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Pasion Pasiva

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    The Black Queen

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  1. Goodbye, Valucre! 

    1. Show previous comments  8 more
    2. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      I'll be back soon!

    3. Malaysia NightReaver
    4. Grizzly


      Be safe. I will hold of out our posts and such 😄

  2. Pasion Pasiva

    Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust [Cathedral Mountains]

    Quinn’s subtle nod of approval was not lost. But she did marvel at how elegant and how well hidden the gesture had been. Perhaps it was due to how much time they were spending together, or how much time they had already spent together -- but she was learning to read the human knight with astounding accuracy. It was a relatively easy task to know the general inclination of a human, but to guess at their feelings? The spectrum of human emotions was a seemingly endless rainbow of sentiments. Fear came in so many shapes, colors, and sizes, and likewise, joy was like the flicker of a flame or the swell of a wave, never to be repeated or duplicated. But Quinn was certainly uncanny in his elegance, and not for the first time, Gabriela wondered what kind of vampire he would make if only the opportunity ever arose. These strange and simple thoughts were lost the moment Gabriela walked through the doors of her private chambers. Quinn had been ready when she came into the sitting room, and in silence -- without the need of explanation or further prompt -- the gallant knight had opened the door and let them both out into the corridor that awaited. Before glorious golden eyes beheld the creature that stood there, expectantly -- Gabriela had such a terrible sense of dread strike at her mind and heart. There was a heaviness in the hall, a sorrow so profound that she had to stop and catch herself with a trembling hand upon Quinn’s outheld arm. La’Ruta, it always whispered to her no matter where she was. There was always a gentle stream of information, a collection of memories, of sensations, of expressions that filtered into her through the strange mechanics of magic. However, those gentle whispers had now turned into hurried, anxious, and even frightened cries. She didn’t understand it. The island’s magic had never felt this way before, not even in the presence of the Warlord. And then she saw her -- the creature. If the visage that was presented to her was in someway distressing, it did not show. Gabriela had come to grips with the forces at work against her senses. She had straightened and was standing on her own. Once more, she was the image of elegance, standing regally in her impossibly high heels with her neatly fitting black dress hugging her petite form -- and of course, her knight besides her, in his shining armor. But even so, her eyes could not help but draw themselves from the ink-black eyes down the length of the woman’s body, to the ugly display of violence that had been done against her in another lifetime. Gone were the worries of appearance. Suddenly, Gabriela wasn’t so sure if she should be here alone. “I apologize for my tardiness,” she said to the creature, and then with a motion of her head, she urged her forward toward their destination. “Let’s not keep the others waiting.” Serena seemed to agree, wordlessly. In silence, she guided them the rest of the way. Strange and peturbing as everything was, Gabriela was ever the curious child-queen that the devil accused her of being. While the enslaved creature took them on, she often turned her head to peer up at the walls, to examine the fine furnishings, to glance at the foreign shadows that clung to the corners of every passage and every room. “We have arrived…” Double doors opened to reveal a vast chapel-like space, a gallery in size. They had come into a place that very much resembled the catacombs of the DuGrace castle, where many of her own family members lay deep in slumber, and others, in death. She had heard of this place, and so was not so very much taken aback by the wall of skulls. What did make her nervous was the kneeling figures, many of them complete strangers. She had not done enough to spend time in this region of the islands -- she didn’t know these subjects. But, perhaps more disturbing than the kneeling people, where those who did not kneel, and who instead, remained turned toward the casket and it’s smaller, matching box. After taking it in, drinking the strange sight of it all, she moved forward and stepped into the chapel. For now, beyond the clicking of Serena’s watch, there was the click of the Black Queen’s heels as she made her way toward the golden boxes.
  3. I am so sorry it took so long to reply, but here it is! You may want to wait to post, I know Roen may be joining us.


    1. Grubbistch


      All righty then

  4. Pasion Pasiva

    Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust [Cathedral Mountains]

    They had given her a set of rooms befitting of her station and her title. Beautiful, elegant, but undeniably eerie with their Gothic decor and the general sense of something being amiss. Gabriela was not a superstitious creature -- she had her own ideas about life and death, and maintained a surprising grip on a christian faith that neither belonged here on Valucre nor seemed plausible given the things she knew to be real, such as the multitude of gods she had come to know, and even love -- and devils as well. Still, there was something about this place, this castle, this entire city, which had been for the better part of her short reign, completely isolated from the prosperity that had been introduced by her governing hand. She allowed it, of course, much like she allowed the continual sovereign rule of Solum Irae, the dragon’s territory. Besides that, Samuel Estella-Negra had been an agreeable governor to the mountain city, and he had never failed in offering tribute and truthful updates regarding the condition of his estates and the people under both their care. It was a dreadful thing that he had passed, not only because she never had the pleasure of meeting him but mostly because of the gaping hole in leadership that would be left in his wake. This was not a problem she needed right now, nor the sort of thing she cared to deal with -- but it was her responsibility. So she came, with a modest retinue of followers, mostly guards and knights. The last thing she wanted was to make too much of her presence here, when truly the purpose of it all was to pay respects to the fallen Baron. There would be time enough for everything else that had to follow. “How do I look?” she asked Quinn, who was standing near the door of the sitting room -- a space adjacent to her bedroom and changing quarters. For the occasion, she had brought along a black dress of modest design. And now that she examined her dim reflection in the full length mirror, she wondered if she had not overdone it with the stiletto heels. “Do you think I need some tights? My legs look so pale…” She frowned at her reflection. It wasn’t often that she concerned herself with matters of her appearance -- the simple truth of it was that she was put together in such a way as to warrant relative ease of care about such things. She was stunningly beautiful, and she knew it. But there were certain rules and customs that she wanted to abide by, especially given such delicate circumstances. Poor Quinn looked uncertain, though he did not much show it -- she could tell by the sudden change of his heart, and the slight narrowing of his eyes. He had a problem with issuing his judgment over her appearance, but she couldn’t begin to understand why. In fact, now that she reflected on the matter, he had looked rather pale when she undressed in front of him shortly after they returned from their evening stroll together. “I am sorry,” she said sincerely, before turning away and deciding on her own that no, she did not need tights. Instead, she concentrated on gathering her hair and pulling it into a loose braid, a task that she was remarkably good at. From there, the thick rope was coiled into a much neater bun that sat at the base of her head, right at her neck. It was simple, but elegant -- and it took the hassle out of having to worry about her wayward hair, which had really grown far too long. There was a knock at the door then, and then the hurried whispers of a servant speaking to Quinn, who had quickly moved to open it just an inch or so. She heard everything as she continued to adjust her hair, and smooth out the skirt of her dress. “I don’t mean to rush the Queen...but the ceremony has already started. Her presence will be sorely missed, and painfully noted, if she does not arrive soon.” “Just a few more moments,” came Quinn’s level response. “Please, hurry.” Gabriela wondered if Roen was going to make good on his promise of leaving this endeavor up to her, or if he would end up showing up at the last minute. He had taken to his role of steward with surprising seriousness. It seemed to be more than just a clever ploy to keep her under his thumb.
  5. I think it's safe to assume that my post is closing the thread we're in. Roen and I are both ready to be whisked away to your delightful empire. Feel free to start a new thread wherever you'd like to have us. ❤️ 

  6. Pasion Pasiva

    [A.N.T.] Miyabi

    “That would be very kind of you… Yes.” She wondered what she should say or what she should feel -- gratitude, wonder, maybe even concern? Roen was simply a mystery to her, even after all of these years. He went from hot to cold in such a short amount of time that even she struggled to keep up, which was quite a shocking thing considering a vampyres emotional intelligence. It was in a vampyres best interest to learn all the subtle and delicate cues that came with humanities constantly shifting interests, their flights of fancy, their hopes and dreams -- fears and terrors. And yet, knowing what she did about Roen, about what he was, he still did not fit the mold that she had come to expect or understand. He was so different, and she could only guess that it was that touch of perdition that made him impossible to gauge. Was this a kindness for her sake or a trap to ensnare her for his own amusement? Lifting her gaze, those lovely golden eyes, back to the undeniably handsome visage of Koji, she hoped with all of her heart that she hadn’t inadvertently made him a pawn in this terrible little game that she and Roen seemed destined to continue playing. The devil was a good looking man, but he was also jealous, possessive, and fond of wicked games. “We wouldn’t be imposing though, would we?” “Hardly, Certainly my time away from home is priceless and irreplaceable, though that is why protocols are put in place to compensate for my absence.” She felt like she was floating somewhere above their heads, watching this conversation unfold. From here, she could examine her own face and the mask that she wore -- a peaceful expression, a serene look, a sweet half smile as golden eyes shifted from Roen to Koji. She even brightened, she looked so very pleased to have gotten her way. But this was far from what she wanted, and she couldn’t be sure if it was a mistake by her devil’s part or a purposeful move to undermine the advice that Raphael had given her. What a pretty wife she would make, so agreeable and loving. Inside, she recoiled with both anger and disgust. It had not been half a day since Raphael appeared, due to the faithful prayers of his little cousin, to save the life of a child that was not his but that he loved if it were. Raphael and his black blood, his old blood, had helped to keep together what nature was intent on unraveling, the mixed parentage that had formed his little life. And before he left, before he pressed his lips to her own and stole a kiss that would cost her dearly moments later -- he gave her a dire warning. Philippe had to return to Orisia as soon as possible. Gabriela was back in her body, she was anxious underneath the pristine surface of beauty and grace. She was going to speak up, she was going to gently and politely remind Roen that they couldn’t -- she was going to do something, but before she could… “We’d be delighted, Your Majesty. I have never seen your lands.” Gabriela touched Roen’s hand, she sought his eyes but the devil did not regard her -- the Emperor was speaking. “Splendid. If I might add, I’d wager that your sweet Prince would love my alternate methods of travel. Perhaps he would even find comfort in it. Unless you would prefer more common methods of transport, in which I’ll have to insist you drive. Otherwise I’ll have to hail for a ship to ferry us.” “Roen…” she spoke, nearly a whisper. “Darling--wait,” he took her hand in his, he gave it a pat with the other -- a condescending touch. He called her a child queen once upon a time, and in that moment, she felt the resonating weight of the title. “We would be thankful, my Lord. The Everlinde can be a distressing experience, and the Prince has had a rough night.” She knew it was done and over with. There was no taking back the words that had been spoken, at least not without appearing terribly rude -- and that was the last thing she wanted. Koji was nothing if not graceful, and there was a very real desire in her heart to know more about the strange creature, the successful hybrid. But there was a greater worry for her child -- one that was not shared by the child’s father. And she could taste his specific regard for her own concerns. She knew that it was best not to mention Raphael’s warning, it was better not to bring any attention to what had transpired hours before, at least not if she wanted to prevent a repeat of the cruel punishment that had followed. This fight was fought and won. She surrendered and smiled weakly as Koji turned to examine her -- his sharp eyes measuring more than she was willing to reveal, but was having a difficult time hiding. In that moment she decided that with her surrender, she would embrace acceptance and she would find her peace in all of this within the promise of a new friendship. “This is exciting,” she said aloud, her smile slowly but surely growing truer. “We are ready to go, dear Emperor -- whenever you are."
  7. Just checking up on you, how are you doing?

    1. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      I am doing well love! How are you? I've been super busy and tired, the kiddos run me ragged. 

    2. Malaysia NightReaver

      Malaysia NightReaver

      About the same, been pretty busy myself. Wrapping up this semester, have one semester left(the Spring) until I graduate with my Master's. I am totally ready to be done! Glad to hear you are doing well. 

  8. Pasion Pasiva

    General chat thread

    Oh no... I hope everything is good.
  9. Pasion Pasiva

    General chat thread

    Why? General illness from other kiddos?
  10. Pasion Pasiva

    Dragon's Fire [Stonehaven]

    When had he last felt the touch of another. Really felt it? There had been women -- so many women. He had attempted to drown himself not only in the potent liquor produced in this region, but also by the beautiful women. He bought them by the pair, sometimes more, sometimes less. But never, not ever, just the one. He did not want the intimacy that came with laying together with a single soul. He wanted the lewd displays, the corruption of selling and buying flesh, the numbness that came with not loving another, and therefore, not loving one’s own self. How long then, had it been, since he felt the genuine caress of love, devotion, and more importantly, forgiveness and acceptance? Lucis sighed, and his breath came like a torrent of heated air blow right off the sands of the White Sands desert. That same breath traveled along the length of her arm, to encircle her slender throat. His was a sweet smelling breath, warm like cinnamon -- warm like his eyes, and his mother’s eyes. Golden and heavy with the burden of guilt, they peered at her below pinched white brows. “What transpired on the night that she returned -- that wasn’t her. I was forced to flee the capital, I had to escape through the Cathedral Mountain pass just to avoid Raphael’s men. I know my mother, and I know what you say is true and right. Punishment, yes -- she would have undoubtedly dealt punishment, but she would have also sought to learn what happened and why.” Lucis shook his head and freed himself from the temptation that her delicate fingers represented. How he learned to tilt his head into the full of her palm, to feel her cup his jaw and to reach out to encircle her in his arms. But he could not trust himself now, not with what had just happened, not with the rage that still ran boiling in his veins, thick as blood. He couldn’t risk rushing into her as he had into the women he had used to numb his own pain. There was no numbing it now. She was the face of all that he had left behind. Even in her altered state, for he noted direly the change in her -- the lack of life, the lack of something. What had happened to her, he would not dare to speculate, but in her own agony, he was reminded not to drown in his. “Gabriela is being fought over like a piece of meat by a pair of rabid dogs. She went from being Raphael’s Tethered to now sitting on the throne under the stewardship of the Devil of Patia. I don’t think she’s in command of anything anymore. The paradise she once hoped to make has become her prison.” He looked at her, heart broken at her beauty as she sat at the edge of that fountain, as the sounds of chaos died away. A dull smile spread across his lips. She was not a pretty thing to look at, he realized then. In her glory, she had been his contemporary as a knight of the Black Heart. And now, he wondered if it meant anything anymore. “I think she needs us…”
  11. Pasion Pasiva

    Admiring the View

    “I am queen in name only,” she revealed, saying it aloud for the first time. “While you may have suffered during this past year, so have I. I was dragged back onto my throne, all but kicking and screaming. And here I am, a political puppet to be used by my would be Lord and Master.” It felt good to say it all aloud. It felt good to speak the truth of what had become of her life. Mostly, it felt good to not have to pretend. Roen demanded a certain degree of theatrics. He wanted to be loved, and he wanted her to help in that endeavor. It was up to her, and her pretended endearment toward the devil, to show what a benevolent benefactor he was to her realm. “He calls himself Steward -- the Steward of my country, while I sit upon the throne. Lord and protector to a queen who never wanted to be queen, ready to return my sovereign powers only when thinks it is proper. The time will never come for course -- it will never be proper, because it isn’t the crown he wants, it’s the girl.” She smiled and she couldn’t be sure if it was out of duress or pleasure. Given everything, Roen had kept true to his word. Every threat he ever made upon her had come to pass -- a child in her belly, their rulership over an empire, or rather, soon-to-be empire. But he had also assured her that none of it mattered. It was all transitory. It would all be left behind eventually. One day they would just live for one another, and she couldn’t tell if she was looking forward to it or dreading it. “I am sorry,” she blinked and seemed to get ahold of herself. “I shouldn’t compare tragedies. No, you won’t find safety here. They loathe us. They call us unnatural.” Gabriela offered a slow shrug, a small thing. Her nearly bare shoulders shifted through the darkness of the shade where she stood. Unlike him, she could not stand in the sun, and she could most certainly not look directly at the light. So while he admired the sun, she continued her careful study of his person and found her heart aching more and more. “Come with me. This isn’t my home, but I don’t think they’ll mind if I offer a friend some hospitality. I am on my way out though -- we are on Terrenus, but must return to the far side of the world, back to Orisia, my home. You can come if you like. You’ll be safe.” She knew she shouldn’t make promises like that. Roen could deny her -- but she could no more resist her urge to help than her urge to displease the devil. “Come,” she extended her hand toward him, nearly crossing the border between shadow and daylight. “I’ll have them run you a bath and I’ll get you some clean clothes. And I am sure one of my subjects will be glad to win favor with me by offering you blood.” Notedly, she did not offer her own -- she wondered if he noticed, or if he cared. Unfortunately, her blood was no longer her own and she could not give it away.
  12. Pasion Pasiva

    Blood on the Crown [Ild Pass]

    “The death of millions of Orisians and Illyrians came unexpectedly due to some dimensional tears…” Her gaze fell away, it drifted past him to some spot on the wall behind his head. She was thinking, taking in the extent of what he was saying without giving away that her mind was having a difficult time following -- not the explanation itself, but the calm nature in which he delivered it. Even Marcellus did not seem all that surprised. The elder maintained a stoic expression upon his face, though she could sense, perhaps, that his mind was inching in the same orientation as her own. These events were not random acts of fate or chance. “Whoever or whatever caused them had to have a device with energy reserves unheard of by any of my people or be an entity capable of creating and maintaining an exorbitant amount of energy. Levels that have only ever been seen when confronted by gods or titans.” Ah, she thought to herself, so he has returned. She had begun to hear the whispers. And more telling was the growing sense of emptiness that always accompanied his presence within the world of Valucre. She felt it keenly, being that he had tainted her very blood -- that she was his beloved, before anyone else. Of course, she had not been certain of it, and had hoped for the best given the nature of senseless existence. But the good king had confirmed her suspicions without knowing it. There was only one being capable of this much -- mindless, senseless, needless -- destruction. And then she saw it. The hardness that she had espied in Raylon was a facade. The agony writ upon his face broke her heart and made her recoil from her own cruelty. She was a vicious creature, and she loathed herself for bringing even more anguish to one of the very few purely good souls that she knew. The sight of his eyes, moonlight silver, glassing over with tears made her reach for him, to his hands, to grasp them tightly within her own. “I would never dream of harming one of our most critical allies…” “Forgive me for implying such an awful thing. I know better.” “Your Majesty. What occurred in Ceyana is a tragedy neither one of us could have foreseen. I arrived with my people just in time to halt any further damage as soon as we confirmed were able to cross into your world and manage to prevent more death with the help of some good Samaritans that were present but we were unable to reverse what had already occurred.” Raylon was not trembling visibly -- but she could feel the quake in his fingertips. This was a losing battle for the man, and within his eyes, she saw her own agony doubled. He had lost his own people -- God only knows how many -- and along with that, he was now forced to carry the guilt of eradicating so many of her own. “Come, sit down Raylon…” Gabriela ushered him to a chair, even if he resisted, she pulled gently but firmly and stopped only when he was near enough to understand that she would not be denied. Once seated, and as he continued to speak, Gabriela left his side and poured a glass of a strong smelling amber-brown drink. She assumed it was whiskey. This small offering, she gave to the good king. “I did not mean for any of this to happen to your people nor mine. Were I capable of restoring what was lost to you…” Gabriela took a knee before him, much to the displeasure of Marcellus -- she was sure. It didn’t matter. She sat there, peering up into Raylon’s face, with one hand upon his knee, a gesture that just a few short months ago would have unraveled her after the tremendous amount of abuse she suffered. But she was healing from all of that, and today she had to be strong for others. “I know, Raylon -- I know.” She saw his glance toward Marcellus, and she could not help but feel the weight of his unapproving gaze upon them. Upon her knees, Gabriela was a vision of compassion. Her brows smooth and devoid of that worried pinch, and her lips a saddened frown. She was about to speak but -- “Forward, my queen, if I may?” “Go on, Marcellus.” “The public will not be as understanding or… forgiving as you, Your Majesty. This tragedy makes the Fete Ghede Massacre seem like child’s play. Might I suggest that king Raylon show the Orisian people, himself, that this was little more than a freak accident? That he and his people are not the perpetrators, but victims, as well. It would be wise to establish a joint-effort for the retrieval of our dead, aided by Illyria. Closure can sometimes be the assassin of vengeance.” With her eyes settled on Raylon, Gabriela waitied. She knew the old knight had more to say. “We collect and bury our dead, both Orisian and Illyrian, and that should give both nations enough time to sort something of a political landscape out. Those are my thoughts.” After giving Raylon one last reassuring squeeze, she rose to her modest height and turned away. Pacing, mostly for the sake of appearing human, Gabriela moved back and forth across the floor of her cabin. Of course everything that Marcellus said was sound, and she hoped that Raylon would agree. It was a touchy situation. Their dead lay scattered across what was now the Illyrian territory. “We will reveal the truth of what has transpired here. All of Valucre will be made aware of this wretched attack upon both Orisia and Illyria. We will do everything in our power to ensure that there is no doubt that Orisia and Illyria remain beloved friends and allies. While you and your people are here, you will be our guests and under our protection -- and we will aid you in whatever we can while you remain upon our territory as refugees.” The word sounded harsh, heavy upon her lips and she knew it might wound the king. “That is what you will be and that is what we will call you -- refugees. People displaced by war. This will give you time to search for a way to return things to how they were, or…” she glanced at Marcellus, she knew he would disapprove. He would want her to think about this longer, but he didn’t understand -- he couldn't. Raylon was her friend, her treasured friend, her sweetest friend. He was a drop of goodness in all the dark and ugliness of her life. She couldn’t and wouldn’t turn her back on him and his people, not after nurturing them in the past. Orisia had been the breadbasket that pulled the Illyrian through a difficult time, and so, they would be so again, or whatever else was needed. “Or, until it becomes apparent or you make the decision, to remain here. We can talk about that when the time comes. For now, I give unto you this title not out of spite or lack of love, Raylon, but because it is not just Orisian’s who will look upon you with suspicion. All of Valucre will wonder at you and your people. You are a refugee, and Orisia has taken you in, and you are under my protection and that of my allies.” What allies, came the dark and awful whisper but was it Tenebre or was it her own subconscious?
  13. Pasion Pasiva

    Admiring the View

    “...Your attire makes that seem even longer.” She had been watching him carefully. She studied the way, with acute interest, that he pulled himself off of the ground and settled his full weight upon his limbs. He seemed tired and old, like some dusty relic coming to life. But through all of that, she had failed to notice the keen interest reflected in his own eyes. He did not seem overly surprised to see her, as if the chances of their paths crossing was not absolutely miniscule. As always, she seemed to be fates fool in her dismay of the unthinkable actually happening. Still, his comment about her attire caught her off guard and it showed. She regarded her dress, and suddenly felt quite vulnerable with her exposed shoulders. Her arms went up, she wrapped them around herself and closed her hands over her shoulders. The dress was modest, save for the off-the-shoulder sleeves. Even the material did little to accentuate her delicate shape, fitting a little on the loose side. So much had happened -- so many awful and terrible things since that fateful day when they met. There was so much he didn’t know about her, and the comment about her clothes served as a painful reminder of how close she came to having the life she always wanted -- one devoid of celebrity, of responsibility, of difficult circumstances. “Did I forget to tell you that I am a queen?” she asked, timid now as she dropped her arms and simply crossed them over her stomach. “That was on purpose...I was hoping to runaway from a sea of troubles back when you first met me.” She shrugged a little and focused her golden eyes on him once more -- taking in the full scale of his unkempt appearance. He looked like he had suffered through some very rough times, and fell so far away from the overly sexualized and elegant caricature that most vampyres tended to portray. If anything, he appeared weak and vulnerable. “Where am I?” “Andelusia, the capital city of an empire named Taen. You’re literally on the other side of the world from where we first met, dear Crusnik.” There was a sudden urge to invite him in, even if it wasn’t her home. She thought of drawing him a bath, of dressing him in clean, warm clothes -- things that would mean something to a human, but literally meant nothing to their kind, save the sentimental value of it. She tried to imagine a reality where she could get away with providing this creature with some level of kindness without igniting the fury of her Lord and Master, without inciting his jealousy. “Are you well, Crusnik? The last time I saw you -- you seemed better.”
  14. I thought I was going to post...and then I didn't. Forgive me!

  15. Pasion Pasiva

    A.N.T. Phase 2: The Treaty of 597

    So like, back in the day when I was looking at a little place to build my sandcastle one big reason I had to steer away from Terrenus was because I thought it was a sort of free-for-all war zone. My impression was that anyone could come and challenge you for your position and you would have to accept/defend. That being said, I always imagined that Terrenus is such a massive continent that there's simply no way the government can keep everyone in line, or rather, that they picked their battles. My reasoning for this was Roen's position as king of Patia. I know there's a history there of him taking over the city, and of peacekeepers trying to take him out (possibly?). I simply imagined that there were people who considered themselves sovereign rulers and the Terrenian government allowed it or simply couldn't be bothered to deal with it, or even, didn't have the means to deal with it. Just so many rich possibilities with this idea of essentially a "missing" king (I've never seen Odin played while I've been here...has he been played?!). That being said, I thought this particular plot was super clever and not at all an affront to the ruler-ship of Odin -- I think it's so neat that all of these sort of little independent states are trying to create this mismatched coalition. It would be absolutely amazing, if Terrenus actually caught wind of this and decided to send an official representative... While the cat is away, the mice do play...