The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

[Renodin]

Here's a piece that I wrote to instigate a potential reunion between Nemean and Delphine. The two were a couple before I paused him. We'll still have to see if this arch will have a future or not. You enjoy this one anyway though!

Distant but Home

The horse had carried him from Perdan city. Towards the mountains, he had repeated in his head over and over again. Castle Ubent could never be seen but he knew it lay just beyond the peaks. Rows of jagged rock that defied the very clouds themselves as they made their own bid for the heavens above. It frightened him. He knew why he wanted to go to Mulhouse. Yet, every opportunity that had presented itself for him to delay or dally he had taken. He readjusted the shroud of Leandra that he had picked up at the splendid temple of the Silver Lady in Perdan city. Wearing it he felt like some misplaced ancient hero wearing a toga. He snorted at the thought. He was no hero nor did he posses any of their gravitas.

It had provided him with ample excuses to make stops along the way though. Offering kind words to those in need. Providing alms. Inspecting shrines and making a handful of blessings as he had passed by the Temple in Brive. Him, blessing people. He snorted again after which he shook his head.

There wasn't much further to go now though. The mountains had risen before him. At their feet the seemingly endless forests of Mulhouse blanketed the land. Like a great fussy collar on a shirt, in green. He imagined the mountains belonging to a giant's face that looked up. The spell didn't last as he saw the landscape. The tiny waterfalls that surged in autumn. The flocks of birds and the animals. He even spotted a herd of deer. He knew a moment of concern. His destination had been a vineyard. Deer could wreak havoc upon a vineyard. The sensation passed swiftly though. Surely she would've had measures in place to ward against these creatures. He nudged his horse to continue on their way.

A low rise emerged above the canopy. A foothill more prominent than the surrounding ones. On one side he saw how a mountain brook joined its sisters,  together they formed a perennial stream that flowed past the base of the hill. Riding  under the oaks he felt protected from vision even if he wasn't. Birds chirped quietly while squirrels labored enormously to store seeds and nuts. One of them interrupted its works to gaze down on the passing rider, before it skipped away.

Rows of carefully maintained vines came into view. A low stone wall made of field stone lined either side of the main path. A truly ancient oak stood sentinel somewhere halfway up the path. A fat red squirrel lounged on one of its upper limbs. The tree more than providing for its well-being. Looking up Nemean smiled. His eyes looked around the vineyard. ''Hope you're taking as good care of her as you are of Mr Squirrel there.'' The sabel horse snorted a response. He couldn't tell if it was derision or assent.

Moments later he arrived at the vineyard complex itself. buildings arranged practically yet with such grace. It seemed as if it had always been there. Part of the landscape, part of the hill. A young man came out of one of the barns. Slightly surprised but deft enough to approach the newcomer. Nemean dismounted fluently. Taking the reins in hand before offering them to the young man. ''Is the Mistress home? I am Nemean.'' Announcing himself made him a tad self aware. ''She, probably isn't expecting me.'' He left it at that while he removed his hazel brown leather gloves and tucked them into his belt.

[Renodin]

The following is me writing a little rp just to let the rest of the Realm know that I've seen and possibly read the flurry of letters that were send about a certain topic. Also a kind of a signal that they shouldn't expect Nemean to mingle into it either.

Tea and Letters

Seated at a fine table overlooking the gardens of the Citadel in Perdan city,  Nemean carefully sips from a warm cup of herbal tea. Spiced and laced with a dollop of rich honey. Before him on the table, a slew of parchments. Many of which quite recent and all of them adorned with Noble seals. A curious little smile plays on his lips as he considers their contents. A duel, a fight, a beleaguered judge and fierce loyalties on naked display.

Using a hand he pushed them all aside. Preferring to gaze lazily out over the gardens. A twirl of steam navigates the angles of his face as he sips again. The noise of a contented voice rumbles through his nostrils as the drink finds its way down his throat.

[Renodin]

Here's an interesting one. Its part of a chain that I'll try to post in the correct order for your reading pleasure. Hang in there with me though, this means I'll have to do some juggling on my side. Its about Nemean meeting the young Duchess of Perdan city.

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

Walking on the familiar boulevard that lay beyond the main entrance to the Ducal palace of his old friend and in many way, so much more, was strange. Looking around him he could see the small changes that had been made. Small, like different seasonal flowers that had been planted. Or how the attire of servants had been altered. Away from the familiar and into this new strangeness into which he was wading. Wading. An apt description he thought to himself as he reached the end of the path and arrived at the entrance of the building itself. He wouldn't be finding Smiddish here anymore. No, he was now going to find a young woman that had invited him. The new Duchess of Perdan.

The bowed heads of servants he hardly noticed. They had not forgotten who he had been. Though he was older now. Calmer as well he liked to think. Nemean's eyes slowly walked along with him on feet that trampled each and every one of the tapestries that hung on the walls as he approached her audience hall. He hadn't required directions from a steward or official or butler. They had all tried but his silent refusal had stumped them all. This palace wasn't new to him.

As he approached that final room though, he wondered what he was going to see. Why did she want to speak to him. His eyes spied ahead of the space he was about to plant his feet into. Magnificent. Bringing back memories of a former life. So Nemean strode into the Audiance Hall of the Duchess Storme. The letter had found him early, almost as if she had been watching him from before.

--

Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

In the outermost holdfast of the Palace was a room build to face the West in order to catch the last bit of light any day had to offer. Prince Nemean would remember the huge window at the back of the room that had been sprayed with sea water and over decades had become clouded with salt. Since the changing of the land, the rains had washed it clean. It was now crystal clear and looked over the realm of Alexandria glowing pink and orange in the evening.

When guided into the study by a familiar attendant, the Prince will see the Duchess sitting at a desk far too large for her, in a seat that similarly dwarfed him. Heavy oak shelves lined the walls and were gleamingly polished but nearly bare, with a small collection forming here and there mainly made up of flower vases stuffed with suspiciously fresh autumn flowers despite the late time in the season. What decor was left was nautical, things that had been there all along. The prominent mantle above the hearth is scared and deeply scratched as if it had been attacked by something ferocious; a reminder of one of her most famous tantrums. The same arm chairs waited there for more long talks to be had.

Aila herself has changed since the days before he had left, no longer the demanding blonde knight wearing Perdan colors the only thing on her that remained from those days is the silver falcon chained at her throat; An azure dress accented in black represent house Storme instead today, deceivingly simply and outrageous in it's opulence only to the right eye. As always her hair is the only gold she wears on display, twisted into a neat braid it hangs down her back secured by a satin ribbon.

A moment of hesitation takes the younger girl, as if she cannot decide whether to greet him or yell at him. Aila stands slowly from her massive seat and looks at Prince Nemean up and down, as if deciding if he were real or not. It becomes obvious what she has learned about nobility over the years and from who, as she rounds her desk and begins pouring two petite crystal cups with distinctly coloured plum brandy.

Finally she says something to him, with the tiny drink held out for him to take "It is what he would have offered you. Welcome home." She still speaks in a perfectly Perdanese accent, nothing there has changed "Where have you been? If you have brought me a good story I can give you ten in exchange. Sit with me.

[Renodin]

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City 2

A moment of hesitation takes the younger girl, as if she cannot decide whether to greet him or yell at him. Aila stands slowly from her massive seat and looks at Prince Nemean up and down, as if deciding if he were real or not. It becomes obvious what she has learned about nobility over the years and from who, as she rounds her desk and begins pouring two petite crystal cups with distinctly coloured plum brandy.

Finally she says something to him, with the tiny drink held out for him to take "It is what he would have offered you. Welcome home." She still speaks in a perfectly Perdanese accent, nothing there has changed "Where have you been? If you have brought me a good story I can give you ten in exchange. Sit with me. " ~Aila Storme

His spine obeyed only a single master. The regal teachings from home. And with that raised chin he looked through mildly slanted eyes before allowing his head to descend with a nod. His hand accepting the crystal cup while his verdant eyes never left those of her, for as long as she offered a bridge for them to cross. The crystal drink cradled like a treasured gem, studded in the pommel of a sword of war. Her words sang from her lips. The first sting she would deliver in their exchange struck. In defense Nemean lowered his head to the raised crystal of his glass and smelled its content. Filling his lungs with that very brandy which Smiddich loved. The memories it stirred not allowed purchase, for the moment.

The neutral tone she employed as flawless as the first time she broke words with him during the lists. He doubted she still thought much of jousting. As he glanced back at her, he was sure she didn't. The hearth attest as much. She preferred the thick of melee. Little time was spared however to either take a sip or to prepare a fresh defense. Her second blow had already been stuck. It sang through the air between them. ''Where have you been?'' As neutral as a rock falling from a cliff. It still crushed. She softened the apparent boulder though, asking for niceties. It conjured a rueful smile upon his lips.

''I have brought you no stories Aila.'' The smell of the brandy was enough for him. He placed glass on the mighty oaken desk and left it there. ''Why have you asked me to visit you here?'' With a thumb and leaning palm he gestured about the private study. ''Surely you could've met me in the audience hall. But you didn't.'' The accusation was accompanied with a deft step into the petite woman's direction. ''You care not for my stories. They are immaterial.'' he adjusted his gaze. Eyes fixed on the Duchess. Emeraldine and hard. A hand of his slid across the top of one of the armchairs. ''What was not for parchment to know that you would have  me attend to you in person?'' His brief march came to an abrupt end as did his words. Far enough still for her to maneuver but his charge was clear. If only his boots had been shot with ferrum then the floor would've rang with iron.

--

Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

One by one each of her masterful offers are rejected and they continue standing, looking at each other as the Prince did his posturing and questioning. Unlike him, she was not in the mood to uphold airs of mystery and secrets from years he had been absent. He knew nothing of her now, and nothing of him, yet the words still sound sincere from her lips as she looked upon the golden Prince of Perdan " He wouldn't like to know I sent you to some - stuffy audience room".

Her tone brightens with a strained laugh at her own mention of the previous king and her eyes are gauging him for a response, but she continues on " There are things that we can only discuss in person, things neither of us can afford to go elsewhere"  his drink is set aside, hers is gone in one swallow. Long gone was the girl who winced and shook her head at hard liquor, it may as well have been water now.

"Things like where you have been, things like; That I am glad you are back...and why." The crystal rings against the stone top of an ornate table beside them as Aila sets it down empty. "Things like; That I wanted to see you in the flesh, that I couldn't believe that you came back, and that I hope you are staying a very long time." She continues on with a spark of that fury that always seemed buried somewhere inside her ready to ignite "That I am jealous, and that I am angry on behalf of the ones you left behind."

One by one she lays things out for him, trying step by step to prove that she was not trying to ensnare him in any game. "and that the Perdan you left...Died with Smiddich."

[Renodin]

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City 3

"Things like where you have been, things like; That I am glad you are back...and why." The crystal rings against the stone top of an ornate table beside them as Aila sets it down empty. "Things like; That I wanted to see you in the flesh, that I couldn't believe that you came back, and that I hope you are staying a very long time." She continues on with a spark of that fury that always seemed buried somewhere inside her ready to ignite "That I am jealous, and that I am angry on behalf of the ones you left behind."

One by one she lays things out for him, trying step by step to prove that she was not trying to ensnare him in any game. "and that the Perdan you left...Died with Smiddich." ~Aila Storme

The fragile laugh that preceded her words left him cold. The bravado of gulping down the brandy, jaded as a gesture could be, likewise left him unmoved. Her words streamed from her. No longer hindered by blushing cheeks or stammering voice. He cocked his head as he realized she was facing him squarely. This had taken him a little by surprise. His brow furrowed in defense. She wants to see me? His fingers gripped the last remaining vestige of the armchair before it too was left behind. The hand went to accompany the other as they joined together in laced fingers and rested on his lower stomach.

The blow she delivered with her confidence was keenly felt. He could no longer regard her the young girl she was before, as she had been in his mind till this very moment. ''I hope you are staying a very long time.'' Her words. This he could find no defense for. A true crease marked his forehead as he all but imperceptibly squinted with his eyes. Unable to escape it and being forced to feel that singular string being pulled. It felt good. Warm and comfortable. Reassuring. But she wasn't done. Her next utterance filled a field with caltrops made of words.

Inhaling slowly, Nemean permitted himself a moment to drink in her meaning. If truly there was but one, hiding between her sentences. He doubted it. "Perdan yet lives Aila." He swallowed, wishing he had said the words more forcefully. ".. and you stand in his very study. Pouring his drink." His hands released one another as one was bidden to extend a casual finger towards the oaken desk. "Even the symbolism isn't lost on me. He and I fought and dashed over such with blades drawn. Or had you forgotten?'' His chin heralded the tilting of his face as he regarded her in her splendor that was her dress.

"Would you truly have me believe you feel sparks of jealousy over me?'' He couldn't resist the smirk that mockingly formed upon his lips. Nor did he want to. "This dance you've rehearsed clearly won't do. What do you know of those I left behind? How they feel and what has been said and transpired since I've returned?'' His weight shifted to his backleg, he was staring down at her. "You wrote yourself that you could barely contain yourself in not writing to me first. Yet you also failed to write others I glean from that.'' He shook his head from left to right and back again.

"You are still alone, I can see your hand.'' Nemean inclined his head forwards, making ripples in his forehead. "You might've learned from Smiddich by now. But it seems you haven't.'' He looked around the room as the words continued to flow. ''And neither will I be a convenient replacement. You are still as you were before. Lost on the road, getting your pretty shoes dirty.'' He exhaled long and hard. Sadness made a brief appearance as he looked at her. ''You just have more shoes now than you had then.'' He made a noise with his mouth. ''If that was all you wanted to see me for, I'll take my leave again.'' Almost as an afterthought he added. ''..in future, don't worry about committing the like to parchment.''

So he awaited her response. His eyes somewhat slanted in obvious disinterest, bordering on weariness.

--

Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

Obstinate as always her gut roared at her to let the arrogant man go on his way and wait again for him to write to her, ignoring him till then. He was dismissing her and she hated that, and it burned in her eyes as she continued to glare up at him with the furious look that overtakes her whether she likes it or not. "Delphine. Wrote. Me."

Now she even hears how agitated she is and finally flinched under his heavy gaze, glancing away to the sideboard where the brandy bottle stood staring her down.  "She thinks I am the only one who can understand what she hides from everyone else, and that I share the same feelings. "

Her eyes dart to the deeply scarred mantle, she remembers sharps of glass raining down over the room "I am not jealous -of you- I'm jealous of her. I would give anything to have that man back here. So I could ask him for a story too, and then beat the absolute living tar out of him for leaving me here alone."

She scoffs, her eyes are back on him, though with their fury there are tears threatening to appear in her eyes- stubbornly held back by a strong will "I do not really care what you think of me, or my many shoes, I am just glad you are here to be the balance to Alyssa again."

Behind her arm crossed, stubborn, stern stance there is more to tell him, but her trust is shaken and she cannot will it out.  The young Duchess gives up the standoff and turns her back on him to approach the desk, and gathers a few papers in her hands as she informs him "I've said all I can say to you. You may go whenever you like."

[Renodin]

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City 4

She scoffs, her eyes are back on him, though with their fury there are tears threatening to appear in her eyes- stubbornly held back by a strong will "I do not really care what you think of me, or my many shoes, I am just glad you are here to be the balance to Alyssa again."

Behind her arm crossed, stubborn, stern stance there is more to tell him, but her trust is shaken and she cannot will it out.  The young Duchess gives up the standoff and turns her back on him to approach the desk, and gathers a few papers in her hands as she informs him "I've said all I can say to you. You may go whenever you like." ~Aila Storme

That had been her finish, but it wasn't what he felt first. If fire had leaned to leap in all the eons it had been around. It would've set him ablaze. The look she gave him. A hard swallow the least of his reactions. A tiny, mischievous voice in his head whispering that there'll soon be more marks of on that mantle piece. Unbidden he glanced at it. Aila's words lurched his attention back. His eyes widened to expose the green of his irises fully. She had used her name. His lips moved, almost parted. But the words that followed her own had sewn them shut again. "She thinks I am the only one who can understand what she hides from everyone else..'' Lanced, and almost unhorsed. He lowered his head to regard the floor. "..and that I share the same feelings. " A breath came and was held. His head raised once more. A marred line of indecision snaking across his face.

Like autumnal winds, she turned away from him. Torn like beautiful leafs from a gentle tree. He hadn't the time to consider their beauty fully and now, he couldn't anymore. His hand opened and a finger or two extended towards her, the arm never having risen an inch. Her breath broken. Like the wracking of that season. He took a breath of his own and then another one. Brandy wasn't the only scent that lingered in the room.

She had spoken before she turned but it hardly registered. That was a lie. Her kindness he didn't want to accept, so he tried to ignore it. But now she gave him leave to depart. Now, when he didn't want to anymore. ''Can say?'' His tone strangely level. Tinged with the faintest hint of curiosity. Like that last of green that lingers, and refuses to give in to fall.

Not waiting for a response his eyes had informed him of her pretense business. The pale back of her hand shown as it grasped a number of papers. In but two audacious strides he all but flanked her entirely, letting his chest touch her shoulder as he reached down. The papers pinned together, with her hand under his, firmly on the desk. The sound was warm, like a hearth. Kindly lit to banish all of the cold. ''What else..?''

--

Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

The words she had granted him earlier were dismissed, Perdan still lives, Aila he had said omitting her title, already she had come to regret letting that pass between them without a rebuke. As she gathers missives laden with worries he has proven she cannot share with him his daring finds a further bound to cross.

There was a time in their past together that she had admired the ease with which he reached out to people, had thought of it as brave to reach out to her even as a knight, and wondered what else a man of such nerve could do. His touch now is a painful reminder of just how much time had passed since those days, and his earlier dismissal is no longer forgivable. The firm grip on her slender wrist does not feel gentle, the idea of a man of Perdan never harming her was long gone before he ever arrived that day.

Aila makes no attempt to struggle free, knowing there is no use "Sir Nemean" She is used to speaking over crowds, filling the room with the sound of his own name is no challenge for her. "I addressed you as a prince out of respect for what once was. With your actions and your words here you disrespect the stations we both hold; I am the Duchess of Perdan and your better, you will address me as such and you will remove yourself from my person at once. . . or be removed."

[Renodin]

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City 5

Aila makes no attempt to struggle free, knowing there is no use "Sir Nemean" She is used to speaking over crowds, filling the room with the sound of his own name is no challenge for her. "I addressed you as a prince out of respect for what once was. With your actions and your words here you disrespect the stations we both hold; I am the Duchess of Perdan and your better, you will address me as such and you will remove yourself from my person at once. . . or be removed." ~Aila Storme

The booming voice burst from the petite woman like a sudden thunderclap on a clear, spring day. The tension he had allowed his hand to exert to keep the papers upon the desk released. The buffeting words hardened his face like a sailor, braving the ocean's spray. The expressions giving life to his lips died. A line remained. He stepped away. In the doing, a small space formed between them.

''My actions and words.'' Softly but with an edge. A breath was taken but not fully released. Making taut the fabric of his jacket. ''You.'' Disdain. ''Frivolous and hopeful with your teary eyes. What decorum did you even attempt in this meeting? Liquor?'' The last word all but spat. His head started to turn to the side but he didn't permit himself to look away yet, much as he desired to. Instead he raised his chin. ''Apparently that is all you managed to grasp of Smiddich's wisdom. And you dare invoke her name.'' A hand gave rise to a fist. Silent as it hung at his side. ''You reek of desperation. Invoke your title all your want but it was given. You were born to nothing.'' He took a breath, stimming harsher words. ''You do exactly as I expected. You lack the comprehension of those born to the station you fumble at, Duchess.''

The room felt small. It stank of inadequacy. He gave it a harsh look over. ''Continue to wallow Aila, maybe that is why he took to ship.'' With that Nemean left the room. His brisk pace fueled by anger and in no small part its companion, frustration.

--

Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme

The Ducal Palace in Perdan City

A mischievous and supercilious smile emerged from the Duchess' lips the moment he let her free, and she turned to face him with it painted on proudly as he berated her.  He calls her names, demands decorum, how dare she, desperate, born to nothing- the way he lashes out is as impressive as it is entertaining. Is this what men born to something behave like? She wondered idly while Nemean did his blustering and posturing, filling the room with his presence to attempt at making her feel small before he tried his best at piercing her breast with his words.

What he couldn't know is that she always felt small, and was quite comfortable in the sliver of air his ego left her to breathe in. He knew nothing about what he spoke of, the things that had gone on in that room in his absence, the list of assumptions he had thrown at her, all incorrect, the love that she had known. How could a man who did not know the first thing about her hurt her?

She lets him leave without rebuke, the moment he is out of sight her smug look fades and Aila is left standing at her desk, fanning herself with the papers in her hand. A short moment later her retainer Gideon enters the room cautiously asking "Your Grace?"

"I am alright, if that is what you came for"

"Yes...That man seemed- Upset." He posits carefully. "Did he threaten you?"

Aila shakes her head, approaching the man dressed in Storme colours with the papers "No, no. Just a hard time adjusting to change..." She walks right past him to the raging fire in the hearth and looks between the pages, and the fire. "I'm going to destroy them"

Gideon peers over her shoulder, it is a collection of papers he has seen her working with many times "You've been building that case for months your Grace, why?"

The Duchess does not move, she simply stares down at the pages of letters saved over the months, waiting for the right person to show them to.  Eventually the silence stretches so long Gideon is about to turn and leave her be at just the moment Aila flicks her wrist to throw the bulk of the documents into the fire "I cannot do it by myself and I cannot trust anyone with them either."

Together they watch the small stack of documents burn bright and crumble to ash in seconds, her retainer does not agree with throwing away so much work, but it is too late now. "You meant to give them to that man? Who is he?"

Gideons words ring in her ears, she would not make the same mistake as the blustery Sir Nemean "A Prince I do not know."

"Well I'm bloody glad you kept them then. Shall I walk you to your chamber?"

"No. I will do some stitching. I am hoping to meet another Prince here later."

Cautiously the man asks her "Do you know this one?"

"No, actually."

Gideon looks uncomfortable with that answer, knowing she was not kidding "Try not to upset that one too."

[Renodin]

Welcome back, or happy continuation of reading. Either way here's another rp chain albeit a much smaller one for the moment. Its a scene were Nemean and Pandora, a young noble lady from Perdan agreed to meet up to enjoy a simple joy, painting.

Roleplay from the player of Pandora de Pooh

Bescanon River

Pandora sat down with the empty canvas in front of her. From the stool next to her, her squire Tig had brought buckets of clean and murky water along with several thick brushes at her disposal. Unsure of what colors she wanted to use, she had squeezed out a teardrop of each tube and their color onto a used clean plate. The intensity of the colors worried Pandora and she attempts to spread out the knot of color on one side. Slowly, the coldness of the area and slight breeze were drying up the knots. They had set up two extra canvases underneath an incredibly old tree that brought shade on the largest hill, like a sentient overlooking the river's longevity.

It was a sunny and rather warm winter's day and she had on her oversized-cherry scarf. Perdan was at war figuratively and literally, but Pandora was at home. The stream pools water into a lake with the humming of gentle flaps of insects and their wings near the bank-side. Birds were heard calling out to each other loudly, almost longingly. Pandora sat with Tig in silence for a few moments before she made him pick up a brush himself.

Tig asked, "Lady Pandora, why are we out here in the cold anyway?"

Pandora smiles gently, "I am waiting for a friend.. he is a priest. Could you paint with me too?"

She dips her thin brush into the clear water and picks up the darkest blue and smudges it around the plate. A bruised purple starts to drip down across quickly before one of her strokes pauses its run, spreading the color back. A fond memory came to her as she fumbled with the idea of getting started. The words of the letter sent to Pandora were, "I urge you attend, and think not what you should paint, but how."

The larger brush was picked up by Pandora and firmly pressed onto the bruised blue-purple color. Pandora gets closer to the canvas, becoming more familiar with its empty screen and the white shadow of the lines that bind together in itself. In a dabbing motion, she gently pokes around the right section of the canvas, unsure of what her creation will turn out to become.

--

Bescanon River - N1

The cobble was relentless. His steed was oblivious to the noise but Nemean was distinctly aware of the loud entrance he surely must cause by simple merit of riding his horse. The clatter heralded his arrival and yet, he couldn't quite decide which of these great trees was his destination. Seated up high he looked at each of the majestic oaks unable to come to any form of resolution. A frown marred his features. A tug on the reins informed the creature between his legs to move. Step by step it did so. Moving steadily from one great tree to the next. None of which proved to be the rendezvous he was looking for.

It was the horse that noticed it first.Its pointy ears pricked up and turned ahead, in the direction of a colossal tree that hung over the river's edge. Noticing that his steed had sensed something way before he had, Nemean wasn't too proud to admit that the old horseman's wisdom's still held true. Trust your mount. As they approached he could see barely a thing. Surely the horse wasn't playing tricks on him. Did it perhaps hear a squirrel? Unable to resist the urge he stood up in the saddle. Trying his best to gain more vantage, to no avail. The leafs that inhabited the massive limbs of the oak proved a jealous legion of guardians. They completely covered any would be meeting place. Except for, that rather inconspicuous pathway leading down. He couldn't help himself grin as he spotted the route down towards the river's edge.

Dismounting fluently he wasted little time tying the reins to one of the many arms, at least one of its legions would serve him. Wisely he kept the comment to himself though as he looked up at the impressive tree. Around its trunk and leading down from the cobble roadside the path led. Nemean carefully navigated its steps. Not wanting to slip on the invading moss that was steadily conquering ground. Before his very eyes a tiny but lush glade opened up before him. Overgrown rocks braved the water's edge. Before them again there stood a veritable screen of ardently growing reeds and lilies. Their feet wet and their crowns basking in the light given by the spring time sun. He thought he saw a dragonfly or two whiz through the reeds but he wasn't sure.

Before he could take in the rest of the seclusive location his eyes were drawn back to the broad trunk of the oak. Fairy beds lined its girth. That was the last of nature that he could take in before his attention was entirely and almost suddenly commanded by the presence of not one, but two people.  As he turned to face the presence his dark blond hair teased his sight as it fell before his eyes. Forcing him to rake it aside with his hand. Steadying his footing as he descended the final step Nemean rested his other hand on the pommel of his sword. Slung from his belt and perhaps entirely unnecessary but old habits died hard.

Before him stood a young woman. She as him, was not unarmed, for in her delicate hand she wielded color. Atop a brush. He held his breath a moment as if that would buy him a moment more before the spell would be broken. Three canvases had been arrayed, one next to the other. A man servant occupied space. His presence almost annoyed Nemean as rapidly as he acknowledged the man's existence in the most fleeting of glances. The river didn't care though. It bubble and swirled along as it worked tirelessly on smoothing out every boulder on its bed.

''Lady Pandora?'' A gingerly taken step found his boot upon the lush grass. ''For a moment, you had me confuse the oak for an apple tree. You shine with health having such rosy cheeks.'' The smile he gave was broad but could never rival the mighty oak itself. The place had made him feel at ease and perhaps his opening remark was likewise, too familiar. With the first words spoken, Nemean approached Pandora, wondering how much of a fool he'd make of himself today as he warily acknowledged the fact that there were indeed, three canvases. 

[Renodin]

Roleplay from the player of Pandora de Pooh

Bescanon River

The galloping of Nemean's steed was barely heard amongst the rush of life. As they drew near, Tig nervously puts down his brush and stood up out of respect for Nemean. He turned around and fully bowed. Careful to not break Pandora's deep concentration, a quiet panic overtakes Tig, whether or not to alert his Lady of Nemean's presence. Pandora thinks nothing of this, anticipating Tig to bring her a wet brush from the bucket set aside next to the easels piled on top of a old picnic blanket on flat ground.

Tig looks over to her anxiously in a whisper, "Lady Pandora."

Pandora's eyebrows lowered expecting criticism of her brush strokes, the pitch of her voice raises in a whine, "I know, it looks strange but it's one color! Look, maybe if I add something else to it." She digs her brush into the reddish diluted paint, and a slip of the brush brashly flings the soft color all over her canvas unprecedented.

Tig was mortified, he called out to her again his preadolescent voice cracked, "Lady Pandora."

Pandora was overjoyed, the color of her cheeks deepened from the inflection of Tig's voice and the blunder she has made. Looking over to Tig she realized the terrified look on his face, with his entire body facing rigidly at the tall man with cautious emerald eyes.

"Lady Pandora?" A gingerly taken step found his boot upon the lush grass. "For a moment, you had me confuse the oak for an apple tree. You shine with health having such rosy cheeks."

Turning her ear to a strange and unfamiliar voice, Pandora was curious to meet this person. She stood up in a hurry half-hazardously leaving the palette onto the stool and walks toward him carefully up the hill, as to not trip over the large boulders and pebbles, to get a better view of him. Her eyes widened with a warm greeting despite the lines seen stretching from her chapped lips, "You must be the priest.. Nemean?"

As the colors of the palette start to ooze off the board Tig catches this before it happens.

Being much shorter, Pandora looks up at Nemean in awe, she had not expected a priest to be this gallant. His lengthy dark blonde hair and build made him to look more like a warrior than a priest, one whom no longer a participant in wars. She motions for him to come patiently, "Tig this is my friend Nemean."

Pandora turns to Nemean with a smile thinking of adjectives to describe her young squire,  "This is Tig, my squire. I asked him to join us today if you don't mind."

Tig can be seen in the background struggling to prevent the colors on the palette from getting mixed as he walks uphill. As a young boy he rashly decides to bring her palette to ensure its stability and takes another respectful bow. The two empty canvases on each side of her painting allowed for Nemean to choose which side to sit on.

As Tig waits for his turn to speak, his voice lowers to not upset the noble, "Lady Pandora, I have my hands tied up at the moment please use the extra empty canvas as you wish."

--

Bescanon River - N2

Being much shorter, Pandora looks up at Nemean in awe, she had not expected a priest to be this gallant. His lengthy dark blonde hair and build made him to look more like a warrior than a priest, one whom no longer a participant in wars. She motions for him to come patiently, "Tig this is my friend Nemean." Pandora turns to Nemean with a smile thinking of adjectives to describe her young squire,  "This is Tig, my squire. I asked him to join us today if you don't mind." ~Pandora de Pooh

A smudge of kind crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled at her remarks. Before he could respond however, the boy squire excused himself already. The near comic display of balancing the palette had eroded some of his initial dislike. With a calm gesture of his open, downward turned hand Nemean addressed Tig "You're alright boy..'' He made a display of glancing uphill to where he had left his horse. ''Perhaps you could look after my steed?'' The words were followed with a lingering gaze that only rested on the boy for a moment longer than necessary.

In his mind, thoughts, had already began to form. The squire had provided a welcome guise during which he could sort through them. Ease and grace. Careless almost as she had discarded her activity. His eyes betrayed the subject of his thoughts as they stole a look of Pandora. Dauntless. Her approach. Pretending to turn his attention back to Tig he actually smelled the air with an intake of air. The act unconscious in the doing but welcome nonetheless.  His risen chest perhaps adding reason for the boy to comply. Filled with the scents of the glade but also of her.

Deliberately his eyes moved away from Tig. Crawling slowly like a vine seeking the sun they settled on Pandora. His nose wiggled as a ripple flowed from chin to brows. Seeing them raised. It was as if they were linked with the corners of his mouth as they simultaneously rose as well. "Friend? Already?'' Mock surprise with a light undercurrent of indignation. His head moved imperceptibly to the right for a mere second. "A gift given ever before I have been worthy of it." The smile gave way to a warm expression and he made a half bow.

Indicating the canvasses he continued. ''You always try to fortify with red?'' His brow furrowed as he leaned in for a better look but without actually moving forwards. ''It's a.. '' He glanced at Pandora. "..Background?'' He preemptively smiled. ''What are you going for? Would you show me?''.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from the player of Pandora de Pooh

Bescanon River

The galloping of Nemean's steed was barely heard amongst the rush of life. As they drew near, Tig nervously puts down his brush and stood up out of respect for Nemean. He turned around and fully bowed. Careful to not break Pandora's deep concentration, a quiet panic overtakes Tig, whether or not to alert his Lady of Nemean's presence. Pandora thinks nothing of this, anticipating Tig to bring her a wet brush from the bucket set aside next to the easels piled on top of a old picnic blanket on flat ground.

Tig looks over to her anxiously in a whisper, "Lady Pandora."

Pandora's eyebrows lowered expecting criticism of her brush strokes, the pitch of her voice raises in a whine, "I know, it looks strange but it's one color! Look, maybe if I add something else to it." She digs her brush into the reddish diluted paint, and a slip of the brush brashly flings the soft color all over her canvas unprecedented.

Tig was mortified, he called out to her again his preadolescent voice cracked, "Lady Pandora."

Pandora was overjoyed, the color of her cheeks deepened from the inflection of Tig's voice and the blunder she has made. Looking over to Tig she realized the terrified look on his face, with his entire body facing rigidly at the tall man with cautious emerald eyes.

"Lady Pandora?" A gingerly taken step found his boot upon the lush grass. "For a moment, you had me confuse the oak for an apple tree. You shine with health having such rosy cheeks."

Turning her ear to a strange and unfamiliar voice, Pandora was curious to meet this person. She stood up in a hurry half-hazardously leaving the palette onto the stool and walks toward him carefully up the hill, as to not trip over the large boulders and pebbles, to get a better view of him. Her eyes widened with a warm greeting despite the lines seen stretching from her chapped lips, "You must be the priest.. Nemean?"

As the colors of the palette start to ooze off the board Tig catches this before it happens.

Being much shorter, Pandora looks up at Nemean in awe, she had not expected a priest to be this gallant. His lengthy dark blonde hair and build made him to look more like a warrior than a priest, one whom no longer a participant in wars. She motions for him to come patiently, "Tig this is my friend Nemean."

Pandora turns to Nemean with a smile thinking of adjectives to describe her young squire,  "This is Tig, my squire. I asked him to join us today if you don't mind."

Tig can be seen in the background struggling to prevent the colors on the palette from getting mixed as he walks uphill. As a young boy he rashly decides to bring her palette to ensure its stability and takes another respectful bow. The two empty canvases on each side of her painting allowed for Nemean to choose which side to sit on.

As Tig waits for his turn to speak, his voice lowers to not upset the noble, "Lady Pandora, I have my hands tied up at the moment please use the extra empty canvas as you wish."

--

Bescanon River - N2

Being much shorter, Pandora looks up at Nemean in awe, she had not expected a priest to be this gallant. His lengthy dark blonde hair and build made him to look more like a warrior than a priest, one whom no longer a participant in wars. She motions for him to come patiently, "Tig this is my friend Nemean." Pandora turns to Nemean with a smile thinking of adjectives to describe her young squire,  "This is Tig, my squire. I asked him to join us today if you don't mind." ~Pandora de Pooh

A smudge of kind crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled at her remarks. Before he could respond however, the boy squire excused himself already. The near comic display of balancing the palette had eroded some of his initial dislike. With a calm gesture of his open, downward turned hand Nemean addressed Tig "You're alright boy..'' He made a display of glancing uphill to where he had left his horse. ''Perhaps you could look after my steed?'' The words were followed with a lingering gaze that only rested on the boy for a moment longer than necessary.

In his mind, thoughts, had already began to form. The squire had provided a welcome guise during which he could sort through them. Ease and grace. Careless almost as she had discarded her activity. His eyes betrayed the subject of his thoughts as they stole a look of Pandora. Dauntless. Her approach. Pretending to turn his attention back to Tig he actually smelled the air with an intake of air. The act unconscious in the doing but welcome nonetheless.  His risen chest perhaps adding reason for the boy to comply. Filled with the scents of the glade but also of her.

Deliberately his eyes moved away from Tig. Crawling slowly like a vine seeking the sun they settled on Pandora. His nose wiggled as a ripple flowed from chin to brows. Seeing them raised. It was as if they were linked with the corners of his mouth as they simultaneously rose as well. "Friend? Already?'' Mock surprise with a light undercurrent of indignation. His head moved imperceptibly to the right for a mere second. "A gift given ever before I have been worthy of it." The smile gave way to a warm expression and he made a half bow.

Indicating the canvasses he continued. ''You always try to fortify with red?'' His brow furrowed as he leaned in for a better look but without actually moving forwards. ''It's a.. '' He glanced at Pandora. "..Background?'' He preemptively smiled. ''What are you going for? Would you show me?''.

[Renodin]

This was an rp send as an army from Yssrgard moved through Caligan lands without announcing themselves. I saw a Noble I thought might be an interesting plot hook to reach out to. Turned out said Noble agreed.


From a Hillock

The plains of Mashhad revealed a sparse forest of pennons. A bright Aquila prominent among them. Nemean squinted his eyes as he beheld it. He knew that bird. Waiting for the riders to go from to fro, patiently until he reckoned they'd be within earshot. Meanwhile making sure his own banner was proudly on display. Planted deeply on the very crest of the earthen outcropping. In his mind, while watching the riders of an old family friend, he could see the clods of dirt being thrown from their hooves. "Tórrarin!" His cupped hands directing and enhancing the volume.

Just that word. If the old man had ears capable of listening still, that'd be enough.


-=-=-=-


Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb


A voice calls out "Tórrarin!" Godric slows his horse and looks, spying a figure on some far hill. He squints and motions for a younger man to look.

Noble. House.... Renodin. Godric nods, tucking in his arming sword. "Keep marching, I'll catch up." He sets off towards the hill and slows to a trot as he gets closer. Three of his riders follow at a comfortable distance. He raises a hand in greeting.

"Lord Renodin." Godric tilts his head as the nobleman becomes clearer. "Lord.... Nemean! My hasn't it been a while? Do we serve the Lords of Caligus now?" Godric's eyes narrow. He looks more like his father than he ever did before, although the aura of his mother permeates outwards. The eyes in particular remind him of the 'Prince of the Xavax'. He tries to shake off the feeling but old grudges die hard.


-=-=-=-


From a Hillock  N.2


"Lord Renodin." Godric tilts his head as the nobleman becomes clearer. "Lord.... Nemean! My hasn't it been a while? Do we serve the Lords of Caligus now?" Godric's eyes narrow. He looks more like his father than he ever did before, although the aura of his mother permeates outwards. The eyes in particular remind him of the 'Prince of the Xavax'. He tries to shake off the feeling but old grudges die hard.


The old man had come with an escort. The smirk that appeared could perhaps be explained away by the brightness of the sun, not that he cared to offer any excuse. Surprise was an initial emotion the elder warrior revealed. Soon to be squashed in good tradition with a rebuke, however minor. "..And you have abandoned the Phoenix Court entirely. Having fled to the southern crust of the continent.'' The counter wasn't formidable. Nemean knew it but it didn't need to be. As long as the challenge wasn't left unanswered.

A token gesture was made as he indicated with his chin ever so slightly behind him towards the expanse that eventually would hold Fontan City. "I've had time to study the histories of my father. As much as they were recorded and then some.'' Irritation and then also some poorly veiled disappointment slipped into his delivery of the words. The latter part  of his delivery meant to reinforce rather than to weaken. Knowing that the elder before him had lived through it all made any attempted facade hard. ''The City and lands were promised to my father.'' Weight shifted from one boot to the other. Curiously, the fingers extending from his fighting arm twirled towards the handle of his blade.

"Xavax fought and died for that legacy. Other Xavax did nothing and let that happen.'' This man before him had been part of his childhood. To speak of time before he himself was even born felt strange suddenly. ''But you know this.'' Clearly there, Nemean quested. Familiarity perhaps, or connection. The tone of voice rose a bit. The richness softened. The green eyes beheld the wizen man of Tor.

Wetting his lips he resumed after a brief pause. "Legacy. The Past. Trails not yet walked upon.'' The brow arched. "We are beholden, we are unbound yet we strive still. Xavax was bestowed and had chosen our bloodline. Fontan was bestowed and taken, all but its city. The Throne of Perdan was taken.'' There his voice tapered in volume. ''..Oligarch, Eponllyn.''

''..We serve not Caligus, our lineage, we have birthright."

His gaze wandered over to the three riders that had accompanied Godric before it returned to the man himself. "It seems your mind is still sound, you yet managed to throw a barb with your initial words. A feat surely at your age. Though I do not wish to perish you nor due to my actions. You were a trusted man of my mothers. Both. Be well old man.'' With that Nemean readied himself to depart. A horse was tied to a struggling sapling at the bottom of the little hill.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb


"..And you have abandoned the Phoenix Court entirely. Having fled to the southern crust of the continent."

Godric stiffens at the remark but bites his tongue.  Listening to the younger Renodin speak brings back memories of Asher. He refers to birthright and what is owed, the idea that he is somehow deserving of greater. Idle fingers trail towards the hilt of his sword and Godric stills his breath - Nemean's fingers drift away and Godric allows himself to settle but he remains attentive.

"..We serve not Caligus, our lineage, we have birthright."

Godric's nostrils flare at the thought. As if that skinny whelp Asher earned anything - that he was not just a smooth talker with a lust for power. As Nemean begins to walk downhill to his horse Godric shakes his head, "Your mother did not trust me, she trusted Tor. Because we both trust in Him she knew my motivations to be true. You, in a sense, are trustworthy to me because your motivations are as plain as your father's were." Godric steels himself for the reaction, if any. "No matter what you think, our only birthright is death. Your mother understood this. The power of Man is miniscule to that of Tor. Riches become ash, lands become dust, memories become whispers on the wind. You are your father's son but do not consign yourself to his mistakes." Godric's voice is rising as years of anger, things he wishes he said start to bubble up. He sits back on his horse and kicks to wheel the horse about.

"Safe travels, Nemean Aydensson. May Tor steady you when you are weak." Godric's horse sets off on a trot to meet with his escort and back to his troop.

[Renodin]

Here following you'll read about a meeting between Pasquale Ruler of Caligus, Lorelai Ruler of Eponllyn and Nemean as they meet to negotiate a diplomatic treaty.


Roleplay from Pasquale Contéfigardo

Pasquale ran his hands absentmindedly over the fabric of his toga. It was a antiquated style of dressing, usually reserved for ceremonial functions, mostly military or religious in nature. He had felt that negotiating on and signing an important series of documents, treaties, and agreements like this was worthy of its use.

The toga was a flowing array of burgundy, blood red, lighter red, and pink. The fringe of the toga was embroidered in golden yellow fabric trim. Underneath the brightly variegated toga was a comparatively plain white tunic, very well made but free from an embellishment or pomp. He wore comfortable and well broken in thick leather sandals, perfect for the current late summer heat. At his neck hung two silver chains necklaces, one ending in a medium-sized blue topaz, and the other a silver locket.

He had arrived to the chambers intended for the meeting early, after eschewing a large breakfast in favor of a small and simple one. Instead of disturbing the servants as they prepared the room, he walked about the castle, not straying far but exploring casually, always keeping a mental map of where he had been, forming a layout. He liked maps and cartography, and sometimes imagined them inside his head.

After his meandering explorations began to bore him, he took the return path towards the entrance to the chambers. As he rounded the corner, he saw Hoplite Nemean JeVondair Renodin preparing to enter. This recently arrived nobleman was quite an intelligent and well-spoken fellow, and the Patriarch had taken a liking to him. The diplomat with the dirty-blond hair was perhaps a decade and a half older than the dark brown haired ruler.

Raising his arm in greeting, Pasquale hailed the man, "Hoplite Nemean, good morning! I hope you are ready for a lengthy of discussion. Let us head inside. I arrived too early, and took a stroll about the place to pass some time. Normally I am more "fashionably late" but was more energized than usual this morn."


-=-=-=-

ENTENTE IN OLIGARCH - N1

After his meandering explorations began to bore him, he took the return path towards the entrance to the chambers. As he rounded the corner, he saw Hoplite Nemean JeVondair Renodin preparing to enter. This recently arrived nobleman was quite an intelligent and well-spoken fellow, and the Patriarch had taken a liking to him. The diplomat with the dirty-blond hair was perhaps a decade and a half older than the dark brown haired ruler.

Raising his arm in greeting, Pasquale hailed the man, "Hoplite Nemean, good morning! I hope you are ready for a lengthy of discussion. Let us head inside. I arrived too early, and took a stroll about the place to pass some time. Normally I am more "fashionably late" but was more energized than usual this morn." ~Pasquale

Woken by birdsong he had spend the morn in quiet observation. Old habits died hard and one of them he never regretted being instilled as a young boy was rising early from his bed. Before most of the servants began their scurrying he had already begun a simple routine of swordplay. It just felt good. To loosen muscles and to feel the warmth course through his veins. That was a while ago now already. As was breakfast and bathing. Though what stayed with him during all those activities was the letter Lorelai had send.

Approaching the meeting hall Nemean checked himself. As much physically by coming to a halt while mostly making sure his attire was proper.  A sable doublet and breeches embroidered with a floral pattern in gold thread. It somehow yet managed to be abatable in its gaudiness. It was all tied together with an expertly made, dueling half cape draped over a single shoulder. Accentuating perhaps the sword and dagger that hung from his belt. A final touch was to tuck his gloves into said belt when the Patriarch of Caligus hailed him.

The younger man took care of himself. Health wise and his appearance. The smallest of inclinations made in recognition was what Nemean offered Pasquale.''I am yet to find comfort in the newly bestowed title, Hoplite. Though I certainly seem unfit for its use with these clothes.'' A smile brought warmth to the statement as he gestured to the crimson layers of the other man's toga. The moment left long enough to make little spectacle, one that saw Nemean's emerald eyes twinkle for a whole second. ''Should you desire to place feet upon surer ground when in the presence of Lorelai, you might do well to refer to me in terms she inclines to agree with.'' Words were offered calmly while the head tilted modestly. Though his eyes shared none of it.

''Shall we?'' He glanced at the meeting hall. ''Also,'' His eyes returned to Pasquale. ''..you prefer to be late?'' Another smile. This one bigger than the last one. ''We should train together sometime, it will quicken you very swiftly, I assure you. How much have you interacted with the Queen, our cousin? Do you know her well and are these stipulations set in stone? I mean those of the treaty between Eponlly and Caligus.'' Letting the words hang between them it seemed a thought intruded his mind. It led to his eyes wandering into the hall again. Swift to follow was a petit frown.

Thus Nemean awaited Pasquale's response. Moreso perhaps, he allowed time for the King to regain the initiative and be the first one to lead both of them into the meeting hall.


-=-=-=-

Roleplay from Lorelai Chamberlain

Oligarch

At tines she forgot how large Ellimere was, she ended up jogging from her offices to the greeting hall, stammering to a halt at one of the large mirrors that had been brought here from Castle Nylucia. Smoothing and tucking the recalcitrant curls, she ran her hands over the simple pale blue gown before resuming her journey to the hall.

She brought no heralds, the gentle sounds of moving armour as guards straightened the only announcement she felt she needed. All credit to the Patriarch, he showed no sign of irritation at her tardy arrival.

Windows were open and even so far within the city, the elevation of the keep allowed a fresh breeze and birdsong to filter through the dense stone. Breathing deeply she smiled warmly, approaching the Patriarch in his odd attire - she assumed it must be some summer fashion of Caligus - it looked more like nightwear, but she remained unperturbed.  She leaned inward kissing each of his cheeks, "Welcome to Oligarch, Pasquale, I hope you will forgive my tardiness... even a Queen must accede when her children are demanding."

She turned to Nemean, fixing him with an appraising gaze; with seemingly little effort he always seemed to manage to be at the forefront of any crowd. Age had done little to diminish his charms, though how he had come to be in Caligus was perhaps a tale she needed to hear.  She arched a brow. "Prince Nemean - don't even think of bowing to me - shared blood forfends such formalities." She drew him into an embrace, pleased of his presence, even if it was at the elbow of her counterpart.

Turning her attention back to the Patriach she narrowed her eyes. "I had assumed this was fairly simple, though the presence of your - hotplite? did you say? - I'm not entirely sure what a Hoplite is - though where my brother enters a conversation,  one cam be sure the outcome is not going to be entirely what you expected."

She inclined her head to one of the retainers, who quickly disappeared behind a tapestry depicting the Lady of the Woods.  "If you would be good enough to come with me, I am hopeful Ambassador Nabarl will be joining us soon."