LadyRunic

[High Casual to Low Advance] [18+] Wide array!

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Darke Magyk - Concluded

I, LadyRunic, am hereby leaving Darke Magyk due to differences with the gm. I love being able to Rp with all of you and it had it's moments but it is a sad fact that this RP just is not working for me. I am just out of the loop here, the odd duck. Something that has become more obvious as time has gone on. My apologies for any distress that this will cause or issues. If the GM would like I will remain to keep playing Richard for this arc but that is all. As much as I hate walking away, as much as I would like to keep trying. You can try to shoehorn a dragon into a barn but that doesn't mean it will fit. It's more likely to eat all your animals and then set the building on fire. So, while I wish it was otherwise I am withdrawing from the Rp. I wish you all the best of luck and have a fun time. I'll really miss playing Grimspound and Skaoi (Especially that I'll never get a chance with Granny Dyrki!), but I can always find another Rp for them perhaps down the line. Best of luck -Lady R

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

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Richard Laine

Location: Sub-Basement - Operating Theater

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Richard gave a low groan as Remy and Rogue argued. "Wouldn't mind some morphine myself. Or a stiff bourbon." The Adder sighed in true annoyance at the fact acohale was a bad idea. With a missing kidney he would have trouble filtering the toxins. "Then again, I want answers as to why she said what she said to Ayita."

Noting Carolina, the former assassin did a rough head count of the room. His side throbbing from having a organ ripped out. To say he was in a bad mood was a understatement. Ayita had been hurt, he had gotten a kidney ripped out and now people were being freed from a mind controlling goon. "Had anyone seen that sister of mine? Shaggy hair with feathers and beads? Shifts into different creatures?" As much as he wanted to go look himself that wasn't about to happen in his current state.

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Ayita Dyrkin

Location: Ayita's room

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Ayita shrugged through the pain though it wasn't easy. Making a mental list of who to swing by before she picked up the trail of Mesmero, the shifter found her way blocked. A shield of sorts and the being interfering was a odd concoction of wires and metal. Her amber eyes littered dangerously. Considering the last time Ayita had been around a metal robot it had tried to kill her, her wary nature was understandable. Though as the being began talking Ayita lowered her arm from her quiver. "What are you?"

It was a rude question, but Atita was no longer playing games. Marygold had said she needed to leave people alive. Because they were supposed to be better. Yes, she could see the reasoning behind that. But there was the matter that this Mesmero could and would strike again. That he could put her pack at risk. Something Ayita could not allow. Though as she considered it, she did see the point of forestalling her hunt. Cyclops lasers had burned her and her body ached. While loath to see the trail go cold, she would be able to hunt better with her wounds tended to. Slipping past danger the woman jerked her head in a silent order for the metal woman to walk with her while answering. Making her way to the operating theater, Ayita unstrung her bow and began planning the death of Mesmero.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Faeril Ashkevron

Present Day
Location - Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi

Interacting with @13org

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The woman merely nodded as she tied the strings that would hold the web close and slid into a wooden tube to further protect the delicate spell. Faeril had her own reasons for wanting to keel Mikhail near and it was not merely in his best interest. As a Black Widow and one of particular skill she had kept herself alive despite the pet Queens of Dorothea seeking out her sisters to ensnare into their courts or execute for defying them. A wonder they had never come knocking on her door, but with her Aunt's death Faeril had never advertised what she was. The people of Aren had aided as well by carefully turning away those whose interest was less than business. The village did not have a direct Queen holding her hand over it and all the better for that small blessing. Randalvar in the Winged Boar was her primary source of customers. The old warrior had a sixth sense about people and if they saw her of went missing he made sure he didn't know enough details to say more than they had left his bar- alone. If Gen or one of his brothers had followed them out...? Well, Randalvar made a point not to notice, he did have his tankards and glasses to keep clean. The man was as stoic as they came and if rumors were true he had a bigger bone to pick as he had, potentially, been a lover of her aunt before the woman's death.

That was neither here or there, however. Turning her blue gaze that spoke of ancestors that were not of Eyrien or the long lived races, the Black Widow and Healer studied the assassin offered his services. "Your services will do for a time until the treatment is complete." A wiry smirk that was far from comforting gracing her lips as she arched a dark brow. "After all, you will be staying here for a time and need to maintain your keep as you will be eating my food and needlessly drinking my ale. There is plenty of firewood to be chopped and mulch to be made." The woman pointed out while her smile turned to something more jesting. "When you are healed we will speak of your payment." And may the Darkness be merciful and let the one she was waiting for reach her before then. At the end of the day, this entire business would garner her nothing but it would potentially fuel the fire for hope and vengance, which would be enough.

Winged Boar, Aren, Askavi
@Slim Shady @Zoey White
Rnadalvar studied the man who walked into the tavern, his psychic scent screaming Warlord Prince as he scanned the room before finally choosing a seat at the bar. Though the words the man spoke stuck the old warrior like a blow, though the neutral face turned grim as he turned away from his customer to release the tap on a keg of ale and let it fill the freshly cleaned glass. In truth the man needed a moment to collect himself after the ground had been swept out from under him. Handovar had been a good fighter and a strong Warlord. Wearing the Summer-sky while being a fighter was dangerous and he had said as much. Foolish boy to ignore him.

Setting the tankard in front of the Eyrien Warlord Prince, he noted Denvar's pointed look and gave a muted shake of his head. This wasn't an enemy. The name Xandar Markov was well known enough from how the Eyrien Queens railed for his capture, sending men out after him and promising rewards that anyone would crave in times like these. Denvar settled back in his chair, raising his ale to his lip and taking a long draw from the tankard. Turning his gaze back to the rogue Warlord Prince as a woman slipped into the tavern, the grizzled old warrior slid a second, less clean tankard down to the woman. A woman bearing weapons at that. He briefly considered letting Denvar take that one up to Ashkevron's residence to see what their local Black Widow would think of her. "He fought bravely and died for his cause. An Eyrien's death." The man stated firmly as he let loose a brazen chuckle at the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince's reaction to his neighbor. The man was wearing a Sapphire Jewel Randalvar noted. A wise move while in town. Picking up another tankard, the old Warlord began cleaning it out again. "If yer looking for somethin' you might want to go talk to the cringing bastard in the corner. He'll take you to our local Healer." There was a strange glint in the man's eye as he chuckled darkly. "The Lady will put you to rights. One way or the other. Though you may not like how 'right' leaves you." Keeping to the Eyrien tongue the grizzled old man continued. "An' take this here lass with ye. Aint normal for a witch to be carrying weapons. The Lady will want to have a 'chat' with 'er." Denvar gave a choking cough as he sat up, his feet thudding on the floor as he glared at old Randalvar.

Root's Teeth, Dhemlan Terreille
@SilverPaw
The Root's Teeth was a well cared for establishment if only because it seemed to house mainly the aristo in the seasons when the pens outside would be full and the witchblood would bloom. In it's off season it was a rest stop, a place where the Blood could pause in their travels for a roof over their head and a warm meal. However, Jandar would get the barest of hints of a underlying psychic scent that would seem off though he could not pin it down. Even in a tavern full of people while a storm howled outside there was an air of unease. The landing web outside was mostly clear now as the last stragglers dropped from the Winds and moved inside the Root's Teeth looking for room and board. While the storm may cause trouble for others, it was a blessing for the inn.

The man sitting next to the Warlord was a Prince his Tiger-Eye Jewel worn openly as was typical of the Blood. It was how their intricate game of power was played. A well kept man though his clothes had seen better days and the weight hung off him as though he once had more weight than he did. "Most likely it will blow over by the morning." The man stated with a dreariness in his voice. "I don't know how the Eyriens stand it up in their mountains but they weather storms like these for fun." There was a edge to the Prince's voice as he stared blankly into his tankard. A young witch stepping carefully behind the bar shakily set a bowl of stew and a tankard of ale in front of Jandar before retreating with speed though trying not to run or garner his attention.

The crowd behind them shifted about as people vied for rooms, a small finger moving through the opening and closing gaps. Jandar would notice the figure heading to the door facing the stables. A quick entrance for the grooms and such. Their clothing didn't appear to be worn so much as ragged and patched. The black hair and gold eyes of the long lived races were prominent features that were easily noticed before the figure slipped out the door.

Queen's Residence, Eldan, Hayll
@eclecticwitch
The Master of the Guard gave a predatory growl deep in his throat as Fatima ordered him to wait and bide his time. Waiting for their people to be stronger. This made the Court shift anxiously. They were far older than Fatima in general, and they highly doubted there would be any 'thriving' for this village. Durik, for one, was moving into his twilight years. The grey of his black hair showing in threads here and there. The Steward had seen the rise of Dorothea and had not opposed the woman, ensuring his own safety in fact, as well as those of his brother's family. That said brother was buried in some unknown grave, having been a tool in a game between queens. A pawn that had been sacrificed. His nephews had too been pressed into joining the Courts, despite Durik's best efforts. His sister-in-law and her daughter had been plucked away powerful Warlord Princes. The Steward didn't bother to think upon their fate, it was an unwelcome thought and only served to weigh him down with guilt.

Wrapping a strong arm about Fatima's waist, Beneth gave Hynter a sneer. The other Summer-Sky Warlord looking away as to avoid a fight with the Opal Warlord Prince. Heaving a sigh of relief Durik looked over the books Fatima had procured. These were battered copies, but the idea was a decent one. "The problem also lies with the fact the land is dry." It was not Durik who spoke, but his second- and soon to be replacement- Garren. The Preist was a quiet sort, with a long face and longer limbs. Looking enough like a crane that his White jewel was nearly over looked. While he was not a powerhouse, Garren was clever and could keep a book nearly as well as the aged Durik. "Drained." The man stressed, his hands emphasizing his point. "We can plant and grow, and try all we like. Let our land heal, and our neighbors will come in and take it." The soft voice was bitter, with good reason. Garren had suffered under Fatima's mother. Often being sent off to appease the neighbors. Neighbors he now loathed.

Durik nodded in reluctant agreement. "He has a valid point, Lady." The Steward said carefully. "But these beans will help, and the mine can be staffed by those- relocating- from other villages." Beneth was shaking his head, but Durik already had a counter to the worry of a threat slipping in. "Several of our folk have moved away to find only ill. What harm would there be in welcoming them back? Surely it would curry good will?"

It was the second eldest of the group, Jassen, who rubbed a hand through his own slightly grey locks. "If only we could consult the tangled webs." His cheeks were red and blotchy from drink as his words bordered on outright treason as he spoke of how the Black Widows looked into the void of time. Jassen had become a drunk in the past years, attesting a relationship at least on his end.

Darke Magyk - Concluded

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Skaoi Silverveil

[center][color]Location: Manuscriptorium[/center]
[color]Skills: [/center]

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The Darke section was a place Skaoi did not care for in teh slightest. Grim magics were best left alone and the physik had very little desire to be looking about upon these shelves. But if it was what must be done to cure the Sickenesse, then it was the least of what she could do. Her duty was to heal these people after all. Not for the first time she rued being dragged from the Forest to work in the Castle. The Forest had offered some anomity and a life that went unnotice. Here there were grand folk around every cornere and were it not for Prince Myrus, Skaoi would have long begged her leave.

That was the hinge of tings was it not? Prince Myrus was a kindly child taht needed aid to control his mutant powers. Something she specialized in doing as her own negated his. Scanning the shelves the physik looked at a lost as to what she was actually looking for. "I-If you could?" The pale Eastern Snow Plains native looked with a apologetic glance to her guide. "I don't quite know where to start and there is quite a bit of material..." The physik admitted as she pulled a likely title from the shelf. "I am looking for any referrence of the 'Burning Fever', 'Sleeping Dead', anything about Witch's casting plagues or Darke Wizards doing the same." The woman offered weakly, her voice hushed as though the wrong word would awake the darkness upon the shelves.

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Richard Laine

Location:Wizard Tower - Entrance Hall

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Richard studied the Mistress of Lies with a annoyed look on his face. "Runa. Lance. Kiera." He greeted with an annoyed note in his voice. While he did like Thor- and the man was a welcomed addition when he had poker nights- the Asgardian children were a bit of a thorn in his side. Children raised to be gods... It was enough to put someone off religion. Then again he had never been one for such things in the first place.

Raising a dark brow, the Adder cared little if they were so powerful. "Now as Mistress of Magic surely you know the magic word, Runa darling, to ask my wife to do something?" The 'former' assassin chided with a lighter tone. "Though I do have a soft spot for children so I won't refuse." Dropping his lighter demeanor it because dangerously honed as he narrowed his eyes at Kiera. "What do you mean Vanished? And what is this Chthon? Refreshed this old man's memory." This was a danger to his family and he well could understand his sister's rage all those years ago when she had fought for her own.

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Grimspound

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Location: Outside Wizard Tower

Skills:

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Grimspound groaned in annoyance and pain. A mixture he was used to growing up among his clan. "Very brave? Hardly. I was polite until I mentioned her being daft. Set in her ways as she was it was no less than the truth." The Dyrki man winced as he moved his neck and felt it throb with a steady ache. His back would be one big bruise in the end. While he had grown up in the Land of Long Nights and respected the gods, he had more respect for his clan. They were a traveling bunch and didn't necessarily stick the ways of the land. Which was probably why it was best his grandmother never come across any gods or goddesses. Someone would get hurt and there would be a smoking forest and vast battle that would be a slaughter.

"Just because someone is Vanished, does not mean they cannot be unVanished." The man pointed out as he rubbed his shoulder. "Death is only certain when you have seen it and felt the life leave the body. Chop off the head for good measure, or so says my aunt Askra. But theoretically anything that can be done, can be undone. It's just a question of how to do it and if it is wise to do it. The latter of which- luckily for you all- I am lacking according to the vast majority." If no one denies this, Grimspound gives a weak chuckle which makes him wince in pain. "Healing- please. If I die, my grandmother will kill me."

Ω Heroes of Olympus: The Next Age of Heroes Ω

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Athanasia Theroux

Location Courtyard of CRS

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"Camp-?" Athanasia was mistrustful of 'camps' in general. Her false father had too often suggested sending her off to camps during the summer, something her mother would not hear of. It was just as well because Athanasia enjoyed travelling the world with her mother for the woman's job. Those long and dreary months when school became the priority were merely chances to prove she was better than whatever Ryssa's husband thought of her. Something she always failed at much to her chagrin.

But if her father was a god? Athanasia turned that thought over her mind as she stumbled after Coach Hedge. It was a interesting development and one that played into a few of the more interesting moments of her short life. Was this the reason her mother couldn't see or talk to her friends? While Ryssa had never doubted her, there had been a certain apprehension when the woman had found her in the Saint Louis Cemetery. As one of the cyclopes roar about making her into stew, Athanasia decide to worry about it another time. Running seemed the paramount thing to do for their present situation. "I'd rather run than be turned into stew!" The pale girl gasped as she reached the shed.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

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Richard Laine

Location: Sub-Basement - Operating Theater

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"Shit happened. A lot of shit." Richard groaned as he considered Dean. There was nothing he could do for the lad, beside admit his own faults and tell the truth. It was the least he owed Dean for keeping the information about his sister from him. If it was him, Richard could well understand the anger that was most likely being directed his way. Heck, he shared it when his mother had cast out Ayita. So he couldn't really say anything to help Dean with the boy's crisis without sounding like a sanctimonious ass.

Laying back against the table, the Adder winced as Bruce came bustling into the room and over to Lance. A father's worry for his son obvious. If he could have stood, he would have gone to find his sister and help her the best he could. Getting a kidney ripped out of him however was a bit more than painful. Keeping him down for the time being. "Anyone knows what is going on above?" The former assassin groaned, needing to know what was happening despite his invalid status.

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Ayita Dyrkin

Location: Outside(First Floor)

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"Mesmero." Ayita's eyes were gleaming in the darkness as she let loose a far less than human growl. This man had enter her mind without a care, and had unleashed the instincts of those within upon humans that did not deserve the rage she carried within herself. This man had threatened her brother with his actions not to mention Allison and Guin. Shaking her dark head slowly, Ayita gave a snarling roar. The hunt would be on and may the earth itself defend Mesmero for not even that would halt the wild woman. This man had threatened a future she had carved for herself and that was not something Ayita would premit. "Guin," Reaching out carefully with her mind, well aware of the prior attack and the possible repercussions. She gently 'knocked' against the younger Stark's mind, keeping her thoughts light. A merest of brushes. "Brother is fine? Your mate needs medical aid, Sister." Though her mind didn't not have a sense of 'her' brother but a shared sense that Richard was kin to them both. A effect of the man treating Guin just as he would Ayita but with a bit more care. For whether the Stark wished it or not... She was one of them per Richard's decree.

There was a crack as Ayita shifted into the form of a snowy owl and swooped into the air with a screeching war cry. It could be nothing else. For this was a rage Ayita so rarely felt, but her mate and pack had been threatened and all her being agreed that this must be answered. To the end of the threat. Beating the white wings, Ayita rose up through the air and reached her room's window. Her body sore but it was pain she pushed to the side as she worked the window open after shifting back to human form. Stripping quickly of her clothing, Ayita snatched the leather coat and vest, along with other such she wore while in the north. Outlandish garb but it held up and was easily repaired out in the wilds. Her quiver and bow were on her back as she hooked them in place. A small pouch she strung to her waist with spare bits and bobs for bow string and arrow heads. If she could get a scent article of this man, she would hunt him that way as well.

There would be no dawn for Mesmero. Marygold looked down at her for her predatory ways, but this was more than being the 'bigger person'. Ayita agreed and tried not to kill as she did not enjoy it, no matter what their 'leader' said. No longer her 'leader'. This man had struck something inside the shifter that called for blood. It was not that he took over her mind, it was that he risked her pack. What he could have done to her mate. What he could do to her future in the North! With a mate and potential cubs-! Ayita paused as she looked in the mirror at the woman staring back at her with furious amber eyes. Where had that thought come from? She wasn't ready for human pups, that was certain. But laying a hand against her abdomen, Ayita considered the possibility. She wanted them, some day. Just not yet, it wasn't time and it wasn't safe enough yet for her to disappear into a den hidden away for human puppies.

Goodness knew Damon and Richard were certainly not ready for it!

[High Casual to Low Advance] [18+] Wide array!

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Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Months Earlier
Location: Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi

Slim fingers wove the spider silk about the wooden frame used by the Black Widows of the Hourglass. Ruby drops of blood slipping along the strands as the hands moved absently, unaware of the damage that was being done. The Black Widow that sat before the tangled web that was being woven had a vacant look in her icy blue eyes. Her gaze far off in the strands of the web, and the strands of time itself. Faeril Ashkevron had felt the call to weave like she never had before and the Eyrien heeded it.

Far off, yet so near, the blue eyed woman watched a map of the Realm of Terreille splay out before her like a great tapestry. However, there was a wrongness to it. The blood red that slowly seeped off of Dhemlan, the Territory to the south of Askavi, was thick and the Healer within Faeril could feel the draw to go. To heal the wounded and ill. But this was not such a place as she could do so. Here she was an observer. To see what the twisted kingdom that laid dormant in the dreams of the Blood showed her. Looking to the east of Dhemlan, the woman brushed her hand across the territory of Hyall and recoiled at the sickening feel and the sight of the tapestry rotting away slowly where she had touched. Smaller points of rot began in Pruul and Raej as well, though they were not so quick. With horror, the Widow watched as the map slowly rotted away. Revealing the Shadow Realm of Kaeleer beneath it. The rot slowly infesting the second of the living realms. But there was another darkness here as well, one that shielded the land from the destruction of Terreille and it was black as night.

Tearing herself away from the vision, the Healer and Widow gave a cry as she collapsed at her work table. Her eyes staring blankly at her bleeding hands as a thundering came from the stairs that led up to the rest of the eyrie and her ancestral home. The home of Ashkevron Black Widows in general, as it had been passed from mother to daughter, or teacher to student, but always within the blood of her kin. ”Ashke! Ashke-! Oh, Mother Night.” The Eyrien woman felt her hands being yanked away as another examined them, her gaze still fastened on the triangle that had shielded and slowed the rot within her vison.

”Destroy it.” Gennar 'Gen' Saroth, the escort to Healer Faeril Ashkevron and the guard of Black Widow Faeril Ashkevron, looked up sharply into the icy eyes of his long time friend. Her hands were lacerated with scraps and lines where the spider silk had cut through flesh due to the tightness of her grip. It wouldn’t take much to heal them, aside from Ashke taking it easy for a few days which was another problem within itself. ”Destroy the web, Gen.” The voice that normally barked sharp commands and snapped far quicker than any lash, was shaking and soft. A plea. It scared the Hell out of Gen. Faeril never spoke softly unless it was deadly serious. Nodding his square jaw, the Warlord left her hands to lie while he reached for the web. The threads no use to another as they were tangled and the reek of Faeril’s psychic power stemmed from it like she had set it ablaze by power alone.

Which, she probably did. Faeril over did things from time to time for better or worse. But more often for the betterment of others, nevermind herself. It was part of being a Healer. To think yourself expendable while you really were no such thing. But Gen crushed the wooden frame and the web in his massive hands before letting the ruined mess fall into the brazier Faeril kept in her workroom for just that reason and to provide a little heat to the cool underground. He could never understand why she would enjoy it down here, so far from the sky, but the need for secrecy was great these days. Black Widows were being hunted down for being ‘unnatural’ and ‘dangerous’.

Opening his mouth to ask what she had seen, Gen didn’t get the chance as the oldest of those Black Widows in Terreille that remained faithful to the Hourglass Coven spoke. ”The poison that we have watch twist the Blood from the proper ways of Protocol is spreading far wider and faster than I had thought possible.” Faeril’s eyes were distant but this time the Ice Healer was deep in thought. Considering the vision she had witnessed. For such things were tricky and all too often misinterpreted wrongly. The Black Widow seeing what she wanted instead of what was shown. Perhaps that and their reputation for dealing in poisons and underhand schemes is what really caused the decline of her sisters and not just the bribes and temptations of the twisted Queens that now were slowly gaining power? As a mug was shoved into her hands, the woman flinched at the pain. Listening to Gen putter about her workroom. He was hardly the first allowed down here, but he was the only one she allowed down in this hidden space. Friends for all her long years, they had enjoyed a fast partnership that was more akin to cousins. Save for the whole friends with benefits things they had done for a time, but even that had been for her sake. A outlet to keep her from stressing, a possibility for a child to further her line. Sipping at the brew, Faeril gave her ‘friend’ a sharp look. ”Calming brew? Really? As if I need such a thing!”

Gen’s chuckle was a deep and reassuring thing as he looked over at the woman he considered family. ”Well your snapping again, so I’m doing something right.” His cheeky grin was contagious to many but Faeril was immune as she shook her head of black hair typical of their race.

”Hmph. Gen, I must go to Helios. I will need aid to find and forge the shield that will stop the rot of Dorothea from spreading. Perhaps then we shall find time to find ourselves the sword to cut the rot out completely.” Standing the woman made it all of three steps before she found herself over a muscular shoulder. A snarl ripping from her throat as the cheap pottery cup shattered on the flagstones below. ”I can walk up a flight of damn stairs!” The infamous Faeril temper blooming as she spat a few curses against Gen’s back. His wing draping over her head and muffling her cries much to her annoyance.

Gen nodded sagely as he hauled the woman to the thick door at the base of the stairs, then up said stairway. Faeril in this state wouldn’t have made it to the first step and they both knew it. He had seen the jewel she was wearing was not her jewel of rank, the Red, but her birthright Blood-Opal. A darker version of the Opal gem and the same as he had when he was first presented at the altar. ”And tell them what? That you’re a Widow with some vision of darkness and rot that stems from one of the most influential people in the realm? Not to mention you’d be doing so while wearing your birthright.” The muffled protest was ignored. For nearly a thousand years the two had watched the Courts about the realm of Terreille fall into disarray as Queens who cared more for their gowns, riches and own pleasure took control. They had watched the rivals to these queens disappear or die off. The Black Widows doing much the same unless they aided the twisted Queens who made little to no effort to care for the land they were attached to. Gen’s golden eyes turned sorrowful as he thought of the parched and dry feel of Hyall. He had only been there once, long ago and that had been to collect a debt owed to himself, his brothers and Faeril. A debt owed by his own father, who had paid the price. For while there was no law against murder for the Blood, they was generally always a price.

Setting Faeril down on the large bed that made up her private quarters, and not the rooms she used for her clients, Gen brushed away the straight black hair. A few waves in the inky depths that hinted at her blood not being wholly Eyrien, as if the eyes were not clue enough! The Ashkevron eyes- that stunning, icy blue. They had been a trademark in the family for generations, at least one child of the next generation being born with them. Perhaps it was from the sheer love that it had taken to marry outside of the race all those eons ago? Gen was a romantic, but his taste was for another warrior and to dance on and off the killing field with them. Shaking his head at Faeril the Warlord chuckled slightly at the mulish set of her mouth as he wrapped her hands. After a time, he felt the woman relent her anger, or rather, her irritability at him. ”I shall rest and recover my strength and then we shall pack and go. There is not time to be lost!” The Black Widow declared, making Gen only smile sweetly.

”Shall I get my brothers to help with the packing while you rest til your hands are healed?” The following curse from the Healer, was met with a male roar of laughter.

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Elsewhere in Draega Capital of Hayll in the Present Day
Location - Dorothea's Gardens, Draega, Capital of Hayll

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Draega was a city of towering stone buildings that shadowed the cobbled streets below. Theaters, music halls, eateries that offered all sorts of food and the many galleries of artists. Not to mention more… salacious halls for those who liked that sort of entertainment that the Queen of Hayll, Dorothea, cared to enjoy as well. The tight city had parks- what city didn’t?- but they were filled with grass that had lost the sheen of good health and trees that were stunted and sickly. Oh it was all glorious to those who willed their long lives with too many hours and pleasure at their fingertips, but Saetan SaDiablo could feel the illness that infected the Territory of Hayll, the place he was born over two thousand years ago.

Once the Queens have given back to the land, and the land had returned with bounty and life. Now Dorothea had risen to take what she desired and gave nothing but the broken husks of life back. The land returning the favor quid pro quo. Staring absently from his seat on the patio of one of the gardens that surrounded the great building that was by all accounts more than a mere ‘manor’. It rivaled SaDiablo Hall in size, though the taste was horrendous according to more than a few standards. This particular garden sported a series of pillars and weaving paths between them, but the true treat or ‘show’ was the man who was being untied from one pillar and led away. For some reason or another, a actual or perceived slight, Dorothea had seen fit to turn the man into entertainment for the day. One that he had been forced to watch with a few other key political ‘guests’ who were now pale and trying desperately to avoid giving any reason to be the next one she invited to perform.

Saetan tapped his long tinted black nails on the arm of his chair absently, giving cold smiles to the women that fluttered their eyes at him as they crooned to Dorothea about the latest gossip. Servants who barely hid shaking hands and nervous glances moved about the group offering refreshment and choice pieces to the Ladies first before the guest and then finally him. The official Prisoner of War. He had been tricked into a peace talk that had pulled him away from defending Terreille Dhemlan leaving the territory open for attack from Pruul and Raej. The queens of those territories greedy for a piece of sweeter riches than what they were getting from their salt mines and other resources. Eager at the promise of labor where kindness was optional. Both lands were harsh and while the resources were well needed and desired bringing in a fair amount of trade, why pay for labor? This thought had been urged by Dorothea. That woman who had started the entire mess by crossing the lines of Protocol, the Code that guided the Blood, to begin with! The black nails scraped against the wood of the chair threatening to shatter it as old rage boiled with the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince’s veins.

He could kill them all right here. Just by unleashing the Black and wytchfire he could burn them out of existence! A jolt of agony, however, shocked him from his thoughts of revenge. Drawing in a sharp breathe, Saetan leveled a golden glare at Dorothea who looked at him with a smug expression. Her fingers playing with the damned ring the controlled the band of compliance. It wasn't bad enough the thing was degrading, but that it would send whatever degree of pain Dorothea saw fit made him want to strangle her. If he could fight past the amount of pain the woman could, and would, level at him if he even tried to attempt it. If… If he hadn’t gone to that meeting at Felisin's, a neutral party or so he thought, request. If he hadn’t agreed to take food or drink at that ‘peace’ meeting. If he had prepared Dhemlan for such an ambush as those two snakes set against the territory he defended. ”Saetan, darling!” Dorothea’s voice had enough false sweetness in it and real desire to curdle milk beyond its years. Saetan wanted to throw the wine his nursed in one hand in her overly elaborate face. ”We were just discussing the upcoming ball tonight, and my dear Alanya is in need of an escort! We hope you would be so kind as to see that she has a splendid time.”

Saetan’s golden orbs flickered over to the slightly pale woman who looked at him like a rabid dog at a piece of meat. A likeness that was not far off the mark. Giving a charming smiled as frost lightly coated the glass he was holding, Saetan ignored the shivers of those about him. His anger making the air grow cold. ”It would be a pleasure to see her to the ball, but surely you need your own escort, Oh tyrant?” He nearly doubled over by the jolt of pain and in laughter that he held back while Dorothea sent a poisonous glare at him. The mocking comments, the underhanded funding of rebels, the slaughter of her pet Queens. He was waging his own war against the twisted woman, but it wasn’t enough. Terreille was falling into her hands as it had been for centuries. Dorothea’s pet Queens were taking over bit by bit and as much as he tried, Saetan could only slow the tide of rot.

”I believe I will enjoy Prince Darrel’s company, tonight.” A sickening smile from those overly red lips at the pale Warlord Prince of Challiot. His psychic scent reeking of fear at what he had witnessed. Challiot was the latest territory to fall to Dorothea’s little game leaving only Dene Nehele free and slowly falling. Several rogue camps of males also plagued her across the Realm. Camps that she tried to send Saetan to ‘wipe out’. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince instead suffering punishments as he made the plans loudly and widely known so the rogue males could relocate. Saetan’s lips thinned on his handsome profile. It seemed he had little to no choice then but to play the escort. Though the man would admit he was curious as to how this ‘Alanya’ would try to seduce him. They always did after all. Eager to get a child of the Black Jewel. Something which Saetan did not permit to happen. Ever. If Dorothea got a child of his, he would never see the babe and it would be raised merely to another shackle or another tool under the twisted Priestess-Queen. Neither of which the Warlord Prince wanted for his offspring.

”Then I have the utter delight to join you this evening.” Rising from the dark chair, the man did not wait for a dismissal nor bow. Instead he braced himself against the pain that shot through him as the band of compliance burned in agony. Gritting his teeth he walked away from the gathering. Enduring each step of torture as he made his way to his room. His sanctuary and hoping it had not been violated in his absence as it had so many times before. Saetan doubted he would be able to stop himself from leaving the guilty woman who had done so as a visible message for the others. It would not be the first time he had done so, nor would it be the first time he had born the punishments that Dorothea heaped upon him. The only good coming from that would be the banishment from court. For while Dorothea loathed and fought to keep control over the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince, she did not dare kill him. The Hundred Families of Hyall, the aristo class or nobles, were failing in their dark bloodlines. Few offsprings wearing dark jewels and most far too light and weak in their psychic power. Dorothea needed Saetan, the only male to wear the Black. She needed him as a symbol and as a potential father to powerful children. The latter of which Saetan would not give her. He had fought for over a thousand years, and the man would fight til he became a Whisper in the Darkness to make sure that the bitch didn’t get what she desired.

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Faeril Ashkevron

Present Day
Location - Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi

Interacting with @13org

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Faeril's hands withdrew from the pale skin of her Dea Al Mon patient, her cold eyes calm though they hid the disgust and the horror at what she had seen within her patient's mind. It wasn't what he had done, though goodness knows the Prince had his own ghosts, but rather what a member of the Hourglass had done or hadn't done. It was sheer incompetence, and it took years of practice to keep the desire to hunt down the misled 'Sister' and set the woman straight. A member of the Blood, desperate and suffering, had come to her doorstep guided by Denvar when the Eyrien had found that the Dea Al Mon was searching for a Black Widow of some skill. Of course, he hadn't wanted to bring the potential threat into her home and thus risk her. But even as one of the most stubborn caste of males, a Warlord Prince, Denvar well knew it wasn't worth his hide if his honorary sister found out he had left this fellow hurting and floundering.

"The basic 'stitches', as you could call them, are in place. Though it will require a few more treatments. The mind is a fragile thing and I would not risk you wandering down the roads to the Twisted Kingdom." The Black Widow stated softly, speaking of the madness the Blood recalled as the Twisted Kingdom. For only those mad, or who meddled with the mind would tamper with those dangerous roads. It has been irritating more than anything to find that his mind was a solid mass of walls and 'mirrors'. Fragmented memories, reflections on what was missing or what could have been taken out of context. The work was shoddy and Faeril had been disgusted at the roughness that left tattered edges about memories. The pieces frail and unraveling. Yet all could not be blamed on a mediocre workmanship, for the male also seemed to want to reject these memories. Those bits and pieces she had slowly gathered in her net. Turning over and examining each bit before setting it aside. Organizing what came first and then second in importance. The Black Widow had not been quite able to tell who the woman who was that made the memories seem lighter and full of life, nor what had caused the pain that brought tears to her eyes. Tears she now brushed away absently. Looking at these memories was like seeing something in a shattered mirror. Abstract, yet if viewed the right way it would make sense. The fragile chalice of the man's mind could be pieced together but the true healing would come from within. Bit by bit the woman had strung together the larger bits, adding a few smaller bits and pieces to secure the bridge she was building. These easy thoughts were the recent or big events in the man's life.

Now, she turned partly away from the man and gently rolled up the tangled web that held the spell she had set within his mind. While he had some seeking to forget her own search had picked up on a subtle lure within those recent events. So rather than erasing the pain, Faeril had dulled it. Fogging over the memories with a gently mist to make it seem as if it was someone else's life, but each time he thought harder on it that life would become more and more real. Perhaps it was underhanded of her, but the subtle feel of his mind only echoed with a vision she had seen not so very long ago. "Now, as for the manner of payment..." Faeril considered her options, what was the best way to keep this man close at hand for a time?

Winged Boar, Aren, Askavi
@Slim Shady
The wind rattled the winged boar that was carved on the sign outside of the rough and tumble pub, rattling the windows. A storm was getting ready to roll in and a storm could mean good business as people would look for a warm fire and drink. Or it could be the sort of storm that shook the entire building and made him need to get up the roof to patch another hole again, though Randalvar as he wiped out an ancient mug. The Winged Boar was a old tavern and showed the scars of that age. Posts that held up the ceiling were chipped and where the paint had faded showed the stone beneath. The floor was littered with small shards of pottery, glass and bits and bobs fallen from people's pockets as they scrambled out of the way when a fight broke out. As much as his granddaughter, Ellian, swept and scrubbed there was little hope for it. In better days, this place would be roaring with Eyrien warriors spreading news and trading stories. Even then, Randalvar thought with a rueful snort, fights were going to break out. Seemed to be a tradition and goodness knew how many he had gotten into himself as a stripling.

All in all though, the Winged Boar was built from the left over stone from the eyries that surrounded the building that nestled in with the rest of the small settlement. A way stop for hunting parties or warbands. The tables were solid unfinished pieces as were the various chairs and stools. The old Warlord saw no reason to waste his marks, the currency, on fancy fine works that would get smashed in the first hour because someone had to hold a pissing contest. Glancing over at the fire which was burning a bit low in the hearth, the Purple Dusk Warlord floated a fat log over the dancing flames. Sparking flaring up into the chimney as the log crashed down onto the remains of the other. "Ellian, go get to the kitchen." The winged man growled as he heard the heavy oaken door creak open. In this day and age it wasn't wise to let a young witch like his granddaughter around males. Especially when he was picking up the psychic sense that the male in particular was a Warlord Prince. It hadn't happened in Aren too often, may the Darkness be merciful! But young women and men had a way of disappearing and returning broken. Scarred by the Queens of Askavi and their twisted pleasures. Not bothering the great this newcomer, the Eyrien Warlord glanced towards the Tiger-Eye Warlord Prince who was perched in one corner nursing a particularly large tankard and looking dejected. "You need another mug, Denvar, or are you starin' at yer drink all night?" The man snapped looking peeved.

The dejected Warlord Prince shrugged absently, giving the Purple Dusk Warlord a woe begotten look. "Well, I may leave. If I do thought and Faeril isn't done, I'll just be back here and wet. Might as well just wait a bit longer and stay dry." There was a muttered word from the old man that did little to compliment the younger.

Main Road, Aren, Askavi
@Zoey White
The small village of Aren was odd to say the least. The people in Askavi seemed to build practically every house from rock and stone, line the streets with stone and not to mention the faint lights high up in the mountain sides that must be either small homesteads or house. A wind that was far more than merely brisk howled through the streets urging those few that were out in this weather to seek shelter or to find their way home, though a few stores and places of business were reluctant to close their doors. Hoping for the desperate, forgetful customer that would potentially stop by for some emergency supplies from their place of business. A smithy was glowing faintly at one end of the street, flanked by what appeared to be store selling the most general of goods on one side and a pub on the other. The glass windows of the pub looking smokey from the outside as though there had been a fire within at some point. The sign above it was the Winged Boar. In the smithy one could hear the bell like tone of a hammer striking iron, and see the figure of a large Eyrien working away at some tool or weapon.

Queen's Residence, Eldan, Hayll
@SilverPaw
A storm was blowing out of the Askavi mountains, the wind picking up to a ferocious speed. Travellers of all sorts were rushing ahead or turning about to try and make it to the last inn on the road. Most of the Blood would take to the Winds rather than travel on foot but there were always those that enjoyed the journey or didn't have the marks to pay for fair in a carriage on the faster Winds. Though the landing web next to the inn up the road seemed to have a row of people departing from it. It was rare, but every so often a storm would come along that could, and would, make travelling on the Winds difficult for those of the lighter Jeweled Blood. It wasn't a psychic storm, but the already treacherous Winds would become unpredictable and some would rather wait out the weather than risk themselves or their passengers. The inn itself was a fairly large building, sporting a stable and several other pens. As they were in Dhemlan, the puppet of Hayll, those pens were for livestock, of a sort. Several other small service buildings surrounded the fair grounds. A smithy, a Healers, and several farmers that sold their produce for a higher price on fair days.

A four story building, the Root's Teeth, was a cozy looking place that would have had the air of being well cared for if it wasn't for the underlying sense of terror, pain, suffering and hopelessness that permeated the grounds around it. Dark red blooms with pointed petals that were near black sprung from the ground about the building and fields. An invasive weed people called it. It could not be burned out nor destroyed, and the Darkness knew so many had tried! But Jandar would well know this 'weed' was no weed at all, but a horrible truth that wasn't spoken aloud. Witchblood was a living memento mori. A flower that only grew where a witch had been violently killed, a truth that was not forgotten in Kaeleer. Thunder clashed across the sky, as good as a call to battle that a storm was coming.

But was it merely a natural one?

Queen's Residence, Eldan, Hayll
@eclecticwitch
Hyall had once been a very giving land, but the land was a reflection of the Queens that ruled it. For centuries the land of Hyall had been put to the yoke of the Queens just as the people were for the pleasure of the Queens that claimed dominion. The toil farmers had to put into the land to receive so little back was something that was unheard of in those territories that still gave. Especially in the Shadow Realm of Kaeleer. It was like an itch that needed scratching to the attentive Queen, and to those who were not? It was nothing more than a mild irritant which they used to barb and prick the Court to their whims. The village of Eldan was a simple place. It's funds coming from the farms and the wool of the fat and lazy sheep that plodded about the steep hills. Those bits of land that had been given over for woodland were thick with nuts, berries, and dyes. The combination of wool and dye giving rise to a well sustained if not prosperous village's Weaver's Guild. Traders would come with supplies the village could not supply themselves and leave heaped with cloth and yarn.

Durik, the Steward for Queen Fatima, was looking over the supposed income they would be squeezing from a dry land. The sheep had a bad year due to flooding and mold in the grain. It wasn't anything they couldn't make up the next year with dropping a few new mine shafts into the nearby hillsides. However, the problem with that was the drop in the water and earth that would endure crops and sheep. Already the weavers had complained long and hard about how goats had inferior wool. Yet what more could the expect when they lost land that the herds of sheep could graze on! Running a hand through his patchy and balding hairline, the Rose jeweled Hyallian Prince groaned aloud.

"We could go and push our luck against on of the neighboring Courts for more land." The new Master of the Guard, Beneth, noted with a slight smirk. As far as anyone knew the lad was far too eager for a fight. Reasonable seeing as he was a Warlord Prince wearing the Opal. A powerful jewel in this region. Yet he had kept it hidden, resorting to his Birthright Jewel when company called. A good measure as well, if one of their number moved on it risked all their skins. The previous Master of the Guard had made that error and had 'went to visit relatives in Pruul'. Arranged per several members of Fatima's First Court. They could not risk word of their powerful Queen slipping out lest it bring the ire of the other Queens upon their heads and the heads of their families.

Hynter was already shaking his head, a mere Warlord of the Summer-sky, but he was a solid man. "And risk the District Queen or the Provincial Queen taking a look at us?" His tone was one of annoyance and contempt for Beneth, the two of them had never gotten on well at the best of time, so Durik hoped it would be headed off early before blood was shed. While he would do it himself, he didn't want to risk his neck when the rest of him was quite literally drowning in paperwork. His seat and part of the large table where a majority of the Court was gathered to argue covered in reports.

Darke Magyk - Concluded

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Skaoi Silverveil

[color]Location: Manuscriptorium[/center]
[color]Skills: [/center]

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Skaoi followed the young lad along the winding trail back through the Manuscriptorium. The girl had been a curiosity and one she could ill afford at this current point in time. The Sickenesse was in dire need of curing, and she had been distracted. Though the reasoning behind it was sound, Skaoi would give herself that. As Emma asked if she could keep a secret the pale Eastern Snow Plains native nodded slowly.

"I can keep a secret." The pale woman agreed. Goodness knows she had a good few herself. Secrets that would never been told and taken to her grave. Though as Emma continued, Skaoi found it rather useless. So this Ms. Rincewind and the CHS were arguing over the Extra Ordinary Wizard? With that status and grandeur it seemed things got interesting. But in all reality, what did that information do to help her. "I hope she is well." Skaoi admitted, worried herself about the ExtraOrdinary Wizard.+-

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Richard Laine

Location:Great Hall 9F

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Richard turned, raising a brow at Thalia. "Thalia, my dear..." The Adder chuckled darkly as he studied the group they had left. "Do I look as though I care she is 'older' than myself? Age is nothing in the grand scheme of things. It is what you do with it. Halley may well be older, but that does not excuse rudeness." It was a true enough fact. Richard never did bother with the small details.

Turning back to his path the man sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I was nice, dear." The mutant noted with a forlorn sigh. "Or as nice as I can afford to be. I need my edge right now, wife. There is a threat and I will see that it is dealt with. For you, our child, and all you both hold dear." And he would. Richard was protective, but he was a father and a husband first. Unless you tossed in his sister, then you tacked brother right up there with the rest.

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Grimspound

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Location: OUtside Wizard Tower

Skills:

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Grimspound watched the clouds above him as he mussed on the fact he had been foolish enough to press a woman to this length of annoyance. But then again it wouldn't have been the first time. Goodness knows why his mother hadn't developed grey hair yet! Looking up at the woman who was knelt next to him, Grimspound flashed a shaky and pained grin. Crossing his legs at the knee and with a good deal of effort and pain hooked his hands behind his neck.

"Learning to fly. It's all very exciting." The man wheezed as air was introduced back to his lungs. Chuckling to himself, Grimspound winked at Zekarra and tip a faux hat that was not really there. "Grimspound is the name. And I may, or may not, have annoyed one wielder of Gandr. Rune, was it? Lovely woman if a bit set in her ways and stubborn, but that's hardly her fault. I just tend to think outside the box." Wincing the man's smile faultered. "Know anyone who can Heal? I think that may be a pressing matter right now."