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Found 6 results

  1. Welcome to King Milorian’s coronation masquerade ball! OOC: Things to Note: A Council of Dryads from the Free Marches are holding a meeting in the garden to discuss the current state of nature of Ursa Madeum. They are open to inquiries and are partial to acorns. The Lounge has been occupied by a group of dwarves who are far into their cups for the night. They are holding an arm-wrestling competition; the winner gets a prize. Participants: Open How-to: Dice Rolling Thread - Look at the result for the D2. If a 1 is rolled, you won! If a 2 is rolled, then you lose that round. There will be 3 rounds per-participant. You need a 2/3 win to get the prize. A mourning fairy has taken advantage of the famous festivities. Its victims experience sudden feelings of grief, and if the fairy is not caught, the grief can turn one mad. Catch the fairy and receive a reward. A witch is dropping elemental rune stones around the castle! These stones can be used to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself; only two stones per participant, please. Stones: wind, water, fire, earth Layout: Red is off limits; Green is open Milorian felt extremely uncomfortable; Milorian looked extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what his attitude should be towards the gathered individuals, and it left him feeling adrift among the large crowd. To his right was Primera all dazzling in her glamour and dress; to his left was an emptiness he felt right down to his very core. Birdy was not there to accompany him during this rather momentous - strange - moment in their lives. When he was made King, she was made his Queen; he hates to think what her absence will cause. On the other hand, he was pleased that she was hidden somewhere, safe and comfortable. He was not going to burden her with superficial gestures that could risk her comfort and health. Comfortably married for a short time, the two had maintained a sense of privacy from the moment they took vows in silence. It worried him that there may be a demand they marry in front of the entirety of Ursa Madeum, just to ensure that neither were manipulating their position and power by lying to their fellow citizens. The elf prayed they'd leave Birdy alone. At least he can speak of his wife; there had been a few compliments towards his attire. Birdy, Primera, and Odelia had ambushed him with options of different suits that would fit his newly acquired position, though he doesn't know why. Whatever opinion he had about the attire was quickly swept aside by one of the women. It took them four days to decide on a simple black suit void of any embellishments - four. days. When it was time for the masquerade, they threw a cape over his right shoulder that carried the Mythal wolf and pinned the fabric with a variety of golden chains that now hung from his shoulder. He hated it, but he had no opinion. Primera was rude enough to point out he was blind, so it didn't matter what he thought since he can't see. "You're a rather quiet host, my King." Primera dragged the sour-faced elf to the dance floor that was overly crowded with excitable company. He had to right himself when she manipulated him to hold her irresponsibly close, but the lack of space on the dance floor made it impossible to be appropriate. Without much choice, he was forced into a quickstep that shook a few laughs from his dry lungs and drew a smile across his usually tight features. "There you are! Such a handsome King should smile, it'll make the ladies weak." Milo rolled his sapphire eyes, not sure if he should feel complimented or not. He didn't care if the people should find him handsome or not, what mattered was what they thought of his behavior and his actions. Though he understood the small spread of truth behind her evaluation; a kind and thoughtful individual on the throne could sway the uneasiest of hearts, as first impressions do matter. Being an elf sitting on a somewhat changeable throne, a smile and some kindness could do him some good. "I suppose I can smile every now and then," he said begrudgingly. The two made it out alive and took refuge on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Unable to hide it, there were flecks of pride in his blind gaze as he "watched" the elves of his land mingle with the rest of the crowd. The normality of the sight was endearing, he never really expected such a thing to happen yet always yearned for it. Such an amazing view was exemplified by the laughter, the teasing, and the general conversation coming from differing individuals. Even if it's just for now, even if it's just for show, he can take these small triumphs and covet them when needed. Primera looked up at the elf who was clearly lost in the moment. Teasingly, she elbowed the gentleman, knocking him down back to earth. "You are a regal sort, you know. Seeing you as you are, in all your kingly glory, it's a marvel." "You keep feeding me these compliments, and I'll become fat on pride." "Oh? Is that why your belt is cinched extra tight?" The Grand Kommadant reached down and pulled at his elaborate belt all shiny in gold and jewels. Aghast, the elf slapped her hand away - a handsy woman! "I beg your pardon, my lady, but it's not very ... lady-like to just grab at a man's belt." "I beg your pardon my King, but that all depends on the gentleman." They were in a public place with eyes already drawn to their playfulness, the last thing he needs is this pompous woman speaking far too candidly for her own good. Damn her! He could see a few individuals hiding their smiles behind sips of wine and the flush of fans; they were going to talk, and it's all her fault. He certainly did not help the situation by laughing behind his gloved hand, the terrible attempt only exasperated the crude comment. The masquerade was to introduce him to the rest of society and open the doors for conversation. He did not want to talk politics, he barely wanted to acknowledge his newly acquired title, but he understood that parties as these are opportunities to get your foot in the door. With the party currently gliding towards its peak, Milorian has spoken to many people who have all welcomed him and nothing more. He was grateful that, at least for a moment, his people can enjoy a single night of celebration without any underhandedness. "I hate you," he finally said. He couldn't see it, but he certainly could tell that she was beaming. Which she was, from ear to ear, her smile reached; opal hues glittered and glowed with amusement behind the elaborate mask she wore.
  2. Wade

    Soon

    The hotel was splendid, the kind only the wealthiest might afford. A silver chandelier hung from the ceiling, long-limbed and looking like something you might find in the royal castle. Adrya’s boots tapped against the marble floor, soft and measured in their stride, before being swallowed by a silk rug as she approached the front desk. The man behind the counter glanced up from his ledger, small flecks of black peppering his graying hair. One sweep of his eyes was enough to determine that she was deserving of his utmost attention. “I have an appointment,” Adrya said. “With Bartley.” The clerk’s expression shifted, just a little. It could’ve been Adrya’s imagination. Years of dealing with clientele had obviously afforded him a well-practiced sense of discretion. “Mr. Bartley’s on the top floor,” he said. “First door across the stairs. Knock twice, then pause. Knock five more times after that.” Adrya nodded her thanks, stepped away, and began making her way up the stairs. The stiletto in her belt suddenly felt strange. Awkward, misplaced. You’re fine. She took a breath. The uncertainty ebbed away from her resolve. She was so close, too close. The wait would be over soon. Knock knock. Pause. Adrya glanced around the hallway. There was no one else around besides herself, though she couldn’t be too sure what hid behind all those other doors. Knock knock knock knock knock. The door swung open. Two men stood on the opposite side, taller than Adrya by a couple of inches. Heavier by a few stones at the least. Beyond them sat a desk presided over by a tall, heavyset noble, dressed in a pompous scarf and a navy-blue suit. Bottles of gemwine rested in a nearby cabinet. His guards, presumably, gestured towards a lone chair in the middle of room. Adrya declined with a tilt of her head. They quietly locked the door shut behind her. “Ms. Oswald,” the noble smiled. “Bartley,” Adrya replied. Her voice, while curt, still retained much of its velvety charm. “Did you find it?” “Of course. Would you care for a drink?” No. Adrya said nothing. Bartley seemed to take that as a yes. There was an uncomfortable silence as he set two glasses in front of him and filled them with a diamond-hued liquid. “Fine company calls for fine wine,” he said. “It’s not often I enjoy the company of such a beautiful woman.” It was a pretty lie and they both knew it. Adrya had a fairly good idea where his money went when he wasn’t dealing information. “You’re too kind,” she said in response, masking her revulsion with an even-tempered smile. “I’m afraid I’ll only have time for one glass. I have somewhere else to be later tonight.” “That’s unfortunate.” Bartley handed her a glass. He made a show of drinking from his own—to demonstrate there was nothing to fear from such a rare and expensive delicacy. “I suppose it’s straight to business, then?” “If you wouldn’t mind.” “I don’t.” “Thank you.” Bartley rounded his desk to return to his chair. Adrya continued to stand. “It’s in the castle.” “The castle?” “The royal vault, specifically.” His gaze drifted towards the moonlight filtering through the apartment’s windows. “The Devil placed it there after returning from that shameful debacle in Misral. Suffice to say, it’s well-guarded. My informant says he’s paranoid. Checks on it regularly.” Adrya’s grip tightened around her glass. “You’re positive?” Bartley chuckled like she’d told a bad joke. If the question had offended him, he didn’t show it. “I haven’t built my reputation on falsehoods and lies. The information’s solid. Always has been, always will be.” Adrya looked at him then—flat lips and open eyes. Not a single twitch out of place. He was telling the truth as far as she could tell. “I understand.” She fetched a hand in her jacket before a coin purse clattered on Bartley’s desk a second later. He started counting the contents down to the last piece. Five-hundred crowns in all. “It’s all there,” he confirmed after an eternity. Adrya nodded, eager to leave. “I believe that concludes our business-“ “One more thing, actually.” Adrya opened her mouth, then closed it. An icy glare crept across her face. “We had a deal, Bartley.” “We did. And now it’s been seen through to completion.” He took a sip of his wine, drawing out the motion, pudgy eyes hanging on her as if she were a prize to be won. “It just so happens that I’ve also been thinking of cutting a deal with the law. Earn myself some good karma and get the authorities off my back for a while.” Something small formed in Adrya’s chest where her breath held firm; anger, slowly growing, threatening to shatter the glass stem between her fingers. “What do you mean?” Bartley smiled. “Adrya Arcos, daughter of Dridak, former Ninth of the Oathsworn. Funny you should change your name to Oswald. Afraid you’ll end up like the rest of your family?” Another silence filled the room. Pressed against her on all sides. This was exactly what she’d feared coming in. What she’d been running away from for two years. You’re fine. She took a breath. Matched Bartley’s gaze with her own. “What a fucking cliché,” she muttered. “Of course you’re going to screw me over.” A pair of heavy feet shuffled close behind. Adrya didn’t react. “What do you want?” “Your bounty currently sits at three-thousand crowns.” She clenched her teeth. “I don’t have that much.” “Really?” Bartley looked surprised. “The gladiatorial pits, the smuggling—let’s not forget your dealings with the Suujali—made your house richer than a hooker with all of her teeth. And if there’s one thing I know about rich people, it’s that they know how to hide their money and hide it well.” The thugs pressed closer. Adrya did her best to ignore them. “Two thousand’s all I have. The empire seized the rest of my family’s assets.” “Is that so?” “Yes. But I could make more, given a few weeks.” Adrya’s eyes were on the windows now, watching Bartley’s thugs from the glimmer of their reflections. One of them stood a little to her left. The other still guarded the locked door. She feigned a sip of her wine, drawing focus away from her other hand as it slowly ventured towards the curve of her hip, inching closer to her belt. “Sorry, Adrya, but I don’t have a few weeks-“ The stiletto grinned in a silver arc. It caught the first man along the chest, a dark line seeping through his front shirt and spilling onto the hardwood floor. His face twisted in a snarl, equal parts pain and surprise, and he howled as Adrya threw gemwine in his eyes, stinging like a papercut on naked retinas. “You bitch!“ She sank the blade in his neck, cutting through flesh and scraping spine. He crumpled to the ground in choking spasms, desperate hands pressed against his throat. Adrya didn’t pay her victim any mind. Not out of choice, but because she couldn’t. The man guarding the door had lunged for her, and she barely stepped out of the way in time to feel the blade knocked out of her grip. He rounded on her the next moment, sending her reeling with a well-placed backhand to her chin. Black flared across her vision, but she managed to stay upright, head swimming. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine… The next blow came swiftly, a right hook aimed at the side of her head. Adrya remembered her training, ducked, and caught the man’s wrist with the flat of her palm. Weaving in, she transitioned into an elbow strike that crushed the cartilage surrounding his larynx. She kicked him in the knee when he inevitably staggered backwards, then finished him with a bootheel to the neck that killed him right then and there. Bartley. The thought was liquid-quick. Adrya whirled into a furious pivot. The big man was just shy of surprising her with a silver knife, her own stiletto gripped between his fat little fingers like a pen. Adrya pounced, dodging a blow that would’ve slipped between her ribs. Bartley recovered his balance and turned on her in an instant, moving with a speed unbefitting of his size. “You’re dead,” he spat viciously. Adrya didn’t wait to be attacked this time. Bartley was caught off guard when she darted forward, and she had the thrill of seeing his eyes widen a fraction in surprise. He brought up the stiletto in a hurry, jabbed, and Adrya locked his wrist with her arm, forcing him to let go of the weapon, sending it clattering to the floor, before he replied in kind by bringing his head down in a savage arc that sent her lurching. “Mr. Bartley!” someone cried from the door. “Is everything alright?” Adrya flew at the noble, unable to keep a roar from tearing out of her throat. He was huge, twice as strong as her. But she just needed to be faster. Bartley swung a meaty fist, missing entirely as Adrya feigned a dive across the floor. She picked up her knife, thrusted, skewering his shin, once, twice, three times, until he slipped away after the fourth with a shrill cry. “Mr. Bartley!” The voice grew more insistent. Whoever was on the side started rattling the doorknob. It was just a matter of time before other goons, or worse, the city watch, barged in. “Should’ve let me go,” Adrya hissed. Bartley was limping away from her, groaning. Blood leaked from his leg in a steady stream. She’d probably nicked a major artery. “Listen-“ “No.” She was atop him, pinning him down. Her stiletto crucifying his hand to the floor. Her fists pounding his jaw, channeling her hatred for a world that had taken everything from her. She pictured her mother, her father, her brother, everyone she’d lost, and this man, this traitorous, lying sack of shit, who dared to stand in the way of the revenge she was rightfully owed. “Mr. Bartley!” She slammed his head against the floor over and over. It came back wet, pulpy, and red. There so much red. Her muscles eventually failed her. Her breath came in ragged, burning and painfully raw, tasting of blood and poisonous rage. The adrenaline faded. Adrya heard the pounding of the door more clearly now than she’d ever had before. It was going to give way any second. It was time for her to go. “What’s going on in here-“ Adrya shattered the window and climbed out, dropping to the street outside. People looked. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that she got away safe. Her run took her to a distant alley, where she climbed a wooden beam and collapsed onto a flat rooftop. Up high, a crescent moon smiled at her, almost as if it knew she’d be alright. She wasn’t so sure herself. Quietly, Adrya sat up. Listened for the faintest hint of…something. No one had followed her, it seemed. But she couldn’t relax for too long. Her hands were filthy, stained all the way up to her elbows and chest, and her clothes smelled awful—discarding her jacket seemed like the best idea she’d had all day. “Goodbye,” she thought aloud. It pained her, somewhat. The jacket was a memento from better days, when life hadn’t been so miserable. People would be looking for her in the morning, searching the city for someone who matched her description. She’d have to head back to her apartment tonight, get her things, and never come back. Not like it matters. Not anymore. She was one step closer to her goal. Two whole years she’d been waiting for her moment. The wait would be over soon. She’d been Adrya Arcos. Her house had controlled the fates of islands, cities, and towns. Her father, Dridak the Ninth, had wielded an Oathblade that transcended the power of death itself. But he’d been slain with the other Oathsworn, at the hands of a demon he’d once called friend, along with any chance the Kingdom had possessed of defeating the black-eyed Empress and her legions. Everyone else she’d known after that had either been imprisoned or sent to the gallows. It was only by a sheer stroke of luck that she’d managed to escape with her life all on her own. She’d make it right in the end, though. She had no other choice. Crowley would bleed for what he’d done to her family. Adrya swore it.
  3. ANDELUSIA | The High Capital Location: The center of Corinth. Leadership: Kingdom of Ursa Madeum Andelusia is the oldest city in Ursa Madeum. Despite the destruction brought about by the reign of the Tyrant King, the delicate strokes of elvish architecture remain a dominant feature in its cityscape. Visitors can enter through one of the four gates lining the city’s outer walls, one in each cardinal direction. Once inside, large stone directories greet guests. Molten brick roads wind through the city’s white marble buildings. Brightly-painted signs hang over every intersection, paired with elaborate floral archways. Nature has begun to reclaim the ruins of the Tyrant-King’s reign, with trees and vines twining around broken structures. Parks are a common feature of the city, often with several merchant stalls nearby. A fortified inner wall surrounds the center of Andelusia, enclosing the ruins of the old royal castle. NOTABLE LOCATIONS The Andelusian High Tea Society | Hub Thread - A teahouse in Andelusia that caters to all walks of life, including the noble elite to which they provide seclusion and luxury within the city. The Andelusian Opera House - recently renovated, the central and most popular performing arts venue in the kingdom, hosting operas and classic plays. Andelusia-Lunaris Portal - a public worldrift portal connected to Lunaris, Taen. Initially located in the marketplace, the portal has been relocated outside the Northern Gate of the city. Dali Designs - the fashion outlet owned by Evienne Goldcourt Dali Castle of Andelusia - a new castle constructed to replace the ruins of the old, located at the northern end of the city. HISTORY Recent Canon (newest to oldest) Time will tell - A meeting of Veluriyam's Empress and the Ursa Madeum nobility sets the foundations for the island's future. Milorian Mythal is elected King, serving as the chairman of a council composed of representatives chosen by the nobility. House Hildebrand becomes a separatist Queendom under the leadership of Varda Hildebrand. The Welcoming Party - Empress Rozharon Paralios tracks down Walter Crowley and strikes a deal, agreeing to pardoning his crimes under the Tyrant King in return for bringing back the Oathsworn and a few favors for the Veluriyam Empire. The Reverie Ball - The Veluriyam Empire holds its first Reverie celebration in Andelusia Above lore adapted from broken wing’s lore
  4. Csl

    Time will tell

    Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash The Andelusia Opera House had once been the soul of Ursa Madeum, a stage that hosted the queendom’s best talent. Once, it had been the central and most popular performing arts venue in the queendom, hosting operas and classic plays. Not anymore, Rozharon mused. The building had been a shell of its former glory when she’d visited; another victim of the Tyrant King’s rule and his disregard for his kingdom’s history and culture. Most of the opera house had been damaged. It would be used one more time before she left the islands. Apt, that this relic of the old kingdom would be the stage to usher in the new government. As she did with all things abandoned and unused, Rozharon had repurposed the amphitheater into a meeting hall. Crumbling walls had been repaired, the stage salvaged, ruined seats removed. Now, sunlight filtered into the space through windows that stretched from ceiling to floor. If one looked southwards, one could glimpse the gleam of the ocean on the horizon. The nobility would be seated at a table at the center of the space, where the stage had once stood. Anything spoken here would carry across the room. The balconies, which had remained intact, would host those not participating in the discussion. Paper and pens were provided at the table, should the representatives of each house wish to take notes. In addition, a page containing the matters Rozharon intended to discuss was placed before the seat of every noble. Guards were stationed outside the building. Pallas and Lenore walked the balcony, providing enough security for those there. As for the assembly of nobles, well, Rozharon was present. That would be enough. Now, there was little to do but wait for the others to arrive. Rozharon paced, her steps silent. Her sons were chatting amongst themselves, quietly excluding her from the mental conversation. Rozharon eyed a grand piano at the corner of the room - one of the few pieces of furniture that had been mostly undamaged. ᴘʟᴀʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ. The Angel-Queen sat herself before the keys. A simple tune thrummed through the old opera house. She waited. @Tyler @notmuch_23 @danzilla3 @Infernal @King @vielle @Aleksei @supernal OOC | Spectator thread
  5. “It’s following us.” Crowley looked up. The same crow from earlier still hovered far away, little more than a black dot in a blue sky, caw-cawing to its heart’s content. He steered his horse to the left, down a dirt road marked by yet another signpost. Andelusia eventually rose past the trees, just beyond a stone bridge and a heavily-manned gate. Orenmir retreated from the horse’s shadow, quietly nestling in Crowley's own. Its voice faded from an audible whisper to an oily tremor only he could hear. “You don’t find it strange?” Crowley slowed his horse to a lazy trot. A few of the guards ahead straightened, watching him approach through helmeted stares. “It’s a crow,” Crowley said, careful to keep his voice to a casual murmur. “I’m a Crowley. I think it's only natural that we’d attract each other.” “I don’t like it.” “Stop being paranoid.” “Maybe it wants to eat you.” Crowley snorted. “Why would it want to do that?” “I hear they like trash.” Crowley meant to respond but one of the guardsmen held up his hand. He had the worn, fish-eyed glaze of someone who sincerely hated their job. “State your business and identify yourself,” he recited. Crowley flashed the man a winning smile. All of his smiles were winning, really, but this one especially more so. “My name is Reed Waterman,” he announced, bringing his horse to a careful stop. “I’m a noodle chef from Blackburn, come here on vacation.” The man looked up him up and down, consistent in his lack of expression. He didn’t seem to have any issues with the fact that, in his black leather jerkin and towering, broad-shouldered physique, Crowley looked nothing like a noodle chef. Probably never would. “How long will you be staying?” “Until someone back home starts worrying about me.” The guard didn’t raise an eyebrow. “You mind if we inspect your belongings?” Crowley nodded and hopped off his saddle. Another pair of guards went about inspecting the saddlebags, all of which were suspiciously empty and lacking the most basic of supplies—the exception being Crowley’s own personal satchel. It contained a careless stack of crumbs and a half-eaten brick of cheese. It also smelled vaguely of Thraecian sausage. The guards, understandably, grilled him with more questions. “Not the most tactical sort, are you?” Orenmir said later, once they’d made it past the gates and out of the stables. Crowley weaved his way through the crowd. Andelusia’s hustle and bustle was exactly as he remembered it. Loud, socially stifling, full of enterprising pickpockets. Occasionally punctuated by the nose-to-tongue waft drifting out of manholes. It’d been too long. Crowley bought more food at the nearest bazaar. Pastries, meat on a stick. Not a single person recognized him all the while, nor the too-dark shadow swimming at his feet. It was a pleasant walk as a result, having gone through the hour undisturbed. The crow still followed him though. Maybe now it was getting a little strange. “You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” Orenmir declared. The shadow was perched in the tree above the park bench. It had taken a page from their stalker’s book, opting for the distinctive shape of a crow, void-black and ribbon-thin, quickly learning the subtle intricacies of a bird’s mannerisms. Crowley popped a dumpling into his mouth. “Ah thld uh agldy.” “What?” “Lnth.” “What?” “Vicuthown!” The false crow cocked its head. “Contrarily to popular belief, I do not speak barbarian.” Crowley swallowed, licked his lips, set the plate aside and leaned back. His eyes fell on an elven family having a picnic. Nice to know he hadn’t ruined that for them. “I told you already,” he repeated. “Lunch. Vacation.” “You realize it’s difficult to tell when you’re being serious.” “I am serious,” Crowley said. “Those dumplings?” He kissed his fingers. “The view?” He pressed the same hand to his heart. “I know you’re this aloof piece of devilry with the emotional range of a popsicle, but try to understand that this is my home.” “...you miss it?” “Shitty memories and all.” Orenmir regarded him coolly. “How long are we really staying?” “Like I said, ‘till the Hildebrands start freaking out that I’m gone.” “So a few hours.” “Pretty much.” "Knowing you, it'll be a little longer than that." @Csl
  6. After the Reverie Balls ends and those who wish to leave, leave, and those who do not, stay, Emperor Titus announces the start of the Maze Games. At his beckoning those interested in watching it are invited to follow him toward the Maze. Facing the Maze is an enormous area of carved seating, created by earthbenders during the Mazes construction. Anyone who wants to watch the Maze, even if they don't want to actually participate, is allowed to simply sit on the carved seating or on whatever they may have brought with them! Several nobles, after finding their seats, set up portable chairs and drinks for comfort. To have food, drinks, company, and a great show to watch just as the sun sets over the horizon, well, needless to say many of the Nobles present will remember this Reverie for years to come! All participants are led to the front of the Maze, each of the positioned at exactly 50 meters apart from their closest opponent. They are then allowed to stretch and prepare, sharing words of hope and encouragement with their family perhaps. Or friends. No rules are implemented on who you can talk to. Then in the distance, a loud horn blares, signaling for the Maze to start! Emperor Titus stands, his seat ceremoniously positioned higher than all the others, and with a large smile on his face announces, "Let the Maze Games, begin!" With that an individual maze entrance opens up to each participant to enter. The path they will be taken on is different for all of them; some will cause participants to converge quickly, others later, and some might not allow you to meet anyone! But be careful, for the occasional creature roams these mazes... REMINDER OF RULES ROUND 1 Your seven days start..... NOW! GO GO GO GO!!
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