Her eyes looked about the port, seeing the massive crowd of people milling about, some in their normal business and others in confusion. Kjellfrid had never been to Caracas, the Harolds had merely not had the chance to take her here before they were slain by the Wolves in Redcliffe. She could remember their blood flying into the air before losing her own consciousness. How she wished that they would have just killed her as well.
Kjellfrid shook the memories from her head and wrapped her scarlet cloak around her, stepping through the thick crowd and being sure to avoid bumping into anyone. The Brith’s eyes scanned the building as she looked for the tavern mentioned within the letter, though she almost jumped when someone next to her called out to whom she would presume to be a friend. Her hand, almost had almost wrapped around the hilt of her dagger before her claws had caught the inside of her hand. She shook her hand and attempted to calm herself so her claws would retract, though her mind seemed to be ever on edge.
Though with claws being out, she found them being chewed upon, her teeth clipping against the sharp edges and dulling them ever slightly. Kjellfrid soon found herself back towards the docks, almost confused as to how she had gone in a complete circle, she was content to be facing the bay and port. Soon though, she would be whistling a somber tune.
”I'll swim and sail on savage seas With ne'er a fear of drowning..” she began singing with a voice slightly cracking. She looked around to make sure no one watched her.
”And gladly ride the waves of life, If they would have me...” Kjellfrid continued.
”No scorching sun Nor freezing cold…”
The Brith took a deep breath as her eyes settled on the busy port, watching the ships and boats move about before a small smile came across her face. The start of the song was ever present in her mind, remembering the song that she would sing with the Harolds when she doubted that she would properly be one of them. Even remembering the rest that they had ad libbed when she had grown too timid to continue.
”And we’d have you for eternity Our dearest one, our darling dear…” her voice growing more confident and enough to match her compatriots. Her feet ponding against the dock below her to provide the beat she remembered had been played.
”Your mighty words astound us But we've no need of mighty deeds When we feel your arms around us!”
“But I wo-”
Though, as she went to continue with a song so merry, Kjellfrid could not help but flashback to the swords that had cut down the very ones who had sung with her. It almost brought back the same feelings that ran through her mind after she had awoken to the company of the damned nobles that had ordered the attack, the fear and grief that followed her had infected one of the best songs that no other ears had ever heard.
She let out a saddened sigh as she could already imagine Lady Lucilia or Lord Lion chastising her for not finding the location she had to go to yet. With that fear firmly wrapped in her mind, she turned back to the crowd, now with her head down. She stepped to it once more as she made her way back to the buildings she had originally sought to do.
Her eyes scanned the buildings as she squeezed her way through the stagnant crowd, trying her best to remain away from the gathering to little avail. Kjellfrid, stopped for a moment and eventually sighted a building with vines flowing and what she would assume to be barrels of some drink outside. She made her way to that with a hope that it was the proper location, though, low and behold it did seem to be the correct place. Though, once more did she turn to view the surrounding area, seeing a guard threatening a man with a sword, to which she nearly backed into one of the barrels clutching at her cloak and tugging it downwards. Her breathing grew heavier and heavier as her nerves began to get the better of her.
Was this city too under the influence of a family like the Wolframs? She forced herself to look away and ducked into the tavern as quickly as she could, forcing her way between people at that point into an almost equally dense interior.
Kjellfrid nervously looked around, her nerves still tormenting her mind with the breathing of someone with anxiety. Her form shifted between people before she sat herself at a table she had thought was empty, only to look up to see the form of a tiefling. He looked fierce, intimidating, enough for her to keep her eyes to the ground, her claws digging into the table, though she refused to move for her newfound seat as it seemed to be the only one available.
There is a chance that they would have spoken, though Kjellfrid isn’t the one to seek people out. Odds are he probably would have heard her singing to herself, but she wouldn’t be anymore outgoing.
Name: Kjellfrid Bjornsdottir Titles: The Harold of Royals, the Songbird Aliases: Wolfslav, Frig Age: 27 Race/Ethnicty: Brith Continent of Origin: Crysteria Gender: Female Class/Subclass: Bard, Valor
Stats
Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats.
Height: 5’10” Weight: 135 lbs Appearance Description: Kjellfrid is a Brith coated in a mixture of white and black fur, forming stripes along her back and tail. Her face follows this pattern with the black forming stripes at the edge of her face and the white taking up the majority. Her cat-like eyes are a deep green and her hair has been cut short, though it Alesha’s seems to be messily cut for whatever reason.
Her form seems to be kept up, with her body being preserved in the hourglass that many seem to yearn for, that said, she does seem to be more skinny due to months of imprisonment. However, that body that she had worked so hard to keep pristine is marred by scars from the Wolframs’ punishments and what is worse is that at the center of her bosom lies the insignia of the Von Wolfram house, marking her as their property for so long as she may live.
Day To Day Attire: Kjellfrid tends to wear long clothing to mask the punishments of her body, their colors once bearing bright and vibrant hues of reds and purples have since been tempered and dyed to be far darker, with her shirt being dyed into a drab gray and her long skirt, ending just above her ankles, being made black to lie within accordance of the people who call them her masters. A cloak bearing the symbol of her old trope, a gold crown surrounded by golden branches interwoven with musical symbols, while mostly untouched and being a vibrant red, has been desecrated with the crown now barring the mark of Wolfram, to add further insult to her existence.
Strengths:
Excellent Performer
Quick Witted and Sharp Tongue
Dexterous Hands
Weaknesses:
Frail
Mentally Defeated
Paranoid
Psychological Attributes
Timid * Anxious * Paranoid * Disconnected
Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: Who once was a happy and bubbling person, has since been changed into someone who has become disconnected with her own emotions, preferring to not display something which may be exploited or used. It was the pragmatism that had developed from an initial onset of fear and pain of seeing those who she cared for cut down and her own self being forced into servitude and tortured. Kjellfrid has since obvious become very timid and jumpy at any display of aggression, shrinking back and mentally preparing herself for any abuse that may come. Her time with the von Wolframs have made her paranoid of anyone who may be working alongside them.
However, under this timid and otherwise disconnected exterior, does lie that artistic and inspired bardic side that has afforded her the title of the ‘Harold or Royals’. This side of her thoroughly enjoys being around others and enjoys being the center of attention who performs anything to those who will listen. It is this side which is far more outgoing than how she tends to be when in the company of her masters, even refusing to sing for them unless they threaten her with various abuses.
Habits:
Chew on Lip
Nail Biting
Bounce on toes
Hobbies: Writing, Singing Fears:
Torture
Intimacy
Pain
Likes:
Performing
Music
Art
Sailing
Storytelling
Comfortable Silence
Dislikes:
Nobility
The von Wolframs
Torture
Sadism
Fighting
Touching
Skills
A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision.
Performance: Being a bard, Kjellfrid is very good at putting on an act to delight crowds, whether it be singing, dancing, or some other form of entertainment.
Sleight of Hand: Years of card games, and being a prisoner to her masters, have taught these hands to become quick enough to grab things off of others.
Acrobatics: Some performances require one to go that extra mile when it comes to flips and stunts, sometimes that can translate into further uses outside of the stage.
Cooking: Life as an “indentured servant”, as well as motherly training, allows one to brush up on this more domestic art.
Writing: Let alone being literate, Kjellfrid knows how to write and she knows how to write well. In her own right, she may even be called a poet
Light Weapons Training: The last line of defense to a Jarl must be trained in the arts of warfare even if its something as common as a dagger and short sword.
Magic
Heroism - An inspiring tune that makes one extremely brave, becoming almost fearless in the face of any challenges.
Calm Emotion - A soothing tune meant to calm those who listen to it, sometimes able to keep tensions from boiling over into violence.
Healing Song - While this song may not exactly heal people by ridding them of wounds or blights, this spell does dull the pain and if the pain is minor enough, makes it go away altogether. However, it is stressed that this spell does not actually heal wounds.
Sleep - This tune helps one ease into sleep, or forces them into sleep if played intensely enough, though this spell can be resisted if the will of the listener overcomes the magic this tune gives off.
Possessions
Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc
Clothing Her standard clothing attire.
Ghostly Flute: This item is a magically made flute tip that when put up the lips of the user conjures a ghostly shape of the rest of the flute, allowing it to be played.
Thin Blanket: Don’t want to get too cold, eh?
Spare Coin: A small amount of coin for a few days of lodging. Courtesy of the Wolfram Treasury.
Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items
Dagger Despite being a slave to her masters, she has been gifted a dagger to defend herself as she does this task for them.
History
History: Born in Yorvk, Kjellfrid’s life seemed laid out for her before she had the ability to make a proper choice on what she would have wanted. Her mother was a writ, her mother’s mother was a writ, and so on and so forth, with the art of speech craft passed down from mother to daughter for the last three generations. It was this path in Kjellfrid’s life that had grown her confidence and sharpened her tongue to such a degree that even the Jarl’s own blades seemed dull by comparison. It seemed that tradition seemed to be flowing eagerly into this you girl and she took to it with almost equal eagerness.
However, it was one day when her father, Bjorn, had come home one night far too drunk than anyone had a right to be and butchered Kjellfrid’s mother, Freya, for an alleged affair that Kjellfrid knew not of. Of course, this left Kjellfrid without a home and without a family to love, though, not wanting her to give up on her tradition of being a writ, her Jarl organized for her to train under another. While Kjellfrid, now a teen, was happy with the motion, her inspiration was simply not there as being a writ would only remind her of her mother, and subsequently the murder, at every turn. Yet, she would continue in an effort not to disappoint her Jarl.
When her new master, Erik, had presented her with the Ghostly Flute as a gift for her hard work, it was merely too much as she felt that she had grown too close with Erik. Kjellfrid has run away in the dead of night, still holding onto the flute as she traveled down the snow laden roads without company or warmth. As she travelled through, she did find a traveling caravan, a trope, known as the “Harolds of Royal”. They were kind people, taking her in and giving this lost girl warmth and food, they sang and danced and told stories that would only bring back the inspiration that she had once lost. With nowhere to go, Kjellfrid joined this traveling group, content with living a life that was free and always kept her moving.
Under their years of travel with the Harolds, Kjellfrid learned much about being a bard, learning how to perform without the need of a sharp tongue at all points in time. It was fun, far more than she could have enjoyed, and for once again, she felt as if she had a family. Good times, however, come and go just as a bountiful harvest is not guaranteed each year, for the Harolds had made the mistake of landing in Redcliffe in Carthas after denying the ruling family there performance due to their corruption and cruelty. This family, out of retribution of having their name slandered in such a fashion, slaughtered each and every one of the Harolds. If it were not for the intervention of one of the children of this family, Kjellfrid too would have met the axe. It is to this day that she serves this family as an “indentured servant”, now known merely as the Wolfslav by local people.
Extras
Character Quote: “A good day is but a prelude to a far worse storm the next.”
Name: Kjellfrid Bjornsdottir Titles: The Harold of Royals, the Songbird Aliases: Wolfslav, Frig Age: 27 Race/Ethnicty: Brith Continent of Origin: Crysteria Gender: Female Class/Subclass: Bard, Valor
Stats
Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats.
Height: 5’10” Weight: 135 lbs Appearance Description: Kjellfrid is a Brith coated in a mixture of white and black fur, forming stripes along her back and tail. Her face follows this pattern with the black forming stripes at the edge of her face and the white taking up the majority. Her cat-like eyes are a deep green and her hair has been cut short, though it Alesha’s seems to be messily cut for whatever reason.
Her form seems to be kept up, with her body being preserved in the hourglass that many seem to yearn for, that said, she does seem to be more skinny due to months of imprisonment. However, that body that she had worked so hard to keep pristine is marred by scars from the Wolframs’ punishments and what is worse is that at the center of her bosom lies the insignia of the Von Wolfram house, marking her as their property for so long as she may live.
Day To Day Attire: Kjellfrid tends to wear long clothing to mask the punishments of her body, their colors once bearing bright and vibrant hues of reds and purples have since been tempered and dyed to be far darker, with her shirt being dyed into a drab gray and her long skirt, ending just above her ankles, being made black to lie within accordance of the people who call them her masters. A cloak bearing the symbol of her old trope, a gold crown surrounded by golden branches interwoven with musical symbols, while mostly untouched and being a vibrant red, has been desecrated with the crown now barring the mark of Wolfram, to add further insult to her existence.
Strengths:
Excellent Performer
Quick Witted and Sharp Tongue
Dexterous Hands
Weaknesses:
Frail
Mentally Defeated
Paranoid
Psychological Attributes
Timid * Anxious * Paranoid * Disconnected
Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: Who once was a happy and bubbling person, has since been changed into someone who has become disconnected with her own emotions, preferring to not display something which may be exploited or used. It was the pragmatism that had developed from an initial onset of fear and pain of seeing those who she cared for cut down and her own self being forced into servitude and tortured. Kjellfrid has since obvious become very timid and jumpy at any display of aggression, shrinking back and mentally preparing herself for any abuse that may come. Her time with the von Wolframs have made her paranoid of anyone who may be working alongside them.
However, under this timid and otherwise disconnected exterior, does lie that artistic and inspired bardic side that has afforded her the title of the ‘Harold or Royals’. This side of her thoroughly enjoys being around others and enjoys being the center of attention who performs anything to those who will listen. It is this side which is far more outgoing than how she tends to be when in the company of her masters, even refusing to sing for them unless they threaten her with various abuses.
Habits:
Chew on Lip
Nail Biting
Bounce on toes
Hobbies: Writing, Singing Fears:
Torture
Intimacy
Pain
Likes:
Performing
Music
Art
Sailing
Storytelling
Comfortable Silence
Dislikes:
Nobility
The von Wolframs
Torture
Sadism
Fighting
Touching
Skills
A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision.
Performance: Being a bard, Kjellfrid is very good at putting on an act to delight crowds, whether it be singing, dancing, or some other form of entertainment.
Sleight of Hand: Years of card games, and being a prisoner to her masters, have taught these hands to become quick enough to grab things off of others.
Acrobatics: Some performances require one to go that extra mile when it comes to flips and stunts, sometimes that can translate into further uses outside of the stage.
Cooking: Life as an “indentured servant”, as well as motherly training, allows one to brush up on this more domestic art.
Writing: Let alone being literate, Kjellfrid knows how to write and she knows how to write well. In her own right, she may even be called a poet
Light Weapons Training: The last line of defense to a Jarl must be trained in the arts of warfare even if its something as common as a dagger and short sword.
Magic
Heroism - An inspiring tune that makes one extremely brave, becoming almost fearless in the face of any challenges.
Calm Emotion - A soothing tune meant to calm those who listen to it, sometimes able to keep tensions from boiling over into violence.
Healing Song - While this song may not exactly heal people by ridding them of wounds or blights, this spell does dull the pain and if the pain is minor enough, makes it go away altogether. However, it is stressed that this spell does not actually heal wounds.
Sleep - This tune helps one ease into sleep, or forces them into sleep if played intensely enough, though this spell can be resisted if the will of the listener overcomes the magic this tune gives off.
Possessions
Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc
Clothing Her standard clothing attire.
Ghostly Flute: This item is a magically made flute tip that when put up the lips of the user conjures a ghostly shape of the rest of the flute, allowing it to be played.
Thin Blanket: Don’t want to get too cold, eh?
Spare Coin: A small amount of coin for a few days of lodging. Courtesy of the Wolfram Treasury.
Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items
Dagger Despite being a slave to her masters, she has been gifted a dagger to defend herself as she does this task for them.
History
History: Born in Yorvk, Kjellfrid’s life seemed laid out for her before she had the ability to make a proper choice on what she would have wanted. Her mother was a writ, her mother’s mother was a writ, and so on and so forth, with the art of speech craft passed down from mother to daughter for the last three generations. It was this path in Kjellfrid’s life that had grown her confidence and sharpened her tongue to such a degree that even the Jarl’s own blades seemed dull by comparison. It seemed that tradition seemed to be flowing eagerly into this you girl and she took to it with almost equal eagerness.
However, it was one day when her father, Bjorn, had come home one night far too drunk than anyone had a right to be and butchered Kjellfrid’s mother, Freya, for an alleged affair that Kjellfrid knew not of. Of course, this left Kjellfrid without a home and without a family to love, though, not wanting her to give up on her tradition of being a writ, her Jarl organized for her to train under another. While Kjellfrid, now a teen, was happy with the motion, her inspiration was simply not there as being a writ would only remind her of her mother, and subsequently the murder, at every turn. Yet, she would continue in an effort not to disappoint her Jarl.
When her new master, Erik, had presented her with the Ghostly Flute as a gift for her hard work, it was merely too much as she felt that she had grown too close with Erik. Kjellfrid has run away in the dead of night, still holding onto the flute as she traveled down the snow laden roads without company or warmth. As she travelled through, she did find a traveling caravan, a trope, known as the “Harolds of Royal”. They were kind people, taking her in and giving this lost girl warmth and food, they sang and danced and told stories that would only bring back the inspiration that she had once lost. With nowhere to go, Kjellfrid joined this traveling group, content with living a life that was free and always kept her moving.
Under their years of travel with the Harolds, Kjellfrid learned much about being a bard, learning how to perform without the need of a sharp tongue at all points in time. It was fun, far more than she could have enjoyed, and for once again, she felt as if she had a family. Good times, however, come and go just as a bountiful harvest is not guaranteed each year, for the Harolds had made the mistake of landing in Redcliffe in Carthas after denying the ruling family there performance due to their corruption and cruelty. This family, out of retribution of having their name slandered in such a fashion, slaughtered each and every one of the Harolds. If it were not for the intervention of one of the children of this family, Kjellfrid too would have met the axe. It is to this day that she serves this family as an “indentured servant”, now known merely as the Wolfslav by local people.
Extras
Character Quote: “A good day is but a prelude to a far worse storm the next.”
A tree, quickly felled and crafted through capable hands, could still have many uses outside of mere hut construction and tool use. In fact, wood had many places in armed ranks, as was being introduced to the Aspasia. Shields, perhaps the first being seen in these lands, were being crafted by the strongest men who would make the core of Atmav’s fight force as they took a stone and refined the wood to into an oval.
She had her men organized in rows as they took the hides and pelts of animals to cover the wood, she inspected them as she walked up and down each row. She stopped in front of one of her men, he was young, but strong, and eager to serve his God-Queen. Atmav bent to study his shield, taking it into her hands before snapping it in two with little effort, displeasure coming to her face as she looked down upon the boy. Her hands dropped the two pieces on either side of him.
“Too weak in the center,” she growled, before looking to the rest of her men, an eyeless gaze going over them all before focusing on the one in front of her. “Make another! This time, do it properly!” She ordered with a bark.
The boy rushed to his feet and went to retrieve additional lumber, leaving Atmav to continue her inspection among them. She had seven days to make them into a competent fighting force, determined to make them far more effective than what Milos could possibly bring to bear. Atmav was silent as her focus took hold, no weakness could be forgiven, if they were fighting in the forest, then these shields would have to stop a rain of branch and splinter when they fought.
She stopped.
Another failure.
Again did the Selka get to his feet and rush to retrieve the lumber needed.
Seven days. Seven days to form a proper war band. Time was not on her side, a long peace had made her blind to the possibility of war. Atmav knew that it was her fault for not being prepared, knowing that complacency was a slow and an ever silent killer. Even then she would have to help train the warriors of the Iwai, more time killed and thrown into the metaphorical grave.
One row of passable shields.
“Third line!” Atmav ordered. The entire line rushed to the feet, gathering their shield in hand along with their short spears, topped with the metal that Kirron had given them. She walked back down the third row, inspecting their posture. Nearly perfect, a few of the throwing spears were held a bit awkwardly but proper use would come with practice.
“My God-Empress!” A voice from her left said, determination evident as her head turned to see a Selka who was small and skinny. She recognized this boy as one who, previously, had preferred to make art and decorate the hides for females. He was kneeling with a hastily made shield and a spear with a blunt rock. “I wish to go on this war band! To serve you, my queen!” He explained.
A smile crawled upon Atmav’s face, not one of pleasure, but one of sadism as she reached for a shield from the Selka to her right. She held the shield out to the artist.
“Then do not let Brottnee push you to the sea,” Atmav said, her cruel smile widening as the tall and broad Selka looked down up the artist.
The male seemed to have a confident look, reaching for the shield, only for his smile to disappear as he realized the true height of Brottnee, standing a full ear taller than himself and almost twice as broad. The artist raised the shield as Brottnee stomped over from the front line, setting down the spear he would use to guard the true javelin throwers behind him. The artist was already shaking.
When Brottnee ran forward, Atmav was surprised to find that the artist stood his ground to the likes of the one of the largest men in the tribe. The two shields slammed into each other before the artist, despite trying to hold his ground, was knocked clean onto his back.
“And like that the men behind you are dead,” Atmav stated, stepping over to the two, feeling all the eyes of the near hundred men looking at the artist and her. She stood over him, a look of shame upon his face as he looked away.
“Only the strongest may serve under me, and only the strongest are allowed to win honor by my side,” she said, her voice growing loud enough for the entire force to hear her. Her eyeless gaze burned into the artist. “Go! You have no place among my ranks as you are now!” She ordered, turning away as the weakling got to his feet to drag himself away.
Atmav watched him until he was out of sight before returning to her inspections.
As the night drew near, and those of the Aspasia began to rest, Atmav could not help but listen to the night. The silence that came here was one she did not enjoy, even as she walked back to her longhouse, it was almost unsettling and she swore she noticed something massive in the distance moving along the water. For a moment, she thought it could have been Yimbo, but she knew that it did not move anywhere near as graceful as the silent leap she thought she saw.
She turned into her longhouse before looking back at the open water, the form gone.
Perhaps it was stress coming to her. Perhaps the nervousness of actually marrying someone was making her mind see things. She could not tell.
”Well, isn’t this a lovely little place?” voices from behind asked.
She turned, her greatsword raising to meet the white form of someone sitting on her throne, its fingertips meeting each other as a tooth-filled grin sat unnaturally upon its face. Atmav knew who it was, perhaps not the form, but the entity itself.
“Vakk…” her voice was low as she hissed the name, the red glow of her blade coming as she readied herself to go to blows with her nemesis.
”Atmav, why the hatred? You knew I would be coming eventually, and you know that you are powerless against me, even with that little toy that Orvus gave you,” Vakk said, amused at Atmav’s continued willingness to fight it. It let out a low chuckle as hot air blew upon Atmav’s back. When she turned, she saw the massive head of a beast poking through the door, a low growl coming through it as it seemed to sniff her.
”You are in no position to fight me, Atmav. But I have not come to fight, I have come to talk,” Vakk stated, leaning its head into the palm of its hand.
“I do not want to talk with you, and I never want to see you again,” Atmav growled as she took a step towards Vakk before she felt something wrap around her leg. Looking down, she saw a purple tendril wrapped around her and another moved to grab her main hand before she found herself twisted upside down.
”We made a deal, Atmav. Your freedom, for a simple favor. Now, I wish to use that favor,” Vakk said, moving a light chuckle coming to it as Atmav attempted to swing her greatsword only for a tendril to disarm her.
“What makes you think I want to talk, demon?” Atmav hissed, struggling and squirming against Vakk’s ever tightening grip.
”You have no choice, Atmav,” it remarked, still amused at her unwillingness to cooperate. Its own eyeless gaze studying her for a moment, silence between the two other than the grunts of Atmav attempting to free herself, and the deep breaths of the beast behind her.
”I did not peg you for the type to marry someone so weak,” Vakk started, only stopping to chuckle for a brief moment, ”What ever happened to marrying the finest breed? That is what your kind is meant to do, does it not? My you truly have fallen from grace.”
“What do you want, demon? I know you did not come to merely mock me,” Atmav growled as Vakk chuckled to itself.
As Vakk ceased its laughter, it stood from the throne that it hardly fit it before taking a singular step towards Atmav, ”I require the children of your people. My own children need them to grow.”
“No! These children have families and lives to live Vakk, they are not meant to pawns in your games,” Atmav barked, another wave of defiance coming over her as she continued to struggle. “Why would they even need our children? Are they not capable themselves?” Atmav questioned through grit teeth.
”No, they cannot,” Vakk said, a sorrow coming over its voices, ”Such experiences of life are beyond their capabilities,” it explained.
Atmav grew confused before she began to piece it together, “What did you do, Vakk?”
”I gave them new life. A new life that cannot be taken, a new life that was once taken from my children that I could not bear witness! I made life from death!” Vakk snapped, stepping towards Atmav. Its teeth gnashing together as the tendrils flipped Atmav rightside up.
“You made abominations! You know you cannot go against nature, Vakk!”
Vakk slammed Atmav into the floor of the longhouse, the floor shattering into splinters, ”Their lives were taken from them! I could not stand idly by knowing that they had died so soon!”
“You are more a fool than I remember! You turned your back on all the morals you once had! What would your father think?!”
Those words rung deep within Vakk as he threw Atmav to her throne, her form causing it to crumble before her back went into the wall of the longhouse. Without so much of a blink, Vakk was upon her and planted its foot into her chest, sending her through the wall and into the sands outside of her home. Vakk took a singular step outside of the longhouse, looking down upon Atmav, who was already getting to her feet.
The warrior raised her fists as she readied herself to fight.“I can do this all day,” she spat.
Vakk scoffed, ”I struck you not out of anger, Atmav. I struck you out of your adocity to speak against a god in such a manner.”
“You are not my god,” Atmav informed it, her wings spread to becoming with the night sky above them.
Vakk was silent for a moment, as the great beast that had come with it jumped onto the sands below Atmav, its voices speaking without a hint of emotion, ”If you do not wish to honor our deal, Atmav, then I am afraid that I will have to punish you. I will give you one chance, one chance to undo this wrong. You will die to Kalani in the coming battle.”
Atmav only gave Vakk a smug smile, “I do not intend to die anytime soon, Vakk.”
”Then I am afraid that I will have to show your people my view of life, and I will have them accept it more eagerly than how eager you are to cling onto what miserable life you have in store for your future,” Vakk said, it’s voices seeming to give an inflection of sadistic pleasure of such a thought.
“What?! No, leave them out of this, Vakk! Your troubles are with me, not them!”
”You have made your choice,” Vakk said, before nodding, seemingly to the beast.
A massive club seemed to launch Atmav into the air, a silent scream of pain coming to her as her breath was hit out of her. A hand caught her throat as she landed in Vakk’s vice grip.
”You have lost your position as royal guard of the Eternal Talk. As such, you have lost your horns and have forfeit your right to anyone under your command,” Vakk said, tendrils moving to grasp Atmav’s horns.
“Wha- N-no! You c-can’t!” Atmav stammered struggling in Vakk’s grip and punching his face only for it to do nothing as Vakk’s face grew into a sadistic smile. She could feel the tendrils slowly pulling the horns, she could feel the skin underneath them ripping away ever so slowly. She was powerless to stop him and yet she loosed maddened sobs as she struggled more and more, eventually the sobs turning to screams that pierced the moonlight. The pain grew and grew before something gave way, blood poured onto her face as her hands went to cover her face.
Vakk released her as she fell into the sand and left her with seven cruel words.
”I look forward to your death, Atmav.”
Atmav sobbed into the sand, the blood pouring from her head before she felt hands grasp her arms and in a mournful confusion, she lashed out and punched the source and sending it back. Then words reached her.
“My queen! My queen!”
The words of her subjects began to flood into her as they poured in from all around, each one trying to counsel their hurt and dishonoured queen. But all she could do was sob in pain and she moved her hands to where her horns had once been. Then she felt it crawling down her face, not droplets of blood, but pools of tears trailing down her cheeks and carving a path through the blood.
And as she wiped the blood and tears from her face, she saw the faces of her people gather around her.
Her eyes opened to meet their gazes.
Atmav is seen teaching roughly one hundred men how to be a proper army. Forcing them to make their own shields, forcing them into lines and disciplining them whenever they make a mistake. But as she inspects them, Atmav is approached by an artistic selka who wishes to join the expedition. She laughs and says that he can join if he can push back against Brottnee, and he unsurprisingly fails. Only the strongest may serve under Atmav.
Later, Atmav is found by Vakk, with the help of his beast. Vakk wants to use Atmav’s favor to get the selka children for the undead Aroiox. When Atmav figures this out, she calls him a madman.
They called him a madman.
Atmav gets thrown through her throne and then kicked through the wall of her longhouse. Vakk tells her to die in the battle with Kalani or else her people will be converted into Vakk’s new life. Furthermore, Vakk demotes her from her rank as royal guard to the Eternal Talk, which none of you will recall without having to go read the Vakk CS, by ripping out her horns and leaving her.
She is left sobbing, blood pouring out of her head. And as her people ran to her.
You can read the post to find out that fun fact.
Prestige 23 Prestige -6 to teach her people military formation. -6 to teach her people how to craft shields. +3 Prestige.
The God-Empress stood upon a hill, the very same hill that she had stood upon when she joined the confederation against the expansion of the Hyummin. Now, however, that coalition was not needed against Selka, but to halt the advance of the forces of Desolation, to stop the threat of the Ihokhur from reaching their borders and laying waste to what she had built. She awaited for the other chieftains to arrive, her bodyguards on her left and right, now holding spears headed with the metal that Kirron himself had gifted them.
Atmav’s head turned to the ocean, recalling the first few attempts she had when it came to swimming under the guidance of her own people. The results were less than pleasing as she had nearly drowned two others in a shallow part of the beach trying to figure out how a breaststroke worked until she realized that she could just stand. It was, perhaps, her most embarrassing day of being alive.
The first to arrive was Milos, of the Ubbo Tribe, and with him came Hoshu, noticeably older and more frail, and four bowmen. They came to a stop before her, and Milos nodded, while Hoshu looked to her with barely disguised wariness.
Shortly afterward, two more tribes arrived. The Pakele Tribe, and the Meola Tribe. Their stories were well-known.
The Pakele had once been located further westward, but when the Grottu began their conquest they had no choice but to flee eastward. The Hyummin may have bested the Grottu in the end, but the Pakele refused to return, for that would mean joining the Hyummin and thus being forced to work alongside their treacherous neighbours.
The Meola Tribe had been founded shortly after the Grottu’s conquest, composed of those who had survived the Grottu’s massacres. They had banded together, the suffering they had endured at the Grottu’s hands serving as a shared link between them. They were a stoic, angry lot. They had never forgiven the Grottu’s actions, and had passed that onto their children, and their children’s children.
Others began to filter in afterward. The Wihu, the Iwai, the Koala, the Helu, the Kumula, the Ailona, and the Kalapa. The hill had become crowded, the great chieftans of the coalition, their bodyguards, and their advisors gathered in a great circle. As was tradition, Milos, who was appointed Speaker, stepped forward.
It was the custom the fledgling Confederacy had adopted early on. In order to prevent meetings from devolving into incoherent arguments and shouting matches, they needed one to direct the discussion. None could speak without the Speaker’s permission, which was given only when the Speaker called on one to speak, and could be requested by raising one’s staff into the air.
In order to prevent the Speaker from holding absolute power over the discussion, the Speaker could be re-elected at any time during the meeting: all one had to do was vocally call for a vote of no confidence. If the majority agreed, a new Speaker would be swiftly elected. If they disagreed, the one who called the vote could not call another.
“We have been called here today to discuss a new threat. One that comes not from our fellow Selka, but from afar,” Milos declared. Many in the circle nodded. Others seemed astonished, as though this was the first time they were hearing it. “If the stories are true, then giant creatures four times our height and made out of solid rock have come to ravage our lands,” he declared, before turning to the only non-Selka among their number.
“Chieftan Atmav,” he said. “Your tribe is the closest to where these rumours come from. Is there any truth to them?” he asked.
“Yes, one attacked one of our patrols and slew most of the men. I managed to fight it off, but not without injury. They come from the northwest and chances are that the Hyummin have either been avoided, already have had to fight them, or have made a deal with them,” Atmav said, her head turning to the other Selka to allow the information to absorb before she continued, “Kirron calls them Ihokhurs and it seems that there are many more coming.”
She stepped forward as she stretched out her wings of the night sky to their fullest extent as she spoke with power, “We must rally and crush these being before any more reach our lands and threaten our people. Kirron demands it for he has given us the tools to wage war against these beasts!”
A number of chieftans nodded at her words, and one even cheered. Others seemed hesitant. One, the female leader of the Meola Tribe, raised her staff high into the air with a defiant expression.
“Chieftan Lihuppa,” Milos said slowly. “What do you have to say to this?”
“Doesn’t any of this sound familiar to you?” She asked, eyes sweeping across the circle. “Hoshaf of the Grottu Tribe made the exact same claim! How can we be certain she is telling the truth?”
The approving nods stopped, as the chieftans began to exchange uncertain glances. “How can we be certain, Chieftan Atmav?” Milos asked.
“What reason would I have to lie? Why would I bother summoning this council if I were not certain of the threat? I fought one of them and it stuck me but once and shattered my ribs and caused me to begin coughing up my own blood, not before it threw a boulder at me. It was only by Kirron’s kindness that I was healed,” she growled, a hand subconsciously going to where she had been struck by the beast.
“What reason would I have to speak with Kirron? Why would I set aside my grudges with Yimbo, if it were not to defend what has been built?” Atmav questioned, her eyeless gaze turning to Lihuppa.
Lihuppa seemed taken aback, more by her gaze and the force of her words than the words themselves. The Pakele Tribe Chieftan seized the opportunity to raise his own staff into the air.
“Chieftan… Carlo,” Milos said, taking a moment to remember the chieftan’s unusual name. “You may speak.”
“These tools that you speak of,” Carlo said, studying her bodyguards. “You will share them with all of us? Equally?”
“Kirron gave my people the metal and even then there are too little to supply all of you. My idea is that my warband will lead the fight against the Ihokur while the rest of you aid against any other forces they have at their disposal. After all, they descend from the Hooflands far north, they may have other monsters following,” Atmav said, her wings folding back, “This metal is only useful against stone, it is no different from your spears if you were to attack another.”
Carlos squinted, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. He was about to speak, but Lihuppa cut in. “How can we be certain you truly spoke to Kirron?” she asked. “Even if you believe it’s him, how do we know some other god didn’t trick you?”
“Chieftan Lihuppa,” Milos rebuked in a sharp tone. “Remember the rules.” He then looked back to Atmav. “But it is a valid question, Chieftan Atmav.”
“Yimbo was with him. Besides, in my experience, gods do not generally lie about who they are. Even Vakk does not lie about who he is,” Atmav stated, forgetting that the Selka knew not who the Lord of Speech was. She looked towards the sky before she continued, “None of them have lied like that thus far.”
That gave everyone pause, for they had never known gods to lie either. But mortals did. And the question still remained, even if most were polite enough not to ask: was Atmav telling the truth?
The Chieftan of the Kalapa Tribe, a young and vigorous woman, suddenly rose her staff into the air, and at Milos’s nod, stepped forward. “Is she telling the truth? Maybe, maybe not,” the woman began. “But not too long ago, the sky fell. And now, a horde of rock monsters is coming our way. I don’t see anyone else offering a plan!” she challenged. “Kirron. Kalmar. Ashalla. Three gods watch over us. Do you think all three of them would desert us in a time like this? I don’t.”
A number of heads nodded. Some were grudging, while others carried smiles. Atmav might be lying, but she was the first and so far the only one to present a plan, as well as the only one who had any experience with what they were about to face. They had to trust her, and they had to trust that their gods had not forsaken them.
Yet some were not convinced. An old Selka by the name of Kahiko, who was even older than Hoshu, was the next to request permission to speak. His guards had needed to carry him up the hill, and even now his staff shook visibly as he raised it into the air, but despite his frail state there was a certain strength in his eye.
Milos did not hesitate to grant him permission. Yet Kahiko’s words were not for the circle. He closed his eyes, cast his gaze downward, and spoke in a low voice just barely loud enough for the rest to hear.
“Father Kirron…” he prayed. “If this Atmav speaks true… if her intentions are true… please, give us a sign.”
A few moments passed in silence, the chieftains looking around for anything that may prove to be a sign of any note. Yet, there was nothing other than the gentle sea breeze. Gradually, the chieftains began to shift their gazes to the only non-selka present many now showing a face of skepticism at a now frowning Atmav. Her eyeless gaze looked all around before murmurs began to rise and before Milos could silence them, shouting developed and argument took hold over the council over this unresolved issue.
Atmav could feel her own anger growing, constantly having been seen with skepticism and walls of conflict despite being honest and as diplomatic as she could possibly be. She looked to Milos a clear look of displeasure upon her face, whether it be by his lack of control or the doubt that she seemed to face. Silently, she raised her greatsword so that she may get permission to speak her peace despite the raging arguments that consumed the council.
Milos shouted for quiet, and when the noise died down he nodded wearily.
“I know that you all do not trust me for I am not a Selka,” Atmav spoke, her voice clear in holding back an anger that yearned to unleash itself, “But I will not stand idly by and allow this council to do nothing when a threat greater than the Hyummin marches on the horizon!” Her hands moved to stab the orvium blade into the hillside as she stepped forward her emotion overtaking her face as she bared her fangs at each and every one of the chieftains.
“If all of you are too cowardly and too blind to march to war when our very nations depend upon it, why was this coalition founded? Why would I bother joining something which promises a mutual protection?! Why?!” She looked towards Chieftan Lihuppa, “The Grottu sought expansion and domination! All of these years I have been content with what I have held! If I had wanted to I could have marched against the Hyummin myself and ended them! If I wanted to, I could have slaughtered every Selka I had come across! Yet I have not!”
Her rant stopped just enough for her to breath, to find a calm in anger that had surfaced. “Despite the skepticism, despite the mistrust, I have been patient! I have asked for nothing other than protection upon joining this coalition, and now, all I want is trust so that we may stop those who wish to end us!” When her rant was over, she took a deep breath before returning to where her bodyguards stood, both of them having an expression of displeasure equal to their queen.
The accusations of cowardice, in tandem with what would be perceived as threats, only resulted in even more shouting - the majority of which was now directed at her. What support she had been heavily withered by her own outburst.
Once more Milos shouted, but his voice alone was not enough, so he pulled a conch from his belt and blew it. The high pitched noise cut through the bickering and brought all to attention.
“We all agree there is a threat, we all agree it needs to be dealt with, and we have no intention of leaving one of our members without protection,” Milos said, directing a sharp, angry look at Atmav. “That is not where our disagreement lies.”
Chieftan Carlo brought his staff up once again. When given permission to speak, he did so. “Milos speaks the truth. I have no intention of waiting for this threat to come to us, and it won’t go away on its own. We must fight. But how? We need a plan, and we need a leader. Atmav has put herself forward, but why should it be her? I say we vote!”
“Then let us vote!” Atmav said, “But I am the one who knows how to fight these things and out of everyone here, I have the most military experience.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg.
A number of Selka blinked at that, having no idea what a ‘military’ actually was. Milos nodded. “We will follow the rules we agreed on so long ago. With two nominations from fellow chieftans, a chieftan may put themself forward. Once the nominations are done, each one will make their case. Then, we vote. Whoever has the most votes will be named war leader. Is that clear?”
Every chieftan nodded.
“Good,” Milos said, seriously. “Let the nominations begin.”
Lihuppa was the first to raise her staff. “I nominate Carlo,” she said, to which Carlo nodded approvingly.
“I nominate Atmav,” called out the Chieftan of the Kalapa Tribe, her own staff raised.
“I nominate Milos,” declared the old and weary voice of Kahiko.
“I nominate you,” another voice declared, but Kahiko tiredly shook his head. “I’m too old,” the old man said.
“I nominate Milos. He reformed the old Pact. It should be him.”
“I nominate Carlo. He was the one who called this vote. Let him say his piece!”
Then they fell into a tense silence. The nominations had finished, and it seemed as if there were only two candidates. Milos opened his mouth to speak, but then a final voice interjected.
“I nominate Atmav,” declared the recently made Chieftan of the Iwai Tribe. A shrewd man, by the name of Kahalu. “She was the one who told us of this threat, wasn’t she?”
For the first time at the council, a smile formed across Atmav’s face at being nominated, she nodded approvingly at the chieftains of the Iwai Tribe and Kalapa Tribe.
“Any other nominations?” Milos asked. None motioned to speak. “Good. Now… it was agreed that the Speaker should oversee the vote. But if I am one of the options, it would be wrong for me to fulfill that role. Kahiko, if you accept it, I will turn that job over to you for now.”
“Very well,” Kahiko sighed. “Who will go first?”
“I will!” Carlo declared without hesitation. “If you vote for me, I will see that these new weapons are shared equally with each tribe. Then, I will take the fight to these invaders. We will fight them on the beaches! We will fight them in the sea! We will fight them in the forest!” His guards beat their chests triumphantly as he spoke. “We will not stop until every last enemy is destroyed!”
The two chieftans who voted for him shouted their approval, as did one other, and a number of guards began to cheer, but for the most part reaction was lukewarm. He had spoken well, and with passion, but had given little indication of an actual plan.
“Who will speak next?” Kahiko asked, once the reaction had died down.
“I shall,” Atmav stated, looking over to Carlo for a brief moment before focusing on the chieftain as a whole. “If I am voted to lead this, the first that I must do is train each warrior the proper path of war. Discipline, formation, strength! This is the backbone for an effective fighting force, for if we charge blindly at the Ihokhur, they will slaughter us and they will route those who live. As for my plan to fight against them is to fight them upon what open ground we can find, to limit them from ripping trees out of the ground and using them against us.”
She paused for a moment to make sure the others were following along. “We will go on the offensive where we can and take them by surprise. From there we can crush them swiftly and decisively and those who flee will be hunted so they may not pose any threat to us!”
Her guards silently beat the end of their spears into the ground while looking forward, unmoving with only the muffled sound of wood forcing the dirt into the ground.
Although the reaction to her plan was less vocal, more seemed to be in favour of it than Carlo’s. Those who nominated her nodded their approval, along with a few others, and even their guards had listened attentively to her every word.
“Milos,” Kahiko said, turning to the third and final choice. “What do you have to say?”
For several long seconds, Milos was quiet, stroking his whiskers in thought. Some began to whisper that he was stumped. That perhaps, for once, the great hunter was caught without a plan.
Then, he spoke. “You say that fighting them on open ground will prevent them from using the trees against us,” he said to Atmav. “I disagree. If they are as big and as strong as we have heard, what stops them from pulling trees out of forests and carrying them onto open ground?” He shook his head disapprovingly. “No, I don’t think we can meet them on open ground. At least in the forests, other trees might get in their way. We will be able to hide or outrun them. So we will fight them there. And if we lose, we will escape into the sea, regroup down the coast, and try a new plan, until we succeed.”
“I will also pray to Arryn for aid. He has always been a friend to my tribe, and many of you have met him as well. I don’t see why he would abandon us now,” Milos declared.
His speech received a similar reaction to Atmav’s, though it seemed slightly more were in favour. Perhaps they genuinely believed Milos’s plan was better, or maybe it was simply due to his greater popularity.
“If there is nothing else, we will begin the voting,” Kahiko declared. He gestured to Lihuppa, the Selka standing to his left. “Begin.”
“Carlo.” She said.
“Milos,” said the Chieftan to her left, and on it went.
“Carlo.”
“Atmav.”
“Milos.”
“Atmav.”
“Milos.”
“Atmav.”
A tie, between Atmav and Milos. And the nominees were not allowed to vote… Kahiko let out another tired sigh. “As Acting-Speaker, it falls to me to break the tie. I choose… Milos.”
Atmav’s head snapped towards the old man, nonexistent eyes blinking in shock and disbelief that someone vastly her younger and more inexperienced had been chosen over her. Even the guards behind her blinked in surprise as they saw their queen as the only clear choice. Her eyeless gaze went to Milos and grit her teeth, but not acting on her immediate anger. There were many things that she felt like doing, screaming, fighting, killing, but she knew better and she knew the puppet’s work of molding her into a proper queen would be dismantled.
“I thank you for your support,” Milos said with a nod, and then spoke up in his usual authoritative voice. “Go back to your homes,” he commanded. “Gather as many able-bodied fighters and as much food as you can spare. We will gather at the Aspasia Tribe’s village.” He looked toward the west, a steely gaze in his eye. “And then, we prepare for war.”
As she walked further and further away from the hill, Atmav still found herself in confusion and shock over Milos being chosen over her. She was certain that he knew not how to command a proper army, how to keep the men from routing, how to keep an effective formation other than a mere guerilla mob. Though, she understood that the politics at play and that, when compared to Milos, she was vastly unpopular and she knew that those who had doubted her did not see her in a position of power.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her blade, remembering why she had despised getting involved in the politics of her old world and it seemed that being a leader was forever marked with politics. She knew that Milos perhaps had a point in fighting in the forest, after all it would limit their movement a good deal, but they could still tip trees upon their forces and if they ever broke their weapon, the Ihokhur would need not to look far for another.
“Milos knows not what he is doing,” she growled.
“He certainly does not, my queen,” Brottnee commented keeping his spear close to him, “After all, Kirron visited us and not them. We were chosen to fight and to lead.”
“Unfortunately, he is liked more by the other chieftains,” she said, “We will find a way to get control in time.”
“Queen Atmav?” A familiar voice spoke up from behind.
That was odd. No one, other than her own bodyguards, had ever called her by that name. Not here. It had always been ‘Chieftain’ Atmav: Milos had insisted on that during their first meeting, and until now it had not changed.
Atmav turned to see who had spoken to her, her guards turning with confusion on their faces over another calling their leader by her proper title.
It was Kahalu, Chieftan of the Iwai Tribe, and of all the tribes in the alliance, his was the closest to her borders. He had risen to his position less than a year ago, and had spent much of the years before that in travel. On either side of him were two guards. “Do you have a moment to talk? In private?” He asked, his gaze shifting to her own men.
Atmav nodded, motioning for her guard to continue on the path back to their home as she stepped toward Kahalu. Kahalu gestured for his guards to do the same. She kept her hand positioned on her hilt before she asked, “What do you wish to talk about, Chieftain Kahalu.” Her voice was formal as she looked down upon the male, her form still looking over him as she did over most of the other Selka. Though she did note that he was tall even by their standards.
“You spoke well at the meeting,” Kahalu said with a nod. “You seem very experienced on these matters.”
“That much is true. It is too bad popularity is more of a motivator over martial experience,” Atmav stated, a frown moving across her face as she spoke.
“I might know a way to fix that,” Kahalu said. “But first, can I ask where you earned this experience? I travelled far. From what I know, these rock creatures have never been seen before, and there has never been a war of the same size as what happened to the Grottu and the Hyummin. You did not always live on this land, did you?”
“No, I come from beyond this realm. The same as the gods, but I was not so lucky to be bestowed with such divine power,” Atmav’s head turned to the sky, “I have fought in many wars, I have bested many, and I have acted as a general in many campaigns.” After a moment of recollection, she looked back down to Kahalu before cocking her head to the side, knowing that he did not wish to hear of vague recollections of a time long since passed.
“Why do you ask?” She questioned.
“Everything I’ve heard about Milos suggests he’s a good leader, but we never faced a threat like this before,” Kahalu explained. “You seemed more sure of yourself, and your words made more sense. I’m wondering if they made the wrong choice.”
“I am certain that they did, but if that is the choice the confederacy wishes to make, then who am I to oppose them? Other than the one with the tools to actually kill them, that is,” Atmav said, lifting her sword towards a tree, “According to Kirron, some of their hide is made out of the same that makes this blade.”
The blade emitted a red stream that lit the tree of fire, making Kahalu one of the only Selka outside of the Aspasia to see its magical capabilities.
“It certainly does not give us great odds,” she said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Kahalu shook his head. “But… there is still hope. Milos may be the War Leader, but we are still the first leaders in our people’s eyes. He has to listen to us, if he wants us to stay in this alliance. Because if we leave, he will have no power. You will still have your say.”
Atmav nodded in agreement, “Yes, this is true. Yet, what if those who support him? Even if we leave he will have the backing of enough chieftains anyways.”
“There are others who supported you,” Kahalu pointed out, “and more may come around as well. Besides, I’m not saying that we should leave, just that he has to listen to us, and his power can be questioned.”
Atmav nodded her head once more, “I see.” She allowed a moment to pass to think over the words. “Then it shall be done,” she smiled, “I will not allow him to lead us into slaughter, you have my word.”
Kahalu smiled back. “Good. And don’t take this setback too hard. There will be other meetings, other votes, maybe even other wars - if Carlo and Lihuppa are to be believed, at least.”
Atmav turned away from Kahalu before speaking once more, “War with the Hyummin is inevitable, it is only a matter of when.” After she took one step away from Kahalu, her head turned to the side, “Perhaps I can teach you how to form a true military one of these days, you seem… competent enough to lead one.”
“Is there anything else you wished to speak of?” She asked.
“There is,” Kahalu nodded. “You mentioned your… popularity. I have some advice that might help with that.”
Kahalu has earned Atmav’s attention once more as her body turned back to him. “And what advice would that be?”
“The reason the other chieftains do not trust you is because they do not see you as one of them,” Kahulu told her, his smile fading. “I don’t have an issue with that, but they do. Have you considered adopting some of our… customs?”
“Your customs?” Atmav asked, looking up to try and think of any customs that she could recall. Then it dawned upon her, in all her time ruling as Queen over the Selka, she had never once given a thought to what customs they might have had. By now, she had imposed her own rule over them and displaced any that they might have had. “I never thought of Selka customs before,” she admitted.
That seemed to genuinely take him by surprise. “But… you’ve been ruling your tribe since most I know were born,” he said, then took a moment to compose himself. “Well, that might be why they don’t trust you. Maybe I can be of more help, then. In my travels, I noticed that every tribe has different customs, but there are always some similarities. Maybe I could teach you?”
“That would be much appreciated,” Atmav nodded, a slight smile coming to her face.
“Good, I can tell you about it on the walk back,” Kahalu nodded approvingly. “One more question… are you married?”
The question made Atmav visibly recoil from the suddenness of the question, if she had eyes they would have widened greatly. For a moment she stood there in stunned silence before mustering up the mind to speak, “Ugh- n-no.” Another moment of silence before she spoke again, “And why do you ask?”
“I mentioned learning some of our customs? Taking a Selka as a husband might improve your reputation. There are other benefits, too. Some chieftains will marry an important their own tribe, in order to make the tribe more loyal. Others may marry into the families of chieftains from other tribes, in order to form closer bonds… alliances, and partnerships. Or so I’ve seen, at least. I’ve yet to get married myself.”
Atmav grew silent once more before she would speak, “The problem is that I will only ever marry someone who is my equal in combat. Someone that exemplifies strength, martial prowess, and endurance. I could very much marry off a member of the tribe, but, I don’t believe that is right. Erm- I- ugh,” words failed her for a moment, before she looked away.
A thoughtful expression crossed Kahalu’s face. “My mother once told me to marry someone who was skilled in something I was not. Then, I would never have any weaknesses. I may not be as good at combat as you, and although I’m still a good fighter, wouldn’t my knowledge, my intellect, my support, and my tribe all be more useful?”
“Y-you are rather persistent ,” Atmav said, still not looking at Kahalu before letting out a sigh followed by a chuckle. She shook her head before finally looking Kahalu, “You make a compelling case, Kahalu. Very well, then.”
Kahalu’s eyebrows rose, and then he gave her a smile a great deal wider than any he had given thus far. “I’m happy to hear it. In all my travels, I have never met someone as strong or as beautiful as you.”
Atmav shook her head and laughed once more, turning away from Kahalu as she did not know what to do or even say in response to him. “You are a crafty one, Kahalu. Come now, we are wasting time,” she said as she began to step away.
“Yes, our guards might be worried,” he said, falling into step beside her.
The Chieftains of a coalition are summoned, Atmav being the first to arrive because she is on military time and everyone else is on normal people time. Atmav informs them of the coming threat and is met by some skepticism and she attempts to prove her case and trying to get them to trust her. Eventually a man calls for Kirron to give them a sign that she is telling the truth and when nothing happen argument begins to take control, though Milos tries to retain control. This makes Atmav angry who calls them cowards for not trusting her and not wanting to march for war, ruining the support she already had.
She’s a warrior, not a diplomat if that much was clear.
Eventually, it is settled and a vote for a war leader is called. Milos wins because he is “more popular than Atmav” but we all know it was the Ihokhur hackers in rigging the election. This angers Atmav, but she does nothing.
After that mess, she has some time to be sour before Kahalu catches up to her and actually RESPECTS HER TITLE AS QUEEN HOLY FUCKLE. He talks with her saying that Milos has to listen to them or else he loses support which makes sense to Atmav. And he gives her advice on how to be more popular… by essentially proposing to marry her, THE CHAD. This takes her by surprise and she declines at first before Kahalu sways her to marry through a bit of persistence and the whole political gain thing, which is really the only reason she agrees. What? Love does not exist in nobility! There is only politics!
MarshalSolgriev
Snowdrops
Cao the Exiled
Grijs
Enzayne
Lord Zee
Frettzo
DracoLunaris
Vec
