Katabasis

The New Empires

Edit: Double post

The New Empires

I'm afraid I'm going to go ahead and retract my reservation from this RP. It looks like it's going to be great, but I am having a rather difficult time thinking of a compelling nation and plot that would fit within this universe. So rather than complete a lackluster sheet and burn myself out after a few posts, I think I'll free up the space I reserved right now.

Sorry for the very early drop, but it seemed like a better idea to stop now rather than after things took off.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Shoot, sorry guys, I've been pretty swamped with RL as of late. My schedule hasn't left me too much time to write, but hopefully that's over and done with. I still have a post that's just a couple paragraphs away from completion on my tablet, but I haven't been able to touch it, and I fear that the plot may have progressed past my post too much.

Anyway, I'm here for sure, I've just been absent, so sorry about that. Perhaps I'll be able to post before we end the chapter, or maybe I'll just wait for the reboot/next act. How soon are you planning on starting Act 2, Khan?

The New Empires

TheSovereignGrave said
Hey Katabasis, are you still planning on making a nation? Because it's so close to mine, I'd like to possibly see what the nation is like and come up with some possible shared history. Just figured I'd ask, since you haven't posted in a while and you don't have a WIP up yet.

Yeah, I am still planning on making a nation. I've been a bit busy lately, so I haven't had too much time to work on the sheet. I'll try to hurry it up though, so hopefully there'll be a WIP up soonish. Sorry for the delay.

The New Empires

TheSovereignGrave said
A pity there's nobody too near me to collaborate with a history on. The closest are Aaron and Frontliner, and they're hardly .

I don't even have a WIP up yet, but I've already reserved my territory and have a rather solid idea of what I'm going to do for my nation. I'm relatively close to you, just to the south, if you wanted to have some sort of shared history or put some agreeable NPC nations between the two of us.

Here's my reserved territory, by the way.

The New Empires

I'll just jump in and reserve this area before anyone else does, if that's okay. I'll begin work on a WIP sheet later today, after I finish up a post for another RP.

The New Empires

I'm certainly interested, though the lack of any sort of plot or common event to bring our nation's/characters closer together is a little troubling. I've been working on some nation ideas and searching the map for an appropriate location, so chances are I'll end up joining. Hopefully I'll have a WIP up soon.

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Alistair Suttbray
70th of Zieliah, 698 Years After Unification

Tobacco smoke hung heavily in the air of the small room, limned by soft rays of lamp-born light. This smoke, which drifted around the room in languid clouds, seemed to lend the room a sense of tranquility which was hard to attain through other means. Neutral-colored walls surrounded the lone occupant of the chamber on all sides, bedecked with masterfully made paintings depicting some of the more notable individuals who had held the title Keeper of Kingdoms. Near the center of the room an ebon-colored desk made its home, well-polished and gleaming with a dark beauty of its own. Around this desk three chairs were arrayed, all of them of fine make and each one being rather comfortable-looking. Two of them were seemingly identical, carved of dark wood and upholstered with fine red silk, and neither held an occupant. The third, which was much higher-backed and upholstered with golden silk rather than crimson, was occupied, bearing the weight of the room's single resident.

The occupant of said chair was Alistair Suttbray, King of Everfield and Wilharne, Keeper of Kingdoms, though most knew him as the 'Smiling Fox'. Here, hidden within his private study which sat adjacent to the rest of the Keeper's apartments, Alistair enjoyed some respite from the eyes of the other denizens of the Phoenix Palace, noble or otherwise. His posture, which was usually made painstakingly perfect in all ways observable, had been relaxed a bit. He slumped in his chair, his legs stretched out far in front of him, tucked beneath the bulk of the desk. A small fire set within a hearth just behind him worked to simultaneously warm and light the room, making the smoke-laden air glow warmly with cheerful light. Alistair had shed his fine garments in favor of more comfortable wear, now clad in dark trousers of southron cotton and a white undershirt of thin linen adorned with silver buttons. He feet were bare, devoid of boots and stockings alike, and his toes were spread wide over the fine eastern carpet which sat atop the ancient floors of cold marble.

With one hand he held his ebon-colored pipe, which was presently emitting a hot red glow which accompanied a constant stream of light smoke. Meanwhile, with his other hand he twirled a dry quill absently, thinking about what it was he should transcribe with it. Before him, on the great desk of dark wood, sprawled a great many tomes, accounts, and letters. Paperwork all of it, some of the papers were legal inquiries while others were pieces of official correspondence with Lords and judges alike. He had spent the last couple of days getting his affairs back in order after his reelection, business which consisted mostly of appointing lawmen to positions which they had already held before the events of the Summit. The business was rather prosaic in nature, but formalities had to be upheld. Finally though, he had apparently completed the work set before him, and could move on to some more personal business.

He drew a piece of his personal paper from the drawer of the heavy desk set before him. It was an expensive sort, imported from Ashishia and imbued with a fine perfume reminiscent of the smell of coffee. He laid the paper out before him on the top of the desk, smoothing it out and enjoying the feel of the lightly textured material beneath his hand as he did so. He then set his quill down on top of the paper, retrieving a small bottle of ink from yet another drawer within the desk, all the while keeping his burning pipe resting comfortably in his hand. With the ink sitting on his desk uncapped, he picked up his quill once again and dipped it into the thick substance, tapping twice on the side of the bottle in a habitual matter before turning the quill towards the paper to begin writing.

My dearest brother Augustus, who I love dearly, I write this today to confirm that I will indeed be staying in the Phoenix Palace for the time being, as I have been re-appointed Keeper of Kingdoms. In light of this event, I would like to ask you to continue ruling as my surrogate in Confluence, as is expected from the Grand Castellan of Everfield and Wilharne. I trust your judgement in matters of governance above anyone else's, and believe that you will continue to keep order in my great Kingdoms. Take good care of our people, particularly your niece and nephew, if you would, and remember our Words, for they offer good council.

On another note, I would to ask that you send our sweet sister Josephine northward, to join me at the Phoenix Palace in Skyhaven. I have a feeling that I will need good, loyal advisors about my person now more than ever, and can think of no one better to lend me aid on our travels than Josephine. Send her north via ship with a retinue of fine southron knights which you think are up to the task, and give each of them two horses which are fleet-of-foot. If I am absent when she arrives, than it is likely that I have been sent hither or tither by our knew Lord Regent and will not be back at the Palace for some time. If that ends up being the case, let her know that she is welcome to use the apartments of the Keeper of Kingdoms until I return to this cliff-clinging city.

I will bid you farewell now, as I know that you fancy yourself a man who requires few words to be satisfied. I trust that you will manage our House and its realms admirably, dear brother of mine.

With the brief letter written he leaned back in his chair, satisfied with it. His brother was indeed a man of few words, seeming to prefer silence to conversation. Still, despite his gross lack of etiquette, Augustus was indeed a fine administrator and good enough man, if a little gruff and blunt. In truth, though, the true nature of the letter, and by far the most important part of it in Alistair's eyes, was the request for Josephine to join him. He and Josephine had always been close, closer than two individuals usually ever tended to be. His sister was not just a blood relative or a pawn on the political game board, she was his closest friend, his most trusted advisor, his personal voice of reason. They had been close since birth, and though he was a full turn and a half older than her, she had always played the part of big sister. While Alistair had spent his youth getting into trouble, she had spent hers getting him out of it, and if he was being completely honest, that trend never stopped after childhood.

Yes, he needed his sister with him now more than ever, he was sure of that. Things were changing within the Realm, and not for the better, he thought. While he did not fancy himself one of those far-seers from the East, even he felt something cold in the air, both in the physical and metaphorical sense. The deep snows were coming to Elyden, and with them strife and suffering for all who did not keep their wits about them. Winter was a terrible thing, by all accounts, and Josephine had gone through great lengths to convey to Alistair just how terrible the situation would be if just a single harvest was wiped out by winter's frost. The South could survive of its stores for a year or two, for a certainty, but exports to the other Kingdoms would have to be halted in their entirety. Thousands of smallfolk would starve, and the legendary grain stores of Everfield would become prime targets to the hungry peasants and ambitious Lords alike. Then, if winter were to go on much longer than a turn, or perhaps two, the South itself, who was legendary for its plenty, would succumb to starvation, and the continent would lose nearly 700 years of progress, all because of some cold wind and a bit of snow.

Just thinking of the possibility filled Alistair with dread- a flat, tasteless, and frigid feeling. On top of the winter, the High King was gone, and a Lord Regent now ruled the Realm, which never turned out well, if the old tomes told their tales truthfully. The real players in this great game had already started to show themselves it seemed, chief among them his kinsman-by-law and subsequent ally, James Conrad. He liked the man little, though he could not truly say why, for some odd reason. The man was blunt in his mannerisms certainly, but then again so was his brother Augustus, and he still loved the man. No, it was something else, something that went deeper than etiquette. Still, he ought to not pass judgement on those who he truly knew little of, especially considering his current office and its demand for an unbiased point of view.

The Keeper of Kingdoms, and holder of two of them himself, pondered this as he brought his ebon pipe to his lips, taking a smooth, soothing drag from it. He closed his eyes blissfully, enjoying the smoke and its entirely unique properties. A moment or two later, the High Lord exhaled the wondrous smoke from his nose in a slow, steady stream for no real reason. When the Smiling Fox went for a second drag, however, the process of inhalation didn't really agree with his ruined chest, and the Lord instead was thrown into a fit of violent, racking coughs. The act broke the tranquil silence of the room, and made the smoke which resided in it hurry quickly away from Alistair's mouth-born gales. This cough was much more violent than those which Alistair experienced in public, as when he was surrounded by peers and servants alike he used every bit strength he could muster up to combat this dreaded ailment, but just now he couldn't be bothered enough to try to keep his composure.

Before too long, though, the episode got out of hand, and Alistair became panicked. He could not suck in enough air, for it was all being exhaled immediately upon arrival. His chest screamed with white pain, pure and brilliant in its cruelty, and blood-laced spittle ran down his aristocratically-built chin in a most undignified fashion. It was only natural, of course, that he soon fell out of his silken, high-backed chair right onto the expensive Eastern carpet. The fall sent a wave of pain over him, as he had landed upon his back and it had rattled his chest in a rather painful way. Though it seemed impossible before due to the sheer lack of air within his lungs, Alistair somehow managed to emit a rather pathetic scream, so great was the pain which now assailed him. He lay there, spasming for a few good moments before the doors burst open with a force so strong that it slammed into the wall which it was mounted on and the hinges groaned with distress.

Seconds later a pair of strong, rough hands took hold of him and held him aloft, quickly plopping him back down into his seat. A rag, much rougher and less fine than his own black silk kerchief, was held up to his mouth in an attempt to stay his coughing. While it did little to actually stop the coughing, the gesture was comforting anyway, helped by the presence of a reassuring hand which was placed upon his back. The blonde-headed King continued to spasm with his hair for a few more moments still, though now he found himself firmly secured to it. Finally, a moment of respite came, and the Keeper was able to keep a full breath of air in. Immediately he spoke, his cultured, sing-song accent replaced by a pain-ridden gravely tone and his fine mannerisms entirely forgotten.

"Wine!"

Immediately, the other man who had been helping him bolted off, running through the open doorway into Alistair's finely furnished den and moving through yet another door. Meanwhile, the Smiling Fox, who currently wasn't smiling in the least, held tightly to his chair and attempted a series of calm, steady breaths, trying to stabilize his breathing. In a few moments the man, Sir Harrisane Branch, burst into the room, wineskin in hand. He handed it to Alistair rather unceremoniously, whereupon the King brought it to his lips and proceeded to take one long, steady gulp after another. The wine was sour and unpleasant on his tongue, tasting nothing like the fine sothron red or Aglilbloom that his palate was used to, for it was surely the wine of the common man. Still though, the wine offered a bit of sweet reprieve from the dastardly episode, and Alistair savored its lukewarm wetness and numbing properties. After a few long, savage swings from the skin he handed it back weakly to Harrisane, and looked up at him.

Most knew Sir Harrisane Branch simply as Stronglance, a name which he had earned fairly at the many tourneys which he had attended in his lifetime. He was a tall man, for a certainty, standing well over six feet tall and handling himself as any large man was wont to do. Despite the fact that he had seen just over forty turns, he had a martial look about him, and was heavily built with strong muscles and stout bones. His face was not a pretty one, with his features being much too beefy to let him appear to be of noble birth, but his brown eyes were honest and his smile was endearing. On top of this, he was not a smart man either, though he knew his letters well enough and could perform all manner of practical tasks if asked. Presently, he was garbed in a mundane raiment of mail and white woolen clothes, largely indistinguishable from any other common guard.

Despite this however, Stronglance was a well-known figure in the South, not only because he command Alistair Suttbray's personal guard, but also because he had been the one to plant his lance in Alistair's chest all those years ago. It had been an accident, for a certainty, and afterwards the man, not yet a kumen, had stayed by Alistair's side while he remained bed-bound. He had struck Alistair so masterfully that even in full plate and with a blunted lance he had nearly killed the then-Prince. The young man had made a recovery through, and afterwards Harrisane had pledge his allegiance to Alistair directly, swearing that he would ensure no harm ever came to him again. He did his job well, and had stayed by the Smiling Fox's side ever since that event thirteen long years ago. He was a good soldier and a good friend, though he could be a bit daft at times, as was evidenced by the exclamation he gave.

"Al, m'lord, are you dying? Don't die m'lord, don't die!"

The brute did this every time Alistair was thrown into one of his coughing fits, which was at least four or five times a fortnight. It was endearing, sure, but it could be rather annoying at times as well, with one of those times being now. Not feeling up to the challenge of speaking, he fluttered his hand dismissively, assuring Stronglance that he wouldn't die. He sat there for a while longer, taking shaky breaths and sitting up a bit straighter in the chair. He then reached into his trouser pocket, locating his black silk kerchief, and extracted it. The Keeper proceeded to wipe his chin with the kerchief, cleaning it of blood and spittle. Finally settled, he longed for his pipe, and looked all about for it. Finally he located it, upended on the fine eastern carpet across the room. He had flung it away during his fit, apparently, and it now sat out of his reach. The Lord pointed towards it weakly, nodding while he did so, and it didn't take long for Stronglance to catch on and make his way to the location, bending over and plucking it out of the fine carpet gingerly.

The kumen brought the pipe back, setting it on Alistair's desk bowl-up in an attempt to not spill the remainder of its contents all over the Keeper's official documents. But the action was in vain, for he had managed to cough copious amounts of blood onto the papers set before him. The dry bone-colored paper an midnight black ink was now speckled with dots of chest-born crimson liquid. All of the papers were ruined, two entire days of dispassionate work and an aching wrist for naught.

"Damn it all. This cough will be the death of me, for a certainty."

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

(Note: This post is a collaboration between LordZell and Katabasis)
(Note #2: This post takes place on the previous day, before the start of the Summit)

As James left the office of Shamgar he noticed the arrival of Alister Suttbary. While he may not like Alister all that well his younger brother definently left an impression on James and his sister being part of both house now sealed there alliance. He waved a guard over with a wooden create and headed towards Alister. "Greeting Lord Alister, I do hope Augustus is Treating Carmine well and I do hope you had a good ride here."

Alistair Suttbray remained in close proximity to the chamber's entry for a few moments, recieving a few polite nods and dishing them out in return. The lords of the Realm which were arrayed before him continued to go about their business, milling about and engaging in polite conversation. Meanwhile, the Smiling Fox scanned the room in it's entirety, looking for an appropriate lord to exchange greetings and perhaps even engage in more serious conversation with. Before too long, one such man presented himself, James Conrad, King of the Sea Born- those who sat astride the island across the so-called 'Sharktooth Bay' from the wide, soft coast of WIlharne. The King was a pleasant enough man, though he seemed to be a bit too blunt for Alistair's liking, and oftentimes abandoned pleasantries in favour of getting to the heart of a subject. Still though, he greeted the man with a wide white smile which reached even his eyes, a skill which was hard to master, and took a step back to accomodate for him. His response, as always, was delivered in drawl which brought to mind a slowly meandering river or something akin to it.

"Ah, greetings to you as well, Lord Conrad, it has been much too long since we have last met. Your sister is doing wonderful, and seems to be in good health, and Augustus is treating her as he always has, with no small amount of love and affection. As for the ride, I must admit that it wasn't the most pleasant which I have embarked on, but nonetheless I have made it here safely, and that is all which truly matters in the end, I suppose. I hope your trip was enjoyable as well, and pray to the sun and stars alike that you were not harried by the same storm which followed us all the way up the coast, a dreaded afair indeed. Tell me, most honorable peer, what do you think of the grave business which has called us to this fabled city today?"

James smiled and nodded hearing Augustus had been treating her well like he thought he would be then said "It is in deed sad a mere boy losing his father at such an age much be horrifing. However I can't say it is a surprise while his father may not have been the worst king he was very absent and let his council lead." He then turned and pulled out another jewel incrusted sword along with some jewels of the southern land. James turned and hand them to Alistair. "Some gifts for you my friend the swords were made in the lands of the south and the jewels were added in at the isles. As for these jewels and diamond rings I was told they have some sort of magical properties while they wouldn't tell me what exactly, I did think of you or at least perhaps a gift for young will when you return." James then sent his guard away and said "Well as you know this Kingdom is in need of a new Lord Regent. I was hoping to get your vote to become the new Lord Regent." James stood there taking a sip from a glass with wine while waiting for a reply.

As James spoke, Alistair reached into one of his trouser pockets to retrieve a small wooden object, a pipe of fine Wilharnese wood which was black as pitch and etched on with fashionable swirls and similar designs. He then went about preparing his pipe, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on James in a polite manner, nodding and smiling when necessary. From a pouch of supple leather which he had produced from the breat-pocket of his black silk jerkin he retrived two generous pinches of southron tobacco, gently stuffing it into the bowl of the wooden pipe. Still listening to James Conrad intently, he reached into another trouser pocket and withrew from it an expensive fire-stick tipped with a dry, foul-smelling sulfur compound from the Black Continent, scraping it on his belt of fine black leather and setting it afire. With this done, he stuck the match into the wooden bowl of his pipe, finally lighting it and nursing it to life with his very own lips and breath, shallowly inhaling the calming, soft smoke. By this time, James had completed his bout of speech, and Alistair seperated from his pipe to speak.

"Yes, it is certainly a grim affair, and both the boy and the greater Realm are surely still mourning High King Taramyth of House Paragon. I know that I myself miss him sorely, as he was a good man with a high heart. While he may have left many of his tasks to the Council of Lords, he was a fair ruler nonetheless, and was also kind to me whilst I took succor in the Phoenix Palace."

The Smiling Fox changed his smile slightly to express a solemn sort of mourning, and lowered his head towards the earth in respect for their late High King. After a moment, he looked back up, donned his overtly cheerful smile once more, and took two small puffs of his pipe, seemingly over the grim issue in the space of a few heartbeats. At this point, James paused in his speach for a time and gestured a gift-bearing guard forward, first taking the gifts into his own hands and then handing them to Alistair himself. They were fine item, without a doubt, among them many jewels of fine make which shone on rings of silver and gold, or on chains of similar material. The most notable gift which the Conrad lord present was a sword whose make and style suggested birthplace somewhere among the glimmering isles of the far south. The blade was exquisite for a certainty, and was encrusted in shiny, multicolored jewels. The Smiling Fox took them in hand, nodding in approval politely, and widening his smile before responding to the words which had accompanied the gifts.

"What exquisite gifts these are, James. I thank you dearly, and will make sure to give young Will the sword, which he will surely be greatful for. In exchange, I have a much more mundane gift to bestow upon you, though it is a historied object, I assure you." With these words, Alistair reached out a hand towards one of his attendent guards, Thaddeus to be specific, and the guard produced and item which shone brightly in the room's light. It was a smoking pipe of southron make, carved of brilliant jade and laced with odd ribbons the color of onyx. All respectable men in the South smoked fine pipes, a tradition which was lost on the Northerners and Sea Born alike, though he hoped to introduce the cultured pastime to James with this gift. He handed it to the man, speaking as he did so. "This pipe is carved of fine jade, and supposedly soaked through with the blood of the great Wyrm Sirrij, who shorn Everfield of it's trees with many an inferno up until the great Wyrm Wars. The pipe has been in Suttbray possession for centuries, if not millennia, and has been used by many great men of yore. You seem to be one such man James, and so I urged you to accept this humble gift."

The southron King then deemed it appropriate to finally speak to King James of his vote for Lord Regent. The Sea Born man had addressed the matter bluntly, even rudely if Alistair was to be honest, but his smile did not falter nonetheless, and he responded with his signature way of speach. "Ah, I see. You know that I am a man of honesty and moral fortitude James, so know that I am telling you true when I say that I will pick only the most capable man to serve as the High King's Lord Regent. Tell me, Sir James of the sea, do you believe that you can lead the Realm with a clear mind, a firm hand and a stalwart heart?"

James apprectiated the beauty of the pipe and nodded at what Alister has said of it "I will accept this fine craftmanship pipe. While I may not be able to use it that often the very token of this shall pass on to my son." Then after listening to Alister's concerns James smiled and began to answer the Lord's question. "Why of course I could King Alister. I've ran the royal navy for most of my kingship. I have always been a man to look at both sides of the story before making a final judgement and try to look into the kindness of men and women alike whenever possible." James then moved closer and spoke softer "Should I be made the Lord Regent a man must fill his council and with you view and vast knowledge of the realm I would think makes and excellent Seeker of Secrets wouldn't you agree?" James then stepped back and smiled. "So what say you King Alister can I count on your vote?" James stood somewhat tired at the days events. Hoping to go to bed after this talk.

Alistair smiled politely at James as he spoke of his personal merits, and why he would be a man capable of managing the Realm in it's entirety as the boy King matured and grew into his Throne. He kept the talk of himself brief, a respectable action, and spoke only of the feats and abilities which qualified him the most. He knew of Jame's merits and feats well enough, as the man had been allied to his House for years now, but it was always good to hear a man speak of himself, providing the perfect opportunity for someone to judge another's character justly. James certainly wouldn't be a terrible choice for Lord Regent, and on the contrary would likely manage the Realm better than many of the past Paragons, but still, there were others in the room who held the same qualities. None were as close to House Suttbray in terms of a current relationship though, and it was certainly a tempting prospect to raise James up to be Lord Regent simply because they had an alliance sealed by marriage. He thought on it for a moment long, taking a puff from his pipe, which subsequently lead to a bout of violent coughing. The Smiling Fox was quick to hide the blood which resulted with his kerchief of fine black silk, but it was still readily apparant that the man was hurting. After he regained his composure and stowed away the bloody kerchief, he then spoke to James, his voice now slightly damaged from the episode.

"I will take all which you have spoken of into consideration, peer of mine, and think deeply on your words, for a certainty. You are a capable man, no doubt, and your feats are known well enough in the South. I cannot assure you a southron Vote, but I can assure you that your words have made me consider very seriously as a candidate." The King of brine and sharks then leaned closer, as if to tell Alistair something confidential and exclusive to the two of them, going on to suggest that if he were made Lord Regent, a certain Smiling Fox would seem to be a perfect fit to him for the position of Seeker of Secrets. It sounded too much like bribery to Alistair's ears, delivered in a none-too-subtle package and wrapped up hastily. He did not fancy bribes, nor did he fancy the men who dealt them, so he simply smiled at the man and spoke in a more level fashion than he had spoke in before. "I would hope a capable minister of the Realm would choose only the most deserving and appropriate men to sit upon his Council, and if I am one of those men then so be it, lord James. I would hope that I would attain the seat through merit rather than... other means, however. Still, I will serious consider your words"

James looked shocked at Alister claiming that it was a bribe and simply waved it away "While of course you are the most fit men envoy you and I'm sure they tell things to your men if not you. That is the only reason I would offer you it just as the sovanid would make the best Master of Coin and the Kreshvi as the First Sword and Lord Marshall. Now I'm glad to at least put the though in your head. Now if there is nothing more I am rather tired I've talked to a lot of Lords today and it was a long ride." James put his hand out to shake before he left, and Alistair accepted it, shaking it firmly in return and smilling all the while. The Smiling Fox then spoke his goodbye.

"I am glad that you would consider me for the office nonetheless. Now, I will let you retire to your chambers or wherever else you are wont to go to rest you weary self. Farewell for the moment, James Conrad, I am glad we had the opportunity to speak before the Summit, as it was certainly a pleasure."

Tales Of A Gilded Throne

Alistair Suttbray

The sound which was given off by the great southron train of mounted men and iron-wheeled wagons was something akin that that of a great thunderstorm, and had roared in this fashion for days on end. The road from Lochbridge Port to Skyhaven was a long and oftentimes decrepit affair, made of cobbles here, brick there, and dirt everywhere. The Smiling Fox and his significant tale had rode the whole way there, hauling their gifts for the fabled city and its small-folk dutifully. They threw up dust everywhere they went, and had to stop frequently to rest their horses or mend their wagons. If it wasn't too hot, it was too cold, and if the air wasn't filled with hoof-born dust it was thick with miserable showers. Alistair had ridden near the front of the column astride a great destrier the color of pitch, and while the horse was a truly formidable sight to behold, he now found himself longing for the smooth gait of a palfry more than anything else. Still, while the ride from Lochbridge Port to Skyhaven was tough, it was still better than the voyage from Cyrene to Lochbridge.

Their journey had started out pleasant enough, with Alistair and his party, along with no small amount of north-bound gifts, traveling down the Roanwater. The river meandered pleasantly as it always had, sending one of Suttbray's grand royal barges from Confluence towards Cyrene without hazard and affording those aboard a great deal of comfort and luxury. When they reached the Wilharnese city of Cyrene though, with its spice-laden breezes and thin wooden buildings, they were received by a small fleet of cogs, and here the trip truly became a nightmare in Alistair's eyes. The Smiling Fox was a Suthi through-and-through, a good earth-loving man, and the sea was not for him. His stomach had tossed all around during the voyage, and seemed to want to remain empty despite all attempts made to fill it. To make matters worse, a great storm had harried them all the way up the coast, and great waves the size of ships themselves had spent the entire time competing with rainstorms to see who could soak the men on board to the bone more quickly. During the voyage Alistair's chest had begun to act up again, and the man had coughed up blood till he was made pale due it's loss and bedridden for the remainder of the voyage.

By now, all these days later, the southron King was still in sore shape, though one could not tell just by viewing him. His legs and rear were sore and stiff from the ride, his complexion paler than usually, though hidden under a fine skin-colored powder so none would notice. His cough had been worse than usual ever since their voyage though, and by now his fine kerchief was slathered with blood and his breathing troubled him. Alistair had been born and raised a Suttbray though, and as such had learned to hide his own troubles well, instead putting up a cheerful and polite facade and adorning his face with his omnipresent smile. At least a bit of this smile was genuine though, as the King and his tale neared the northern city, where he could receive some much needed succor and settle the grave business which was laid before him. The realm was crumbling, with no High King other than a boy who was still in the midst of learning his letters and, more importantly, no crown to ward away the icy jaws of winter. If ever there was a time to put aside differences and work together it was now, though Alistair knew the minds of men well enough to understand that there would be many looking to take what they could from this dying empire and run into the hills with it.

These were Alistair Suttbray's thoughts as he closed the distance between himself and the gates of fabled Skyhaven, and they sat heavy in his head. Still though, he kept this head aloft as he and his train of gift-laden carriages and steel-coated riders rode through the great gates and into Skyhaven. It was evident that the small-folk who called this cliff-clinging city their home had already seen many other Kings and their entourages come and go through their neatly cobbled streets, as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder all around and leaned out of their windows in anticipation. If they could not identify the southron party as being that of House Suttbray from their dress and skin-tone, they could still tell the party's allegiance plainly from the eight giant fox-clad standards which were hoisted by riders on each side of the lengthy column. Many looked at the party in awe, as it was more richly adorned than most, and seemingly unnecessary and even burdensome in size. Lances bristled all around, and sun reflected off of vigorously shined plate to a nearly blinding degree.

The column stopped a good way down the street as it reorganized itself to prepare for it's march through the city towards the Phoenix Palace. The men and women of the city shuffled closer to get a better look at the southron King and his knights, though the crowd was oddly hushed. When the rear of the column caught up and the entire length of the party formed up more tightly, a great man of Wilharnese descent who sat astride a powerful destrier thundered out an announcement, his voice flavoured with the calm, slow drawl of the folk who lived on and around the great Roanwater.

"Open your hands and keep orderly, fine folk of Skyhaven, and taste of the wealth of Everfield and Wilharne. All shall consume our gifts, great or small, rich or lacking, so step forward and receive your morsels."

It was and always had been customary for Suttbray Kings to feed the lesser folk in a manner similar to this. No man should starve while others had plenty, as far as tradition was concerned. And so the Kings of Everfield, and more recently of Wilharne too, would feed the people wherever they went with fine southron fare. The cities they graced were fed well, and country folk could guarantee themselves a good bit of nourishment if they approached a Suttbray procession with hands open and bellies growling. There was a more practical side of this practice of selfless charity of course, for words were wind, but a bit of food could fill a man's belly and earn his heart, as well as his trust.

Suttbray servants stood beside the wagons, eight or so for each, and went in and amongst the crowd with sacks of flour and grain upon their shoulders, or oranges and salt beef in their baskets. Thick, dark loaves of bread hardened by the voyage were distributed alongside small sacks of the rarely seen and extremely opulent coffee bean. Good, filling fare was handed out alongside exotic luxury goods, with both being deemed important. Bags of salt and bottles of spices were distributed, odd hard fruits passed out alongside woven baskets of mundane potatoes. The small-folk scrambled to get their share, though they stayed more or less civil under the watchful eyes of the steel-clad soldiers, and those which caused too much of a ruckus were shooed off as if they were dogs, rather than men. All the while the column moved forward at a snail's pace, with more people pouring out of the alleys and exiting their pretty marble homes to see the Southerners and eat their fare.

Above all of it rode Alistair, appearing to be the definition of a great lord. He wore a fine silk jerken the color of pitch and devoid of stuffing of any sort, with stylish swirls and meaningless designs sewn onto the fabric in cloth-of-gold. Beneath this he wore a simple full-sleeved garment of white linen, meant to be more comfortable than lord-like. Over all of this he wore a summer cloak of double-sided red fox-fur, and though it was made of many skins they were so well blended than one could not notice unless they stood a nose-length from it. For leg-wear, he had donned a pair of southron trousers made from fine, durable lambswool and dyed midnight black, with a fit which allowed a bit of give as far as movement was concerned but did not near the loose fit of Wilharnese pantaloons. His feet were clad in boots which were made of a supple leather within and black fieldsnake skin on the outside. His head was uncrowned, as House Suttbray had lost it's crown nearly two hundred years ago to the sea, when King Haldrin had flung himself off of the cliffs of Rushbluff to end his own rule. Instead, his symbol of authority was Lamentation, one of those famed makitherin blades granted to the founders of the Great Houses by the Star Maiden herself all those years ago. The sword sat in a fine sheath of black leather and white diamonds on Alistair's left hip, accompanied by a more mundane sword of similar make sitting just below it in its own sheath.

The trip through the city took a full three turns of the glass plus another candlemark to boot, much longer than it would have taken had the Suttbray column refrained from divying out foodstuffs. But tradition and charity prevailed over time in the eyes of the Suthi and Wilharnese, and so they made it to the Phoenix Palace later than most, if not all. The whole way, Alistair walked his horse over the cobbles and admired the white marble towers and elegant architecture of Skyhaven. Confluence, his home, had it's own charm to it, and was certainly beautiful with its smooth grey stone structures, long canals, and poleboats, but Skyhaven was a wonderful variation from the norm. Where Confluence was alive with water and flat as a field, Skyhaven was vertical in build and nestled high up in the dry mountains. He had been here before, having frequently visited the city when he had been one of the lords sitting on the High King's Council. He had even had his own apartments in the Phoenix Palace, though they were cold and uninhabited more times than not, as the High King had usually allowed him to conduct his business back at Confluence.

Finally, after what seemed to be a full day, the column reached the Phoenix Palace, wagons now unburdened of most of the gifts. Alistair sat astride his midnight destrier for a moment, staring up at the walls of the Royal Palace of the Phoenix. He had not laid eyes upon the palace for nearly two turns of the wheel, though it certainly hadn't changed in that period of time. Various Kings' men from all across the Realm were hurrying hither and tither to perform the many tasks associated with arrival- unloading supplies, parking wagons, and stabling horses to give them some much needed rest. Alistair ordered his men to do the same, and the column broke into a crowd, with armored riders making their way towards the stables alongside lowly servants and wagon drivers. The Smiling Fox watched the organized chaos for a few moments before dismounting as well and beckoning over Big Mord, his barrel-chested Wilharnese squire, one of the few men he trusted with Lamentation, and handed him his dagger, two swords, and horse's reigns.

He then turned towards the castle's foremost portal, a large, though not inoperable, door and moved towards it, a small group of three unarmed guardsmen, most notably Thaddeus Field, accompanying him. The door was opened before him by one of the castle's many servants, and Alistair stepped into the reception chamber with his entourage of three men just behind him. The circular chamber which they stepped into was just as finely adorned as he remembered it, with tapestries and murals covering the fine granite walls and ornaments and baubles of gold and silver sitting as decoration either here or there. As the southron party moved forward towards the main audience chamber where they were to be received, Alistair took a deep breath a smiled even larger than before. He had missed the Royal Palace of the Phoenix, and while he could not say it had been worth the journey, getting to walk it's halls once more was a true treat. While his own palace in Confluence was certainly luxurious and opulent, it lacked the feeling of pure preserved history which permeated in the air of the Phoenix Palace, being only 80 turns old, rather than a millennia old.

As he always had when walking by it, Alistair took a moment to stop and admire the masterfully painted work which featured one of his most distant ancestors, Faustus Suttbray, the first Head of House Suttbray and the original King of Everfield. The scene depicted Faustus Suttbray, a relatively average-looking Suthi farmer, clad in work clothing and out on his field, sword in hand. He held the blade, Lamentation, aloft, not truly fighting with it but holding it almost as if it were a torch. The blade gleamed fiercely in the sun, and the painter had depicted barely visible waves of what was seemingly visible sound in the air, to try to properly illustrate how the farmer was using the weapon. Meanwhile, on the other side of the painting, a great emerald Wyrm appeared to be thrashing against a cliff in agony, despite the fact that no force was harrying him. The Wyrm was Sirrij, bringer of flame and famine, an infamous figure in the history of Everfield who had singlehandedly burned down nearly all of trees in the region, making it flat and shorn forevermore, and turned good folks' fields to ash, if the tale was to be believed.

Many brave warriors had stood up to the great Wyrm to no avail, as he incinerated any who came within an arrow's reach of him in seconds. The beast was supposedly untouchable, and so no mundane weapon could slay him, for how was one supposed to kill something he could not touch or loose an arrow at? Faustus held the answer within his hands, the screaming blade of the Star Maiden, Lamentation. With it, he had sent a great wave of anguish and sound towards the Wyrm, and the beast had apparently writhed and thrashed until the his oily black blood ran out of his ears, eyes, and mouth, and he died due to his exposure to the holy scream sword. Afterwards, the Suthi had bent their knees to Faustus, the simple farmer blessed with steel from the heavens, and he accepted the great burden of leadership. The man had turned a countless fields of ash into one of the most prosperous and fertile corners of the realm to date, and created the values which all good Suthi abide by today- be a simple, decent man, work hard, and love you neighbor as you would love your son.

Alistair could only admire the painting for so long though, and eventually had to move on to the audience chamber. As he approached, he realized that most, if not all of the other Kings of the Realm had already arrived. They seemed to be participating in their usual antics, making deals and threats, trading insults and praise, hatching plots and boasting of various feats. The Summit which they had all showed for was seemingly a ways away, and at this time the Kings seemed to be milling about and exchanging pleasantries and hollow words. Alistair made a motion with his hand and one member of the southron party, the same giant Wilharnese individual who had spoken to the small-folk in the streets just within the gates of Skyhaven, stepped forward to stand to Alistair Suttbray's right. The giant took a deep breath before he spoke in the same deep drawl he had used earlier, marking him clearly as a man of the Roanwater.

"All welcome His Perfection Alistair of House Suttbray, King of Everfield and Wilharne."

The big man stepped aside, and moved a beefy arm towards Alistair with a flourish, presenting him to the other assembled lords. The man was known as the Smiling Fox by small-folk and petty lords alike for obvious reasons, namely the man's omnipresent smile. The King's wide, white smile seemed genuine enough, though one would soon learn to doubt that if they spent enough time around Alistair, as this smile never left his face. It had a vulpine cast to it, which was appropriate, all things considered, and seemed to hint at a sly demeanor, as if the King knew something omnipotent and would let no-one in on it. His hair, which was a dark golden tone common amongst the Suttbrays, fell to his shoulders, brushing them with golden waves. His eyes were a warm, honest brown-gold color though they too had a sly, vulpine cast to them. His face was all angles, again not dissimilar to that of a fox, and his high cheekbones, arching eyebrows, and pointed chin gave off a distinctly aristocratic impression.

The man was built to be a warrior, that much was plain, though he was more bone than muscle now due to his inability to exercise for extended periods of time without being wracked by his dreaded cough. He stood taller than most, though not as tall as some, at an even six feet, and he was long-limbed and broad of shoulder as a southron knight should be. His aforementioned apparel was certainly regal, with his summer cloak of red fox skin remaining astride his shoulders despite the inside environment. After being addressed, the King of the Twin Kingdoms drew himself up tall and took a deep breath... only to have it expelled sharply due to the pain in his chest. His old jousting injury was acting up again, and his terrible cough troubled him even now. The Smiling Fox deftly found and extracted his kerchief from his breast-pocket, a plainly practiced motion, and proceeded to cough bloody phlegm into it. The southron lord continued to cough for a good few moments before he was finally able to regain composure and don his facade of surety and strength once more, speaking softly and politely in his cultured Roanwater drawl.

"Excuse me, my lords, my apologies."