GreivousKhan — Roleplayer Guild

Vandaster City, The Septentrion

Ceveut, the 5th of Gerna 1200 AU - 05.03.1200

   The chapel of Kammeth was a modest structure within the city of Vandaster. A building of tilrinic Heartlander design that bespoke of its Imperial craftsmanship. It was a single story temple possessing one large chamber and a smaller closed off section to the rear that held a few rooms. Pews fashioned from wood - likely of southern origin- stood in six rows in total. The altar rose up three large steps, centered there was the heart of every temple of Kammeth. A bronze bowl-shaped brazier, one fashioned so that intricate motifs and symbols circled its circumference. The flame within the brazier glowed brightly; the fire meant to accept what offerings the faithful provided. The many candles around it and the feet of the statue having each been lit by a prevoius visitor.   

   Transgressions were often written on a piece of paper and thrown into the fire to be consumed. So that the sin would always be between man and god. Though it was not uncommon for those illiterate to merely cast an offering of food or wood. Jakinius Valarien had not come to ask for forgiveness this day, however, but guidance. 

  On his knees before the sanctified flames of Kammeth, hands clasped together before him he was as unmoving as the statue of his ancestor standing behind the lit brazier. She stood tall and proud with a single blade held in hand. Dressed in the garb of royalty and a breastplate though any learned fool knew the true Lalaifia had never worn armor in battle as a testament to her faith. It was news of his father's passing that had brought Jakinius here-- the news had filled him with both grief and doubt. He felt lost adrift at sea and so he had sought the unmoving grace of Kammeth to which to anchor himself. All his life. As long as he could remember he had sought the acceptance of his father that his youngest brother had seemingly so easily earned.

  He had never known why exactly he had been so distant with his father and emperor. Sure they had shared different ideas and goals yet something more had driven them apart. Perhaps it was because he had spent the least time with Taramyth, growing up largely under the care and training of House Zarand. They had almost become a second family to him. When he had returned to the Capital - a full grown man- he felt like a stranger returned to a place unfamiliar. Filled with strangers who shared only blood. At least, he had gotten on well with his uncles. One of the many reasons for his going to the north at all was because of Carles urging. His father more interested in trade and finding new lands or the building of ever more ships.  

  The doors of the chapel creaked open with an audible groan that awoke Jak from his reverie. Lokhagos Metinnus Jaroaria -adorned in his segmented imperial armor - entered the modest temple of Kammeth. The double wooden doors began creaking shut behind him as he walked down the aisle to the still kneeling prince of Lalrial. Metinnus looked about the fairly empty temple and whistled. 

  “And they say the south of the Septentrion is more devoted…” Metinnus said under his breath more to himself than anything.

   Jakinius rose to his feet with a sigh, “I take it preparations for the ship are complete?”

   The High Captain of the Riffleford company nodded though the prince with his back still turned could not see the gesture. “Aye, my apologies milord, I did’a not mean to disturb you. But yes everything is underway, we’re ready when you are.”

   Jakinius looked up at the statue of Kammeth. The unblinking figure of stone imposing in its stern stare, yet the craftsmen had done remarkably well in capturing the compassionate air of their god. “You know you needn't be so formal with me Metinnus.” A touch of amusement in his words.     

    “Ah well, a force of habit I picked up from being around nobles all me life I suppose.” The older man smiled. “Still might’in be a good habit to keep should you take the throne.”

   At the mention of the throne and the election to follow in the coming days Jakinius frowned. Shifting he turned to meet Metinnus in the eyes and for the first time the company captain saw the uncertainty in his once and now former soldiers eyes. “Is this really the right move to make Metinnus? I feel I would better serve here as I always have, not on a warm safe throne countless leagues away.”

 Metinnus understood his comrade's anxiety all too well. The two had known each other for many years after all. They had first met before Jakinius’s identity had ever been revealed. So of course, Metinnus had treated him no differently than any of the other men under his command. In fact, after he realized the boy's potential he had pushed him harder in the months of drills and training as they prepared for the north. 

  “Aye, but that is not just any ass warmer Jakinius,” his former captain pointed out, “it's the seat that keeps this whole damn realm from falling apart and being scattered in the wind. I can’t imagine any man more worthy or capable of sitting on the gilded throne then ye’self.”

 As usual, his former captain’s advice was crude and blunt- but exactly the truth of it as he understood it, nothing more or less. Jakinius merely inclined his head in understanding, his eyes falling to the fires that still burned in the brazier. He felt the hand of Metinnus fall on his right shoulder. 

 “Still unsure?” the captain more stated than asked.

  “I am.”

  “Good.”

Jakinius turned a puzzled gaze to the grizzled veteran. “How is that good?”

 Metinnus only smiled. “Cause it means you don’t want the throne or its power. And those who don’t seek only power are less inclined to abuse it. Now come, the ship awaits and the sooner we’re off the better.”

The Heartlands

House Valarien

Ceveut, 12th of Gerna | 1200 AU
Location: The Phoenix Tower in Lalrial

Shamgar Valarien breathed in the soothing fumes of his wooden pipe as he made his way down a well-decorated hallway found on the higher floors of the Phoenix tower Walking not far behind him was his personal aide and scribe Nirlowyn Puronus. At the current moment, the boy carried in his arms a scroll from which he read from several key pieces of news. Shamgar listened intently though his eyes were often looking toward the windows they passed by. Faded silver-grey eyes that still held a sharpness to them despite his old age. He wore his robes of bright white inlined with crimson. Under his left arm, he carried a heavily wrapped bundle tied with hemp cords.

“-once m-more t-there is reports of more d-di-discontent in the White Flower di-district. Apparently a Prime Magistrate was attacked by an un-unruly mob of men supporting Ralltene for the throne.” The boy stuttered out his sentence in a seemingly nervous spatter. He had always had trouble say full and complete sentences. Thankfully it did not affect his writing in the least. Better with a quill then words as it were.  

Shamgar shook his head as he chewed at the end of his pipe thoughtfully. “Madness. Since when have the smallfolk cared so deeply on who sat on the gilded throne?”

The light of the sun shone brightly from the stain glass windows, casting long shadows from the pair as the neared the end of the long rounded hallway. Like many of the passages in the Tower of the Phoenix, it curved noticeably from the staircase in a circuit. 

“How have the watch responded?” Shamgar inquired, blowing smoke from his nose.

“As e-e-expected milord increased patrols along wi-with i-i-i-i-i-imp-implementing a tight curfew until the election. Time will only tell if this dies d-down or worsens after we know who wears the krow-crown.”  

  The came to an archway that possessed a thick wooden portal made with the common eye-catching skill the tilrinic’s were known for. Shamgar began to push his way through the doors but paused for a moment and regarded his aid. 

"Bring word back to the watch captain that if he has managed to take any of these roughens into custody I would dearly like a word. We need to get a handle on who is invoking these outbreaks."

"O-of course Lord Regent." He said with a bow before turning on his heel and walking the other way.

Shamgar continued through the doors into a room that possessed little in the way of furnishing. It held only one painting over a fireplace, one of  Emperor Mandred IV Valarien. A single rounded table sat in the rooms center bare of any notable decoration save for a vase with a single red rose in full bloom standing in its glass prison. Beside the fireplace leaning with his back against the wall was Jakinius Valarien. Arms crossed and his head staring downward to the ground. The moment the doors opened the Centurions eyes flickered upward, his natural state ever on guard. 

Upon seeing it was Shamgar he visibly relaxed and stood straighter. In that moment, the patriarch of House Valarien regarded his younger nephew. He his pose radiated strength as ever, he obviously carried with him the natural charm and stature that made lesser men want to follow him. That much Shamgar could see easily enough. But he also noted the lines under his eyes, how he seemed to droop as if there was a weight on his shoulders.           

The doors closed in behind him and Shamgar entered the room proper as he made his way to the table. He carefully set his bundle down on the table and pulled out a chair gesturing for his nephew to take a seat as well as he sat down. Jakiniuswalked his way slowly to the table and rested a hand on the chairs head. However, he did not immediately take a seat. Seemingly more comfortable standing. Shamgar allowed it seeing no reason not too. He contributed it to his nephews natural restlessness. 

"Lord Regent Shamgar," Jakinius began. "It has been overlong since we last saw each other, I'm glad to see you in good health." 

Pulling from his pipe before exhaling Shamgar allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, yes, there is no need to such formality Jakinius. We're the only ones here." 

Jakinius shifted from one foot then the other as he nodded his understanding. Years of court training and then military discipline had ingrained an almost over politeness in the man in Shamgar's experience. He ranked higher than any Arch Elector or king within Ethica, yet from what Shamgar heard he always treated everyone he met with all the due respect of their office. From minor lords to even mere peasants, all earned equal amounts of respect from him. Unlike the political animals born in the Captial and the south at large. His always felt shockingly genuine.

"Now," Shamgar said getting to matters at hand. "I imagine you wonder as to why I have asked to meet with you?"

"The thought crossed my mind Mil-...uncle Shamgar. But I can't honestly say I know why." 

Tapping a finger on his pipe Shamgar responded, "understandable. It is well known I have often tried to remove myself from the political landscape of the Captial. Tried and failed of course. Yet, our meeting here has little to do with the election."

Jakinius seemed to stand a little more at ease at hearing that, yet his face formed into that of confusion. "Then why, dear uncle, have you called upon me? If I may so ask."

"You may, and the answer to that is simple." He waved a hand to the wrapped bundle on the table. "Open it." 

Nodding once despite still squinting his eyes in curiosity. Jakinius took hold of the object in question and began to unravel the cloth once he undid the tie holding it together. He pulled it open and his eyes shot open in surprise. There now in plain sight was a sword currently in a scabbard of stunning make. Jewels encrusted its length, silver lining the edges of the wooden sheath along with countless motifs of rising phoenixes. The handle itself was fashioned to resemble a bird in flight, the guard like golden wings, the pommel appeared to look exactly like the head of a noble bird of prey. The wings spread around the grip in such a way as to offer an excellent degree of protection to one's hand while at the same tome giving one plenty of room to use the blade effectively. 

As if it was made of the most delicate glass in all the realm Jakinius lifted the blade up gingerly into his hands. A bewildered look on his face as he regarded Shamgar. 

A merely waved a hand. "Pull it free." Was his only response. 

Looking as if he was in a daze he slowly pulled the weapon free, halfway out from its scabbard the silvery white metal that made the swords blade shone with an unearthly light. Shining a bright golden hue that pulsed like the heart of some great beast suddenly stirred to wakefulness. Jakinius's breath caught in his throat despite himself at the sight as he peered down at the most beautiful piece of art he had ever seen. Beauty caught in solid form no tilrinic or guvelder could hope to match. 

The prince knew instantly what he held in his hands. There could be no mistake. The Eventide’s Edge was, after all, the most famous and perhaps powerful gift of the gods to grace Ethica. Still dumbfounded Jakinius looked back to Shamgar as he slowly sheathed the blade. 

"Why did you bring this?"

Shamgar blew smoke as he answered, "because I'm giving it to you. I thought that much obvious."

The prince quickly shook his head as he placed the sword gently, if a little regretfully, back on the table. "I cannot accept it-- it is too grand a gift and one I certainly do not deserve. Perhaps in the hands of the emperor or empress to be but not mine." 

It was Shamgar's turn to shake his head, his face deadly serious. "No. Perhaps in days before our time, but no it is you who has been chosen."

"Me? But why? Why not Terminus, or Allianna or Ralltenne even?" 

"Aye, Terminus would have been a sensible choice. Yet his work is one within shadows, a vital one to the realm all the same. Ever has the Eventide been more than a simple weapon, it is a symbol of strength, passion, and unity." A hand rested on the finely crafted god forged blade. "The decision is also not wholly mine to make, after all, this sword is not our houses. It is a pact given shape, one older than the empire or any realm within it. One between Kammeth and mankind. And for whatever reason, he has chosen you to be its bearer. It is more than just a tool or weapon. Why you? Why indeed? But it is not my place to question such things. I follow my heart as it were, and what I believe is his will. Clearly he has plans for you yet. And I doubt they have anything to do with that ugly seat. Forces have already begun to move against us, the time for vigilance has come."

Watered eyes looked from Shamgar to the sword still sitting on the table. A weapon gifted to his long late ancestor. How could he ever measure up to such a legendary figure? It boggled the mind. He still felt it did not belong in his hands. He looked to Shamgar after a moment's pause but he stopped short when he noticed the alarmed look now on his uncle's face. Suddenly, much quicker than a man his age should be able to move, Shamgar was on his feet his mouth opened as if in warning but at that moment, he suddenly flew off his feet and struck the wall on the far side of the room out of Jakinius's reach.

He was for once utterly caught off guard as Shamgar hit the wall and cried out in pain. Instincts took over and he whirled around. Suddenly standing there was a figure hooded and cloaked in shadow black. His face covered in strange dark smokey black. Upon seeing the intruder Jakinius's hand fell toward the only weapon in reach. His fingers, however, came half a second short of the weapons grip before he too was sent flying, his back striking the wall with an audible thump. The figure had apparently gestured with his outstretched left hand. He had not even noticed if the figure, male judging from the cut of his clothing, had cast some spell.  

He attempted to move but found doing so impossible. As if great unseen iron chains had locked his arms and legs in place. He strained desperately against the force but it availed him little as there was zero give in whatever mystical entrapment had been used. A laugh gained his attention from the other side of the room as the figure walked forward. He was lean and walked a little awkwardly. Yet Jakinius certainly did not recognize him. He stood beside the table now seemingly pleased with himself. 

"And my brothers believed it folly, ha."  The man eyes gave away his smile beneath his face covering.

"Who in the abyss are you," Jakinius managed to speak despite the crushing force against his chest. Too his left Shamgar called for the guards. However the man merely laughed. 

"Who I am is not important, and I'd save your breath-- I'll be long gone before help arrives."  The hooded looked to the table as a juggled a crown between his knuckles in his left hand. He raised his right hand to grasp the hilt of Eventide, yet the moment his hand touched the grip he cursed and drew back his hand as spark leapt from where his hand had been. "A pity, such poetry it would have been to slay a Valarien with their own heirloom." 

The man's gloved hand went to his belt were a wickedly curved dagger was held. He drew it in one smooth motion as he closed the distance. "I suppose I'll have to go with something less symbolic." 

As he closed the distance his eyes suddenly widened and he stumbled forward as a loud thump pounded through the air. A ripping wooden shaft tipped with steel rammed through the man’s back and poked out from his chest grimly. The obvious sounds of a crossbow cranking to allow a new bolt taunted from behind. Spinning to meet the intruder, his eyes locked with those of Sophsi’s, her eye squinted behind the aim of a loaded crossbow. As soon as their eyes met, the string slapped the bow of the machine once more, launching another bolt.

The second bolt struck the mains left thigh causing him to cry out in alarm and pain. At that moment Jakinius felt the unseen bindings holding him loosen then vanish all together. He immediately took advantage as be sprung forward-- leaping into the back of the hooded figure as he tackled the man to the ground. Raising a fist he grabbed at the dark black cloth then…

Paused in confusion as he stared down at a tunic bereft a wearer. At his knees was the discarded remains of clothing the man had been wearing but the man in question was nowhere to be seen! Shamgar stumbled forward and joining Jakinius in staring incredulously at the pile of clothing.  

Jakinius cursed as he tossed the piece of cloth to the side as he stood, “who in the abyss?! And how…”

Shamgar caught his breath as answered simply, “I do not know, but we have Sophsi to thank for our survival no doubt.” He walked toward the table and took hold of Eventide by its sheath and turned toward Jakinius. “We must call the guard and have them search the tower quickly. I am no magi but I know there is no magic that allows a man to simply vanish into thin air.”

He stepped toward Jakinius and offered Eventide to him hilt first. “Perhaps you will believe my paranoia now.”
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