LadyRunic

To Claim a Starting World

Vosker gave a grunt of affirmation as he stood, dusting his hands-free of the soot of his pipe. "Wife will be done with breakfast soon." Was all the answer the man gave before entering his own home. Gwendolyn got a decent whiff of warming meat and fresh tea. The door, a slab of wood to keep out intruders, with a screen of heavy fur within to keep the warmth inside the small house. Much like Gwendolyn's home all the villagers' homes, with the exception of the smithy or mead hall, were generally a single room with screens of reeds or wicker to create private spaces. The hearth located in the center of the room usually was where the cooking and the household would gather. There were a few larger houses in the village where larger extended families would live, but the extra work of caring for such a place and putting up with the irritation of a disapproving partner's relatives was a bit more than some couples wanted.

Behind the mead hall, an essentially better-built house with a long hearth and rows of tables and stools, Arn would find Dallen nodding in agreement. "Aye, leave it here and no one will bother it." Most likely because Dallen would be using any excuse to keep out of the mead hall until his wife and sister were done fighting. Within the hall, Mira found herself met with a scene of elaborately decorated pillars that held up what appeared to be an upside-down boat that was the roof of the mead hall. A common way of building in the North and true to the tested method of 'if it works'. Frenn, the aging owner of the mead hall, was chipping away at a new cup or bowl he was making by the fire. The only sign of his irritation in his shaking hands and the sharp chips of wood that fed the low fire down the long hearth that commanded the center of the room. Yvenna was looking furious at Ryska and trying to sweep up a pile of rolag wool that was past the point of saving. The once pristine white now decorated with soot, ash, and what smelled like morning waste. Ryska, the large obesse woman, was sitting on a log that had been cut in half to form a bench. Her voice rising in irritation at the young woman.

"And I told you, you should have stored it away! Their boys! What do they know of spinning when it's women who'll do it?" Yvenna's curled lip made her reply, though muttered quite clear that Ryska's words did little to change her mind. "So what? You'd have your son weaving rather than taking a sword or bow and getting some proper reward?!" Ryska's husband had been a lover of the hunter and longed to go raiding on the Southern Kingdoms but his distance from the sea had denied that hope from him. So far his sons all idolized the thought of going raiding and boasted their prowess to any who would challenge them. Nevermind that the blacksmith, who had done just that thing, privately would admit out of Ryska's hearing that her boys would return as bones if they went West to the raiding ships.

To Claim a Starting World

@Omni5876 @Blizz @Cyrania Hey guys, sorry I got completely distracted. I'll have a post up tonight. If I don't post in over a week, please poke me!

@PapaOsoWe can always use fresh blood if you are interested! And sorry for the late reply!

The Prince's Royal Guard

There was a slight knocking at the door to the room Zatana had been directed to by a few servants. The dark elf wanted to ignore the persistent sound and the voice that accompanied it. "Ma'am, the Prince is summoning all the Royal Guards-?" Sitting up, the woman looked at the neatly folded pile of armor. The doorknob rattled, but there was no worry it would open. As a precaution against a hostile city, Zatana had locked the room before sleeping. "I heard you. I will not be long." The normally soft voice rose in irritation, as the lithe body slipped from the bed and crossed to the armor as she began buckling the hardened leather into place. The stitching from her repairs the day before held firm, something Zatana was grateful for. 'Your armor and weapons are just parts of yourself. Care for them as you would for yourself.' The words, the practice had been drilled ruthlessly into the dark elf woman and with good reason.

The plaits of hairs were quickly pinned in place and the cloak about her shoulders. Dipping a finger into one of the pouches, she fished out the mask she wrapped about her neck and over her jaw. Observing herself in the reflection of her dagger, Zatana chuckled slightly. She cut an interesting figure, if perhaps ridiculous. Yet, the drow could not bear to do away with the disguise. It was part of the image she had built up in the Empire of Man, and extra security against revealing her thoughts to the humans and have them take offense to something. Let them wonder and question. The mind supplied itself with answers, and she honestly enjoyed listening to the different gossip. If she needed to change her image to become a character? Then it was simple. Stepping from the room, she paused a passing servant. "Where might I find something hot to drink? I had a late night." And I suspect I will need to check it for poison. Zatana thought to herself. It was nothing more than a precaution born of habit and to unlearn it would be to invite trouble and not from merely poisoners.

The servant, a young woman, looked slightly terrified. "They should have something there, My Lady."

"I am no Lady." Zatana firmly correctly, perhaps a bit too sharp as the servant jolted. "I am merely another of the Guard, miss." And to this servant, she was a monster come from the depths of tales and history to terrorize her. Giving a clear sign of dismissal as she turned away, Zatana wanted to give the servant a stern lecture that you did not run from someone higher. It was like running from a predator, the predator would find their attention drawn and thus risked a chase. Her lips twitched the hardest thing to do was to master the patience of being able to walk away. To not raise a fuss, but after over a hundred years? She had that little bit of deception down, if only she had the common sense not to jump off of walls.

Chuckling to herself, Zatana patted her pockets and satisfied herself her bow, quiver, knives, and kit were all in place. A quick mental note that perfecting the bow was the task at hand, she privately hoped the goblins would stay at a distance today and give her some more target practice. She usually could hit what she aimed at, now it was a matter of practice to master it in combination to the art of war. If she had not been sent away on this assignment, she would have been working with the bow til her fingers were raw. As it was, the idea was tempting. Wincing, Zatana recalled the incident with the gate. Oh, she hoped beyond hope that story would die in this city. It was like waking up after a bad fight, and she was going to have to explain why she had not just stuck with the bow.

'I enjoy the feel of being close to my enemies and the weight of my knives a more comfortable option.' That was not going to cut it for an explanation. 'I could hardly hit the target?' She could have hit a few of the goblins, but not given the soldiers time and spared the gate.

Stepping into the room with the others, Zatana knew her shoulders showed her stiffness. Anger with herself, for being less than what she should have been. Shrugging slightly to loosen her shoulders, the drow woman knew she had done the best option. Perfection was for those under, and could not be expected from the self. It took time to cultivate and her talent laid in knives and the shadows more than anything else. Well, aside from a few lighter pockets and a missing trinkets that found their way into darker hands. Zatana accepted a hot mug form a servant before they left, Zatana, found a shadowy spot and nursed the warm drink that kept her senses sharp and prepared her for the day.

"Highness, if the orcs and goblins are going all out perhaps it is a chance to slip behind them? See if we can discover more while they are looking elsewhere." A risky option, but it was that or sit on a wall and badger herself for her lack of perfect skill. "Destroy their supplies perhaps, yes?"

The Prince's Royal Guard

"Must be the Orc influence." Zatana agreed, her soft tone ever more hushed on the night air. A wraith in darkness, she was comfortable in the cloak of night and lay on the ground next to Faira. Goblins had decent night vision, something that made the mission all the more dangerous. Though, having a background she did, Zatana had to admit that humans lacking night vision were good targets. Especially since the dark put most on edge. If it had been up to her to design the attack she probably would attack at night. When humans had a disadvantage and she had no need of fires that would outline archers. Something that made assassination, thieving and other little bits of nightwork so much easier. In truth, what was a siege if not a thug's way to garner themselves territory?

Uncivilized brutes. There was an art form for taking what was desired, and she had perfected it.

Then again, Zatana thought, that was pride talking and pride never did when you were not known as the best. When you were? It was expected, and it was your job to look the part and not be prideful. Her grandfather was as ever an exception to the rule. Perhaps she should question it, but there was no reason. The dark elf had seen the lesson in action and it had proven true. Shifting slightly, she had tucked the record keeper and his little book into her armor. Nowhere near the grimoire, but she eyed Faira's.

"Too many to get into the tunnel. Leave the horses and go on foot? We are in enemy territory now." Zatana suggested, nodding towards the direction Faira had suggested they check out. "This could be a diversion." A feint. Zatana wanted to check out the tunnel in truth, the orders of the Prince held her back as did caution. She had been reckless enough. Another foray into foolish action and if she didn't lose her nose from poking it too far? Zatana did not want to be known for her reckless actions. They had the hot-headed man and his drowess-esque girl for that. Her job was to see the Prince was alive, this mission all the others? They were only to build trust, to allow her to prove she was useful, and to remain in the Royal Guard.

But Zatana really wanted to find where the orc leader was. Mayhaps she would be able to stick a nice long stiletto into his heart.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Satisfied the Record Keeper was going to record things, Zatana patted the little figure on the head with a finger. "Record as much as you can, dear one. I shall bring thee more on which to record." Not bothering to wait for an answer, Zatana swung herself over the lee of the roof and kept on her way. It would be no hassle after all to retrieve the small familiar, and this would prove amusing while she went about her business. Yet, Zatana was too aware that slowing down would mean her ability would be seen as lacking something the dark elf was not keen on. It was a point of pride for Zatana that she was very good at what she did. So it was thus, she did not see Faira ride up.

The roofs were easy to cross over, and she was even able to slip into a small office above a shop. Whoever thought it to be locked well, was deluded. Stepping into the room, she plucked some plain parchment from the desk and a piece of twine used to hold stacks of books together. Slipping out with just as much ease, she hung upside down from the roof while her fingers closed and locked the window. Holding the twine in her mouth through the mask, she dropped to the street. It was a straight shot to the Western Gate, and she soon found her mare. The guards were eyeing the wicked beastie with some temptation as she began saddling the horse again. The knife-like ears hidden under the cowl caught the disgusted whispers of 'drow', 'dark elf', but it was the comment 'wicked horse, wicked elf' that made her smiled from behind the mask. Swinging into the saddle, she wrapped the reins about a small loop of leather in the front and set the mare towards where she had left the squabbling couple. Urging the horse to a fast pace, and the mare delighted at the sound of her wicked staccato on the cobblestones. Guiding the mare with her knees as she rocked with the movement of the horse, Zatana set about folding the paper into a tiny little booklet, her fingers flick a knife into her hand as she carefully cut any folded page free so it would be accessible. Two holes were bored into the 'spine' and a the twine was threaded through as she slowed the mare to a walk. It was a 'book', if the tiny one-inch thing, could be considered a 'book'.

Sighing, she saw the two were still at the same spot they had left them. Nodding to Acrius, she raised a brow as she paused the mare. Pressing to sidestep the horse close to the building and raising a hand for the record keeper. "Acrius." She greeted softly. Her dark eyes watching the young woman with a warning sharpness. What Zatana didn't add was the 'wench' thought she was thinking about the young girl. The drow were loose with their morals, it was true. But this girl was trouble and Zatana had seen that look before on a face. It rarely ended well for the men.

Perhaps she would have some mercy and claim he was needed by the Prince's decree?

Then again, she thought as the record keeper slipped into her hand and she lowered herself in the saddle, perhaps not. Offering the tiny familiar the book, she nudged the horse on.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Studying the Prince for a long moment before bowing at the waist to a polite degree. "No evidence, no survivors." The soft voice agreed as she lifted the hood and mask back into place. "It shall be as you command, Your Highness." There was nothing more to be said as she slid the pins that held her hood in place into her braided coronet braid. Turning on her heel, the drow stalked from the War room, once more a wraith cloaked in the darkness of cloth. Keeping pace with Faira, she spoke in her quiet tone once more. An almost nervousness to her words. "You will keep what you saw within that room to yourself, yes? There are reasons I am so hidden, even from the Prince's Guard. It would be appreciated. I shall meet you at the Western Gate." Though those reasons were not necessarily geared towards the Prince's best interest. But I am not acting against him or this Empire of Man. There is no reason to unless my orders change and with the Prince the heir to the throne that is unlikely. Thus my job is to make sure the Prince ascends the throne when the time comes and keep him there until I am recalled. The thought was a comforting one as she strode from Faira and out of the Keep. She was more than ready to go and scout, but there had been some benefits to being kept from the wall. She would not need the time to gather her kit as Faira might.

So, Zatana flowed up onto the gabled roofs of the houses as soon as she could duck into the shadows. Roof walking was a skill she enjoyed, and it cleared her mind and centered her spirit. Crouched as she was, she spider walked across the shingles, careful not to make noise as she slipped down onto a slightly lower roof. Her mare was at the West Gate in case a sally might be needed, had been since the bells and fighting noise had clamored. It was one of the tricks Zatana had encouraged in the mare. Find her when there was trouble unless she was stated to do otherwise. A signal of reins on the ground to stay. Which the wicked beast had not been given and so had sought out the way she had seen her rider go.

The wicked drow on the wicked mare. Well, that would be another thing for the soldiers of Burgkoff to talk about. As if they did not have enough. It was a worry they had found out so soon and she did not like to think of the consequences of it, though Zatana knew it was something she would need to consider. Pausing as she heard voices below, she silently slid to perch on the ledge of one of the roofs to peer below. The feminine voice was unfamiliar, but there was a sickening sweetness to it that reminded Zatana of the young dark elf girls who were playing their dangerous games of favors with a young man foolish enough to be naive to fall for it. Dangling a foot over the edge she tapped the paper familiar and gestured. Breathing slightly. "Record this." She encouraged the record keeper with a grin behind her dark mask. Lowering herself, she tucked herself into a slight nook under the eaves of a roof to study the scene for a few minutes before continuing on her way. It would be hard enough to see her, with her dark clothing in even darker shadow? She was a wraith for good reason.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

Carefully as to avoid detection, Saetan placed a warming spell about the small Queen. Hopefully, the one who was in control would not notice the use of Craft and he had enough practice that casting small spells wouldn't be noticed. If he wasn't sloppy and as tired as he was Saetan was concerned that some slip would reveal his location and thus this Queen's location. Which he found he did not want to happen. For Dorothea to learn of this Queen, the Territory Queen would destroy the dual-caste Healer and Queen. "Hurry Sybl." He urged in a psychic sphere thread.

Faeril watched Mikhail go, and raised a brow as Gen plucked a coat from the trunk and quickly followed. They were leaving her alone and unprotected? Well, that was hardly expected. "Denvar? Bellinar?" She asked, wondering where the two Warlord Prince brothers were.

"He just came in downstairs. Denvar is a good tracker, but I'm better." The 'as you know' went unspoken even as the question about Bellinar's whereabouts was left unanswered. Hurrying after Mikhail, Gennar shielded himself in a sight shield and took to the air. He could at least see if he could pick up a trail, just in case they were following the wrong one. Within the inn, Faeril folded her hands and sighed looking across the room to share a worrying frown with Denvar. This was not going as they had hoped.

Though, Dunny found himself being very pleased. He was following a trail and doing something important to help his Queen. His tail waved in the air like a furry banner as he led the group out of town and to a cliff edge, whining as he paced along the top of the steep hill. *It is very steep, and the scent leads down there! But I am not supposed to get dirty, Faeril said I would not be allowed in the bed if I got dusty.* He explained his complex problem of pleasing Faeril and helping his Queen. As steep as the hill was, his paws slipped on the dirt and threatened to spill the young Sceltie down the hill.

Star Wars - The Lost Shipment

Wilhelmina sauntered through the doors of the cantina, reveling in the familiar sounds of singing in the corner and several arguments over prices. Typical for Nar Shaddaa, a place infamous for smugglers. A place to bred arguments and trouble. Peering around the tavern for the contact she was meeting to collect her payment, 'Will' brightened as she spied the spikey horned head. An odd feature, but considering the other patrons at the cantina. Swinging into a seat beside Darius, Will pounded the bartop. "Oi! Can I get a drink here! I mean, come on!" She turned her boisterous personality towards Darius as she beamed a friendly smile. Something that did not match the atmosphere. "Darius, right? Will Laros!" She always was delighted by first impressions, even as she seized the man's hand and shook it vigorously.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana could not be furious at the humans for their anger, the dark elves were disliked for good reason, but there was still an uneasy fear that settled into her bones. That had made her lie about being half, though she doubted they would buy it. Still, she was grasping at anything to stave off the mob of angry humans that was a bit more solid than comradery from fellow Royal Guard members and her own words. So it was with some relief that she pulled aside her cloak to allow Prince Leonidas to lay the glowing palm upon her. She hadn't bothered to speak up to explain the assault or to defend her actions. The former had enough people to tell the tale and if he wanted specifics from her own lips? The Prine was quite able to seek her out. If the latter? There was simply no defense to be had. Leonidas was correct, she should have thrown the explosive rather than rely purely on her Shadow Step. Something that had gotten her into trouble more than once in the past. Wincing, Zatana was all too aware of the articulate words that would be used to describe what she had done in detail, when she returned to the Dread Coast. Though she did nod in agreement with his words and shrugged to admit she cared nothing for the scars she had acquired. Silent as ever, and with good reason. The men about her would twist her words if given half the chance, then again that could be the part of her more in tune with drowish culture talking. Listening to Leonadis's speech she leaned against the wall as she pulled herself to her feet. The Prince was eloquent with words, but hatred took more than words to change.

As assignments were handed out, the drow did look tempted to argue the issue. She was only a bit wounded! She could still hold a bow and wield a knife! There was no reason for her to rest in the keep! Yet the edged comments and glares at her only made her too aware that Royal Guard or no, these men would toss her from the wall if they had half a nerve. Gritting her teeth she had bowed deeply to the Prince and followed his directive, not liking it one bit. It felt like a retreat from those humans, and she hated being shuffled off to 'rest'. Still, she found herself a quiet corner of the Keep that was particularly abandoned and where she could be easily found in any of the Royals or Royal Guard actually were looking for her. There she had retreated with a sewing kit and some other materials to patch up the armor. It wouldn't do to leave her equipment untended. She also took the moments where all was empty and quiet to record the passage from Balthazar's parcel into her grimoire.

Shadows shifted and lengthened, Zatana found herself being briefed by the Prince again, though this time in the war room. The assassin in her noted that Balthazar would be the first she would need to take down before turning her attention to Faira and the Prince. The Duke was the last and arguably the most dangerous as she knew nothing of what he could do. Pushing the thought aside and the various escape routes from the city, Zatana turned her attention to what was at hand. Scouting. It seemed her life was going to be a long series of scouting and information-gathering missions. Not that she minded, she rather enjoyed it! The constant fact though amused the dark elf. Looking over the map carefully, she had pulled away the cowl and mask to see better. Sequestered as they were, and with the fact, the Prince had a drow in his company, she had little reasons for the hindrance. Balthazar would keep his mouth closed, the game they played was larger. Faira could be convinced, most likely. And the Duke? What was one rumor of her beauty against the many other speculations of what lay under the cloaked and cowled features?

Plus, she was curious as to the reactions. Much in the way a cat would when flaunting exactly how much better they were than humans. Studying Balthazar's familiar carefully she couldn't hide her interest. "Useful." The compliment was softly spoken as she gently plucked one up carefully studying it. "If they have more paper around, I presume they are able to record more information?" Her eyes darted to examine their creator intently. In truth, she did not like having the little creature roaming so near to her grimoire. It was still in code, but Balthazar most likely the most dangerous threat to her mission, besides herself. The old mage having an inkling wasn't so much of a worry as expected. Him having access to her grimoire through this little paper man would be, troublesome.

Weighing the risks against the necessary, Zatana did have to admit. There was no real threat to the Empire of Man, not from her anyways. If the Prince did succeed the throne, all would be well with how he seemed to perceive things and her grandfather would have no need to worry about having her set up a replacement. Not that Zatana would want to, Prince Leonidas was a benefit by his simple good graces and her mission was information gathering and diverting any possible interference with her grandfather's work. In truth, all the information she had were bits and pieces to a larger picture she kept in her mind and toyed with from time to time. But it was for her grandfather to put together and decide on the course of action. Oh, she had suggested things from time to time, but they were put into her reports. Not her cheat sheet? It seemed the right word for the mess of information ranging from who was sleeping with who, to what merchants were smuggling, to what neighbors were pushing a bit too hard on something or other. Poor Balthazar if he tried to make heads or tails from that! Settling the adorable, little paper fellow on the rim of one long ashen ear, she arched a delicate brow. "And when should we be expected to return?" When would they be missed as 'too long'.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

Faeril considered the questions carefully as she traced a finger over her hand in a random pattern. "Any member of the Hourglass, any Black Widow who knows how could make another a Black Widow and train them. A dangerous process and not one anyone would undertake lightly. However, I will tell you now Mikhail. I do not believe anyone would create an army of my kind. Black Widows are dangerous and hard to control, especially if the Queens wish to remain in power." If it was only a Queen behind this corruption, though Faeril did not say such. There was no need to bring more worry upon the man. "I have no idea, where he would be other than where you saw him last Mikhail. Gen?" The large Eyrien Warlord shrugged in agreement. For all he was trying to remain impassive, he was worried about having to find the infamous Warlord Prince. The Black was the strongest jewel and would be a terror to try and force. Shaking her head, Faeril sighed and leaned in her chair. "I wish I knew more of what happened when Fatima did meet him. I should have questioned her."

The sky above Winton was peaceful and from the top down it looked like a child's dream. Colorful roofs that could use a fresh layer of paint from the weathering, but that was still pleasant to the eye. The roads winding towards the market cut clear out in their well used paths as they wound into the hills or trailed along the coast. The white sand of the beaches a pleasant border to the crashing blue-green waves. Winton was the picture of the idyllic life that anyone would seek who wanted a lovely seat by the sea. No one seemed to notice the pair as Sybl walked them over the city towards the darker cliffs that held a pristine white beach protected from storms.

The sand was a fine grain, but there were not the depressions of regular use. The sandcastles from children could be seen further from the small town. A good walk, but not unreasonable. This cove to Fatima felt slightly off. Something was unclean about it. As the waves gave their gentle song against the shore, Fatima couldn't see anything out of place. But the few poles sticking out of the sea which might have secured a dock at one time. The path leading up the steep slope was well cleared and neatly paved, but a smaller path wound out from it along the edge of the beach and cliff towards a small depression that was in the base. If she looked closer she might see it was a small cave made by the pummeling waves into the weakened rock. Around it was scattered boulders and slabs of stone that looked to have fallen from the slight overhang above.

Within the cave, Saetan stiffened. He felt a familiar presence and was torn between wanting to see what had come to the beach and retreating further into the cave. As it was, he was in one of the carved stone benches that some Queen had put in the cave for entertainment. When it was in use by one of those twisted bitches, it would be cleaned beforehand and softened with cushions. As it was the stone had been dried by this Craft and his coat, now ruined, was serving as the only cushion. Raising himself up on his elbows, he glanced towards the entrance before twisting to sit up. Wracked with pain he couldn't quite hide it from his Sending to Sybl. "Who did you bring?" The Warlord Prince certainly did not bother to hide the annoyance in his tone as he crooned, "Sybl... You know I do not care for Queens. I can smell her from in here." And he did not want to be found and betrayed while his back still felt raw from the beating and whipping from Laska. A distraction he had paid well for. Yet Laska had only grown more furious as he refused to accommodate her sick wishes and increased the torment til Saetan had been unable to bear it.

His chest and back was a mess of cuts, deep and shallow, some infected some not. His hands were bruised and cut from the guards, his wrists and ankles showing the wear of restraints. Old blood stained his skin, but most of it was hardly his. He had made sure Laska's court would be remembered. Their bodies twisted and ruined, while Laska sat with terror stretched across her face as she was twisted in the agony his poison induced. He had used all his skill to prolong her suffering, and he had reveled in it.

As Dareen followed the tracks of Dunny and Thom, she soon found the 'hound' leading the boy out of a dead-end alley. Spying the Pruulish witch, Dunny wagged his tail and gleefully moved to jump on her. Then he saw Jandar and felt the rage rolling off the Warlord. Pausing the young Sceltie looked a bit puzzled. *Dareen! We were following the strange 'in air' trail, did we do something wrong?* Jandar's anger was worrying the young Sceltie and Dunny was not very positive he wasn't doing something he wasn't supposed to. Thom looked between the three and remained silent, thinking better than to say something that might or might not confirm either way.