out what they please. My boys will need to rest before we move out at dawn. Good night.' Alexios then took his leave from the Priory, stepping out into the cool evening air. He muttered a small prayer to Akatosh under his breath.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

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”Odenfield's finest cigars? Please, don't let me intrude.” Anton nodded in gratitude, wearing a knowing smile to match Ryllae's hint of one. He then struck the match and held the flame below the cigar, casting a cursory glance around the tavern as Ryllae checked their surroundings. Anton waved the flame away as Ryllae turned back to him, a stare of magnitude meeting his eyes.

”The Glasic Fields are under attack. It is unsafe to travel to or near it. Rumours are that the rebellion is finally making its move. And, moreso a shred of incendiary gossip, but they say His Grace, Duke Rhinecliff, is involved… It means your plans with the Seeds may be futile.”

Anton inclined his head as he puffed, holding the smoking cigar over the ash tray. 'I see,' he replied, 'I would not like to be the schoolmate who always copied my homework. But I sense there's an "unless" coming.'

”Unless someone just so happened to steal from the Fields before this… unfortunate incident.” Anton exhaled the Odonfield smoke in a surprised sigh, raising one of his eyebrows at the suggestion as Ryllae dared to even grin. ”You can still attend your meeting with the representative of His Grace, but do it with my Seeds. I don't ask for anything in return, except for you to allow me and my partner to accompany you in your goal.”

Anton watched her sit back, the grey butterflies flitting about Ryllae and one taking perch upon her face. Her eyes were unblinking, and had an air of certainty to them. He wasn't sure what he was more fascinated by: the sheer confidence of a flawless lady, or the butterflies that more and more resembled Greymont Monarchs.

”What do you say, my Lord?”

Anton took a brief drag on the cigar before tipping the ashes in the tray. He mulled Ryllae's proposal over, a few questions forming in his mind as he exhaled another plume of Odonfield smoke. Of the comforts of home, cigars were not among them. But Anton enjoyed the way they eased his troubles. In a way, Anton's newest vice had him becoming part of Arrowfell.

'And here I thought I'd be looking over my shoulder every few minutes in this land,' Anton replied nonchalantly, stirring memories of the Cour Royale of Ravenfell. He held the cigar upright above the tray for a moment as he rested his chin on his fist and thumb.

'Let's say I do entertain your magnanimous proposal. I have two questions.' The fiddler on stage continued to play, stringing between highs and lows.

'First, tell me about this partner of yours. Who is it that accompanies you?' As he asked his first question, Anton looked around Ryllae, but kept his eyes on her as he took another drag. He gave her the time and space she needed to reply, nodding before asking his second and more important question.

'And secondly, you say that you and your partner will accompany me "in my goal".' Anton leaned forward, ever-so-slightly, as faint thoughts of Lamont and Evelyn flashed in his mind. 'Since you've already displayed such powers of clairvoyance, pray tell what goal of mine is it you wish to help me see through?'

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

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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?'

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

*clapping like a happy cymbal monkey*
My first post from Estylwen in eons, I'm so goshdarn excited.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Sylrael

Sylrael

58 | Male | Elf

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.

Magic/Seed: Unknown

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

A Letter of Introduction

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Several weeks prior...

Marceilles, At the Summer Palace

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Beneath a Dead Tree

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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.

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Two Days Ago...

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey

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A Minstrel Plays

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'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?