King

Paris looked to the side, eying his wolfish companion. “Everything.” It seemed a ridiculous response to a question so specific, and yet, his lips did not curve in a smirk nor did his eyes shimmer with facetiousness. Okina looked upon a man of pure ambition, with an insatiable appetite for all things knowledge and pleasure. If he could learn all that there was to know from the world, and fuck every beautiful entity in, perhaps he might be satisfied—for a time. The crown prince was not content to see himself locked away in Lyria, governing his spit of land while the whole world passed the kingdom by. When the time was right, he would open their borders again, embrace foreign trade—as their Sitraic Emperor preached—and explore all that he could in his limited lifetime. But, there were things to do before that. There were those who would oppose his creed, see him deposed for his “radical” ideas that threatened tradition. He would need powerful allies, if his rule was to survive—instruments, both blunt and sharp, to shape the world he saw so clearly in his mind’s eye. Hopefully, Okina would prove useful enough to become one. “I want to see all that I can; learn all that I can; eat what I can and fuck what I can,” he said, smiling that handsome, prince’s smile. “Being crown prince, I have been fortunate enough to be blessed with quite an extensive library. But, I’ve found literature to be quite disappointing when compared to its living counterparts. For instance, no prose could do your beauty or intrigue justice, she-wolf. Therefore, when my kingdom is ready, I will go forth and bring the world to them.” Turning his eyes forward, Paris looked not to the road, but to the future. “It is my hope that what I bring to them will not be enough to satisfy their curiosity, and in turn, they too will venture out to see all of what Valucre has to offer. And then, have what they bring their children inspire their sense of wanderlust, and so the cycle will continue, on and on.” He could almost see it, dancing between the leaves and in the shadows cast by the sun filtering through the canopy. “That will be the legacy I leave my kingdom.” His gloved hand fell to the ornate hilt of his blade. “But first, we have some highway men to put down.” And then, from the seed planted moments before, a wicked thought bloomed. “Your fangs and claws may prove useful tonight, darling. Be ready to hunt.”

Quinton doesn’t panic as the woman faints, and quite effortlessly positions himself to catch her in his arms before she can topple from her chair. “Not well at all, it would seem,” he murmurs to his sleeping beauty. She’s put him a precarious situation, this man that walks both in the light and dark, each one of his days a struggle to maintain the perfect balance. It would be easy for him to have his men slay the guard outside his villa days whilst he spirited her away to some distant land. Once there, she would learn to play her role, and play it well. But, there is a part of him that had become fond of her. A woman grown, yet so very much a shy, impressionable child ignorant of the affections she deserves. It is her innocence, he realizes, and the desire he feels growing inside him is that of a man that wants nothing more than to protect it. So, rather than calling for Athos, Aramis, or Porthos, he calls for D’artagnan instead. He is a thin man, this D’artagnan, with bronzed skin of foreign ancestry and a clean-shaven face. His hair is dark, his eyes darker, and he carries himself with all the regality of a young lord. His deep navy suit is sharp and freshly pressed, giving him an almost gangly appearance. He moved across the room without a sound, as if he holds no weight. “Sir?” “It would seem my guest is ill. Take her to my room.” Quinton lifts her from the chair as he would a princess, depositing her into the young man’s awaiting arms as if she were made of glass. “I suspect the culprit to be occult in nature. Have one of the Seekers look her over while I inform her guard.” D’artagnan nods and turns on his heels, exiting the room with smooth haste. Without missing a beat, Quinton follows, parting ways in the hall to approach the front of his home. The servants there are quick to respond, but he eases them with a placating wave of the hand. He opens the door and studies the knight only for a moment, trying to gauge what manner of man he might be. “Ser,” Quinton says in an unnaturally even voice. “It would appear your Lady has fallen ill. Come with me.” Quinton waits for the knight to move, his promptness appreciated at this moment. As they walk together, the gracious host elaborates. “We were in the middle of discussing dinner and she simply fainted. I had her brought to my room as the guest rooms are not finished, but for propriety’s sake, I felt it would be inappropriate to have her treated without you present.” The last thing he cares to begin here is a scandal involving his future intended. Her sterling reputation is equally as important as her innocence. “I’m no doctor,” Quinton says, “But I do believe the source to be arcane.” He notes the guard’s curious glance, but not willing to divulge his secrets, simply shrugs. “I have a pension for these types of things. After a while, you develop something of a sixth sense, you could say. I’m currently having a Seeker – a female doctor – inspect her at this very moment. Has… anything happened that the doctor might need to be aware of? Has Lady Varda been experiencing these symptoms for an extended period of time.”

How long has it been since he’s laughed? It’s a strange sound to him now, the foreign language of joy and happiness he’s all but forgotten since his exile. And yet, standing before his beloved sister, Cornelius feels the fog lifting from his memory. Slowly, but surely. He can’t deny that of all his siblings, even precious little Darim, he has always shared a special bond with Lyonene. They are the last of the lion’s blood, their golden manes as long and proud as their mother’s, and he can see their matriarch in the soft curve of her chin, the fullness of her lips, and intensity of her emerald eyes. “You shouldn’t have come here, Lyonene,” he says again. Yet the resolve is gone from his voice, chased away by the soft laughter of her childish insult. Cornelius approaches, sheathing his blade in the earth and snow, and sinks to his knees before her. A rough, calloused palm cups her cheek, soft as silk in comparison. With his other hand, he brushes away some of the dark golden hair that has clung to her face so that he might see her properly. “But, I’m glad you have.” To feel warmth in his blood; to feel his heart beating. Cornelius pulls her close, deep into his embrace, and kisses the center of her brow. It had to be you, he confesses in the privacy of his thoughts. Who else but her could have stirred these things inside his chest, exhumed these memories of love he’d buried beneath bitterness and snow. Who else but her could have reminded him of what he’d truly sacrificed that night their mother had plunged his blade into her stomach, forsaking her young lion to this cruel life. It is a long moment before Cornelius dares to release her. But when he rises, he carries her with him, leaving only their imprints in the snow. “Come,” he says, holding her hand tight. In his other hand, he takes up his blade. He leads her deeper into the wintry forest. “We’re not far now.” He cannot call the wooden cabin he’s built home. A place to sleep, to eat, to dwell in solitude—not a home. But as he glances at his beloved, feels her delicate fingers laced with his, he can’t help but feel a spark of hope. “How long will you stay with me?” The spark of hope smolders in his tone.

“Here and there,” Quinton replies, gesturing his hand left to right in emphasis. He has no intention of revealing his secrets to her—not yet; perhaps not ever. The very nature of his business is an acquired taste, and he’s found there are a limited number of people in the world capable of stomaching it. It will be better for all parties involved—decided after their first meeting—that she remains ignorant of the evil growing long in his shadow. “I’m afraid that self-preservation prevents me from answering you further. If I were to reveal my secrets to you, well, you’d have no reason to seek my opinion on these matters any further. This way, I can be confident that I’ll see you again. And please, call me Quinn.” Moving closer to her, forcing whatever separate personal space might have existed between them into a single entity, he turned on his heels and presented a bent arm to her. “Your timing is quite impeccable, really.” Lightly flicking his chin ahead of them, he seeks to draw her attention toward the mysterious frame, draped in a curtain of black velvet. “Had you arrived a few hours sooner, that wouldn’t have been ready for you.” Quinn guides her toward the mysterious piece, larger than a small child by far. There’s no hurry in his pace or eagerness in his steps. Rather, he appears to enjoy having her by his side, their bodies in stride alongside each other, more than the gift itself. He uses the time to gauge her, to measure how her body works when guided by his, learn her in these meticulous ways that are only possible in the ephemeral encounters so many dismiss. She’s a beautiful woman, regal and lithe, with strong values, a powerful name, and sterling reputation. Yes, she will do quite nicely. “I hope you like it.” Pinching a corner of the cloth with his free hand, he tugs it away with a grand flourish. The gilded frame is sleek and angular, shaped into clusters of orchids at each of its four corners. Inside is the rendition of her likeness, as if he’d reached into the past and imprisoned the memory here. It’s the first time she smiled at him, the blush she’d hoped gone still on her cheeks, a bouquet of white roses in her hands. Every detail, perfectly in place.

Personal weapon.

I do. The relic system has changed since then. I'll have to contact you about some updates.

03/13/2019 A relic update. There has been a slight change to the rules regarding the Genesaris Cornerstones. In an effort to avoid players circumventing a large portion of nature behind the stones' system, quest threads for the stones are no longer subject to meaningful interruption. Threads that go without posts for too long will be considered defunct and the stone in question will be made available for other players to obtain via questing.

My apologies for the delayed response. I didn't even see this message. So, there's a lot up with that. The artifact system has undergone a slight change. All relics/artifacts are now linked per-player, which essentially means the relics themselves are now all on the same wavelength in terms of strength classification. Even though I haven't finished crafting the sub-legendary/sub-exotic relics, if you compare the power of the three lost swords to other s-class artifacts around the forum, they are incredibly powerful. They also retain this level of power across the board (meaning they're just as strong in Terrenus, Renovatio, or Genesaris). I feel that when set beside other "certified relics," as you put it, they're more than deserving of their limitation. It's clearly stated this is not the case with the cornerstones. The Cornerstones are only able to reach their full potential inside of Genesaris-- in which case I am the authority on that matter. Beyond that realm of interaction, a cornerstone's strength could very well be halved, or reduced even further (depending on the board leader's prerogative). That being said, the stones-- like all of the relics I've created --are subject to change. So, there's no need to panic. And, of course, there's no need for you to participate in a quest you don't want to. Hope that answers your question.

No. That isn't what the sword does, lol. Yes, if you have an item or device that lets you harness energy from things. There are plenty of airships that do it.

They're extremely volatile. There's a high chance that they would explode inside said character, killing them.