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  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. Grant stood on the deck of the small boat he had procured; double checking the rigging and doing other last minute checks on the vessel. The vessel had been purchased well above its worth from a fisherman who would now be able to afford a better one. It was often the little things that the prince took comfort in these days; and the way the man's eyes had lit up when he'd heard the offer was one of them. Of course, today he was in higher spirits than most. He had asked Lady Delphine of House Mythal to accompany him on this journey, and she had said yes. He had practically been walking on air all the way to the docks. The prince had met the Lady during a visit to the city that her family was building on Thrace as part of a proposed trade route. Through some strange combination of natural chemistry, and recognition of each others traumatic pasts, they had hit it off. When they parted that day, they had agreed to see each other once again, and today was that day. Though he had thought about wearing something fancy, but had eventually settled on a more practical outfit. He had however cleaned himself up a bit, and trimmed his beard. Preparations done, now he need only wait for his shipmate. @Aleksei
  3. @King She stayed with the carriage, told to keep it company and for her to stay out of trouble; just enough leash for her to hang herself if she dared to go against her given instructions. It had taken days of begging to be allowed outside her gilded cage, but torturing her brother and being a victim to his storminess was utterly worth it. He folded and allowed her to accompany him to the steps of the meeting, just enough space to let her wander about without getting into too much trouble or be much of a burden. Lyrei lifted her nose to the sky, drawing in a large breath of humid air that made her lungs feel heavy. She couldn't hate on her brother, not when he has been the reason the Mythal House has been quietly prosperous; he has shown that his actions are always thoughtfully put in place, even if a few of those actions are a bit of a nuisance. He had kept his sister out of the spotlight, saying he doesn't need her to distract the outside world with her antics or worry that she will become a victim to some dastardly man looking to take advantage. How little he knew, she thought while plucking at an errant strand of golden hair. Milorian would be one foot in the grave if he knew that his sister had done her own work to keep her home in its place. She has chased witches deep into the Emerald Graves and argued with trolls and other behemoths that traverse her homeland; on top of such adventures, she has been gifted a weapon that makes her sworn to oaths and immense power. Thankfully, if he ever finds out that she is a masked vigilante, he will not take away her newfound freedoms, no matter how much it would ease him to do so. Lyrei won't be shelved, treated like some precious gem that must sit behind a glass case to only be admired for the rest of its days. "Miss, can you please get back in the carriage." Her wondering was interrupted by Delaney, a Seeker who has kept her post near the window the entire time. Amber hues evaluated the woman dressed in her noble attire, her eyes fixed forward and her lips drawn in a rather sloppy grin. Lyrei hated how this woman looked so fashionably strong and determined, not at all having to worry about using her airs of femininity (if she had any) to grasp someone's attention. "I'm just hanging out the window," she retorted. Crimson covered arms were folded on the edge of the window with her chin resting atop her layered hands. Red roses freckle her golden hair, a wonderfully terrible contrast that just caught the eye. "And that's enough to cause trouble." Delaney tapped the elf on the nose, causing it to wrinkle in response to the playful gesture. "I thought you liked trouble?" Lyrei's red painted lips spread in a wide knowing smile. The two women divulge into small talk, their minor laughter rising and falling between them.
  4. Name: Ylia City Moniker: The Blossom Population: ~6,000 Protection: Seekers - ~500 The Seekers are the military body of House Mythal. They are highly trained and highly religious individuals who use their devout abilities to protect their House and the people within. Fleet - ~100 Eagleships are the most common vessels of the Sylvus fleet. Armed with broadside Hawk Talon batteries, these craft are huge, sleek and streamlined, making them both fast and deadly. They are able to out-race even Bretonnian Corsairs and are far more maneuverable than any ship on Valucre. Their hulls are made from a single curved mighty starwood tree, grown specially for this purpose by Master Shipwrights of Sylvania Those shipwrights lovingly tend groves of starwood for a time equal to many men's lives. They sculpt the shape of the trunk as it grows, working with the wood to maintain its strength and integrity. They then carefully select the strongest, most flawless of these magical trees before they are uprooted. Mighty spells are then used to keep the plant alive and the masts are actually branches grown out of the trunk that will become the hull. Its sails are works of art in themselves, woven from the hair of several shriven priestesses and spiderwicked in a tapestry of enchanting beauty and finally ensorcelled. Trunks are bled just before the ship is launched and the sap of the living tree is tapped and allowed to flow out and over the hull. The resin is hardened until it is a strong as steel and remains watertight. The ship is then blessed by the Phoenix King himself and allowed to go to sea. Government: Governance of the city is shared by an order of Arcanists and wealthy merchants. Arcanists: Merchants: Shaped from the dunes around the marshes of the Turquoise River, Ylia City is a beautiful seaside hotspot that has adopted a channel system due to the past desecration of the land. The charming city has homes designed to be individually different, painted in soft pastel colors of ochre, pink, and turquoise and features shutters with wrought iron balconies with roofs of terracotta tiles. Arranged into four small islands, Ylia boats colorful homes are linked by bridges over the waterways and surrounded by gardens facing the canals. Ylia serves as a port for boat owners, who park their boats in front of their houses; an abundance of trading happens in the active markets scattered about the city. Just outside the city is one major road that leads travelers from and to Senaria and Ylia, with small trails and other minor roads branching from it. The canals are used most often by people to get to and from their homes, shops, and markets that speckle the city. Travel by foot, boat, or water taxi are the primary forms of transportation within Ylia due to the "lagoon city's" overall structure. Ylia is called The Blossom, for it has bloomed beneath the tender love and care given to it by the Mythal House and its followers. The city is shaped by the backdrop of green, fertile fields which have assisted in developing the city to what it is today. The economy has grown with the exchange of rice, wine, fish, also a variety of wools and clothes made by the people of the Mythal House. Wooly bugs and halla inhabit the surrounding fields, keeping the city an active delight of wonders. Culture is rising in Ylia, attracting the attention of many who have no place to call their own to settle down. What historically was a city of little contrast has grown into a vast melting pot, allowing the inhabitants of the city to be free with their beliefs and teachings. There is no true religion within Ylia, though the banners of the Dred Wolf do decorate most homes and businesses. In truth, with the city continuously active with the comings and goings of many merchants, there is just no room or need to settle on only one culture. Overall, the multicultural identity of the city truly leaves a mark. Ylia is made up of four small islands: MAP Egron: MAP Notable Places: Red Eye: An obelisk of hewn red crystal jutting from the center of the Ylia. If close enough you can hear a tranquil song emanating from the obelisk; merchants and seafaring people leave offerings to the obelisk, believing it will bring them safety and wealth. Could be true. Cweyna's Pottery: The workshop of a female human potter named Cweyna, who was once a great wizard, but retired to marry and raise a family. Her pottery is lovely and well priced, but for a few extra coins she will make you something under the table. The Cursed Sword: A grand adventurer's inn, kept by a sphinx named Ningal. Certain quests and jobs can be found here at the inn, along with a few scrupulous people and their bearings. Ithon: MAP Notable Places: Kyne's Blades: A modest weaponsmith's workshop, built within the walls of an embattled stone tower. It’s said the smith to this workshop is a young elven man who guarantees he can make anything within a single day time. The Honest Merchant: The shop of a female human weapon merchant named Anor, within which a magical spell prevents lies and falsehoods from being spoken. The Crossed Blades: A fanciful adventurer's tavern, built within what was once an aristocrat's manor. While the structure is fancy and high maintenance, the individuals inside are by far the most jovial and down-to-earth in Ylia. Falione: MAP Topaz Borough: Overgrown temple ruins, said to be haunted by the spirits of those slain upon its altar. All who come near are said to disappear or are left insane, but the idea of treasure hidden within the ruins keeps them active. Ardulf's Masonry: A large stonemason's workshop, said to be guarded by living gargoyles. These gargoyles will speak to people and if they like a person, they will point them to certain treasures scattered around Ylia. Inyand: MAP The Stacks: A single storey half-timbered building, the home and personal library of a male human sage named Ered. He specializes in the study of legendary heroes and battles. The Singing Thief: An elegant dwarven inn, which serves magical potions in addition to beers and ales. Ylia Notable NPCs: Heva: Female Human Peasant (Evil). Heva is common in appearance, with thin auburn hair and light gray eyes. She wears modest garments and a wide-brimmed hat. Heva is cursed with a maimed hand. Gralphye Ginte: Male Human Peasant (Evil). Gralphye has a square face, with silver hair and brown eyes. He wears plain clothing and several small tools hang from his belt. Gralphye lost his reflection to a nymph. Jorga Kumidotr: Female Dwarf Assassin (Neutral). Jorga is fey in appearance, with thick white hair and brown eyes. She wears leather armor and wields a short sword. Jorga dislikes anyone smarter than her. Elys: Female Human Artist (Good). Elys has black hair and bright amber eyes, and small ears. She wears fine clothing and a silver holy symbol. Elys is thrifty and sensitive.
  5. The elf folded her covered arms across her lightly protected chest; her stance is thoughtful as her audience awaits her demands. The trolls have been reliable with their information, keeping their promise to answer questions when asked, and being honest - as honest as a troll can be. With a pinch of salt, she rolls this trolls honest words around, wondering how far she is willing to risk her safety and those that had followed her. Somewhere within the depths of the Emerald Graves, a witch has made her home. Not bound by the law of any kind, the treacherous creature has begun stealing items from nearby towns and abused anyone that comes near her. It's a bit unusual considering that witches aren't known for being so forward, though times have changed and what she knows means very little. What matters is the issue is taken care of and fast; in a few days her brother will be leaving to attend a meeting that will decide how Ursa Madeum turns. Ly will not be set aside, not anymore. Milorian can't keep her from the world, not when he can't depend on the rest of his siblings. Wyne and Ronan have already ruined their relationship with Milo, too much hate and pain and revenge have kept the brothers at arm's length with the Lord of their House. Lyrei has yelled at the men, treating them like the children they are, trying to get them to see the reason of some kind. It's been futile, which is why she is here, speaking with a troll about a witch, and trying to decide if she's going to risk her timid freedom or go back home. 'So, what are you going to do?' Lyrei smiled at the voice in her head; Austere has been her accomplice in the night. Without him, she would not have been able to sneak in and out of her home. "Sounds like the Tombs are being infiltrated. It looks like I'm going to have to go underground." 'Be safe and quick.' "Of course!" The woman waves her small gathering over and begins to outline her plan to them. These men and women were not part of the Seeker order, but their abilities are none to frown upon, and their loyalty thus far has been unshakable. Time isn't on their side, they will have to be quick to either dispose of this witch or begin moving her out of the Free Marches, and it needs to be done before the sun hits the horizon.
  6. "Keep hauling up those supplies! I don't want anything delaying us from finishing this project." Mia stood at the edge of the caldara, watching the beginnings of her greatest project to date. This would not only bring House Uldwar to the top, but it would make Ursa Madeum as a whole even greater. Ever since she had found the missing materials her father had smuggled in to Port Mars, Mia knew what she had to do to further her father's legacy. By her direction, they would become one of the largest providers of Magitech fuel in Terrenus. The gold alone will be enough to get them into prominence, with enough clout to get the young girl closer to her goals of once again being the Matriarch of her House. A tremor shook the ground beneath them, surprising them, and causing some of the pack animals to stir uneasily. "What was that?" Someone asked. "Never mind it." Mia said, looking upwards at the cloudy sky, noticing the sun at midday position. "We need to get started before it gets dark. Keep moving!" Dressed in light traveling clothes, the heat at the top of Mt. Egon was near unbearable. Water was one of the main supplies they required, and thanks to both Port Mars and Qrill, whose powerful industrial strength allowed for the parts to be crafted in the assembly of this machine. With both Marrow and Fatesbane at her waist, she didn't feel worried about a lack of armor. Taking a long sip from her canteen, she watched as they began the construction process. Yet another tremor shook the ground, even more powerful than before. This one could not be ignored, and Mia began wondering just what might be causing it. "Something doesn't feel right..." A third tremor, causing a scare among the workers and animals. It couldn't possibly be an earthquake, but then what could it- KABOOM! Molten rock spewed from the center of the caldara, going high up in the sky, enough to where it would definitely effect the area around him. Men were screaming, animals were running for their lives, and Mia was treated with a sight she thought dearly impossible. "YOU DARE TRY TO STEAL MY MAGIC?! I WILL BURN THIS ENTIRE ISLAND FOR YOUR INSOLENCE!" It was a massive thing of fire and blackened rock, as large as a castle and burning with an intense fury. The heat was coming off him in waves, forcing Mia to step back, but she refused to give up her mission. What she didn't realize was that the spirit of the volcanos work was already beginning. Misral was burning.
  7. October 2nd, 29 AO @Grubbistch Marina gathered all her courage as she approached the closed door decorated with wreaths of clover and sage. The doormat was made from moss, crafted by the hands of the senior women who spend their time wandering about the Free Marches preaching the good word. Their gesture of appreciation often come in forms of goods, such as this doormat that looked barely used or foods; these women epitomize what a grandmother ought to be. People of the Free Marches welcome friend and foe the same: with open arms and an open mind. The mat, the wreaths, and the baskets of foodstuffs are signs that they are willing to accept you into the fold. Such a new world can get reasonably overwhelming. Little has been said about the man beyond the door, but the air of danger and distrust surround him like a brooding cloud. Milorian has shown restraint and understanding, things a lord should do, but a few of his brothers have sneered at his decision to allow an enemy into the arms of their home. She had heard Wyne speak poorly about the Knight with Ronan right at his heels. Their exclaims shook the roof of Crossroads and wore holes in her already weakened heart. This could be seen as an act of betrayal against her deceased husband. In Gawyne's eyes, she should always be mourning her lost beloved, and in Ronan's opinion, she should not be fraternizing with the enemy. How proudly the two carry the Mythal name yet, they show little of the lineages grandness of honor and respect. Both were working against Milorian when they should be working with him; it will take years for the Free Marches to be something and more until relative peace is granted - why ruin what they've done with pettiness? Acting against this man will not bring back Soleil. If anything, it destroys the memory of their brother, her husband. The small elf took in a gulp of air in an attempt to soothe her nerves. Was it he who killed Soleil? Was he the one who ... ruined her husband? She doesn't know. What she does know is that the possibility of him being involved in the deaths of her husband and Austere's wife and child are not slim. His hands are bloody and scarred by the war he helped wage against the people of Ursa Madeum during the Tyrant King's reign. She should hate him; maybe she does, perhaps coming to his door was an act of revenge that will wittle the man's mind and soul to nothing. Perhaps this is an opportunity to inflict the pain she felt - still feels. It would make sense - if she were that type of person. If he is just like her, no matter where he goes or how fast he runs away from it, he's there the day he was marked as an evil man. There isn't a day she doesn't remember the day she was labeled as a widow. Buried deep in her bones, beneath the cord and the vessels wiggle the pain and horrors, slowly poisoning her. Maybe it's just that she can feel some sort of pity for him. Settled with her decision, the woman knocked on the door to his humble home. In the act of kindness (one of many), Milorian granted the Knight a place of his own on the island Eluvian, deep within the small forest that freckled the end of Crossroads. The sound of knuckles colliding with the door made her flinch; it was early morning, the sun has yet to rise, giving their surroundings an eery silence that fortified her awkwardness. At first, it hadn't dawned on her that perhaps the gentleman was not the sort to wake so early in the morning or was even comfortable with accepting guests. Thinking about it now, her knuckles turned white as she strangled the handle of the wicker basket. Maybe it would have been better if she sent a note of her arrival so he could prepare, even though there's little to do to prepare for such a person. By appearances alone, she is an ordinary woman with elaborate bearings - nothing more and nothing less. Nervously she threw back the hood of her dress to reveal loose curls of red hair that flowed around her in rivers of lava. The worry in her emerald eyes made them glow and glitter in the darkness, exemplifying that fact she was nervous down to her naked feet. Oh, she looked down at her feet covered underneath layers of linen - would he be offended if he knew she hadn't worn shoes? Does that make her look like some ill-cultured elf? Maybe he won't notice - yes? If she stands still, her toes won't peek from underneath her dress. Was it too late to run away?
  8. Starring out at the rolling hills and sparkling waters of Thrace always brought peace to Grant Knight; a peace that he desperately needed these days. The fall of the city of Hyperion still weighed heavily on his mind. Few were the nights that his dreams did not turn to the screams of those that he had been unable to save. When he wasn't plagued by the thoughts of those he had failed, his thoughts lingered on the ones responsible. Claudette, the woman who had started the plague of hate that would wipe the city off the map, and Iblis, the djinn who had empowered her to do so. He had struck a near fatal blow to rogue elf, but she had been spirited away by the djinn before he could land the final blow. Now the Empire searched for them, but so far they had found nothing. They had disappeared like shadows in the night. But today he wasn't focused on that; or at least he was trying not to be. Today he would take a first step toward an alliance that would change the islands of Ursa Madeum for the better. On this spot, he was due to meet the leader of House Mythal to discuss how Senaria could help them to establish their city here. Said city would be a vital part of a new trade route that would revitalize these lands. Already the skeletons of buildings and roads were beginning to take shape. Now he simply had to wait for his peer to arrive. @Aleksei
  9. i. May 5th, 595 AO Primera sipped her tea while watching the men and women go about their business. She liked doing absolutely nothing while everyone else runs around with their heads half on, it made for a different and refreshing perspective. Often she has her nose in more projects than what is necessary, so to sit back and see how it's all done places her in the shoes of her followers. It can be difficult to just stand aside and allow others to go about their business with her just looking over their shoulders. Milorian must be losing his mind, she thinks while taking the last sip of her drink. Away to tend to the Emerald Graves and all that nonsense, he has left the overall project of the walls in the hands of Delaney. Soon enough, the rest of the house will be joining Milorian; at last, they will be able to lay their loved ones down for their final rest. "So, what is your plan of action, Seeker?" Asked Primera as she watched the geomancers manipulate the earth around them with abundant amounts of ease. The men and women wore the colors of her kingdom, but pinned to their shoulders is the Mythal Dred Wolf - in the sunlight, the ruby eyes of the wolfs shimmer. Understanding that a place can't grow without help, the Grand Kommadant eagerly handed over any willing individual from her land to the Dred Wolves. In turn, Milorian has made use of every item handed to him, not wasting time to show his gratitude and servitude. "With all the power in your hands, I imagine you carry a heavy burden." Infighting is not an unusual thing to happen, especially in times of uncertainty. Milorian is surrounded by siblings with agendas that are blood-soaked and revenge swollen; watching over his shoulder are two parents who have lost much and are hopeful that their child will give substance to their pain and suffering. Primera understood such a burden, having been placed on a throne she did not want to begin with, with no guidance, and even less trust from the people who still dislike her as a ruler. She was not desperate to attain the love of her land, knowing that what mattered is her people have the time and freedom to dislike her. One last sip and she hands her empty cup to a passing servant. Spoiled in all ways, Milorian had ensured that the Grand Kommadant was treated as standard dictates for someone of her power. Servants stood by to ensure every need and whim is taken care of, and nothing more. "Once we have everything outlined, I can assist by leading a small group of workers to begin the cascade. Your people within the walls will need a place to call home after all." As much as she would love to sit and do nothing, she can't imagine the Seeker to recreate perfection all by herself. 
  10. i. April 25th, 595 AO "I've heard Gawyne has returned." Knight Commander Gawyne, his brother, the third eldest, and perhaps the most volatile out of the entire bunch has come home. He and Soleil had been the closest, making the loss of their brother the hardest on Gawyne. On orders, the elf was told to leave the Free Marches and only return when he was capable of handling his duties appropriately. Just like Ronan, Milorian had no issues talking down to his brothers if it meant saving them and their positions within the family. "That's yet to be seen." Austere was the first to write to him about Gawyne reappearance, stating that their brother was chilled but not at all calm. There is a raging storm beneath that stoic face of Wyne's; his taste for revenge has yet to be sated, unable to kill the Tyrant King himself and those that had kneeled in allegiance to the King are now targets. Killing will not bring Soleil back to them, nor will it right any wrongs. It's worrisome that their Knight Commander will find an opportunity to wet his blade, something that will not go unpunished if his brother dared to step beyond propriety. The subject was one he wished to avoid to better attend to the Emerald Graves, but his fears are not his alone. There's worry that with Wyne's return home he brings terrible omens with him, something that should be taken into consideration. If he doesn't listen to Milorian or the rest of his brothers, then he must answer to Alistair and Cassia, though it will be a wonder if the Commander will even care. Having him and Ronan together, it's a recipe for disaster. The sooner he finishes here, the sooner he can go home and face Gawyne. "How are the halla? I've been told their herds have grown, yes?" The elder nodded, acknowledging both the subject change and the information. "My daughter has been tending to them since your leave, my lord." Yona Halla, the name brought a smile to his face; you could call her and Milorian childhood sweethearts. A shame that very little came out of that relationship, as Milorian turned to more exciting things than girls and their silly dreams. Yona found her place amongst her people, herders of the halla and protectors of the Emerald Graves. The Mythals ensured the safety of them and many more who had been threatened by the Tyrant King's rule; deep within the forest they fled and waited, using the land to survive and remain hidden. Thankfully most of the herders survived, and the rest moved on. The Emerald Graves were only partially burnt and destroyed, leaving a vast majority still intact - their history still intact. "We will open up the stocks." "Mn, not yet but soon," Milorian raised his hand to silence any questions. He was told that the halla were plentiful, to the point that there are sheds full of pelts and meat ready to be sold. Like the woolybugs, the halla carry magical properties such as enhancements to healing capabilities. They are considered holy creatures, worshipped, and cared for by men and women who've abandoned their namesakes and homes. "First, I'd like to know more about the dealings within the Emerald Graves." One foot in front of the other.
  11. If seraphs had headaches, she would have had one by now. Rozharon did little, thought little, felt little apart from the command of the Syngraf, but over the millennia she had come to the vague understanding that when given the choice (which was rare, as nearly every facet her existence was dedicated to obeying the Syngraf) socializing was not something she quite liked. She was patient, yes, and the mental toll of the carefully constructed verbal rhetoric she employed against the nobility, keeping the delicate balance of benevolent ruler and respectable authority, was insignificant. Still, it was with the slightest measure of relief that the Thaumelin made her way to the Mythal estate. These elves, at least, she was almost certain supported Taen's overthrowing of Damien. There was always room for doubt, but she would have less resistance here. At the least, she would be able to talk in a civil manner with these people. At the most, perhaps she would gain a powerful ally in this game of thrones. The seraph landed on the edge of the Crossroads, before a pair of startled guards. Folding her wings, Rozharon beamed a smile at them. "Gᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ. Mᴀʏ I sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴛᴏ Mɪʟᴏʀᴀɴ Mʏᴛʜᴀʟ?" @Aleksei
  12. A ship cut through the southwestern waters off the coast of Corinth, its speed as impressive as its elegant motions on the waves. It was of a sleek design, small enough to be quick and maneuverable, yet large enough to carry crew and supplies enough for long voyages. The designs of its sails and hull were clearly foreign to Terrenus, and those with a wider area of knowledge beyond that particular continent; even more unfamiliar. As if to add to that, designs and runic symbols of a language unknown﹘otherworldly even﹘design decorated the sails and hull in patterns that had clear meaning. There was unmistakable magic in the ship. A tall and lean figure stood on the deck at the bow of the ship, long silver hair pulled back into a ponytail. His features were sharp and indisputably beautiful, his long pointed ears marking him for one of the elfkin. Golden skin set him apart from his similar but distant cousins that populated Valucre, holding an almost metallic quality to it. Clear blue eyes stared across the waters, sharp enough to see across the waves and spray to see the port that was their destination. He smiled brightly, with an unerring confidence of one of his kind could display. “Captain Findruil!” He called, his voice cutting through the air. “Port Moon is in view, make way, I am eager to meet these Mythal.” He said, turning and stepping across the deck. He wore a mixture of red robes gilded in gold, and silveril plate. A combination that would make one think of a caster and warrior combined, which he had heard from his friends in Kadia was not as rare an occurrence here than his own homeworld. It was intriguing but he paid it little mind, such was to be expected. His right hand rested on the artisan silveril hilt of his sheathed blade. The ship adjusted its course, threading its way towards the Mythal port, catching the wind and cutting the distance more quickly than before. Only when they had neared enough to coast did the captain order the sails to be lowered as the approached the docks of Port Moon. The long and sleek ship coasted smoothly alongside the docks, slowing to a stop in a precise manner that only ones who have sailed for centuries could possess. Once moored they lowered the gangplank, allowing Aolis and his guards to disembark. @Aleksei
  13. “Mm… Don’t go.” The feminine voice pleaded playfully, soft lips and warm breath tickling the ear of the man whose chest she laid. The scent of sweat and sex mingled in the air of the rather posh quarters afforded to him by the Mythal as per his contract, something that he was rather pleased with himself for squeezing out of the noble house. The elven woman? Well she was simply a lover that had fallen to his charms and into his bed. “Apologies, love; but I cannot delay any longer. As tempting as such a thought is.” He said, the Kadian lilt rolling from his tongue. He gently urged the woman to roll off of him, the lady finally giving in to the inevitable that the man had to leave her bed. He had long since lost track of how many times this scenario had come to pass, though with experience he had learned to be gentle and firm. She had not captured his heart, though she had well enough gotten his interest that he would not mind continuing their passion upon his return. “That’s a good lass.” He said, flashing her a quick and easy smile before swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up. “I’ll return with a gift, hm?” He said as he stood and made his way to a basin of water. “Promise?” She asked, fluttering long lashes his way. “I promise.” He affirmed while wiping his body down with a cloth. “Must you really go?” It seemed she was not quite eager to see him go. “I must. This will be a good move to not only gain reputation here in Corinth, but to also increase the Mythal’s reputation as well.” The land was only a bonus, as well as whatever valuable the traitors carried with them. “If you say so, she pouted.” He could only sigh and shake his head, dark eyes glancing her way. “Now, now. No reason to be like that. It shouldn’t take me no more that two weeks, three at most.” He said as He began dressing himself. “They are traitors, run ragged from hiding and turned to banditry. They will be weary, hungry, and rundown. I’ll make quick work of them and then we can enjoy ourselves.” He said, the confidence in his voice was unmistakable. “Pulling on his boots, he flashed her a grin. “Care to help put on my armor?”
  14. King

    Better Devils

    Angels can't help you here... Quinton checks his watch for the third time, only a little dissatisfied that so much time has passed since their agreed rendezvous. It’s one of the more difficult aspects of dealing with people rooted in the deeper soils of archaic governments. They are all of the belief that they are god-anointed (humorously, even the lowly barons and lesser lordlings), that they exist beyond reproach, and of course, that the world itself revolves around them. At least, in the general sense of things. From time to time, unique individuals appear in the world – those that go against the stereotypes of their order and define themselves through character and action, rather than rumor. He’s heard good things about this Aurelius the Kadian, inspiring things. His is a traditional rags-to-riches story, wherein dedication, commitment, and sheer determination prevail over even the most insurmountable odds. The castle surrounding Quinton is testament enough of his host’s success. While lacking the finery of more grandiose establishments, the relics and tapestries of lords that define themselves by their wealth (and the need to ensure everyone knows just how wealthy they are), Aurelius’ home is one of practicality and simplistic beauty. The furnishings are neat, well-made, and all the interior is tidy. The servants are well-kept individuals with clean attire and practiced manners, and a subtle strangeness to them that Quinton can only surmise is pride in one’s duty. They hold their chins high as they walk, their shoulders squared, and look you in the eyes when conversing. Still, in spite of all that Aurelius has accomplished, there’s still much more to be done. Expansion and development can prove costly, and for a fledgling lord, capital can be difficult to come by. Quinton stands to resolve all of Aurelius’ monetary issues, both immediate and potential-- assuming agreeable terms can be met. “It truly is a beautiful place,” Quinton murmurs, looking through the nearest window to study the landscape. “I can see why so many people are attracted to this manner of living.”
  15. Garion


    April 1st, 29 AO 
  16. The girthy hull of the Blighted Ignorance carved languidly through the midday swells of the harbor as she towed her newest captive vessel home. She sat low in the water, her ancient planks beaten and splintered along her portside where the shattered bowsprit of the Scorned Sow still jutted from her flank. She was a large merchantman, but her sides bristed with enough arms to leave no doubt as to her warrior heart. The battered crew scurried about on the decks as they worked frantically to straighten her approach and bring her alongside the pier without smashing either to bits. Ashford wiped a thick sheen of sweat from his sunkissed brows with his free hand as he kept his watch from the crows nest. For the moment, he was free to stare upwards at the tremendous structure that dominated the space between the mainland and the island itself. He was a man of average height, with serious green eyes that warily surveyed the passing vessels and the approaching coastline. His dark hair had grown lankily to his shoulders and subtly shifted to a sun-damaged auburn over its length. His beard, much like many of his fellow crewmen, had likewise grown full and thickly tangled over their perilous journey. He rather liked it that way; their three months at sea had given him much time to reflect on the fickle nature of nobility and their tangled relationship with the people they ruled. Also, it saved him a fortune on razors, and a man of his newly employed-but-still-spartan means could only afford so many luxuries in his time. The Blighted Ignorance had been kind enough to take his money in exchange for passage in the hold with the rest of the potatoes and furs, but he had proven his skill with the cutlass and pistol at his side when the pirates had set upon them and thus earned himself a temporary place among the crew. It was not an overwhelmingly pleasant ship, but he had missed being a part of something larger than himself. And the grog wasn't half bad either. The whistles began to blow, drawing him from his thoughts. "Ash! Need you down here to help us tie down!" came the belligerent wail of the bosun. Ex-Captain Ash Scaleri grinned and vaulted from the crow's nest, landing neatly along the upper length of the mast with a familiar grace. "Coming, milord!" he called back as he swung down onto the rigging and began to climb down. It would be nice to have some fresh cash jingling in his pockets after this. - - - - - - - Disgrace left a man with an intriguing place in the world. When one was bound by the certainties and fine courtesies of the world, it was easy to feel so trapped within the bounds of what you knew rather than what existed beyond the horizon. Since he had been stripped of his rank and titles, he had spent much time wandering from place to place, seeking employment with those whom he had exchanged pleasantries with. Of course, none of those snobs would ever give him the time of day. So he had resorted to picking up jobs for odds and ends, a little shift work here, a little piecemeal sailmaking or repairs there. That was until he had saved up enough to buy passage and food for a trip on the first ship that would take him - anywhere, as long as it wasn't where he was. And that was how he wound up here in the heart of Crossroads, staring up at the city from the docks with sour-smelling-but-legally-recognized coins burning a hole in his pocket. There were so many possibilities for him here! Perhaps he could find a place to have his increasingly worn service boots resoled, or to have his coat reconditioned and repair the areas where his patches and rank insignia had been ripped off. Naturally, his stomach chose to grumble its complaints. "Ah, well. I might as well get something to eat first." He set off towards a small array of food stalls, choosing the one surrounded by the roughest and most weathered looking sea-salts he could find. If anyone knew the best place to eat after a long trip - it'd be those gents.
  17. i. March 3rd, 595 AO "It could be worse." Milorian looked to his side with a lopsided smile caressing his tired face. True, this situation could always be far worse than it already is, they should count their blessings that it's not. The reacquisition of their home was a smoother process than they had anticipated, making their return to the Free Marches days ahead of schedule. When they arrived, the sight was a punch to the gut, though it shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Whatever they had left behind so many years ago would apparently no longer be here, yet something in their hearts kept them holding on to the impossible. He felt his mother lace her thin arm around him, pulling him close to her tiny form in possibly the most reassuring embrace ever given to him. This is her home as much as it is his, perhaps even more so, and it must weaken her weak heart to see it in such a manner. The terraced fields have been neglected for too long, with weeds growing in and around the empty, dry fields. "We've done this before," Ronan commented, balancing his elbow atop Milorian's shoulder in a casual manner. "With more people; we're already behind." Austere finally spoke up; his right arm draped over his mother's shoulders. Austere winced against the playful slap to the back of his head, "True, but we're not dead." His father's voice invaded the wallowing group of individuals, causing them to turn and look at the matriarch of the family. The elder elf stood tall and wise, his hands clasped behind his back and his chin thrust into the air. "Look at them, a bunch of men admiring their land - typical." Marina's voice broke above them while Terra held the reins to the woman's horse. The two were smiling impatiently, waiting for the whole group of Mythal's to move out of the way, so they begin the actual work. Harrowing the land had to start quickly, as it was already pointed out they are extremely behind schedule and with very little help. Some had stayed behind when the Mythal's had their names and land stripped away, choosing to care for what they could, hoping that these minor preservations would help in the eventual return of their leaders. From January to March all fields are left to dry for soil labor operations - harrowing and fertilization application. Mid-April they begin to reflood everything and from late-April to early-May is permanent flooding from sowing time to two weeks before harvest - September. It's already March, their disappearance had dried up the land, so it was already done, but now they have massive amounts of work that need to be done in just a manner of weeks. Not only that they have to rebuild specific areas of the rice terraces that been destroyed over time, and that will take away from their already limited time. "I suppose it's time to get to work. Harrow what we can, afterward we will rebuild the rest, then continue from there." Milo gave his demands.
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