Blood's Jewels
âTerreille in Troubleâ
Saetan Sa Diablo
Location - Hyall, DraegaOne could only call the grand ball that Dorothea hosted marvelous, if they wished to live that is. Saetan lounged against a pillar looking at the ladies moving about the marble floor to test the dedication and attentiveness of their âpartnersâ. A fluttering sigh would bring half a dozen of the stabled Warlords kept at the Priestess-Queenâs court as hostages or servants to see what the particular lady required. Swirling the deep red wine in his glass a bit, the Seducer considered joining the puppies in their scampering after the over done gowns. It would give Dorothea and his choice a good shock, though he would yield nothing more. Leaving the poor witch a simpering mess in her rooms on the morn and living the down the personal shame that she too had failed to seduce Saetan when he had been oh-so-willing to join her as her personal attendant for the night.
Sipping at the beverage, the Hyallian Warlord Prince nearly puckered his lips in disgust as one of Dorotheaâs pets gave a simpering Warlord a verbal kick. Those around him drawing back and whispering to others further away who did the same. Saetan didnât bother to catch what had been said, Lanvo- the Warlord in question- had been falling out of favor with the witches that Dorothea liked to keep nearby for the past year. His drive and spark gone after four decades roughly of serving the Queen of Hyallâs court. One witch who Lanvo had liaisons with had produced a child and for the past decade the Warlord had been bending over backwards and doing anything the twisted Queens and witches had asked of him. Pity stirred in Saetanâs chest for the warlord, but it wasnât going to give Lanvo back his rights to his child, nor make the fact that the mother had been poisoning the child to the point the girl only snubbed her father now. After all, he was a male and meant to serve. Serve, protect, and- if one particularly cared for the hand that held their jewels- cherish. That was the law of the Blood, though to Saetan it was an honor code to live by. Dorotheaâs twisted interpretation of it wrenched at his very foundations.
Originally as well as in Kaeleer, the Blood males had a certain understanding of Protocol. The law that governed all their kind since the Blood were first brought into being by the Dragon Queen and her Consort. They cherished and honored the distaff gender, protecting them from themselves as often as outside threats. Even if it meant risking the Queen you served would demand your life in turn, you protected and served them with their best interest in mind. Most Queens would be enraged, or irritated, or even just get this mulish look about the mouth and sulk for a week, but they would forgive and most likely met out some punishment that was not death or anything overly harsh compared to what the Master of the Guard, Steward, or First Escort would met out. Serving without question was uncommon and usually only with courts who had been together for a long time, or that was how the Black jeweled man remembered it.
Running the black tinted nails of his hand through his hair, Saetan gave a cold smile as Alanya sought to approach, her face paling at whatever she saw in his hard gold eyes. A smart move, considering he wasnât feeling overly forgivable tonight. A burst of pain seared the Warlord Prince as he caught the hard look from Dorothea, her hand slowly adjusting the ring that controlled his âcollarâ. Sometimes he wondered how she expected to make him produce powerful offspring when that damned ring hardly set the mood. Baring his teeth into something he hoped was a passable smile, the man offered his lady for the night his hand.
âMay I have this dance, Lady?â His voice was a velvet purr and the hidden threat of violence under it was lost upon the young witch who gleefully accepted. Batting her eyes as if he found it amusing.
Her dress was heavy velvet, a fashion trend that seemed to happen whenever he was in Draega. For even the warm summer days and nights could take a biting chill if Saetan let his anger taint the air about him. There was two types of anger in the Blood. Cold fury was by far the more deadly. Saetan had felt it enough to know very well you lost compassion for everyone and everything and saw only the destruction of those who tormented and wronged you and yours. A killing edge for a Warlord Prince. He was capable of anything and everything, which was why Dorothea toed a careful line against pushing him too hard. More than once something had poked those hidden wounds and his rage had billowed out. Leaving the one that pushed too far alive and well, but in the shambles of a body that would never again be either of those things. The second anger, was hot rage. It was something more private, turned upon those who were family or close friends. Saetan had lived a long life, but his own hidden fear was that he was only the shell of what he had once been. Unable to feel or care for anyone side from pity and contempt. And so he let Alanya pull him into the grand game of trying to woo him. She would meet her fate like so many before her.
Faeril Ashkevron
Location - Ashkevron Residence in AskaviIce filled eyes stared at the three men who hovered at the foot of faeril Ashkevronâs bed. Each looking rather pleased with himself for a different reason, but each reason had a common element. They irritated her. Fluffed up pillows, a fire stroked in the hearth, a bowl of soup, and it was her glower that kept even one of the Eyrien bastards from trying to spoon feed her the concoction! Luck was with her however, for Gen had made the soup and not one of his brothers. Faeril thanked the Darkness for that! It was well known both Denar and Belor could burn water by simply putting it over the fire. They had no talent for the kitchen and been banished from that domain, Warlord Princes or not. Gen wore the Green that outranked their Rose and had long ago seen the destruction, however well meaning, they did when trying to cook.
All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and the steady dip of a spoon ladling soup from the bowl. Finally Denar spoke up with a slight frown, though there was everlasting amusement in his dark eyes. âSo you had a vision of the Hyallian Queen making her move.â His brother, Belor, finished the thought as was common for the twins. âAnd then decided it would be a wonderful idea to go harrying off to Helios without anyone knowing? Merely leaving a note.â The Warlord Prince relented as Faeril opened her mouth to protest and closed it with a snarl after his words. She had made it barely from the foot of their mountain home before both brothers had shown up and taken the Healer back to her eyrie. She was a Healer and Black Widow who wore the Red! A dangerous foe to be crossed, and yet they thought nothing of it.
Shaking a mane of black hair that was tightly braided back, Denar spoke again with nothing but sheer dry humor in his voice. âAnd do not forget, Brothers, we are also suppose to go look under every rock, rook and tree for this triangle and the men and woman who represent it.â
Three dark golden eyes focused on the most powerful member in the room. Faeril wished they would remember that she outranked all of them and knew very well how to put them out of commission! Setting the spoon in the empty bowl and moving the tray off to the side, only for Gen to step forward and take it. Faeril wanted to rip the three of them verbally from the top of their heads to the tips of their blasted wings. Her own rustled dangerously as she narrowed her eyes at the three brothers who were as good as her own family.
âThey need to know.This is information that cannot wait and every second we delay is another second Dorotheaâs influence grows.â Her voice was sharp and cold as steel as the Black Widow snapped at the two Warlord Princes. Gen was well appraised at the situation and a stone wall in his immovability. Doran and Belor could possibly be swayed and for all they were not of rank with Gen, they could and would act in some way to aid her.
And as they shared a look between the three of them, Faeril felt a very strong headache coming on. They had come up with a battle plan to âdealâ with her and it was probably going to accomplish her desires but at the cost of something she dearly needed to do. It was a blessing she had not been born a Queen to deal with an entire court of males like this. Gen coughed slightly to hide a chuckle as the twins openly grinned and snickered. Why should they hide their feelings? They did not live with her, in fact they lived with their dear mother still. A kindly woman who was lost within the confusing roads of madness after their father had driven her there. An attempt to sire and install a Queen into Askavi that would be more open to Hyall influence. Luckily it had not gone that way then, though it was possibly a better outcome to the twisted Queen that now ruled.
âWell we did talk about it. Belor is going to take the message straight to the leader of the rogues at Helios.â Faeril arched a elegant brow as she shot the twins a concerned look. For all her fury she did care deeply for the two. While they only wore the Rose, the twins were fierce warriors as a pair with how closely they worked together. The eldest of the trio continued noting her worry. [color=FireBrick]âWe donât think the commander will not cause too much a fuss if we take it to him directly.â
Denar smirked and gave a slight bow, tossing in his own two cents though they were hardly needed. âI thought you might like the extra company to watch over you while you rest. After all, how improper would it be if I didnât?â Faeril relented to the brothers, seeing little choice but to agree. Perhaps then she would be able to finally get out of the blasted bed!
@Torack A messenger runs up the large Eyrien, a youth no more than perhaps eighteen years of age. Two years from his majority but learning the ways of the Court from those higher than he. A native to the land, his Summer-sky jewel bobs on his chest as he pants for a second, catching his breath before shoving a official looking letter into Lucivarâs hand. âMessage from the Lady.â For all a messenger should check the identity of someone before giving them a message from the Queen, Lucivar was the only Eyrien and easily recognized for his Ebon-Grey jewel. The letter itself bore the seal in the correct place and the writing was a little shaky but typical of Queen Karlianne of Dene. The young woman was merely twenty two and often over worked herself and was living in a constant state of fear after watching so many of her court get cut out from under her. Then having to turn around and find replacements before the bodies were even cold. She was a mere child to many, and unfit to rule the kingdom. But she was the last Queen who was strong enough to challenge and keep Dorothea herself out of the Territory.
âWarlord Prince Lucivar, I hereby request your presence in the formal meeting room upon receiving this letter as there are urgent matters afoot.âIt was short, but with so much to do Karlianne hardly bandied words about. For when she stopped to think, she wept. So she busied herself with work, be that her garden, the court or Lucivar and his position as Consort. The Queen had even tried to push to try and help the few servants that were allowed to maintain her personal quarters, only to be stubbornly refused. The few tears that speckled the page was proof enough of a slow in her work.
@Deos Morran A young lad perhaps eleven years of age, sent by his family to the safety of Helios so the young Warlord Prince would not be snatched away by the District or Provincial Queen. A lad who wore the Opal, and was acting as a errand boy when he wasnât training in weapons to take down the very Queens who had essentially caused his banishment at eight years of age. It was a common enough practice for those with the wisdom to do it. To hide away those who could be a threat or taken for the games of the Twisted Queens. Cleverly enough the lad paced himself as to not double over for breathe when he did find the Commander of Helios himself. âUrgent messenger to see ya sir. By the name oâ Belor, I think? He asked ter be seeinâ you in private.â The smaller Eyrien nodded gesturing towards the entrance to Helios. âHeâs waiting at the gates. Said it was best for everyone.â
Belor leaned against the gate, trading news with one of the guards there. Mostly information that the rogue Blood could use to keep themselves out of the hands of the Queens. Who was dead, who was alive, who fought on what side and if any possible Queens had met a untimely end. The latter of which was not often common but the rogues who were more freelancing were getting very good at taking out Queens who had wronged them and theirs at their Moonâs ebb. Enraging and costing more lives. Not that freelancers cared. Belor himself stood five inches past six feet tall and his Rose jewel shone over his armor, to declare himself not a threat and a warning that his words were perhaps to be heeded. Lacking the straight hair so many of the winged warrior race of Terreille had, the man had pulled his hair back into a tight braid that followed from brow to the nape of his neck. Keeping hair that must be at least shoulder length from becoming an issue in a fight. No weapons could be seen upon him, though several daggers and broad sword laid in the road behind him.
@NanoFreakV2 âAye, itâs true enough.â A man, a Prince, sighed and rubbed his jaw. âSince the District and Provincial Queens want more from the taxes, the Village Queens get the groan and gripe. Now theyâve been pitting their Courts against each other so that their purses donât suffer, nevermind ours!â Shaking a shaggy head the Prince was in no way a fighter like the mercenaries and rogues. But he was a account keeper for several stores. Trying to scrap out a living of his own. âCrowglide just work over Tressinaâs province. Make sure all the villages are night a fat. Heard from the latest news, that the old bastardâs been dancing the pet for the Queen as well as his wife. Sounds like that unnatural Widow talk is more than mere talk.â The Prince muttered, even as several patrons shifted nervously. The man was talking of things best whispered in the dead of night.
âWatch your tongue, Rainer. Youâve got a son and daughter.â One man hissed in undertone as he thumped the Prince on the back.
The thus named Rainer just shook a sorrowful head. âNot any more,â His voice nearly broke at that but there a hush over the table. For the sake of their child, Rainerâs wife had deny paternity so that his son could not be held as a hostage. It wouldnât help if the Queens knew anyways but it was a small sliver of hope. âSent the children and their mother to Helios. The Eyriens rogues are holding the fort and I pray to the Dark they will let them in.â Several people exclaimed in shock and several more gave curious looks. There had been some talk among those with darker jewels of slipping off to try and join the band of rogues, though it would be a dangerous trek and the risk if you were caught? It didnât bear thinking about. Better a man meet his fate whole rather than bear the band of compliance or have your jewels stripped from you and shattered. To be reduced to nothing but basic craft.
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